The Democrat convention in Chicago turned out with all the pathos and joy as advertised. It made itself glorious by showing peek holes into greater and greater shares to be scammed out of the US exchequer, or as Mencken called it, the national swag. For this viewer, the mix was so rich it was hard to define. But those two things stood out: pathos and joy. Actually, though, the joy came off merely as comic effect; just couldn’t tell if it was opera or minstrel.

☞ The pathos, on the other hand, was genuine. It was mindful of something out of a Henry James novel, The American. It’s kind of lengthy, but it strikes a closer note in the low-down scale heard those loud nights. In typical James fashion, the protagonist, Newman, becomes enamored with a European, a French aristocrat. The countess, however, despite Newman’s devotion, is so conflicted about marrying a rich American against opposing family wishes that she flees to join a convent. By the time Newman discovers her decision, she is already ensconced. All he is left with is maybe her voice out of a nunnery choir chanting behind the altar.

☞ Those screams of utterance heard in Chicago were of a similar strain: “a dirge of buried affections” growing so hysterical that any remaining Freudians could easily detect as “strange and lugubrious.” On the other hand, “vanity of earthly desires” was not anything they sounded like overcoming. In fact, earthly desire was definitely a part of the show.

“At first Newman was bewildered— almost stunned— by the strangeness of the sound; then, as he comprehended its meaning, he listened intently… The chant kept on, mechanical and monotonous, with dismal repetitions and despairing cadences. It was hideous… At last, as in its full force the thought came over him that this confused, impersonal wail was all that either he or the world she had deserted should ever hear of the voice he found so sweet…

☞ That’s the pathos meant here, similar to Newman’s realization: the last time to hear the voice he found so sweet. How sweet were those voices sounding in Chicago? Those “mechanical and monotonous voices with dismal repetitions and despairing cadences.” City of big shoulders, Carl Sandburg called Chicago. In that great hall it was the city of big voices, loud voices played shrill enough for the Furies to sing.

☞ Remember the Furies? They were demon prosecutors of mythology ready to tear a defendant apart. Opposing them was Athena, goddess of wisdom. Didn’t hear much from Athena’s side in Chicago that week. All that registered in Chicago was the glory of a prosecuting Fury stepping to the forefront, and her greatest glory was raiding the exchequer for a bigger chunk of our national swag.

☞ How did she accomplish this feat? Witness after witness stepped forth onto the podium to relate how Kamala Harris bilked the banks out of— get this— not four billion, but twenty billion smackers! For all the poor souls who lost their unsecured loan mortgages! (Big time cheers!) Yet those twenty billions of bank-held shekels were actually doled out by the feds to prop up big banks. In the end, it turned out to be another of those cozy Obama-era fascistic relationships between government and big business. Think solar panels. Same deal with banks too big to fail. Big banks, having received bundles of bail out bucks, were then prosecuted i.e. fleeced by government hounds. Enter our heroine, Kamala.

☞ Since banks were forced to write up Dodd Frank inspired mortgages (one in Texas was a million a month) for “poor unfortunates” unable to buy on their own, failure was guaranteed. After the fiasco worked through the system, the vultures swooped in. Thus Kamala’s resplendent act of forcing out big bank money, which was actually bail out money working people paid in taxes, including union workers. Particularly amusing was to hear union members at the convention cheering their own fleecing.

☞ Kamala Harris outdid Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton. Those two race hustlers were satisfied to force corporations to knuckle under for measly millions and some black hires. Kamala turned out to be Jesse Jackson 2.0. She got billions of national swag.

☞ How did she do it? Well, the pronoun is prologue: She. Women have steadily worked at increase in social funding, steadily. The Sage from South Central, Larry Elder, is always ready to point out how social services increased steadily since women earned the right to vote. What that fact portends is subject to debate, but expansion of the female role has moved closer and closer to the forefront of politics, and expenditure is king… er, queen.

☞ The children of Adam and Eve have been material for satire in media, antique posters and cards no exception. Selections herein are from a book titled The Year They Dreamed of 2000, an amusingly brilliant collection by memorable friend Andrew Watt. Futuristic visions from a century past produce some weird and entertaining images. And those bits devoted to sexual role reversal tend to tickle Adam’s rib. They also illustrate a potential admiration for women’s strength.

☞ Americans have always seemed to admire the strength of their women. In his day Alexis De Tocqueville was taken by observing social female participation, especially politically. Strong women exist in most recognizable cultures, but strong is relative. If they are to be used as shields, then the word strength needs to be replaced. If women tread on their person for extra advantage, another word is required. The way the black-dressed women followed Carrie Nation marching into bars to smash liquor kegs; then they voted with fresh new voting fingers for Prohibition, and what a smash hit that was! The way French Jacobin revolutionary women headed the march into the Bastille knowing they would not be shot upon by the guards. The way women were so useful in running Nazi concentration camps. In each case, useful idiots.

☞ For a persona so shallow, it’s difficult to tell how much of a useful idiot is Kamala Harris. It’s well known how she rode on the …er, coat tails of Willie Brown and Montel Williams. But as a candidate she marshals her female bluster admirably as the furious prosecutor. How she bilked billions also adds a superficial belief in the promise of free housing and vast child credits out of an exchequer already primed for disaster at 35 trillion deficit and bond instruments melting away. She also guarantees the right to unbridled abortion.

☞ The party producers did put in the script that abortion is a medical procedure and should not be blanketed entirely. There were even veiled suggestions about its alleviating a population problem. But that could only be a veiled suggestion, or it would otherwise contradict the party’s love for the “undocumented” potential voter. No one supporting population control could support the sperm flowing over the border for one big screw job on America.

☞ And the men present at that weeny roast didn’t seem to offer much relief, as exemplified by running mate “Tampon Tim” Walz. What more to be said about a man who gained that nickname by ordering school bathrooms for boys to be stocked with tampon machines? Despite his bullshit about guns and football, he brings new luster to the name of mamagallo, or female rooster. In his small capacity, he served the greater cause in the conquest over the male sex. Mamagallos such as he serve as handy man to the most boisterous gang in the crowd: teachers’ union members. For generations teachers, especially urban, have been hard at work in de-tuning American boys, the boys who are now brow beaten and Ritlin riddled, and lost, lost, lost. It’s no wonder they were so easily surrendered to the Orwellian concept of “gender reaffirmation” and literal loss of penis.

☞ More cheering! Which isn’t so much cheering as screeching. As a screech test, imagine head union teacher Randi  Weingarten at the podium. (Can Randi be her actual name? It’s too good) Recall the animus of that blood-curdling banshee yowling voice urging her herd ever onward upon a greater dumbing down mission already in progress.

☞ And that’s the sad part, the pathos as reflected in the melancholy of Henry James’ sad American. Like him, listening to the committed wails and dirges of politically charged fury—  and little else— one wonders if the sweet voice of woman would ever be heard again.

JoCo, 2024