One last dance with Bubba
Rod swoons for William J.: “Clinton gives the appearance of not only believing
every word he is saying, but that he wrote it himself.”
I watched Clinton’s speech with closed-captioning (Erin, who gets up
at 5 or 6 a.m. these days, was already asleep) and could tell it was a
great speech, through the C/C typos and delay. But I also discovered
that this must be how Darryl Hammond learns to imitate the man. With
the words silenced, every facial expression and gesticulation was
deafening. There they all were, the guffaw-inducing trademarks of
Hammond’s Clinton bit: The squint; the jocular detour (and abrupt
return to form); the bitten lower lip, and the wry little grin that
leaks out behind his teeth when he does it.
Rod, again: “I only hope that Kerry can deliver something half as
powerful on Thursday night.” Indeed. When Clinton approached the
stage, there was a part of my brain already expecting his
campaign theme song instead of Kerry’s (which is what, again?) They did
not disappoint, and I wondered how many delegates, attendees, and TV
watchers found themselves wishing themselves back to 1992.
“Yesterday’s gone, yesterday’s gone…“