The straight talk express flew into Cincinnati’s municipal airport this evening for a brief visit to the Queen City. Several thousand people crowded the hangar and adjoining tarmac, in order to hear from the candidates. The GOP loaded the back stage with office holders like Jean Schmidt, republican chair Alex Triantafilo, and Rob Portman to name a few. Portman also mc’ed the pep rally. Gretchen Wilson was the entertainment prior to the arrival of the candidates.
A coatless Cindy McCain, looking very cold in the 40-degree temperatures, warmed up the crowd and then introduced the Governor of Alaska, to thunderous applause and chanting. It was obvious from the response that the crowd was mainly there to see and hear their Sarah. She didn’t disappoint them, quickly jumping on the attack with her now familiar stump speech, crammed full of “gotcha” lines aimed squarely at Obama. She sprinkled the new and latest buzz words throughout her talk, switching socialist for terrorist, leaving out Bill Ayers, and accusing Obama of planning to raise taxes on everybody. She was sharp and to the point.
But I can’t say that about McCain.
He began okay, opening a notebook with a prepared script to keep him company along with the teleprompter. But he still managed to get lost within his words, constantly losing his place and repeating himself over and over, sometimes, obviously confusing his listeners. He retread the same attack territory previously trodden by his VP. He was very animated throughout. So animated, in fact, that I wondered if he was amped on something. He leaned heavily on his past history and reputation, as the man who acts and strikes quickly to solve problems. His delivery, along with being unusually hyper also smacked of desperation. Something I hadn’t seen earlier in the campaign.
He promised to cut taxes for everyone from the top, down, and told Cincinnatians that he could tell from the audience that he was in McCain country and that Ohio would make him president.
I was curious to see what fashionista Sarah was wearing today. It was dark and subtle, a suit that I’d seen her wear before. She’d peaked my curiosity because of all the talk the past couple of days about how much money the RNC had paid to buy her new clothes. She may talk and sound the way she thinks hockey moms talk, but she’s not dressing like one these days. As reported, yesterday, the republican national committee shelled out 150,000 dollars for a new wardrobe for her. That’s more than she makes as governor of Alaska. That’s not exactly a hockey mom’s budget. It’s not a Cindy McCain budget either, but close. Mrs. McCain routinely wears jackets that would pay for three or four of my house. But, then she can afford to dress like that, since daddy left her a 100-million dollars.
The republicans jumped all over John Edwards about his 400-dollar haircuts, but haven’t yet said a word about McCain’s 5000-dollar make up artist.
The thing that really got me though, was that the McCain campaign, in defending the cost of the wardrobe, said that it will be donated to charity after the election.....REALLY!? She just went to Nieman Marcus for the first time in her life, picked out some really, really nice, classy clothes, and they’re going to make her give it to charity? I don’t think so.
I mean, why lie about it? The pictures don’t lie...like many suddenly thrust into the spotlight people, Sarah has no taste...doesn’t know how to dress....she had to kick it up a notch....We Americans like our representatives and celebrities to look good, not tacky. Honestly, from what she was wearing as the mayor of Wasilla, she needs to find the negatives of those pictures and burn them.
In addition to a new wardrobe, she needs a speech and voice coach. Did you notice that she talked with no accent on Saturday Night Live last weekend? You betcha!
Showing posts with label Queen City. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Queen City. Show all posts
10.22.2008
5.23.2007
Hostage
One of the many reasons that I loved living in Chicago was that a car was truly a luxury rather than a necessity. I could get anywhere I wanted without having to jump into a vehicle, unless it was public transportation. The buses and trains ran 24/7, 365. I could walk out my door, step to the curb and throw my hand up to signal any of the several taxis passing by. Three large grocery stores were within three blocks, and they delivered. I would walk to the store, choose my food, pay for it, and then tell the cashier where I lived. My groceries arrived within the hour with the eggs not broken.
There were breakfast places for brunch, lunch places, dinner places, bars to drink and watch sports, dance clubs, work out clubs, all within walking distance. And I mean walking distance without breaking sweat or getting leg cramps from over exertion. Since I lived on Lakeshore Drive, I had 22 miles of park, including a golf course right across the street. Wrigley Field was four blocks west. I could open my windows and hear the late Harry Carey sing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game,” during the seventh inning stretch. The only reason I drove was to visit my sister who lived in the burbs. When I needed to fly, which was weekly, I took the train to O’HARE.
All of these memories came flooding back with the news that a gallon of gasoline is $3.49 at my neighborhood gas station today. I no longer live in Chicago. I now live in Cincinnati Ohio, and I'm old enough to remember a gasoline price war between stations in Mt Healthy, where a gallon cost 28-cents. Cincinnati is a city where a car is a must have, even at today's prices.
Urban sprawl is a nice term for it. Usually good restaurants, good theaters and marvelous clubs inhabit the heart of the city. Now, the best places to eat are right across the river, in Kentucky or out in the burbs of West Chester. The purple people bridge is pedestrian friendly, for those wanting to cross the river, but you need a car to get to the bridge. Here, going clubbing usually means driving to Columbus or Indianapolis. As for getting your groceries delivered intact, well good luck. I consider myself lucky if there is a bagger at the checkout.
Since I grew up in Cincinnati, I was well aware of its cultural limitations for the over 25 set of young adults, both gay and straight. If I want to shop, eat or go to the park, I drive. Everyone has a car. Many people have two or three in case one breaks down. Boycotting rising gas prices will not happen here because Cincinnati, like many other former industrial cities of the Midwest, is not people or user friendly. The Midwest is held hostage by the whims of OPEC.
If you don’t have a car, you better have a friend who has one. The wait between buses is about an hour. Getting a bus late at night is pretty impossible. Looking for a taxi? Don’t go to the curb. Dig out your cell phone and call, it’ll be there in about 20 minutes. Elevated trains? Forget about it!
I’ve been looking at Vespas lately as a means of going green. There is a dealership right around the corner. I like the little European scooters. I wouldn’t think twice about buying one, if I still lived in Europe. But here in Cincinnati, I hesitate because I figure the first time I try to ride it, I’ll be run over by somebody in a big ass SUV hurrying to a radio sponsored gasoline sale.
There were breakfast places for brunch, lunch places, dinner places, bars to drink and watch sports, dance clubs, work out clubs, all within walking distance. And I mean walking distance without breaking sweat or getting leg cramps from over exertion. Since I lived on Lakeshore Drive, I had 22 miles of park, including a golf course right across the street. Wrigley Field was four blocks west. I could open my windows and hear the late Harry Carey sing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game,” during the seventh inning stretch. The only reason I drove was to visit my sister who lived in the burbs. When I needed to fly, which was weekly, I took the train to O’HARE.
All of these memories came flooding back with the news that a gallon of gasoline is $3.49 at my neighborhood gas station today. I no longer live in Chicago. I now live in Cincinnati Ohio, and I'm old enough to remember a gasoline price war between stations in Mt Healthy, where a gallon cost 28-cents. Cincinnati is a city where a car is a must have, even at today's prices.
Urban sprawl is a nice term for it. Usually good restaurants, good theaters and marvelous clubs inhabit the heart of the city. Now, the best places to eat are right across the river, in Kentucky or out in the burbs of West Chester. The purple people bridge is pedestrian friendly, for those wanting to cross the river, but you need a car to get to the bridge. Here, going clubbing usually means driving to Columbus or Indianapolis. As for getting your groceries delivered intact, well good luck. I consider myself lucky if there is a bagger at the checkout.
Since I grew up in Cincinnati, I was well aware of its cultural limitations for the over 25 set of young adults, both gay and straight. If I want to shop, eat or go to the park, I drive. Everyone has a car. Many people have two or three in case one breaks down. Boycotting rising gas prices will not happen here because Cincinnati, like many other former industrial cities of the Midwest, is not people or user friendly. The Midwest is held hostage by the whims of OPEC.
If you don’t have a car, you better have a friend who has one. The wait between buses is about an hour. Getting a bus late at night is pretty impossible. Looking for a taxi? Don’t go to the curb. Dig out your cell phone and call, it’ll be there in about 20 minutes. Elevated trains? Forget about it!
I’ve been looking at Vespas lately as a means of going green. There is a dealership right around the corner. I like the little European scooters. I wouldn’t think twice about buying one, if I still lived in Europe. But here in Cincinnati, I hesitate because I figure the first time I try to ride it, I’ll be run over by somebody in a big ass SUV hurrying to a radio sponsored gasoline sale.
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