Thursday, August 28, 2008

Things to Do in Denver When You're Braindead

So I think we got it now -- Hillary has trumped expectations by being a team player after all, yet for the countless nattering nabobs of nincompoopery malingering at all points in and out of the arena, you wouldn't know it. She didn't praise Obama "enough", she outshone him with her orange pantsuit, blah blah blah. Jeebus knows that I had Clinton fatigue back in 1997, and I'm glad I don't have to worry about holding my nose and voting to reinstate another dynasty, but these people have a pathological need to archly ascribe ulterior motives that they seem to have pulled directly out of their asses.

It's all about the professional prattlers, as it always is, and how well they can preen their pet theories for the cameras. Failing that, one of these genius sets had a "body language expert" opine as to how much Hill was faking it. Christ, why not just break out a phrenologist while we're at it? They can't just let us watch the fucking thing (if we happen to be that bored) and decide for ourselves, you know, they have to turn to some sinecured knucklehead like Bobo Brooks and get his take.

Okay, anyone out there who really gives a fuck what Bobo Brooks thinks about anything, raise your hand and then jump off the nearest bridge.

Then there's MoDo, who rarely misses an opportunity to compete with Peggy Noonan in the "Most Likely to Project Her Not-So-Latent Daddy Issues" sweepstakes. Get a whiff of this trenchant analysis:

But this Democratic convention has a vibe so weird and jittery, so at odds with the early thrilling, fairy dust feel of the Obama revolution, that I had to consult Mike Murphy, the peppery Republican strategist and former McCain guru.

“What is that feeling in the air?” I asked him.

“Submerged hate,” he promptly replied.

There were a lot of bitter Clinton associates, fund-raisers and supporters wandering the halls, spewing vindictiveness, complaining of slights, scheming about Hillary’s roll call and plotting trouble, with some in the Clinton coterie dissing Obama by planning early departures, before the nominee even speaks.

So let's see if we have this straight -- you need an objective perspective on some funny vibe you're getting at the DNC, and you consult McCain's former strategist for insight. One assumes that her first impulse was to dig up Richard Nixon and hold a séance, but that would entailed setting down her Sea Breeze.

The next bullet point of the MoDo playbook is to either emasculate a male politician as a fey metrosexual just looking for a pole to smoke, or a catty suggestion of ballbusting passive-aggression on the part of an overly ambitious female pol. Talk about projection.

At a press conference with New York reporters on Monday, Hillary looked as if she were straining at the bit to announce her 2012 exploratory committee.

“Remember, 18 million people voted for me, 18 million people, give or take, voted for Barack,” she said, while making a faux pro-Obama point. She keeps acting as if her delegates are out of her control, when she’s been privately egging on people to keep her dream alive as long as possible, no matter what the cost to Obama.

Hillary also said she was happy about the choice of Joe Biden because he added “intensity” to the ticket. Ouch.

Many people have made the exact same observation about Biden's role on the ticket, without the automatic assumption of sour grapes. But this is part and parcel of the entire punditocracy's role at the convention -- to stir up shit, even if it's not there, even if the PUMAs turn out to be oppo stealth ops. Nope, Miz Thang has to go out and find the anecdotal voice of overripe, self-satisfied dissent to bolster her flimsy argument. Catch the barmy wisdom of the convention concern troll:

At a meeting of the Democratic women’s caucus Tuesday, 74-year-old Carol Anderson of Vancouver, Wash., a former Hillary volunteer, stood in the back of the room in a Hillary T-shirt and hat signed by Hillary and “Nobama” button and booed every time any of the women speakers mentioned Obama’s name.

She’s voting for McCain and had nothing nice to say about the Obamas. What about the kids, I asked. “Adorable,” she agreed. Well, I said, Michelle raised them.

“I think her mother does,” Anderson shot back, adding: “I wonder if Michelle would give the Queen one of her little knuckle punches?”

Yeah. See if that shit would play at any of the Republitard events, granny. They'll toss your ass out just for wearing the wrong t-shirt. Who cares what that anonymous, doddering cow thinks? The idea that some lone crank intrinsically possesses a genuine insight worth uncritically repeating is roughly equivalent to asking random panhandlers their opinion about that whole Russia-Georgia thing.

And no, moron, I don't think "Michelle would give the Queen one of her little knuckle punches". I'm not sure why anyone would consider any of the Times' columnist real estate worth pinching a loaf on. Seeing that one of their esteemed columnists considers it worth her time to stenograph the addled ramblings of some weird biddy having an extended Maalox moment gives a pretty clear idea that real-world property isn't all that's had a bursting of the ol' value bubble. This is the sort of inane jabber that's permeated practically all of the coverage I've been able to stomach.

On the other hand, KTVU polijourno Mark Curtis has a substantially different take on the goings-on there. Perhaps someone should tell him he'll get more face time with the A-team if he amps up the 1% loons and stirs some shit. Forget the issues, and the voters, and the corporate tools bankrolling this dog-and-pony show, this weeklong pageant celebrating the achievement of gutless incrementalism. It's all about you, baby, and the trouble you can invent.

1 comment:

cavjam said...

I always enjoy reading your screeds; this is a cut above, and not just because it's an echo of what's been rollin' round my brain the past few days.