The lull before the lull.
Sidebar: After thirty-one churches were burned, the Justice Department took notice. The gumshoes began to suspect that the fires were racially motivated and perhaps not set by self-hating African Americans as they had first suspected. After they established that Clarence Thomas had an alibi.
There are going to be some mighty disappointed Southern Baptist Mouseketeers this summer. Too bad Tammy and Jim's Themepark and Holy Water fun village shut down a while back.
And now Southern Baptists can't go to Ontari-ari-ari-o, either, since Canada also approved partner benefits. Who knew that the side effect of all these same-sex benefits would be a viable containment policy against the spread of Southern Baptist fundamentalism?
I don't do well during those crazy, lazy, hazy days of summer. I mostly want to lie down naked on cool tiles in front of a big fan and sip a tall, sweating Julep. Lately, though, I've been thinking I can't blame my lethargy entirely on the weather. No, I think it's a combination of blockbuster-movie overload, summer politics, and a personal unwillingness to use a guru or Ouija board to contact famous dead people.
The blockbuster-movie phenom seems more deadening this summer than ever. The beachhead of each weekend is attacked by wave after wave of tedious assaults--Mission Impossible, The Rock (Mission Impossible with a story line), The Cable Guy, Eraser, Independence Day (a movie about aliens taking over the White House, a GOP theme).
There are variations: The Hunchback of Notre Dame--try to picture Charles Lawton as huggable. Striptease--Demi Moore running the gamut of emotions from A to double D.
But each weekend's movie is cartoonish with special effects and product tie-ins, from big-gulp cups to happy-meal action figures. Collect them all!
Body counts, not reviews, are how success is measured. It's not how good the movie was, but how much it grossed.
The zero summertime game in politics is like the lull before the lull. The GOP is offering more lackluster than blockbuster with Welcome to the Dole House. See Citizen Bob in the funny hat, ditching his teleprompter, hawking his book, harrumphing that smoking is not addictive and secondhand smoke isn't as bad as one-and-a-half glasses of milk per day. He's getting eighty-five cents of every tobacco-lobby dollar--that can be addictive.
It's not just the Bob Doledrums. With calls for teen curfews, police-state verite, Clinton is blithely paving the way for fascism in the year 2000, or perhaps 1900 again if someone doesn't fix that millennial computer glitch pretty soon. But nothing seems to stick to his Teflon skin. It all deflects to his wife, a walking hunk of Velcro. That blaze on the roof of the Federal Building? Happened when the bonfire Al D'Amato was stoking for Hillary got out of hand.
The flare-up from Bob Woodward's choice revelations that Hillary conversed with famous dead leaders was fast and furious. You would have thought Hillary had been chatting up Eva Braun.
Larry King has been talking with dead people for years and nobody gets upset with him.
Where I come from, talking with famous dead people is known as praying. I pray for the crisp clarity of fall and the swift return of knee socks.
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|Title Annotation:||a brief somewhat humorous look at some summer happenings|
|Date:||Aug 1, 1996|
|Previous Article:||Facing the Wrath: Confronting the Right in Dangerous Times.|
|Next Article:||Barring the doors.|