Chew On The Dotted Line

I remember my wedding day 26 years ago.
I remember looking at the hundred and fifty or so people who sat in the church waiting for the ceremony to begin.
I remember the excitement.
I remember the sense of anticipation as I waited at the altar for her to come down the church aisle... I was going to spend the rest of my life with this beautiful woman.

For some reason I don't think the dems are feeling the same way about their new blushing bride as they wait at the DNC altar.

[...]The air of unease at the Democratic Convention this week was not just a result of the Clinton psychodrama. The deeper anxiety was that the party was nominating a man of many gifts but precious few accomplishments — bearing even fewer witnesses.

This isn't a matter where the closer he gets the better he looks. I have a funny feeling that behind the scenes many delegates are praying that someone gives an announcement to "speak now or forever hold your peace."

[...]Eerily missing at the Democratic Convention this year were people of stature who were seriously involved at some point in Obama's life standing up to say: I know Barack Obama. I've been with Barack Obama. We've toiled/endured together. You can trust him. I do.

Hillary Clinton could have said something like that. She and Obama had, after all, engaged in a historic, utterly compelling contest for the nomination. During her convention speech, you kept waiting for her to offer just one line of testimony: I have come to know this man, to admire this man, to see his character, his courage, his wisdom, his judgment. Whatever.

Anything.

Instead, nothing.

Poor Hillary. Always a bridesmaid, never a bride.

And so it will go. For the man has done nothing that would qualify him to occupy the highest elected office in the land. His two autobiographies (two?!) are about him his writing his autobiographies as he seeks a sense of himself. There is no one that he dare allow speak for him who really knows him.

[...]Who was there to speak about the real Barack Obama? His wife. She could tell you about Barack the father, the husband, the family man in a winning and perfectly sincere way. But that only takes you so far. It doesn't take you to the public man, the national leader.

Who is to testify to that? Hillary's husband on night three did aver that Obama is "ready to lead." However, he offered not a shred of evidence, let alone personal experience with Obama. And although he pulled it off charmingly, everyone knew that, having been suggesting precisely the opposite for months, he meant not a word of it.

Everyone knows the bride, and no dares to vouch for him.

So where are the colleagues? The buddies? The political or spiritual soul mates? His most important spiritual adviser and mentor was Jeremiah Wright. But he's out. Then there's William Ayers, with whom he served on a board. He's out. Where are the others?

Wright? Ayers? That's like having two pimps showing up at the wedding to walk the bride to the altar.

The oddity of this convention is that its central figure is the ultimate self-made man, a dazzling mysterious Gatsby. The palpable apprehension is that the anointed is a stranger — a deeply engaging, elegant, brilliant stranger with whom the Democrats had a torrid affair.

There's an old joke that describes a man waking up one morning and finding himself next to a woman so ugly that he gnaws his arm off rather than risk the chance of waking her up to remove his arm from beneath her head.

Having slowly woken up, they see the ring and wonder who exactly they married last night.

This is going to be even more fun when the dems wake up the morning after election day.