'Tis the season to be colicky
The Democratic debates are on in the living room, and every time I walk by I hear them getting binged for going over their time limit. Funny thing, last night I watched the West Wing in which Bartlett goes up against Ritchie in the final, deciding debate before the election, and I remember nary a chime. It's almost like that show isn't entirely realistic or something — but who cares, that Bartlett sure is good off the cuff.
I wonder if we'll see the new Howard Dean tonight, who the Times said wanted to act more like "the mature, experienced governer of Vermont." Earlier today I was sitting at a computer working on a Viewpoint for tomorrow (ahem, check in every Wednesday through Friday for Viewpoints that I either wrote or contributed to; page 4) about ol' Dean and his concession speech/rock concert when I heard a commotion in the room down the hall. From the room came some kind of banging, furniture moving, some voices — bad karma in general — and I turned and saw the door open as a chair fell into the doorway. I thought someone had inadvertently ran into it until one of the editors came storming out, scowl of rage on his face, hissing, "I gotta get outta here." Out the door he went, up the stairs, huff and puff the whole way. I looked back at the room and saw our lanky, bearded reporter come stomping out of the room, knees and elbows flying. "Ben!" he said, coming around the corner. Realizing Ben wasn't there, he spun around, and before he could ask I motioned toward the door with my thumb. He knocked it open, and, with it still ajar, stood at the bottom of the basement steps and shouted like a Gladiator: "BEEEEEENN!!!!" I thought there was going to be throw-down.
Everybody in the newsroom made the "What the hell?" face, and another reporter ran outside. Turns out they ended up talking about it, whatever it was. In movies about newspapers, there's always one old codger of an editor who yells and screams. He usually gets in a giant argument with a reporter at least once during the film, and he bangs on stuff and flings papers off his desk, and it's all very entertaining, maybe even endearing in a bitter, old grandpa sort of way. Today's tantrum was definitely not endearing, just petulant. Man, fucking movies, don't they care about getting it right?
Anyways, thinking back to the whole Iowa scene, I remembered what always makes me feel uncomfortable when a politician's speaking: talking points. I really don't like it when I can tell that a politician is saying whatever it is he thinks people want to hear — and I mean this at the most detailed level, when they're phrasing it like they think people want to hear. Every time Ketchup Kerry said "special interests" in his victory speech, I frowned. He kept saying it over and over, because someone had obviously told him to say it over and over (and then the other candidates will pick it up — I just heard Lieberman throw it out in the debate). This has been Wesley Clark's biggest fault so far. When he gets on the stump or when he makes big public appearances, he can often slip into calculated, please-the-democratic-masses rhetoric, using terms and ideas which he usually picked up from the candidate who popularized it, i.e., Dean and the war rhetoric. It's obvious, and it's not good. Other occasions, when he says things more off the cuff, in town hall meetings or interviews (like the one with Josh Marshall), he's really, really damn good. But when he's out in front of people, you can tell his words are going through a filter in his brain, attempting to please the ears of the audience. All the candidates do this, really, but I expected Clark to do it a lot less. Sometimes, though, you can just tell he's trying to work toward a pre-planned answer, and it just doesn't seem genuine. You can tell it's coming when he wears that too-big grin. He becomes, in a sense, Jed Bartlett's alter-ego: "Uncle Fluffy," the smiley Democrat who vehemently opposed the war.
Feel free to disagree, but that's the impression I get sometimes, and I think it makes him come across as uptight to some people. I still think he's the man for the job, and I think he'll make a strong showing in New Hampshire. But I'm always wondering which Wesley I'm going to get.
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Taken on the way home tonight. I like the way the light looks kind of like the sun. Hope it's not too dark on your screens.
The Democratic debates are on in the living room, and every time I walk by I hear them getting binged for going over their time limit. Funny thing, last night I watched the West Wing in which Bartlett goes up against Ritchie in the final, deciding debate before the election, and I remember nary a chime. It's almost like that show isn't entirely realistic or something — but who cares, that Bartlett sure is good off the cuff.
I wonder if we'll see the new Howard Dean tonight, who the Times said wanted to act more like "the mature, experienced governer of Vermont." Earlier today I was sitting at a computer working on a Viewpoint for tomorrow (ahem, check in every Wednesday through Friday for Viewpoints that I either wrote or contributed to; page 4) about ol' Dean and his concession speech/rock concert when I heard a commotion in the room down the hall. From the room came some kind of banging, furniture moving, some voices — bad karma in general — and I turned and saw the door open as a chair fell into the doorway. I thought someone had inadvertently ran into it until one of the editors came storming out, scowl of rage on his face, hissing, "I gotta get outta here." Out the door he went, up the stairs, huff and puff the whole way. I looked back at the room and saw our lanky, bearded reporter come stomping out of the room, knees and elbows flying. "Ben!" he said, coming around the corner. Realizing Ben wasn't there, he spun around, and before he could ask I motioned toward the door with my thumb. He knocked it open, and, with it still ajar, stood at the bottom of the basement steps and shouted like a Gladiator: "BEEEEEENN!!!!" I thought there was going to be throw-down.
Everybody in the newsroom made the "What the hell?" face, and another reporter ran outside. Turns out they ended up talking about it, whatever it was. In movies about newspapers, there's always one old codger of an editor who yells and screams. He usually gets in a giant argument with a reporter at least once during the film, and he bangs on stuff and flings papers off his desk, and it's all very entertaining, maybe even endearing in a bitter, old grandpa sort of way. Today's tantrum was definitely not endearing, just petulant. Man, fucking movies, don't they care about getting it right?
Anyways, thinking back to the whole Iowa scene, I remembered what always makes me feel uncomfortable when a politician's speaking: talking points. I really don't like it when I can tell that a politician is saying whatever it is he thinks people want to hear — and I mean this at the most detailed level, when they're phrasing it like they think people want to hear. Every time Ketchup Kerry said "special interests" in his victory speech, I frowned. He kept saying it over and over, because someone had obviously told him to say it over and over (and then the other candidates will pick it up — I just heard Lieberman throw it out in the debate). This has been Wesley Clark's biggest fault so far. When he gets on the stump or when he makes big public appearances, he can often slip into calculated, please-the-democratic-masses rhetoric, using terms and ideas which he usually picked up from the candidate who popularized it, i.e., Dean and the war rhetoric. It's obvious, and it's not good. Other occasions, when he says things more off the cuff, in town hall meetings or interviews (like the one with Josh Marshall), he's really, really damn good. But when he's out in front of people, you can tell his words are going through a filter in his brain, attempting to please the ears of the audience. All the candidates do this, really, but I expected Clark to do it a lot less. Sometimes, though, you can just tell he's trying to work toward a pre-planned answer, and it just doesn't seem genuine. You can tell it's coming when he wears that too-big grin. He becomes, in a sense, Jed Bartlett's alter-ego: "Uncle Fluffy," the smiley Democrat who vehemently opposed the war.
Feel free to disagree, but that's the impression I get sometimes, and I think it makes him come across as uptight to some people. I still think he's the man for the job, and I think he'll make a strong showing in New Hampshire. But I'm always wondering which Wesley I'm going to get.
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Taken on the way home tonight. I like the way the light looks kind of like the sun. Hope it's not too dark on your screens.
posted by Matt at 6:26 PM
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