The National Disaster

I got suckered in by Clinton's speech.  I hadn't watched any of the gore of the political conventions.  But I did watch a replay of Slick Willy's home run yesterday morning, so I assumed that the dems had saved the best for last.  When I got home from woking job #2, I was tired and useless and turned on the convention just in time to see Joe Biden's speech.  And then I stayed tuned for the Leader of the Free World.  I suffered through it all.

I should have read instead.

This morning I saw the reviews of their performances.  Analysts are trying to reconcile their expectations with what they witnessed.  They say that Biden and Obama "hit the mark."  That is another way of saying, of course, they did not shine.

Something has happened to Biden.  I was reminded of Clint Eastwood's performance.  I think the two of them should have to debate one another at the MTV Music Awards.  That is a place where they might not be the most awkward things in the room.

And Obama was way, way off.  There was, to quote Gertrude Stein, "no there there."  He might as well have read a laundry list with faked enthusiasm.

I'm sticking with Clinton.

The question is, was Obama a good President?

The answer is, we'll never know.  He was never given the chance.

I have nothing more to say about the election.  I hope to take pictures, though, at the rallies.  I love the contrast between the two camps.  Just look at the crowd shots from the two conventions.  It is the Corporate Nazis vs. Strange and Weird America.  I wish I were a cartoonist.  The images are so distinct that they scream for exaggeration.

But one shouldn't talk about politics and God.  Still, we know that whoever God blesses will win.  It's all about that.  Both conventions.

O.K. O.K.  I'm done with it now.  I should be used to it.  It never stops.  It never goes away.

I am being funny, of course.  What they have had to do, I could not do.  If you think you can give a better speech at such a crucial moment, give it a whirl.  There would be nothing like it, ever.  No sporting event, no musical performance, nothing.  Standing on a stage alone speaking and waiting to be judged in the most profoundly critical way by everyone in the world, by people who love you and by people who don't. . . .  That's what I mean about Clinton.  Fifteen seconds left on the clock in the final game of the NBA championship game.  Bases full, bottom of the ninth, two outs.  That's Clinton onstage.  He wants the ball.  Put me in coach.  I'm ready to play.  Whether you like him or don't, you've got to give it to him.  He's Elvis, James Brown, and Mick Jagger rolled into one.

Why do you think he had so many groupies?