I read with surprise that Obama is virtually now assured of the Democratic nomination.
Surprise because I had no idea this was the case, in fact from my hurried scans of last weekend's papers it seemed that Clinton was in fact favourite, especially given these 'revelations' about Jeremiah Wright.
Perhaps I was distracted by charts showing that against McCain, Clinton was well behind, and Obama still behind but less so. Anyway, it appears Obama will be the Democratic candidate.
I think I'm pleased, I don't really know why. I think it's because I want people to like America again, an only Obama can do that, in my view. I can't bring myself to fully trust Clinton. She looks and sounds a bit shifty, and definitely desperate. And she likes Heather Mills.
Showing posts with label America. Show all posts
Showing posts with label America. Show all posts
Friday, 28 March 2008
Friday, 1 February 2008
Monday, 19 February 2007
My Sister Freaks Out
The Guardian's American Psyche told me about this:
This sort of thing interferes with one of my long-held dreams which is to raise my family in America. Not that I have a child to raise, but if I did, or did in the future, I have always thought it would be better to do it in America.
For this, I blame The Wonder Years. This was all the bits of my childhood that I felt I missed. It had a Dad, it had a lovely Mum (OK, I didn't miss that), there were brothers and sisters, cookies, white picket fences and carefree ridings of bikes, and I fancied Winnie. I know that’s wrong, but everyone did.
I loved the exceptional unexceptionable-ness of it all. So I first fell in love with America with stories of Kevin Arnold doing gym class with his best mate Paul, and walking Winnie home and carrying her books and getting all tongue tied, like I used to with Claire Williams, who looked a bit like Winnie, but who refused to go out with me even after I played the lead in the school play* and gave her flowers.
And I cried – I mean actually really cried – when it was over, and Kevin’s Dad died and everyone sort of grew up and moved on. Because it felt like an end to my own second childhood. I guess that’s when I realised (ha ha – funny Wonder Years-related joke there, done in the narrator’s voice) that I really wanted was for my lad to carry some girl’s books home, and to advise him what to do when she takes someone else to the School Prom and to have my heart broken when my daughter leaves home and marries Ross from Friends.
I really want that.
But I don’t want my daughter to complain about me buying the wrong coloured Saab for her when she is 16.
* They still talk about my performance as The Tin Man in hushed tones at Neston Comp.
This sort of thing interferes with one of my long-held dreams which is to raise my family in America. Not that I have a child to raise, but if I did, or did in the future, I have always thought it would be better to do it in America.
For this, I blame The Wonder Years. This was all the bits of my childhood that I felt I missed. It had a Dad, it had a lovely Mum (OK, I didn't miss that), there were brothers and sisters, cookies, white picket fences and carefree ridings of bikes, and I fancied Winnie. I know that’s wrong, but everyone did.
I loved the exceptional unexceptionable-ness of it all. So I first fell in love with America with stories of Kevin Arnold doing gym class with his best mate Paul, and walking Winnie home and carrying her books and getting all tongue tied, like I used to with Claire Williams, who looked a bit like Winnie, but who refused to go out with me even after I played the lead in the school play* and gave her flowers.
And I cried – I mean actually really cried – when it was over, and Kevin’s Dad died and everyone sort of grew up and moved on. Because it felt like an end to my own second childhood. I guess that’s when I realised (ha ha – funny Wonder Years-related joke there, done in the narrator’s voice) that I really wanted was for my lad to carry some girl’s books home, and to advise him what to do when she takes someone else to the School Prom and to have my heart broken when my daughter leaves home and marries Ross from Friends.
I really want that.
But I don’t want my daughter to complain about me buying the wrong coloured Saab for her when she is 16.
* They still talk about my performance as The Tin Man in hushed tones at Neston Comp.
Tuesday, 6 February 2007
LFC
Today two Americans bought Liverpool Football Club. Now, I love America and I love Americans too and I will get on to this because I work with some people who really piss me off when they slag America off. But today they bought Liverpool Football Club and yes, I feel scared.
For Liverpool is a great football club, a team of the people, whose success is based on hard work, teamwork and a real understanding of its identity. And you can’t help wonder, do these guys understand this? Do they know what it means? Do they really care? And anyway, who are they?
But should I feel like this? Instead of an obvious crook like Abramovich looking to launder his money through a second rate outfit and leaving them at the mercy of his and his advisers’ whims, we have people whose intentions are clear.
To make money.
And to make money, generally you have to spend money. Hicks and Gillett are going to have to invest in players in the short term if the ‘brand’ (ugh) is not to suffer. And their knowledge of running sporting franchises might mean that, for once, tickets are easier to come by and merchandise is actually sold to fans (don’t get me started on this – I tried to buy an LFC jumpsuit for a friend’s baby the other day and it was virtually impossible).
But it’s like falling in love. You want to trust, but initially you’re cautious. Treat this carefully please chaps, because it’s very precious.
And don’t, under any circumstances, sell Stevie G.
For Liverpool is a great football club, a team of the people, whose success is based on hard work, teamwork and a real understanding of its identity. And you can’t help wonder, do these guys understand this? Do they know what it means? Do they really care? And anyway, who are they?
But should I feel like this? Instead of an obvious crook like Abramovich looking to launder his money through a second rate outfit and leaving them at the mercy of his and his advisers’ whims, we have people whose intentions are clear.
To make money.
And to make money, generally you have to spend money. Hicks and Gillett are going to have to invest in players in the short term if the ‘brand’ (ugh) is not to suffer. And their knowledge of running sporting franchises might mean that, for once, tickets are easier to come by and merchandise is actually sold to fans (don’t get me started on this – I tried to buy an LFC jumpsuit for a friend’s baby the other day and it was virtually impossible).
But it’s like falling in love. You want to trust, but initially you’re cautious. Treat this carefully please chaps, because it’s very precious.
And don’t, under any circumstances, sell Stevie G.
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