The Yawn on the Horizon
Editor's note: I published the following entry to my poli-blog This Side of the Truth.
The Democratic National Convention (DNC) starts tomorrow. For me that's as exciting as watching two old people eat chili. For poli-nerds, this week is like the Super Bowl and Mardi Gras rolled into one. I applied for a press permit because the powers to be were issuing a limited number of passes to bloggers. Recognition in bloggerdom. Since I got snubbed, I should be in a pissy mood, but I'm not. I could care less. Too bad the Democrats and Republicans didn't hate themselves as much as the New York Yankees and the Boston Red Sox. That's the best rivalry in all of sports. Tensions are high every time both teams take the field. But all the hype this week won't match the intensity of The Curse.
Yankees-Red Sox... the best rivalry in sports
Given a chance in between choosing ousting Bush or having the Sox win the pennant... even the most bleeding heart liberal fan in Red Sox Nation would glady suck up four more years of Bush, in exchange for one World Series. And Kerry is their native son. That should tell you something. People are more concerned about sports than politics in America.
Dennis Miller called the upcoming DNC "as exciting and predictable as watching an I Love Lucy rerun." He's got a point. There's going to be no surprises, just plenty of boring rehearsed speeches, a cool balloon drop, and plenty of Bush bashing.
Will John Kerry take the opportunity to define himself instead of attacking Bush? Frankly, I have no clue who he is. And that's what he wants. The less you know, the better. He hasn't said anything positive about himself aside from the fact that he's a three time Purple Heart winner. He might bash Bush, but who's really pulling the strings behind the curtain? That's what I want to find out, and regardless of what you think about Bush, you must realize that Kerry has friends in low places and in board rooms in corporations looking for a fatty handout just like Cheney's buddies did at Haliburton. From his voting record, it looks like he's been whoring himself out to the highest bidders for his entire career in the Senate.
And don't get me started about those experts who keep saying that Kerry can bring us back good favor with the French. Who gives a rat's ass about the same habitual appeasers who licked Michael's Moore feet clean after they gave them their most prestigious cinematic award for an anti-Bush (and in their minds, and anti-American) film? Yes, America needs a better PR job around the planet, but France is not on the top of the list of countries we need to improve relations with.
To hell with Moore's film, you must all read this book: The 9/11 Commission Report: Final Report of the National Commission on Terrorist Attacks Upon the United States. I read the entire book and spent the better part of one late night reading what every American should read. Put away the Harry Potter, the pink Chick Lit books, and the formulaic Dan Brown novels. And if you were expecting me to give you a review... then tough shit. Do your own home work. Get off your lazy ass and read what went wrong prior to 9.11 and what we have to do now to improve our homeland security. I'm not helping anyone by telling you what I know. You have to sift through the 516 pages and come to your own conclusions. Don't trust the media to give you the highlights. They've never shouldered any of the blame in what went down. They're a bunch of crooks and criminals as well.
On a lighter note, congrats to Lance Armstrong on winning a record sixth Tour de France earlier today in Paris. The collective hatred that the French have towards Lance Armstrong is indicative on how they view Americans as a whole. A non-Frenchman dominated their sport on their soil, and they do everything possible to discredit his feat by accusing him of using steroids and other performance enhancing drugs. Instead of saluting a man who accomplished an impossible feat, they act like childish, selfish, jealous idiots. They can't stand the fact that Americans are better at a lot of things in life than they are. France's trembling grip on the world is nothing more than a fading memory of a salacious one night stand with a transvestite hooker in the bathroom of a seedy bar in Montmarte in May of 1968. There's only one boorish, beer guzzling, French-taunting Texan who excels at extracurricular drug use... and he lives in the White House.