Until these Louisiana politicians.
Their inflections alone mark them as different. Their folksy manner belies their education and socioeconomic and geopolitical grasp.
I had forgotten how they sound. So purposefully down to earth. Their inflections and rhythm authentic.
A few times I clicked away windows to the window underneath to see who was talking. The faces never matched the sounds. Once again I'm shown Louisiana is a very unusual place; an amazing mixture of French, Spanish, Cajun, Creole, black, and native American.
Oh. And caucasian.
Trump's mention of Barksdale made my ears perk. I was temporarily distracted transported back to the house that was actually near the end of the massive runway that accommodates B-52 bombers. You cannot tell by looking on the street level that the house is so close to the runway but you can certainly tell by the sounds that dominate. Those planes take f-o-r-e-v-e-r to gain altitude. They typically do not arch right up. My visiting nana couldn't take the touch-and-go exercises. While all that was music to us. She had to leave early.
This rally I had open in window underneath three other windows. I was listening as I worked on another project that involved three separate programs. This rally ran opened underneath them. What I know of this rally comes from hearing it, not seeing it.
I was blown away. The energy very high. The audience noisy. Anger in his speech right there at the surface, at the beginning and throughout. It sounded hot in that place. Steaming hot. Trump confirmed this in his speaking. Apparently the whole place was actually overheated. Undoubtedly laden with armor. Trump was sweating.
Elsewhere commenters remarked about people behind Trump being too unenthusiastic to be any asset. By watching they all got entirely different vibes than I did by only hearing it. "They look like someone put a hat on them and shoved them into their seats. They were sitting, not standing." The commenters felt something was off.
Those comments are answered consistently by other commenters saying those are oil-field workers straight off the fields. Those are the overalls that they wear to work. They work twelve-hour days. They sat most of the time. They're exhausted and it shows, but those are Trump's people. They work. Hard. In that debilitating hot humid weather.
Most commenters I read thought poorly of this rally. By hearing it but not seeing it, I thought it was fantastic. One of the best. Trump's rage and casual ease. The other unique speakers. The raucous audience. The best of all possible worlds.
The election down there is crucial. Trump promised to come back to the state.
Monroe is at top of the boot. Near the center. While Shreveport/Bossier City are upper left corner. They're close to each other.
13 comments:
How good is Trump?
He took a guy who was at 30% approval and brought him close enough to winning the KY legislature (R dominated) will get to decide the winner.
Lest I be accused of spelling correction, I will merely identify the link between the fowl language noted in this post and the one preceding it, as well as the bigger than life largeness captured in the portrayals of both key figures.
An unusually poor job of stage management which presented a weak, lethargic visual background for the speech. He needs to kick some coonass's ass before he goes back.
But in defense of true coonasses I'll add that Monroe is practically Arkansas and those Arkie people are tardsish.
There may be a little bit of regional rivalry showing through in my above comment.
And, by the way, despite the spelling, it's pronounced "Munroe."
Like I said, tardland.
Anyway, they're all drunk on LSU football this year. Saban will sober them up Saturday.
Anyway, let me tell you about my visit to ER last night.
I'll spare you the medical part for now, the action was in the waiting room.
No, no nothing like stabbings and bloody death - there was a guy sitting in there who I noticed looked a Hell of a lot like a cousin-in-law that I had met only a few times. He had to be related and I thought it might actually be the cousin.
So after sitting and glancing over at him and his wife a few times I decided that it would be rude not to say hello.
I walked over and spoke to him politely and asked him if he was kin to my cousin.
Problem is, my cousin's name is James Carpenter.
I said to this stranger, in my friendliest voice, "Excuse me, are you a Carpenter."
He looked at me funny and said, "Yea, why?"
"Really," I said. "Are you related to James and Linda Carpenter down in C****?"
"No, don't think so," he answered and the funny look got funnier as his wife moved closer to him.
I disengaged and went back to my seat and saw him and his wife speaking to each other in hushed tones.
At that point it dawned on me that he had reasonably interpreted "Carpenter" as meaning a hammer and nail guy. And he actually was a carpenter!!!
It also dawned on me that they thought I was a freaking nutjob.
They called me in shortly afterward. This eased my discomfort as I'm sure it did theirs.
It was a lot funnier if you were there.
Rabel, you shouldn't feel discomforted either way you nailed it.
Everyone sooner or later says something like that, Rabel. A perfectly innocent remark that is somehow wrong for the occasion or is taken the wrong way. Only way to avoid it is to be completely unspontaneous (or completely calculating) and who needs that.
"...either way you nailed it."
Took me a minute before the nickel dropped. Yes, I'm that slow. :^(
Hope you are doing okay over there, Rabel. ERs are not the place to be, except when you absolutely have to be there.
I went to the dentist yesterday, and I had 1-8 and 24-31 cleaned. Those who know what I am talking about will know what I am talking about. Back in two weeks - piece of cake.
Well if he had a hammer he would have been one anyway.
I used to live near the end of the runway of a B-52 base--Seymour-Johnson, NC. It was the KC-135s that made the most noise. Their four water injected engines roared much louder than the eight B-52 engines. They flew about ten or twenty miles at tree-top level before gaining altitude--almost always around midnight.
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