09.01.04

C-Span. Yesterday afternoon. Republicans. Dancing.

The horror, the horror. Imagine marionettes controlled by puppeteers with DTs and creeping palsy. Imagine them St. Vitus-ing to the watered down strains of a band contained by blue, waist-high barriers. They danced to Get Down Tonight. When they got to the chorus, "Do a little dance, make a little love, get down tonight," the second phrase was garbled.

Republican delegates dancing are like cows running. They don't do it often. When they do, everything moves in different directions. The head bounces up and down. The legs fly as if independently controlled by alien lifeforms. The rump tries to separate itself from the torso, as if in shame. The abdomen willomys like a waterbed under duress. No one should see this.

Why do Republicans display such an unfortunate fondness for ridiculous headgear? The flock of Texans with their (easily) 20-gallon hats; it looked like a migration of holiday platters on the convention floor. Raver-kid, Cat in the Hat, red-white-and-blue, stovepipe, Uncle Sam hats graced many souls who'd never held a lightstick, or ground their teeth for hours.

It's bad enough that the Republican platform includes such things as constitutional amendments for supremely personal issues, but we must also be subject to dancing?

Forget the winnable--no, wait--unwinnable--no, wait--winnable war on terror. The true terror lies behind metal detectors, security, and police in the middle of Madison Square Garden.

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