We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
Dreams from My Father is a staggeringly beautiful book, lyrical, powerful and poetic. It is also the story of a man who has been many men, all named Barack Obama. In his own eyes, he is one race, but also another. He is an American, but also a Kenyan. He is from Hawaii and also the Kansas heartland. He is Harvard elite, then the Chicago streets. At times he decries the very clay from which he was made, only to remake himself again.
At each place and stage, as Barack Obama chronicles the chapters of his life, he tells us how he has re-invented himself, becoming the role he inhabits, though not falsely or in-authentically, like Bill Clinton. He actually seems to transform himself, becoming what must be next. He has been called distant, aloof and somewhat unapproachable, perhaps because we cannot approach what he does not have, a solid core. His soul seems to be molten and made up of dreams, which is at once breathtakingly inspiring and forbiddingly indeterminate. When this young man with the flowing, passionate core, when this candidate without the solid-center changes positions and transforms himself as we watch, it leaves Americans much more in doubt about who he is and how he would lead us. It also reveals an Obama of unapproachable arrogance and inestimable self-regard: He appears confident voters will appreciate his superiority regardless of where he journeys or what he becomes to meet his political ambitions.
John McCain is a complete and well-formed man. Barack Obama is completing himself. As he moves to fit what he perceives to be a right-of-center country, he distances himself from the simple and authentic passion of a young candidate who once pledged "Change We Can Believe In."
This is the trap Barack Obama has made for himself, the one he cannot escape, the one Hillary Clinton foresaw, the one that may doom him. The Obama campaign knows it too. In fear the dream is being lost drop-by-drop, they are going negative on John McCain. Maybe the aliens should ask to meet McCain, as well.
Read the whole thing. The point is that Obama is not a man - he's a boy. He's an Icarus who bought his own hype. Thus his polling is weakening as the realities become clearer. Even the greedy sanctimonious Lefties are upset, even though they think they know he is really one of them. He is exploiting their innocent, childish mentalities.
Oddly, it does not seem to have occurred to commentators that McCain has been doing the right thing by doing little in the way of campaigning during the summer months.
Obama is doing a terrific job of exposing his own weaknesses; McCain has remained largely silent, letting the people see and hear from Obama how badly he falls short on experience, on realistic ideas (as opposed to populous star-gazing at all the usual suspects - big oil most prominently recently, but lots of others as well - and stumbles again and again).
It is often wise to let your adversary self-destruct if that is what he is doing. McCain knows that, and is quite content to sit quietly by - comparatively speaking - and to let it play out.
Toom Tabard was the ultimate empty suit and got rave reviews from Thomas Carlyle, with the most elegant use of ``depend'' in the English language
"Did not King Toomtabard, or, in other words, John Baliol, reign long over Scotland; the man John Baliol being quite gone, and only the 'Toom Tabard' (Empty Gown) remaining? What still dignity dwells in a suit of Cast Clothes! How meekly it bears its honors! No haughty looks, no scornful gesture: silent and serene, it fronts the world; neither demanding worship, nor afraid to miss it. The Hat still carries the physiognomy of its Head: but the vanity and the stupidity, and goose-speech which was the sign of these two, are gone. The Coat-arm is stretched out, but not to strike; the Breeches, in modest simplicity, depend at ease, and now at last have a graceful flow; the Waistcoat hides no evil passion, no riotous desire; hunger or thirst now dwells not in it. Thus all is purged from the grossness of sense, from the carking cares and foul vices of the World; and rides there, on its Clothes-horse; as, on a Pegasus, might some skyey Messenger, or purified Apparition, visiting our low Earth."
I must say, modestly, that I predicted Obama's fall from grace months ago. And Hillary already released her delegates? Her timing is off, it seems, when so many Dem pro's are finally coming out of the ether and are developing buyer's remorse.
When will the distinguished emissary, the eminence grise, the committee of party elders, go to Obama and tell him that it is over, that for the sake of the party he must throw open the convention, and take the chance that Hillary be the default nominee with the best chance to win?
This kind of anticlimatic entertainment will be ratings winners between now and Denver, sort of the New Haven tryout, and Denver, the anticlimax to the anticlimax, could be a super ratings blockbuster before it goes bust! Let's give them their due: Democrats are better entertainers than Republicans; Republicans haven't been this entertaining since the Goldwater delegates shouted down Rocky at the San Fran Cow Palace in '64.
Santay ... thanks so much for the good wishes. Actually, Edouard turned out to be a very quiet, if uninvited, guest. "All hat and no cattle" is the Texas expression. We had steady rain in our part of town, but no flooding. Grateful for that, since we got really flooded in 2001 with Allison, and had to move out for 5 months while the house was repaired. I was only 73 then, but moving twice in one year darn near killed us. I suspect it would be worse now. All those darn books are heavy.