Lies, lies, black lies

Just when you think you've outwitted the market, the Ol' Feller hauls off and whacks you in the head.
For years in this country at the federal level here was almost an obession with the idea of maximizing homeownership. Laws were written to make it easier for people to get housing loans, even if they were not good credit risks. Market place self-regulation which had worked fine for years was suddenly found to be too old-fashioned and counterprodcutive to the bi-partisan dream of everyone owning their own tricked out crib.
Republicans and Democrats alike went along with this delusional policy.
Now the piper is here.
We are being told that the cure for bad regulation and poor economic decision making is a historically massive infusion of regulation and decision making by the same cut of morons who helped get us into this situation.
Lies, lies, black lies

Barr debates

Bob Barr joins the presidential debate, courtesy of Reason Magazine.

Your Sunday free tune

King Bob and a nifty video to boot. I heard this in a bar in Valdosta once and when the stupid singer referred to it as a Jimi Hendrix song I thought my pal Robert Bohler was going to start throwing chairs. (But the kid sang it pretty well, saving all our butts from further complications.)

And how about bonus version by Neal Young.

My Sunday column

Cool Hand Paul

Paul Newman was my favorite living actor.
Until Saturday.
Now he’s gone and there’s nobody on the scene even close.
Newman died of cancer at 83.
I could throw a lot of adjectives and dependent clauses at you, trying way to hard to impress with the depth of my feelings and the expanse of my vocabulary, instead I’ll try to keep it a little leaner and to the point — like Newman did in “Hud.”
Remember that one?
Hud Bannon is the no-good son of a ramrod-straight Texas rancher, carved from granite by a fine old actor named Melvyn Douglas. Patricia Neal is there, outstanding as always, as wise and alluring Alma Brown.
Newman’s Hud is a real son of a gun — being charitable in my choice of nouns. The greatness in the part is Newman’s refusal to beg the audience to like his charming but viperous creation. There’s a tale they tell in Texas of a woman who cared for an injured rattlesnake only to have it bite her, fatally, as soon as it regained its strength. “Don’t cry silly woman, said the snake with a grin, you knew I was a snake when you took me in.”
Newman’s Hud was that snake.
Need a laugh? How about a hundred of ‘em?
Pick up “Slapshot.”
Newman morphs into Reg Dunlop — an aging, mediocre hockey player who connives, plots and cahoots the way most of us breath air. Faced with the unwelcome end of his career,
Reg cooks up a devious ploy designed to buy him a little more time in the only profession he knows. He succeeds ... almost ... before being tangled in the web of his own machinations.
Against all odds, you’ll pull for Newman’s Reg.
I could go on and on about a lot of really good Paul Newman movies. It’s amazing how many fine films he appeared in.
“Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.”
“The Verdict.”
“The Hustler” and its decades late-in-coming sequel, “The Color of Money.”
“Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid,” where Newman’s Butch is goaded by Robert Redford’s Sundance to jump off a cliff into a raging river.
Butch: Then you jump first.
Sundance: No, I said.
Butch: What’s the matter with you?
Sundance: I can’t swim.
Butch: Are you crazy? The fall will probably kill you.
There are a lot of other good Newman films.
Then there’s the one.
Or, properly stated, The One.
“Cool Hand Luke” came out in 1967.
I saw it for the first time on the Academy Award Theater on Ted Turner’s Channel 17 in the 1970s. I saw it a lot and not just because the Turner folks seemed to show it twice a month and not just because of that car washing scene. You older boys know the one I’m talking about.
“Cool Hand Luke” was great in a lot of ways. The cast was a treasure trove of fine character actors. Who can forget Strother Martin’s pained “failure to communicate”? The words seemed true and the rural Deep South setting felt right, not always the case when Hollywood’s creative types dip below the Mason-Dixon.
But most of all there was Newman’s Luke, a decent country boy who just couldn’t stay out of trouble and once caught in the gears of what masqueraded as “justice,” doomed to be chewed up and tossed away like a tattered corn husk.
One great scene follows another. “A failure to communicate.” The egg-eating contest. Luke’s first escape. The fight with George Kennedy’s brutish Dragline.
Great stuff.
Paul Newman wasn’t just an actor and he definitely wasn’t poor old Luke, trapped in the jaws of the great machine. Newman lived a fine and textured life.
His artistry made mine richer, too.
God bless.



Jimmy Espy is executive editor of The Daily Citizen

Eats

The wife and I tried out the new Planet of the Grapes restaurant tonight.
If you haven't already seen it, the restaurant is behind the Planet of the Grapes shop on King Street and is owned by the same folks.
I had the lamb and Alison went for the Chilean sea bass.
Both of us were very happy with the meals, which included a good assortment of side dishes (try the asparagus.) The food came out in a reasonable amount of time and was ready to go when it hit the table.
The restaurant itself is a charming place, not overly elaborate, but very well set up.
Dare I use the word classy?
There's also a nice courtyard with several tables and folks eating there seemed to enjoy the mild evening and their food.
As you might expect the Planet of the Grapes connection means a superior wine and beer list to choose from.
I picked the Val Dieu (a tasty Belgian beer) and the wife slurped down a couple of glasses of "Petit Bourgeois," which means nothing to me because I don't drink wine. She gave it a solid thumbs up.
It was a nice evening. No irritating distractions like TV, "mood music" or children makes a difference.
That word classy comes to mind again.
With a decent tip our bill hit three figures, though a wide-ranging menu would have allowed us to eat well for less.
It looks like Dalton may have added another "in place" for folks looking for a charming night out.
Definitely recommended.

Flicks

I saw the original "Lost Boys" when it came out in 1987. It was a perfect summer offering for a vampire-movie loving knucklehead -- a successful mix of humor and spookery, a difficult feat to pull off.
Twenty-plus years later I expected to hate the straight-to-video sequel, "Lost Boys: The Tribe" and sure enough it wasn't nearly as good as the first film.
The first movie had a much better cast (Kiefer Sutherland, Diane Weist, Edward Hermann, Jason Patric and, of couse, the two Coreys -- Haim and Feldman). The current crew is a lot less memorable, though Feldman's reprise of his Edgar Frog character is a welcome addition.
"Tribe" is much bloodier and the special effects are mostly better, but neither the story nor the performances stand out much at all. The vampires offer no back story and are little more than cardboard cutout bloodsuckers.
I like to think if I was given the gift/curse of immortality and much heightened powers, I could find something better to do than surf, drink domestic beer and hang out in an abandoned cave.
"Lost Tribe" is actually better, or at least more professionally made, than most low budget genre flicks out there today, though that's not saying much. Sadly, the magic of 1987 is nowhere to be found.

The jihad

Freedom of expression?

The Big Enchilada

Billy the C on his friend, John McCain. Hmmmmmmmmm...

The economy

Victor Davis Hanson on the big mess.

The horror ... the horror

Young Marty Kirkland of Hahira says this guy may be the worst standup in the world. Pick your own worst moment.

Down Atlanta Way

It appears the city of Atlanta may finally be realizing what a treasure they have in the Cyclorama. We'll see. That thing would look awful nice up there on Dug Gap Mountain next to the trade center.

Sign of the times

It must be Fall, the Mets are choking.

The economy

Newsweek's Robert Samuelson analyzes Paulson's Panic.

My Sunday column

“The Tertiary Glyph of the Ascension.”
I have no idea what that means.
“The” and “of” I know.
“Tertiary” and “Ascension” I can use in a pinch.
“Glyph?”
Beats me.
Combined into “The Tertiary Glyph of the Ascension,” as in the title of an eye-catching mixed media piece by William T. Payne, and I am puzzled.
Puzzled and pleased.
Payne’s vision surges off the wall of the Creative Arts Guild, as do other fine pieces being showcased as part of the CAG’s two-day Festival 2008.
Intrigued? Drive over and check it out for yourself. The festival continues today. Take the kids — there’s plenty for them to see and do — but carve out a few minutes of quiet “study time” in the main gallery upstairs.
If any of you are feeling particularly generous, peel off a few bills and purchase Martha Williams’s gorgeous “Spring Rains.” Step under the cooling waterfall and drink in those rich greens and reds. Then package it and give it to me for an early Christmas gift. It’s my favorite this year.
My wife and I are regulars at the festival. We came for the first time in 2002 and have come back every year since. For the past three years we’ve been accompanied by our daughter, who gets her face painted, eats delicious sweets and authors her own kiddie art, under the watchful eye of her helpful mom. This year they worked in plastics — cheap beads and empty bottles.
As for me, I mostly eat too much. And talk. And look at the pretty pictures.
Among the prettiest this year is “Above the Cove” by Whitfield Countian Brooks Lansing. The former DSC professor and county commissioner is like the St. Louis Cardinals’ Albert Pujols. Put Pujols in the lineup and he’s going to deliver plenty of hits and lots of runs. Put Lansing in the lineup and you’ll get a striking landscape. “Above the Cove” is another of those pieces, this one bathed in the alluring greens of the Appalachian countryside.
I swear I’ve walked down the “Appalachian Trail” conjured by Evelyn Marie Williams and hope never to venture onto the spooky “Cumberland Island” imagined by Alan Mogenson. You can’t tell me there aren’t some scary critters in those woods.
And while trippin’, make sure you get a look at David Aft’s eye-catching dip into the realm of other-worldly sci-fi cheese, “Lance of Terra #49.”
Down the hall from the big folks’ art are two rooms full of work done by local school students.
Capturing the Espy Blue Ribbon is “Castle of the Pink Pigs” by Mrs. Bearden’s class at Westside. This brilliantly engineered castle was made from discarded cans and toilet paper and paper towel cones. “Minter’s Tornado” by Mrs. Minter’s class finishes a strong second.
I hope these kids enjoyed the act of creation as much as I enjoy the act of admiration. And one day I hope their work moves down the hall into the main gallery, where it can please generations to come.
I don’t really have a working definition of what good art is. But I know what makes me smile and laugh and think and wonder must be a good thing.
A very good thing indeed.



Jimmy Espy is executive editor of The Daily Citizen.

A look at the the Vincent

Here's what they're singing about. It stirs the soul of a Luddite.

Your Sunday free tune (s)

Play me a better song about motorcycles than the great Richard Thompson's 1952 Vincent Black Lightning.

Now, here's the wonderful folksy version by the Del McCoury Band

The impossible dream ...

Friday night's whuppin' of Arizona State was a solid win for Georgia in a lot of ways. Roughing up a good opponent on the road -- 3,000 miles of road -- on national television has to help the Dawgs with poll voters. More importantly, the way Georgia won was impressive. A balanced offense produced several big plays and kept ASU disoriented most of the night. Stack the run, Stafford and AJ Green killed them. Loosen up the linebackers in coverage and Moreno made them pay.
Stafford was sharp, working numerous receivers into the mix but never forgetting about this best down-the-field weapon, Green, who has the stuff to be the finest Georgia wideout since Hines Ward. (But can he also play quarterback?)
Unlike last week, the defense got pressure from a lot of different angles and from a lot of players. The blitzes took their toll, particularly in the second half.
The announcers jabbered about the Arizona heat getting to Georgia but didn't mention it in regard to Arizona wilting in the second half. You tell me who looked tired at the end of that game. Somebody might want to tell Musberger it gets pretty dang hot in Athens.
The O-line got better as the night went on-- always a good sign -- and the kicking game looked solid.
Nice win. Good team.
But, NOW is when things get tough!
Here comes Alabama.

Local stuff

There's been a lot of commentary in the forum section of The Daily Citizen about the recent auto accident involving the Tunnel Hill policeman on I-75. The consensus among our callers has been that the officer should have been in the city proper and not out on the Interstate playing county mounty. (That doesn't mean that's what most people think, it's just what most callers said.)
I have mixed feelings about this.
I suspect the sudden interest some of our small municipalities are showing in I-75 has a lot less to do with public sfety than with scoring some big drug busts and getting to reap the financial rewards that can follow. Is fighting interstate drug trafficking the best use of limited manpower in towns like Varnell, Tunnel Hill and Resaca? No. The impact a handful of busts makes it insignificant and does little or nothing to better protect those specific towns.
However,the side benefit of having those officers on the road is it should make the Interstate a little safer. My wife drives to Chattanooga five days a week to work. A lot of folks here do, or they drive to Ringggold, Fort O., etc. For much of the day I-75 is packed with traffic and as always an unhealthy percentage of the people driving are unsafe behindthe wheel.
I cringe every time my wife leaves for work.
If additional patrol cars -- whatever the name on the doors -- slows some of these idiots down, there is a real benefit to everyone who uses this major artery.
However, if the officers are so intent on scoring a Miami Vice-like drug bust that they ignore traffic concerns, they would be better off going back to town and parking outside the Tastee Freeze.

The Flicks

"Shotgun Stories" is the best movie I've seen in some time.
It's the story of three brother (Son, Kid and Boy Hayes) who wore born to a no good, drunken father who abandons them and their lousy mother. The old man cleans up his life, quits drinking and finds religion, but ignores his old family, choosing a new life with a woman with whom he has four more boys, who are treated much better.
Understandably the elder three sons resent their father and his successful, happy second family. When the old man dies, at the start of the movie, the two sets of Hayes brothers move steadily and inevitably toward a brutal confronation.
"Shotgun Stories" is an unsentimental film and avoids Hollywood cliche at every turn. If you grew up in small town like me, you knew boys like the Hayes kids. The story takes its time and the charcters are developed nicely. You pull for the older Hayes brothers -- pitying them for the lousy deal life dealt them -- but at the same time recognizing in them the stubborness and willingness to do violence which can only lead to more heartbreak and trouble.
It's a tough story. It will make you uncomfortable -- like really good movies should some time.
It gets my highest recommendation.

My Sunday column

The earliest memories I have about attending high school football games involve rolling down a hill.
As a young kid I went to games at Chattooga High. To the right of the home side stands, next to where the band sat, was a steep hill. My friends and I spent most of the game there, rolling down the hill, wrestling and occasionally playing tackle football with a battered milk jug, a wadded-up shirt or someone’s old shoe. No kidding, once when we couldn’t scrounge up a ball, some kid volunteered one of his shoes. (At halftime the cheerleaders threw some of those little plastic footballs into the crowd. We scrambled after one, nabbed it and the generous kid got his shoe back.)
Ever so often, we might actually watch some of the game.
Chattooga had some very good football teams in those days and the better players often took on a mythic stature. Every one of us totin’ that old shoe wanted to be the next James Burse or Jimmy Lenderman. We all wanted to be as big and strong as Glenn White or Billy Martin.
Almost 40 years later, I still love a Friday night at the football field — any football field.
And I have seen a few.
Working as a sports writer here in the 1980s, followed by newspaper stints in Georgia (at football strongholds like Valdosta, Griffin and Warner Robins), Alabama, Mississippi and Florida, I have seen some truly great players: Cartersville’s Keith Henderson, Phillip Buchanan, who now plays for the Tampa Bay Bucs and Ronald McKinnon of Elba, Ala, who played more than a decade in the NFL. Best of all was a running back from Mariner High in Cape Coral, Fla., Earnest Graham. You want to see Earnest in action, watch him today against the Falcons.
Ironically, as much fun as seeing a player like that in action is, they seldom make the best stories. I’ve always gravitated toward the linemen. Maybe it’s because in my own limited playing experience, I was usually an offensive and defensive tackle. (My one short stay at tight end ended ignominiously when a should-have-been scoring pass hit me in the chest and bounced to the ground.)
I sympathize with every linemen who has ever suited up who had to bite his lip when hearing a football fan or announcer refer to “skilled players.” Because when they mention “skilled players,” they are separating out those of us who lined up six inches away from a snortin’, stinkin’, teed off 235-pounder who wanted to jam our heads back down our spinal column.
God bless you linemen. If it wasn’t for you the game would be ballet with jock straps.
I am incited to this righteous rage for a couple of reasons. First, it’s football season and I tend to get a little goofy this time of year. Second, during the Northwest game on Friday I saw a scene on the sidelines which summed up a lineman’s existence.
A Bruin tackle, looking like he’d just crawled out of the trenches at the siege of Verdun, was sitting on the bench adjusting a pad or brace. A nearby “skilled player” — no doubt frustrated by his team’s second half offensive struggles — slammed some piece equipment to the ground. It bounced up and hit the lineman in the leg.
For a second I thought I was about to see the death of a “skilled player,” but the lineman held back. He looked at me and we both smiled the smile of the knowing.
Then the lineman got back up, shambled onto the field and few plays later helped bust open a hole for a “skilled player” to run through and win the game.
Little things like that I eat up like watermelon on a hot day.
As I was leaving the game, I tossed possible leads around in my head as traffic inched up the hill to Reed Road.
Off to the side, near the top of the hill, I notice a huge mound of dirt. On top two young boys were laughing riotously. They were sliding down the hill, rolling and tumbling and probably ruining their clothes.
For a second the urge to pull over, park the Explorer, and join them was tantalizing.
But I couldn’t. Deadline was screaming at me.
I had to get back to my game and open a few holes.

Jimmy Espy is executive editor of The Daily Citizen. He dedicates this column to linemen everywhere and to the hump-busting sportswriters who get it right (mostly) every Friday night.

Local stuff

Brian Anderson and I have not always got along. I voted for him when he ran for commission chairman, in part because I thought he was a better candidate and in part because I resented that some people who opposed him did so loudly on the grounds that he wasn't born here.
At the time I wrote that I would prefer a good candidate from elsewhere to a local idiot.
That was not a shot at his opponent, who was homegrown, but not an idiot. It was a simple statement that where you are born does not necessarily make you a better elected official. That whole mindset is an insult to those of us who chose to live and work here, as opposed to some who just never made their way far from mama's table.
(I would also make the point that being from outside Dalton doesn't make you smarter than the local folk.)
Brian came on to a county commission that had been pretty much run by former chairman Mike Babb and then county administrator Bradley Arnold, both smart fellows and capable enough. The Babb commission was mostly harmonious and what the chairman wanted usually got pushed through the commission without much friction.
Brian had to think he was inheriting a similar sweet situation. He didn't. A new three-man majority coalesced and suddenly the chairman was holding on to the bull's tail.
It wasn't an easy situation for Brian but I was disappointed with what I considered a lack of determination on his part, a lack of grit. I wanted to see a little fire in the belly from the chairman and instead saw what I perceived to be as quiet surrender to the majority.
I hate quiet surrender.
Brian seemed to revive some last year when a more agreeable commission lineup was elected.
Brian thinks the media has been a big part of the problem in Whitfield County. And by media, I mean the newspaper. And by the newspaper, I mean me.
Let me assure you (and him), if I am one of his biggest problems, he's in good shape.
Anyhow, Brian got the chamber of commerce top job this week after a "nation wide" search that I suspect never seriously ventured far down I-75 in either direction. I question the wisdom of hiring someone with no chamber experience, with no track record in successful economic development. We could have had that.
But I'll be pulling for Brian in his new job.
It's not an easy job. Half the people in this town own a business and most of them think they know all there is to know about just about everything. Brian has to deal with them all.
Better him than me.
In the process he needs to make his own voice heard, not just be a conduit for a handful of people who want to call the shots behind the scenes. If the chamber is going to have a leadership role in the whole community, it needs to take the views of the whole community to heart, not just the views held in the offices of a dozen or so local businesses.
Brian could be a major player here. He could flop.
I hope he succeeds ... for all of us.

Your Sunday free tune

Manna for the southern soul. Skynyrd in the glory days.

NFL

Count me among the amazed who saw the Falcons incredible first half performance against the Lions on Sunday The win, and the way it happened, has to have Bird fans thrilled and fired up.
But I suspect they'll get a major dose of reality this weekend.
The Bucs aren't the Lions.
Detroit is trying on that zone defense scheme for the first time and they don't really have the pass rushers or corners, to make it work.
Tampa Bay, on the other hand, pretty much invented the system and has been taking players with that system in mind for years. (A dollar says Derrick Brooks gets at least one interception.) It's going to be a lot tougher for rookie cornerback Matt Ryan this week and he wasn't that good in the second half last week.
The Bucs have their own problems, particularly at quarterback where Jeff Garcia will sit this one out and watch Brian Griese. Seems like 10 years ago Griese was a good looking prospect in Denver. But he hasn't panned out as more than a backup.
Tampa will pound it with Earnest Graham and former Falcon Warrick Dunn should get some totes too.
It's a winnable game for the Falcons, but I wouldn't bet that way.

The Blue and the Gray

The Chickamuga reenactment is coming up very soon. It's supposed to be a major production and it probably really hurt our own Tunnel Hill show this year.

Ol' Dawgs

Georgia great David Pollack gets a new job in radio.
I would love to have seen this guy take his game to the pros. He could have been a top notch pass rusher, though I didn't like it when the Benagls started making a linebacker out of him. Who would have though that David Green, Pollack, Fred Gibson and Odell Thurman would all be out of football already?

Newspaperin'

An overly grim prognosis but one which makes some strong points.

Palin

Some non-facts of interest.

The Tube

Commie crackdown on Cartman and Co. Maybe they just figured out Kyle was a Jew?

NFL (sort of)

I'm hurting and this is why.

Ooops

Nice job Obama.

The election

My friend Brian Lawson authored this story about McCain and the Hanoi Hilton.

Your Sunday tune

One of the great songs of the Southern Rock era. Let's here it for the Marshall Tucker Band.

AJC available here

If everything goes according to plan, Dalton area residents should be able to get the AJC Sunday edition from local racks again beginning Sunday, Sept. 21. We made a deal with Cox to deliver about 800 papers to approximately 40 racks. There should be a brief story in the paper on Sunday saying so. We will also print a list of rack sites where the paper will be available.

Fangs, fangs and more fangs

Trueblood looks like it might be fun. Check out this site.

Dean Poling

The learned columnist from Valdosta figures out what body of land lies between Florida and the Carolinas. And he does it in this piece.

Yuks

A friend sent this link but don't watch it of you're a pony-tailed circus clown who drives a Hummer.

My bookshelf

"Lost Triumph" by Tom Carhart

Anyone who has read much about the battle of Gettyburg has wondered why Gen. Lee, the most able tactician in either army, saw fit to launch 15,000 or so veteran troops across a mile of open field straight into the teeth of the Union defenses on Cemetery Ridge?
Did Lee think he could entice Meade to weaken the center of this line by feinting attacks elsewhere?
Did Lee think the massive artillery bombardment of the Union lines would do enough damage to allow the Pickett-Pettigrew assault to pierce the Union "fish hook?"
Did the great general just have a really, really bad day?
Tom Carhart, in his interesting book "Lost Triumph," argues that Lee's plan unraveled disastrously for the army of Northern Virginia because a crucial portion of the operation was foiled at the last minute.
Carhart argue that Lee's intention on that July 3 day was for the infantry assault to hit the Union lines in close coordination with a massive cavalry assault on the rear of the Union position.
Carhart lays out a fascinating "what if" scenario based on the movements of Gen. JEB Stuart's cavalry command which occured at the same time as Pickett's assault was forming.
According to Carhart, Lee wanted to draw off Union manpower with an early morning feint against Culp's Hill, then blast the center of the Union line with Porter Alexander's massed artillery. The infantry would strike out across the open fields, but not before Stuart's 6,000 man or so command swung around the Union right and smashed into the center defenses from the rear. Fighting off a powerful cavalry attack would disorganize Union defenses just as the Rebel infantry drove into the center and splintered the Union Army into two halves.
If successful Lee could have assaulted the separated portions of the Army of the Potomac in detail and earned a victory so monumental that it would have forced an end to the war.
What happened, however, was that Stewart's cavaliers were fought to a standstill by horsemen under George Custer. The delicate timing of Lee's plan was wrecked and the Confederate infantry marched into a strong Union position where the waiting troops had their undivided attention. The result was the disaster for the attackers.
Carhart expains why there is little direct evidence to prove his theory and offers an impressive body of circumstantial evidence and reasonable conjecture to make his case.
It's a well-written book and likely to spark the interest of even the most jaded of Gettysburg students.

We need more juice

Bad news on energy.

Tunnel Hill

Maybe this year the Confederates will finally win. The troops are back at Tunnel Hill. We go to this show every year and always enjoy it.

Jerry Reed II

More on Bama McCall from my old protege Mark Williams. Good stuff.

Genius

The Red State Report boys weigh in on Palin's speech.

Jerry Reed RIP

Whether he was singing, making a movie or appearing on some lame TV show, Jerry Reed always looked like he was having a great time. Proud fans of redneck cinema inevitably laud Reed's multiple portrayals of The Snowman in the "Smokey" movies. But for my money Reed's acting career hit its apex with Gator.
His Bama McCall is all monsterous roadhouse menace, a lethal backslapper with a heart as black as coal.
It's also a darn good little action movie.

Palin and Co.

Sarah Palin did fine on Wednesday night. Most of the post-speech commentators gave her high marks -- and I don't just mean the boys at FOX.
Then again, many of these same talking heads were flopping on the floor in ecstasy over Obama's so-so acceptance speech.
The problem for me from most of these speeches is their superficiality. Almost every line seems designed to earn one of those tiresome quick standing ovations from the audience or to hit a particular demographic.
"Hey, don't forget to stick something in there about Israel!" Or, "Be sure and mention guns!"
When the talking heads say someone made a good speech, largely what they are really saying is the speaker read a carefully plotted, heavily-vetted speech without too many stumbles.
What would be dynamite is if Palin had at some point looked the camera in the eye and said something along the lines of "I know most of you don't know me. I'm not perfect and I haven't made my last mistake. But if I didn't think I was up to this job, I wouldn't ask for it. Ask me anything you want to ask and I won't lie to you when I answer. If you don't think I've got what it takes to be vice president, vote for someone else. But in four years if you're lamenting the fact that Washington hasn't changed one iota for the better, don't say there was no one else running who would have done things differently. I would have."
Somthing like that.
Bill Clinton used to do this kind of thing brilliantly. There was that moment when his body language and tone would tell his audience that the next thing out of his mouth was THE thing to remember.
"I never had sex with that woman ..." was one of those moments. He was telling a lie of course, but that mean that he didn't connect with his audience in a galvanizing way."