Political satirist Will Durst. (photo: WillDurst.com)
02 September 12
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now a few words about the Republican National Convention. AKA: Women
with Big Hair and the Men in White Shoes Who Love Them. And white
certainly was the operative word in Tampa. Mashed potatoes on paper
plates with a side of leeks white.
Had to feel bad for the one black guy the networks
kept cutting to during the speeches. They tried everything to make him
look like a crowd. Different camera angles. Probably had his own
wardrobe assistant. "Now put on the cowboy hat. Okay. Okay. Let's try a
handlebar mustache." Must have been someone's driver.
The first day of this GOP quadrennial confab got
canceled for the second consecutive conference due to a hurricane
bearing down on the city of New Orleans. The only two tropical storms to
threaten the Crescent City since Katrina. Hey, guys, want some crow
sprinkles on that karma cone?
But any worry about the optics of unrestrained
celebration while parts of the country drowned faded fairly quickly.
"Oh, quit your belly aching. At least your pesky drought is over." And
with that, the convention shifted into stealth mode.
The festive conservatives were so successful at
concealing their core convictions, that at times it was difficult to
discern which party was nominating whom. "We're saving Medicare." "The
Party of Diversity." "Our platform May Say No Abortions, No Exceptions, But We Haven't Even Read It." "Dubyah Who?" "Mitt What?"
The only speaker to mention Mitt's name out loud on
purpose was Ann Romney in a gracious and endearing turn. Facing the tall
task of climbing the plateau of humanizing her spousal cyborg, this
mother of five boys constructed an entire flight of stairs by herself.
But with a husband stiffer than Rick Santorum on a gay pride parade
float, it was the basement stairwell of what needs to be skyscraper
scaffolding.
Baby steps.
Paul Ryan growled the requisite Veep Nominee pit-bull
snarl. Then gave 40 minutes worth of credence to the Romney pollster who
proclaimed earlier in the week, "We're not going to let our campaign be
dictated by fact-checkers." The Janesville Congressman trotted out more bad lies than Employees Day at St. Andrews. The Old Course.
Chris Christie solidly wedged himself into a fail-safe
slot for the next round in the event of a Romney/Ryan November stumble.
As did Condoleezza Rice, albeit more elegantly. But Marco Rubio stole
the show, positioning himself as a possible impediment to Christie and
Condi's scramble for 2016's money. If there is any money by then.
Normally these convention gatherings are to
spontaneity what Richard Simmons is to mule skinning. Lots of shiny,
smooth seamless spandex. A three-day holiday in a hall full of Ken
dolls. But in a dubious celebrity stretch, some soon-to-be ex-staffer
woke Clint Eastwood from a nap to upstage the nominee's acceptance
speech by losing an argument with an empty chair.
Following Dirty Harry speaking to an imaginary
president, Romney spoke of his phantom agenda. The general consensus was
he needed to give the "Speech of His Life," and the good news is, he
did. The bad news: that was it. Great for the base. "Meh" for everybody
else.
So now it's on to Charlotte where the Democrats will
throw a counter spin to their mirror image of this carefully
orchestrated boogie-down. Charlotte and Tampa in the dead of summer. And
these are our great political minds at work? Something indeed is
horribly awry.
The New York Times says Emmy-nominated comedian
and writer Will Durst "is quite possibly the best political satirist
working in the country today." Check out the website: Redroom.com to buy his book or find out more about upcoming stand-up performances. Or willdurst.com.
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