reaction shot
Sunday 24 August 2008 | 3 cookies in the jar
So the expatriation plans were perhaps a little melodramatic. In my defense, everyone knows the Un is the last place you’d come for intelligent campaign analysis, seeing as how almost all my knowledge of strategy comes from either season three of The West Wing or repeated viewings of The War Room.
Which I really hope the Obama team have bothered to watch, you know? Because where are the snowclone sound-bites, is what I’m saying. Where is change versus more of the same or it’s the economy stupid. And where is the risky, edgy running mate whose announcement would make us start out of our chairs, galvanized, hands at our throats, glowing with alarm, chattering with nervous energy? Where is the movie magic, people? Where is the cheap glittery tinsel of 1992? Where is the appeal to our hopelessly triune brains?
Admittedly Senator Biden has more personality than he whom BêteGrise used to call, affectionately, the Ironing Board (though even Al has improved considerably in the last decade, thanks in large part to the imminent collapse of life on earth)—and the Gorgon makes a brilliant point: Joe’s always good for groans and eyerolls. Still je me demande toujours WHY can’t the Dems get this right, when they have more old money than you can shake a CEO at. Every day I read online news and I’m all, après Miss Bovary, interrobang?! (Which is technically two interrobangs, but that’s the way we roll.)
Because where is our Lenora Fulani?! (Before she ran off with the Perot yahoos.) (It’s hell being communist when CUIP lumps you with the far right.)
And now I am DONE trying to act like I care about the fate of humanity, because you already know how this will end. Fritz always had our number:
Once upon a time, in some out of the way corner of that universe which is dispersed into numberless twinkling solar systems, there was a star upon which clever beasts invented knowing. That was the most arrogant and mendacious minute of “world history,” but nevertheless, it was only a minute. After nature had drawn a few breaths, the star cooled and congealed, and the clever beasts had to die. One might invent such a fable, and yet he still would not have adequately illustrated how miserable, how shadowy and transient, how aimless and arbitrary the human intellect looks within nature.
3 cookies in the jar
post your glowing encomium (or bitter philippic) »
Follow this heated, lively discussion through its very own feed; also, you can pingback or trackback from your own doubtlessly much more interesting site.
(Which is technically two interrobangs, but that’s the way we roll.)
Okay, I think about that ALL THE TIME.
And on Al: I think the facial hair also helped, but that’s just my intuition and about 11 pounds of nachos talking.
ZOMG I completely agree about the facial hair–which I think was coterminous with his post-election gig teaching at Columbia’s journalism school? Such a nice relaxed academic look. And now it’s workin’ for Fat Bill, too! Like the male equivalent of a really good set of high/lowlights.
With Hillary out of the picture, perhaps we could be spared the economic profligacy and media noise of two presidential campaigns and simply settle Obama v. McCain via a beard-growing contest? Bill Richardson, Paula Abdul and Terry Bradshaw could be the judges. Or, since BêteGrise already is facially hirsute and willing to launch a third-front war on Manitoba (they already anticipate it, as ascertained during my visit there last week), I could modestly accept the job by acclamation.
•
Disaffected editor: BÊTEGRISE 2008! I am all over that like white on Obama. (Whice reminds me: And why did McCain not pick Condi Rice?!)