And then, there were the waves and waves of echoing cries crashing out in torrents from the tightly-choreographed GOP amateur hour and presidential auditions in Tampa, where everyone's dance steps are painstakingly mapped out in lockstep, on the planks of that sprawling, unbrawling floor.
It is an unusual Tampa-tantrum, this gathering, but one bearing many old echoes.
Peculiar, it was, not having George W. Bush, the previous Republican occupier of the White House, slide on by to cut some conversational brush with us, and remind us how fine those eight years were. But, the taint of epic disaster lingers among those echoes, so -- please: No reason to drop by.
Instead, Dubya was home relaxing, while a hurricane bashed and raged around outside, throwing New Orleans trickier, fleeing dance steps all the time -- so, in a sense, it was just like old times, after all.
And, on the stage, the same old lies crashed and flowed against and into the audience in a fine spray shed from angry and churned-up waters: It was the same man, but different -- wealthy since conception, helped along in business by family, hoping to outdo old dad, armed with all the same policies, advisers, and staffers. All ready to deal us the same old cards, snapped fresh, from the bottom of the deck. Just like before.
A different deck would be used, of course, for the select few.
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