We closed last week looking forward to the week ahead.
Unlike most of you, my untempered anticipation resulted not from looking forward to an upcoming weekend of debauchery marking the traditional end of summer.
It certainly wasn’t marked by the fact that over that weekend I would be a virtual prisoner in my own home, unwilling to risk the prospect of going out and having to try to get home behind a caravan of vehicles heading to the Woodstock Fair given the detours on routes 131 and 169.
Rather, my enthusiasm was fanned by the prospects offered by upcoming political events.
A town council meeting.
A school committee meeting.
And the potential gold mine offered by the Republican National Convention.
A cornucopia of prospective mirth for Sunday Photo-‘Toons.
Well, two out of three ain’t bad.
The town council here in Southbridge returned to its traditional pattern of outrageous behavior.
The school committee on the other hand met with a modicum of civility that was a departure from recent history.
And then there was the RNC. After listening to Ann Romney tell us it was all about love she was immediately contradicted by keynote speaker Chris Christie who told us it had nothing to do with love. It was all about respect. This in the midst of promoting himself more than the GOP Presidential nominee.
He was not alone. It was like a gathering of vultures waiting for their chance to vie for the nomination in 2016. (Vulture capitalism gives way to vulture politics. How ironic!)
This was followed on Wednesday by the nomination of Vice-Presidential candidate Paul Ryan. His speech was perhaps the most impressive parade of prevarication ever seen at one of these quadrennial love fests. The pundits and fact-checkers had a field day. Even Fox News luminaries such as Chris Wallace had to question the “truthiness” of his oratory.
Finally the big night arrived. The nominee would be crowned. But first, there would be an interlude with a “surprise” celebrity guest. Suffice it to say, following this surreal moment, labeled by Jon Stewart as “The Old Man And The Seat”, Mr. Romney’s address seemed like Jello after a surprisingly tasty hospital meal.
As I attempt to recount some of these events in the offerings that follow, I close with a video that, I hope, will provide a respite of bipartisan musical concord for what lies ahead.
So I invite you to join with me for a Labor Day weekend Sunday brunch as I down my second yard glass of Sam Adams accompanied by Cheetos and celebrate the end of summer and the upcoming winter of our discontent.
(If you’re not familiar with the honey badger reference, you can go HERE.)