The New York Times tells me that Michelle Obama's speech 'electrified the party faithful.' If only that were so. Electrify, electrocute, electroplate -- give the useless wankers some kind of a jolt, anyway.
I watched a little bit of Michelle's mawkish, smarmy performance on YouTube. Couldn't even make it to the five-minute mark. Nauseating stuff.
In the cutaway shots to the 'party faithful', I must say they didn't look very electrified. In fact, they looked barely animate, as if Dr Frankenstein's galvanic apparatus had fallen just a bit short of imparting the full vital spark to his patchwork of carrion, leaving the poor thing a kind of twitching shambles.
Oh, the various disjecta membra were waving their banners dutifully, if a bit robotically -- like those gaudy boyos who used to follow the Pope around with ostrich-feather fans -- but their faces wore a frozen look of dogged cheerfulness, as if they were really sincerely trying to feel something, and not quite succeeding.
It is amazing to me how relentless the reportage has been on these 'conventions'; you really don't dare turn on the radio; though there has literally been no news at all from either of them, by the gold-standard criterion(*). And how can people who scribble or talk all day for a living bear to parse and re-parse the three or four threadbare slogans that constitute Amurrican political discourse? I'm amazed they don't run barking mad, tear their shirts off, set their hair on fire, and run bare-tit and ablaze from the Platitude Palace.
(*) If a dog bites a man, that's not news. If a man bites a dog, that's news.