Grasping

“A Vice-President cannot help you, he can only hurt you.”

-Richard Nixon

If it really is Sarah Palin, I’m not sure what to think. It’s an interesting pick, to call out America’s Hottest Governor (TM-Wonkette) as your running mate. But I’m not sure what it really accomplishes, for several reasons:

1) She’s from Alaska, which has a smaller population than San Francisco. Sure, it’s three electoral votes in the bag that might have been drifting toward Obama, but if you’re trying to shore up a state, shouldn’t the pick have been from Virginia or Ohio or Florida?

2) You’re basically taking the “age and experience” meme and piling it in a heap and setting it on fire. Sarah Palin has been governor of one of America’s least-populous states for two years, before which she was the mayor of Wasilla, Alaska (pop. ~8000). There’s very little to suggest she’s done other than a fine job, but it makes Barack Obama look like a wizened statesman by comparison, and undercuts perhaps the most effective line of attack against Obama.

3) Alaska is not like other states. Zippy income tax; in fact, every citizen gets a check from the government for his or her share of the state’s oil revenue. I don’t know how many otherwise-undecided votes energy policy drives in this election, but if you want to suggest something other than a “drill more, drill harder” approach to energy policy, Alaska may not be the place to look for it.

4) Alaska is very much like a Southern state, in that its politics tends to be insular, nepotistic, and generally corrupt. (See also Stevens, Murkowski.) Palin has gotten her fingers burned on the fringes of this earlier in the year, but not in a terribly serious way, and she certainly doesn’t appear on the surface to be up to her neck in dirty dealings – but because of the nature of the state’s politics, she’s potentially vulnerable to as much guilt-by-association as Biden’s Delaware connections provide for him. This is a chance worth taking in the Rove offense, if you’re trying to depress turnout generally and say “well, I’m corrupt, you’re corrupt, they’re all corrupt, don’t bother showing up”, but that’s a hell of a three-rail bank shot to be taking with only nine weeks to go ’til Election Day.

5) Nobody other than hardcore political junkies could pick her out of a lineup with Tina Fey and three elves. Again, not necessarily a problem, but you really don’t want the first reaction from the rest of the country to be “Who?”

6) At this point, you’re probably thinking “Look here, donkey, they must know something you don’t because they wouldn’t be picking her otherwise.” Well, two things: first, there’s no such thing is something they know that I don’t, because I really am just that good (tip: remember Brian Schwitzer of Montana, who is a FIGJAM of the first order but who is going to be a big deal in a few years). But more importantly, what they think they know may not in fact be valid information.

See, Team McCain is inexplicably convinced that with Hillary Clinton out of the race, the people who voted for her are all ripe for the plucking by the GOP, and they’ll torpedo Obama at the waterline and sail on to victory. But that argument falls apart for two reasons:

* Half those people just saw the Clintons endorsing the hell out of Obama publicly for four days. They are over their first flush of anger and ready to go back to a candidate much closer to their actual beliefs. They are probably not on the table.

* The rest of the folks who would vote for Clinton over McCain, but not Obama over McCain, are concentrated in states that McCain’s going to win in a walk anyway. It doesn’t matter if every white woman in every Wal-Mart in all of West Virginia pulls the lever for McCain, it’s still only got 5 electoral votes. There’s aren’t enough women sufficiently disaffected to vote for McCain in enough states already in play to make a material difference. (I had a professor who once ran for statewide office on the idea that there were enough women in the “works at Wal-Mart” demographic to get her the nomination. She finished third.)

In the grand scheme of things, it’s a head-scratcher of a pick. You could be reaching for the novelty of a “first” on the GOP side, but all it does is point out that the Democrats did it twenty-four years ago, and that they did it out of a sense of desperation. It could be a sop to the party regulars, getting a solid conservative on the ticket, but it’s questionable how well it will play in parts of the country where they were already averse to a black man and now have to consider a woman on the ticket if they go the other way. It could just be an attempt to get youth and vitality on the ticket, and Bobby Jindal’s not available because of the hurricane.

Ah well. What’s done is done. Congratulations to Sarah, and congrats as well to Alaska and Hawaii. Less than fifty years after statehood, they’ve both got a name on the big ticket, and it’s good to remember that “United States” isn’t dependent on “contiguous landmass.”

An analogy, on the eve of football season

Imagine you support a football team that is really a good team, near and dear, that just hasn’t managed to get over the hump. And then, all of a sudden, they’re in the Super Bowl. You’re thrilled beyond belief, you’re so close to the championship you can scream…but they’re playing the games at the rate of one play per day. No tickets, no TV, no radio, no internet, and all you know about what’s happening is what the players mention as they come back to the bench.

What would you do? I’ll tell you what you’d do: you’d be a nervous wreck for, like, two months.

But that’s the thing about sports: you derive an immense amount of joy just from being happy for the guys who are actually out there winning the championship.

Rediscovery

So I’ve had occasion to do a lot of reflecting lately. Figuring out how you’re going to cope with your job, your family and your future will do that to you. And I’ve noticed that I’m starting to remember a lot of things I had forgotten about, and vividly at that.

One of those things is Led Zeppelin.

Yes, I have always known that Led Zep is at the pinnacle of rock, and they were all over our car stereos twenty years ago as we first abused our new licenses, and I bought Mothership as soon as it hit iTunes, and “Good Times Bad Times” was sort of the unofficial anthem of the Vanderbilt team that ran riot through the top 25 right up until they shat the bed in the NCAA tournament. But flipping through some of those tracks tonight, I am really remembering for the first time in a long, long, long time just how awesome the music is. And I close my eyes and there I am, pushing a Monte Carlo with 125,000 miles on it, glass tops in the trunk, marveling at how General Motors can built a 5-liter V-8 that only turns over 160 horsepower (I get damn near that with better torque out of a 5-cylinder now), wind whipping through a full head of hair because I’m still only 16 and I have redneck fringe, jacket sleeves jammed up past my elbows and two aces in the band of my hat in the front seat (two down, two to go, four aces means state championship), constantly glancing down at that blue sparkly thing on my hand that means I’m going to be a senior shortly, and Black Dog cranked to the stars, Hey hey mama say the way you move, gonna make you sweat gonna make you groove, and I’m just utterly rockin’ out and it’s great to be alive, and what’s with that horn honking, and–

–and whoops, that’s not a Monte Carlo burning down I-65, that’s a Rabbit stopped at a green light at the corner of Stevens Creek and DeAnza, and the people behind me are pissed.

Whoops.

Hanging Out Monday’s Wash

* Family’s always trying, isn’t it?

* The more I see and hear of him, the more I am convinced that Joe Biden is going to be the Charles Barkley to Obama’s MJ: don’t dare get between him and a microphone, and you’re going to be cringing waiting for him to drop a clanger, but the potential entertainment value is through the roof. It ought to be an interesting week.

* I still despise him and think he’s a jackass, but Kobe Bryant gets a pass this week. What he did overnight Saturday was incredible to watch – as was Dwayne Wade’s effort. Seriously, when you can bring Dwayne Wade off the bench, you should be unloading whoop ass by the case. But anybody who thought a bunch of NBA stars couldn’t come together, play as a team, subvert 12 egos for one goal – well, these guys looked like a million damn dollars and a bunch of them are talking about wanting to come back in 2012. Lock and load and find some cover.

* There was zippy fog in the city yesterday. My plan had been to use the effects of the fog to offset the effects of the company, and yet? No fog. I am bitter and I want a refund. That lunkhead Austrian robot from the future has a LOT to answer for this year.

* “John McCain was a POW!” is the new “Did you know Jerome Bettis is from Detroit?”

* Whatever you may have thought of Margaret Thatcher in the past, this may be the saddest thing I’ve ever read:

Thatcher’s condition has deteriorated so much that she forgets that her husband, Denis Thatcher, died in 2003, her daughter said in a memoir that is to be published next month and was serialized over the weekend in the Mail on Sunday newspaper.

“I had to keep giving her the bad news over and over again,” Carol Thatcher wrote. “Every time it finally sank in that she had lost her husband of more than 50 years, she’d look at me sadly and say ‘Oh’ as I struggled to compose myself. ‘Were we all there?’ she’d ask softly.”

* I didn’t post that much about the Olympics this year. Every time they come round, I tend to think about where I was four years ago and what was happening with my life. And while I’m remembering 2004 (housesitting, early days at the last job, still disoriented from the move), I’m thinking just as much of 1988, when the Olympics didn’t start until school was back in and I was starting my junior year…and having the kind of start to the year that normally gets listed in history books as “The Gathering Storm” or something like that.

* Leona Lewis is all right but no Robert Plant. But Jimmy Page is still the Death Star. Every hair-metal swill ever made collapses prostrate in fear before the opening chords of “Whole Lotta Love.”

* Coffee makes everything better. However, the girl behind the counter looks at you funny if you reply to “Room for cream?” with “No, but room for whiskey would be great.”

* My Buddy Vince Says [redacted for NDA]

Finis.