You get a sky shot! And you get a sky shot! And you get a sky shot. …
I have never paid the least bit of attention to Oprah Winfrey, not even when she sat down with Ol’ Whatsisface to chat about how it really wasn’t about the bike.
But after last night I can see why so many other people have.
Holy hell. There must be a metric shit-ton of folks who wish she’d run for office, and even more who pray she never does.
I have paid some attention to Bill Clinton, and often wish I hadn’t, especially after doing it again last night. (See Hunter S. Thompson on Mister Bill in “Better Than Sex: Confessions of a Political Junkie.”)
After watching Mister Bill polish his own idol for the better part of quite some time it was a positive relief to hear Coach Walz singing Americana a cappella. I am not and never will be a football fan, but I’m finding the Democrats’ sense of play in this go-round as refreshing as a cold beer in the cheap seats.
I wonder whether Jason Isbell ever envisioned himself wearing a tux and singing this song to a bunch of Democrats at their national convention in Chicago.
We didn’t get to hear James Taylor perform — Sweet Baby James got the hook as various The Honorables ran long — but I think Jason pretty much got ’er done.
If I were to give anybody the hook so James could slip in a pertinent lyric or two it would’ve been Dick Durbin, who really phoned it in. Meanwhile, the Hilldebeast reminded us all that she will always be The Smartest Person in the Room, which for my money is one of the reasons why she topped out as secretary of state. But she had the room from jump, so what the hell do I know?
I certainly wouldn’t have cut Georgia Sen. Raphael Warnock, a Baptist pastor and reliable Bringer of the Fire. Not even for Sweet Baby James:
“We must choose between the promise of January 5th and the peril of January 6th, a nation that embraces all of us or just some of us.”
And speaking of fire-bringing, Texas Rep. Jasmine Crockett dropped a few well-placed rounds in you-know-how’s AO while discussing the differences between the two major-party candidates:
“One candidate worked at McDonald’s, while she was in college at an HBCU. The other was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and helped his daddy in the family business: housing discrimination. She became a career prosecutor, while he became a career criminal, with 34 felonies, two impeachments, and one porn star to prove it.”
“Kamala Harris has a résumé. Donald Trump has a rap sheet.”
We were up way past our bedtime watching night one of the DNC and we will not be doing that again. I figure to start paying attention again when Kamala Harris and Tim Walz take the stage as the real, sure-’nough nominees.
Joe Biden was up past his bedtime, too. Swear to Dog, at one point I thought he was talking like the top of the ticket again. But then the boisterous crowd knocked him off track a bit, he started to ramble, and we closed the iPad and called it a night.
OK, remember July? Everybody who thought we’d be here in August, raise your hands.
Herself and I watched Kamala Harris and Tim Walz rally the troops in Philly last night. I can’t say either of them can sing the old chin music Obama-style, but at this point I’m desperate for a ticket that’s younger than me, reasonably healthy, and joyously pugnacious.
Frankly, it was comforting to see a spark of snarky life in the creaky old Donk-O-Tron 9000™. And given the political realities — anyone been paying attention to what’s happened to other party progressives lately, like Cory Bush and Jamaal Bowman? — ol’ Coach looks like a pretty savvy choice.
I’m not even remotely complacent — we have 90 days to go before shit gets real — but they seem to have backfooted the blowhards for the moment, saving their name-calling for the candidates.
Weird? Creepy? You bet your ass they are, that and more. Say it often enough and maybe the Donks can keep a grip on any wobbly centrists, poach a few independents, and maybe even persuade that mythical handful of Republicans who retain some vestigal sense of shame that these creepy weirdos are not their friends.
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