I could write a post about the elaborately choreographed stage production that is the Democratic Convention, but Dr. Violet Socks has already said it for me. Suffice it to say, I spent last night trying to wash out the bitter taste in my mouth with a bottle of Australian shiraz. It didn’t work, and now I have a mild hangover seasoning my cynicism and disgust.

I remember my parents’ generation talking about Watergate, and how that destroyed their innocence about the state of politics. Now I know what that feels like. Hurray?

A friend came through with free tickets to a concert tonight, so I am saved from watching the Faux Coronation, but I doubt I’ll be missing much. Will Obama’s long-game be able to save himself from the hole his short-game dug him? I doubt it. I guess we’ll see.

Yeah. What she said.

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