On second thought, cancel that sober stuff. Nothing’s so serious that one should approach it sober. Remember: In Jameson Veritas.
And while I’m at it, when I was a regular writer on BlogCritics, the above was my closing signature. So imagine my surprise when, after I suffered a Brain Cloud and stopped writing, Jameson started advertising on BlogCritics. Did they send me a case of Jameson? A bottle? Even, better, a case of Middleton? No. Did I stop drinking Jameson? No. One-way loyalty sucks.
Palin is also a fascinating character as examined by Libby Copeland in a Washington Post article today.
But Copeland didn’t address one issue about the reality of the explosion of love, adoration, and fascination with the Moose-gutter from Alaska. It has nothing to do with her political expertise because it’s clear she’s so far in over her head, she’s wearing 15-inch heels to keep her nose above water.
Imagine. Here’s this relatively new governor with a bubba husband and four, five, or six children—who really counts in small towns? Suddenly, there’s a phone call, probably not at 4 a.m., from John McCain—the John McCain.
“Hey gov, you wanna be my running mate?” he asks.
“Huh?” she responds. “Who is this, really?”
“No, this is really John McCain. I need a running mate. I think you’re cute as a bunny.”
“Oh Johnny, you devil.”
“There’s only one small consideration,” he says. “You’ve got ten minutes to decide.”
What can she do? Even if she has sophisticated advisors with experience in national and international politics, which is highly unlikely in, sorry, Alaska, she doesn’t have time to ask them.
“Hey, my guy,” she calls out to Bubba.
“What?”
“John McCain is on the phone. He wants me to be his vice president. What do you think?”
Bubba looks at her, wondering how many beers she’s had.
“Come again?”
“No, it’s serious, but I gotta decide now.”
“Babe, does that mean we get to live in the White House?” he asks, thinking about how cool that would be.
“I don’t know,” she answers. “Come to think of it, I don’t even know what a vice president does. What do you think?”
“Hell, go for it.”
Seriously, it’s not her fault she was catapulted unprepared onto the national stage—it’s McCain’s.
Wonder of wonder, comes the Republican convention, and she blows ‘em all away.
To be fair, I know virtually nothing about Ms. Hilton. Is she a singer? An entertainer? An actress? Doesn’t seem to matter. She’s larger than life. Just as Sarah Palin has become larger than life.
This revelation explains why the hard-core, gum chewing (former cigarette smoking), cynical, exhausted political media has been twisted into New York pretzels trying to figure out how to approach this meteoric figure.
It also explains why the McCain handlers have been just as befuddled trying to find appropriate venues other than rallies for their VP candidate. They know that the national political media are a wee more aggressive than those in Alaska. And they know that a celebrity isn’t usually expected to be able to say anything sentient about issues such as the economy, foreign policy, health care, etc., etc., etc.
The big debate is tomorrow night. I don’t know how it’s going to play out, but I can’t help but feel that the poor governor turned celebrity is going to get her brains tangled in so many knots, she’s going to have to ask Senator McCain to get in touch with Alexander the Great to cut through them.
Sarah Palin is a surprisingly appealing and successful celebrity. Good for her. But it’s cruel and unusual punishment to ask her to take on the role of national politician. Shame on you, John McCain. What you’ve done to Sarah Palin is inexcusable. Unless, of course, you win the election. Then…uh oh.
Technorati Tags: Sarah Palin, John McCain, vice president, Paris Hilton, celebrities
