The Republicans
I didn't watch so much as a second of the Republican National Convention this past week, but lurked with fellow commie fag junkies at Daily Kos and followed each evening's action, such as it was, by live blog. I had sorta been hoping for fistfights on the floor and police brutality a la Chicago 1968, or maybe an Irwin Allen-type disaster with Hurricane Isaac bursting through the convention site and sweeping everything away. Instead, the proceedings seemed pretty half-baked and half-hearted. GOP presidential prospects for 2016 made self-aggrandizing speeches and barely remembered to mention in passing the 2012 presidential prospect, Mitt somebody. Paul Ryan, the creepy veep nominee, evidently went for the Guiness Book record for most whoppers told at a go. Jeb Bush reminded us that his brother George had kept us safe, never mind about 9/11, the two wars, the economic meltdown, etc. Ann Romney once again made Nancy Reagan look almost like Eleanor Roosevelt. And Clint Eastwood either came onstage as himself, a typical angry ranting white male Republican, or else delivered a profoundly Andy Kaufman-esque satire on typical angry ranting white male Republicans. As much as I like the second explanation, Occam tells us that the simpler explanation is probably correct.
If I had to convey my impression of the whole convention in a word or two, I would go with: amateur night.
If I had to convey my impression of the whole convention in a word or two, I would go with: amateur night.