Sweaty Presidential Campaign News

Geez, did anyone else see how profusely Charlie Crist, the Republican governor of Florida, was sweating while onstage for John McCain's victory speech in tonight's primary? It was streaming down his face, on all sides, constantly. I think CNN kept cutting to its 45-degree shot of McCain and the crowd so they could avoid having Crist, looking so serious and wet, in the shot. (I can't immediately find a photo from the speech, so we'll go with a much drier, more composed portrait of Crist.)

And don't get me started on how tan Crist is! God, I would never want to live in Florida. Ugh, the heat -- and it's not a dry heat, either!

Welcome to the national spotlight, Charlie.

Rudy's gone by Friday. (Though everyone in the know seems to be saying earlier.)

Farewell, Jeri Thompson

You and your husband, Fred, have been, by far, my favorite part of the presidential campaign. It just won't be the same without you.

No one needed Thompson's third-place finish in Saturday's South Carolina primary to realize the man was not going to be the Republican nominee. He was such a hillariously bad campaigner, it was a pleasure to watch.

To wit: Not only did his rambling speech Saturday, available for download here, start at about 7:12 p.m., when the polls closed at 7. (He joked he had to put his two young kids to bed, but why wait an hour when you can hang out in the hotel room?) Not only did he try to make a stand on the "issues" as one does in a concession speech, but then not (forget to?) drop out until sending a one-paragraph e-mail to the press yesterday. But he paused to look down at his notes before thanking people like his mother and top campaign directors! Now, I'm sure Thompson remembers his mother's name, as well as his aides', but the man is so tone-deaf that he pauses in the midst of such a simple sentence to check his notes! Doesn't one learn on the set how to deliver a line?

Yes, I realize I'm ranting about minutiae (though that may describe my personality), but this speech captured Thompson perfectly: Uninspiring. A president's job, among many, many, many other things, is to provide us with a vision about where she will take the country and if he can't do that and motivate, what's the point?

So, Jeri: What did your husband's short-lived presidential run bring you? Among other things, revelations by the New Republic that a Davidson County (Tenn.) court garnished your wages in 1996 to pay a $900 anesthesiology bill, and that you met your future husband in a Kroger supermarket check-out line in Nashville. (Huh? Full, pretty harsh article by Michelle Cottle here. What especially puzzles me is how Thompson, even 20 to 40 years ago, could have been attractive or charming enough to be lady's man.)

Politico.com, my new favorite Web site, was quite rough in its campaign obituary for Thompson yesterday. They have quotes, anonymous and named, saying you, Jeri, were too meddlesome on the campaign trail and that neither your nor your husband's hearts were really in it, you just liked the idea of being a candidate. Here's my favorite excerpt: "And the candidate’s unhappiness filtered down through aides and advisers, many of whom could barely stand to work for an unpredictable candidate who seemed to be hungry some days and barely driven on others." (Though Jonathan Martin and Mike Allen didn't source that, which, even as campaign analysis goes, is way too damning and taunt-like not to be attributed to at least three "campaign insiders," in my opinion.) Even Adam Nagourney of the Times, who, I find, usually plays it straight, wrote of Thompson: "His speaking style swung between folksy and laconic to the point of sleepy."

Maybe Jeri, your husband's exit from the campaign trail means you can return to those plunging neck lines?

Reason No. 186 Not to Play Football

Just finished watching the New York Giants beat the Green Bay Packers and boy, can coach Tom Coughlin's cheeks get red!

I can't imagine how anyone could spend so long outside when the temperature never even got above 0 degrees. The grass field never looked like grass, just something hard and unforgiving with a faint green coating -- a true sign of frigid conditions. And so many players wore short sleeves. I wonder if biceps can get frostbite.

As my girlfriend commented when Giants kicker Lawrence Tynes hit the game-winning field goal in overtime, it was hard to figure out who deserved more sympathy (and when you have no rooting interest in a game, as we didn't, I find interest is largely determined by sympathy): Tynes, who had missed two previous field-goal attempts and seemed to be taking a lot of yelling from Coughlin; or the Packers' fans at the game, who sat through at least four hours of truly unbearable weather only to see their beloved team lose because of a gut-wrenching interception and field goal. I have to choose the fans, as that car ride home is going to be no fun and probably involve lots of questions along the line of, "Why did we go?" Hopefully there's an iota of comfort in their cars' tush-warmers.

Oh, Billy Crystal

Um, I mean Bill Kristol.

Apparently, the Times' decision to give you an op-ed column for the next year has led to more uproar from readers than anything since Jayson Blair's fabrications, Judith Miller's Plame/Flame-gate crisis, and the Washington desk's hyperbolic reporting on WMD. (Rough few years, I suppose, but it's still the best all-around paper there is.)

Mr. Kristol, your first two columns have certainly been smug in tone and your first column needed a correction, which, even if you're still running the Weekly Standard and putting on make-up for Fox News, is sloppy. And I don't understand your -- and, while we're at it, Sen. John McCain's -- continued defense of the troop surge in the Iraq. While violence has markedly declined there in the past six months, none of the war's major goals -- finding and securing nuclear material and other WMD; creating a more moderate, democratic Middle East; quashing radical Islamic terrorism; stabilizing international oil supply -- are close to being accomplished. They're all actually more distant nearly five years after the war's start. You and McCain are getting lost in the forest when the trees are right in front of you, or climbing up trees but not seeing the forest, or whatever the saying is.

Nonetheless, I wholeheartedly believe you deserve a place in the Times' op-ed roster. Your conservatism is harsh but intellectual and developed with the brain rather than the vocal chords. It's not gutter politics like conservative talk radio shows so often are. (And I listen to them occasionally; I have a long commute by car.) That so many Times readers, presumably the "liberal" ones, have reacted so vehemently to your appointment is disappointing. The whole philosophical spectrum always deserves to be heard and the op-ed page shouldn't be a prarie where only Paul Krugman and Frank Rich, et al, as excellent as they are, can roam. 21st-century media seems to be largely about creating echo chambers for niche audiences and that can only bring diminshing returns.

It's especially ironic that Clark Hoyt's "Public Editor" column about this "furor" (embedded in one of the above links) was published on the same day that the lede book review was Anthony Lewis' "Freedom for the Thought that We Hate," a celebration of the First Amendment. Lewis is himself a former op-ed columnist and reporter for the Times. I wonder what he would think about you.

And Mr. Kristol, if you ever wanted to trade spots with Mr. Crystal, the op-ed columns would be boring and unfunny, but watching you and Jack Palance drivin' cattle in "City Slickers" would be a true treat.

Thank You, Writers' Strike

Since the Writers' Guild still hasn't come back to work yet, tonight's Golden Globes have essentially been reduced to a one-hour press conference, leaving NBC searching for more programming. And what has it chosen: another episode of "American Gladiators"!

As someone who's watched no more than three hours combined of the Academy Awards in his life -- and even less of the Golden Globes -- I wonder why people tune in. Why not just read reputable newspapers' and magazines' reviews, see the movies you want to see, and hope those actors, directors, writers, etc, who choose rewarding, enriching content are ultimately rewarded for it? It seems the only reason so many TV programs cover it is to even more greatly exaggerate the life of a celebrity. ("Who are you wearing?" "Will you be in Milan next weekend too?" "I love your hair!") Does "Access Hollywood" or "Entertainment Tonight" really care about the quality of our country's films or who wins best supporting actress, let alone best costumes in an animated feature? (OK, I made the last one up?) And the actual awards shows, from afar, seem to follow suit.

That said, all the "Golden Globes" coverage in Monday's celeb-news programs will probably only exist to subtly demonize writers for lobbying for better wages.

Go Wolf!

Incessantly Rhythmic

Alright, this is really cool. Apparently there is a production company called "Rainbo Video" that has a series of full concerts from the Empty Bottle posted on Youtube. I love the 21st century.

I've posted a sixty-minute one for the all-instrumental band Battles as a segue. The muscianship is insanely good; the drummer, incredible. How he's staying focused through this, I'm not sure. In fact, it feels like I'm missing out when the window playing the video now is obscured.

But how these guys' debut full-length, Mirrored, made so many top-ten lists is beyond me. (And they made a lot influential ones: Pitchfork at #8; Sasha Frere-Jones of the New Yorker and the world's best music critic at #3; and Jon Pareles of the Times and the world's second best music critic at #8.) The music is beyond post-industrial -- there's lots of scratching, blizzards of notes, keyboard chords that fall somewhere in there, strange vocal samples. The only instrument that sounds like an instrument is the drums. There's no melody. In short, it's incessantly rhythmic. How this appeals to so many tastemakers (critics and indie-rock fans everywhere) confuses me. How Jason Crock of Pitchfork could write of the record, "displaying humor and charm without words, yet still feeling authorless and monolithic," confuses me more. (I'll avoid the obvious joke with the last name "Crock.") How can a piece of music, unless it's ancient or spritual or folk, be declared authorless? Is it the aural equivalent of open source software? As further proof of how mediocore this is, my girlfriend has made me turn off the video playing in the background while I'm posting.

How did Battles rank so high when the National's most recent record, Boxer, also released last year, only hit #17 on Pitchfork. Not only does the National, a Cincinnati-to-Brooklyn quintent, have an impeccable drummer too, the record is nearly flawless. The song compositions are well-detailed and edited thoughtfully. Overall, it's a perfect example of a modernist record (even if these are post-modern times): totally urban, very concerned about form, strangely but unabashedly concerned about romance.

Anyway, here are my three other favorite records of the year, for what it's worth to the world at-large:

* Feist - "The Reminder" (Even lower than "Boxer" on Pitchfork, but at least every music critic at the Times loved it.)
* Do Make Say Think - "You, You're a History in Rust" (Their show at the Middle East last September might've been the best I ever saw.)
* Panda Bear - "Person Pitch" (Pitchfork's #1 choice, so I'm not just hating on them.)

Thanks to Allison for the post's title that capture Battles so well; and for redesigning my band's MySpace page (see the link at left for the Horse Latitudes if you are one of the few readers of this blog that didn't know that page already exists.) And thanks to Lauren for explaining how to embed video within a post.

Who Needs the Writers Guild...

...when you can watch American Gladiators?! Dude, NBC has revived the 1980s camp classic, where relatively buff people compete in inane events against the Gladiators -- professionally buff people with character names that are part superhero, part porn star.

I watched the two-hour premiere Sunday with my favorite Gladiator, Rach, and, with the exception of "Curb Your Enthusiasm," probably had the most fun in months watching a TV program. Everything comes together perfectly for sarcastic comments the whole time. To wit:

1. The producers are so insensitive they've named three of the four black Gladiators "Mayhem," "Stealth" and "Militia." So while the white Gladiators are either in the mold of Greek gods or comely sex kittens, the black characters connote riots, robbery and Black Panthers. And the "Samoan" one (unclear if he's actually Samoan, but he does have a lot of tattoos so he's probably at least half Samoan, right?), "Toa," does a lot of "native jungle dancing" and threatened to scalp one of the competitors before one event. Yay, primitivism! I do like "Wolf," though, who pastramis it up in all the right ways. And he appears to be at least 45 years old.

2. The hosts, Hulk Hogan and Laila Ali (her dad, thankfully, probably doesn't realize she's sullying the family name like this), are buff, but certainly not engaging, interesting or good interviewers. (And why in reality TV are there interviews after every micro-plot development?) Most of their questions follow the lines of "Are you scared?" or "Will you give it your all?" or "Your cute kid in the crowd must inspire you?"

3. Dude, the events: In "Assault," someone just fires tennis balls -- apparently at 100 mph -- at you while you run around trying to hit a target with a soft ball and a slingshot. "Gauntlet" means trying to run past four Gladiators while they smash you with foam cylinders and pads. "Pyramid" involves trying to run to the top of a foam pyramid while a Gladiator beats the crap out of you. (A full list is on the home page, linked to above. Just scroll down.) These competitors must've signed their lives away before NBC allowed them to participate.

4. The producers have also tried to make the "citizen competitors" compelling, as though this really has storylines. In the premiere, one woman practically tore her ACL in the first event, yet in three interviews and produced pieces they touted her devotion to her three kids as a single mom, so even though she could barely stand for the final interview, everything was OK because she loves her kids. And there was the 30-something guy who, 14 years ago, apparently missed his tryout for the show's original incarnation because he was sitting in L.A. traffic (double "dude"), and had been waiting to return ever since. I mean, really, in May 1999, you think this guy was at dinner with his friends, despondent over missing his shot at "glory," wishing writers would go on strike so networks would have to fill primetime with ridiculous crap, leading to the resurrection of "American Gladiators"? I mean, I'm sure it sucked, but I think he got over it pretty quickly.

Daily Presidential Campaign Coverage

What exactly does the counterlede in today's Times bring to the table? I realize that as the country's preeminent newspaper, a story about the final day of campaigning before the Iowa caucus is necessary. But I'm so tired of the "Candidates out scrambling for votes" story. From professional experience writing such a story on a much, much, much smaller scale, they always follow the same format and the reporter is dutifully required to include every candidate, creating a crammed piece with little flow that reduces each contender to one soundbite that you hope best summarizes their message, but really, is nothing you haven't heard a thousand times before, and then in the back of my mind, I'm thinking, "I'm just stereotyping them now."

Much better is a series of short dispatches on page A17 about each main candidate, by the reporters who've been following them for months. (I'd link to it, but the Times' Web site doesn't have it all on one page.) It encapsulates where the candidates have been philosophically and strategically for the past couple months and includes a longer quote from each at the bottom.

Much, much better is the explanation on page A16 of how caucusing actually works. Apparently it involves asking people, "Do you like my guy? Come on, I think you like my guy. Come stand next to this post with me." And then you have to make sure they don't wander away to someone else's post. Sounds sort of like babysitting to me. Do you realize only 125,000 Democrats participated last year?

Much, much, much better is the series the Times has been publishing for what seems like the past year, The Long Run. It provides snapshots of the candidates at different moments in their lives in a very insightful way. When I vote, I want to know who these people are, where they come from intellectually, professionally, personally and ethically -- not what their campaign ads are. This series really does that by providing the intimate details that would otherwise get overlooked in daily horserace type of coverage. (Though looking back at all the stories, they're much too skewed toward Senators Clinton and Obama and former Mayor Giuliani. Former Gov. Huckabee didn't even get one until Dec. 6, after he hit the top of the Iowa polls.)

Anyway, here's to hoping no one trounces anyone tonight so the primary season is extended as long as possible. At least until Feb. 5 when I can vote.