
Even when you know the story by heart, where the villains are classic WWF-styled heels and the good guys are us, thank Christ, and not them, a political convention is compelling stuff. Talking heads babble and party flacks coo about how only their gang really ‘gets’ the American people. It is a riveting event, like a train wreck in slow motion, or a fat guy falling over the third base railing trying to snag a foul ball and keep his beer from spilling.… [Read more]
















