My friends, I am not here tonight to talk about the past. You know my past. You know my story. You know how it has shaped me. Many others this week have graciously reminded you of what I've been through and what I have tried to do to serve my country. And, yes, it's true that the past is prologue. But I am here to talk about the future--about how we together can strengthen our nation and improve our great land for all of its citizens, especially those who confront difficult challenges or face hard times. So let me tell you what I'd like to do--for you and with you--should I be fortunate enough to be your next president....

That was not the speech John McCain delivered on Thursday night. Instead, he offered an unexciting mix of GOP orthodoxy and declarations of personal maverickness--which was capped by yet one more long and detailed recounting of his POW days of forty years ago. Enough already. A video introduction prior to his speech had covered the same ground--as had many other speakers this week. McCain was pulling a Kerry, relying too heavily on his past heroics and exploiting them in a manner that could devalue an authentic experience. Democrats who were worried after Sarah Palin's speech on Wednesday night could breathe a sigh of relief once McCain was done. The guy had managed to move the ball back to where it had been before Sarah-mania struck.

Here's how I assessed the speech at MotherJones.com:

Number of sentences in John McCain's acceptance speech about his experience as a POW in Vietnam: 43.

Number of sentences about his 25 years in the House and Senate: 8.

The convention ended as it began: a commemoration of McCain's hellish years in a Hanoi prison cell four decades ago. The political equation was a simple one: POW equals patriotic hero equals a fighting president. Before McCain walked down the long runway at St. Paul's Xcel Center, a baritone voice declared over the P.A., "When you've lived in a box....you put your people first." Case closed.

But there was a speech to get through. And before McCain arrived at the climactic I-was-a-POW finale, he delivered, in wooden style, a no-better-than-par speech that was mostly a series of traditional GOP buzz phrases: lower taxes, cut spending, open markets. He noted, "We believe in a strong defense, work, faith, service, a culture of life, personal responsibility, the rule of law, and judges who dispense justice impartially and don't legislate from the bench. We believe in the values of families, neighborhoods and communities." (Just not community organizers.) Was the speechwriter who penned Sarah Palin's acceptance speech too busy to work on McCain's?

Unlike most speakers at the convention, McCain acknowledged that some Americans are facing tough times. "I fight for Bill and Sue Nebe from Farmington Hills, Michigan, who lost their real estate investments in the bad housing market," he said. "Bill got a temporary job after he was out of work for seven months. Sue works three jobs to help pay the bills." And he said he would fight for Jake and Toni Wimmer of Franklin County, Pennsylvania. "Jake," he explained, "works on a loading dock; coaches Little League, and raises money for the mentally and physically disabled. Toni is a schoolteacher, working toward her Master's Degree. They have two sons, the youngest, Luke, has been diagnosed with autism." But how would McCain help these folks? Moments later, he offered a dumbed-down version of his economic plan: " I will keep taxes low and cut them where I can. My opponent will raise them. I will open new markets to our goods and services. My opponent will close them. I will cut government spending. He will increase it." (By the way, many analysts and journalists have repeatedly noted that Obama's economic plan would cut income taxes far more than McCain for Americans below the top 1 percent.)

Over and over, McCain cited his love of country and his dedication to the nation that "saved" him. He tried to present himself as the candidate of change, who wants to transform "almost everything: from the way we protect our security to the way we compete in the world economy; from the way we respond to disasters to the way we fuel our transportation network; from the way we train our workers to the way we educate our children." (He did not explain why after eight years of a Republican administration the country needs so much change.) McCain reminded the GOP delegates that he has on occasion challenged his own party. His domestic policy ideas, the few he offered, did not rouse the crowd--except when he called for more oil and gas drilling. In response, the delegates once again enthusiastically chanted, "Drill, baby, drill!" It was one of the biggest shout-outs of the night. The audience was notably silent when McCain called for boosting alternative energy sources.

Maverick, fighter, fixer--McCain said he was all of that. But, above all, he was McCain the warrior who had returned home. He had fought for the country once before--and he had suffered. He will fight for it again. "I have the record and the scars to prove it," he declared. "Senator Obama does not." Wave the bloody shirt....

You can read the rest here.

After the speech, I attended the swanky Vanity Fair/Google party. It was jammed with Republican politicos, and a smattering of journalists. The mood among the GOPers was not as joyous as it had been after Palin's star-turn on Wednesday night. As I was leaving at 2:00 am, I noticed that McCain campaign manager Rick Davis was at the party. (How many GOP convention speakers had derided the liberal media and Hollywood? Yet Davis--and hundreds of other GOPers--did not mind drinking and dining with VF. Hypocrites or schnorrers--you decide.) "He's really putting country first," I quipped to a McCain aide. "He has to work the bloviators about the speech," the aide replied. If so, he had a helluva job to do. And too bad for him--the bar had closed an hour earlier.

Sarah Palin's speech deserved rave reviews (for her performance) and scathing rebuttals (for her mugging of facts). Regarding the latter, see AP's brutal run-down and the Anchorage Daily News's fact-checking of her speech.

Her speech was laden with falsehoods. Still, the Hypocrite of the Night award has to go to Rudy Giuliani. He preceded Palin and fired off a slash-and-burn assault on Barack Obama. He blasted Obama as inexperienced and the candidate of Hollywood celebrities and the "left-wing media." He derided Obama for having once been a community organizer, as if that's not a real job. (The GOP delegates, most of them looking rather well-heeled, laughed along.) Giuliani, the former mayor of New York City, also slammed Obama for supposedly thinking that Palin's hometown is "not cosmopolitan enough."

Whoa. Giuliani, the onetime wife-cheater, slapping anyone else for being "cosmopolitan" was absurd. After all, Giuliani used to live with a gay couple in a fancy Upper East Side apartment while he was in the middle of a divorce. It don't get much more "cosmopolitan" than that. He also has dressed in drag more than your average failed presidential candidate.

Giuliani's speech was the pander of the night and a hateful exercise in faux populism. But he sure got into it. Perhaps he wants to be Palin's veep running-mate in 2012.

Here's a review of Sarah Palin's speech I posted at MotherJones.com.

The speech was the easy part. But she did it well.

Delivering the most anticipated vice presidential acceptance speech in modern political history, Alaska Governor Sarah Palin accomplished the mission. She talked family, biography, policy, and John McCain. Especially John McCain the POW. And--Democrats beware--she demonstrated she's handy with a rhetorical stiletto and can slice Barack Obama and Joe Biden, while flashing a stylish smile.

The 44-year-old Palin did not wipe out questions about her experience. She did address allegations she had abused her office while serving as a small-town mayor and as a governor. She did not defend her more extreme social positions, such as her support for teaching creationism. But in politics, performance counts for much. And for a little-known politician who had been hunkered down for days, as negative stories and rumors flew about, she had a helluva opening night. Next, Palin will have to face the media--one of the targets of her speech--fielding presumably tough queries about her actions (and life) in Alaska and her foreign policy experience (or lack thereof). But for the night, she held her own--and showed that she has the potential to be a fierce and effective critic of the Obama-Biden ticket.

Palin came on right after former New York City Mayor Rudy Giuliani had trash-talked Obama, and she began with an obligatory maneuver: praising John McCain as a hero, and doing so multiple times. She quickly dealt with the, uh, family issue, noting that "No family ever seems typical...our family has the same ups and downs of any other." Not quite. But it sounded good.

After comparing herself to Harry S Truman and hailing small-town Americans (like herself), she lit into Obama. "A small-town mayor," she said, "is sort of like a community organizer except that you have actual responsibilities." (When Giuliani earlier referred to Obama's days as a community organizer, he drew laughs and hoots from the delegates.) Palin claimed that Obama had written memoirs but not laws, that he has given speeches on the Iraq war but has never used the word "victory"--except when "talking about his own campaign." Obama, she said, was more worried about the rights of terrorists than defeating terrorists. And what will Obama do once he has finished "turning back the waters and healing the waters"? Raise taxes, reduce the strength of America, and do nothing to increase drilling. (The delegates repeated their favorite chant of the evening: "Drill, Baby, Drill"). "The American presidency," Palin said, in another dig at Obama, "is not supposed to be a journey of personal discovery." She grinned the grin of a smooth put-down artist.

Palin, a self-described "hockey mom," laid on the populism--the Republican version of populism--noting how she had confronted entrenched interests in Juneau (she got rid of the governor's jet and chef), praising factory workers and small farmers, citing her husband's membership in the steelworkers' union, bashing the elite Eastern media, and denouncing the "permanent political establishment" of Washington, many of whom were in the hall as McCain supporters, donors, and aides. (After the speech, Republican pollster Frank Luntz said he believed Palin has the potential to connect with working-class voters.)

Decrying the Democrats as tax-hikers and national security weaklings, while blasting Washington, is the usual fare for Republicans. But Palin read her lines with flair and confidence. And--can we be frank?--she looked darn good doing so. She was with the program: this election is not as much about change, hope, or issues as it is about the measure of one man. "Biden and Obama," she said toward the end of her speech, "say they are fighting for you....There is only one man in this election who has ever really fought for you...in places where winning means survival and where defeat means death." He is, she continued, "the kind of fellow whose names you will find on war memorials in small towns across America--except he came home." And, she noted, he possess "the special confidence of those who have seen evil and have seen how evil is overcome....That is the kind of man America needs." It's some ticket: a made-in-small-town-America working mom and the man who goes off to war to protect her way of life.

Palin's case for McCain was as effective a pitch for the GOP candidate as any made at the convention. And her attack on Obama was drenched with panache. After she was done, her family--including her pregnant teenage daughter's fiancé--joined her on the stage, and then McCain walked out. "Don't you think we made the right choice for the next vice president of the Untied States?" McCain exclaimed with glee. McCain and his aides were entitled to conclude that Palin had been misunderestimated by her critics and foes.

They also were entitled to believe that Palin would be something of a babe-magnet for the party's base. Days ago, Tom DeLay, the former House majority leader, told me that by picking Palin, McCain had electrified social conservatives, who had not been jazzed by the prospect of voting for McCain in November. But at his church, this past Sunday, DeLay's parishioners told him they now were excited about the ticket. Palin's performance on Wednesday night can be expected to reinforce and boost social conservatives' enthusiasm for the McCain-Palin ticket. The social cons have a new champion.

Political experts say that veep picks ultimately do not determine outcomes in presidential elections. And that's probably true. Yet on Wednesday night, Palin displayed plenty of potential. (Joe Biden had reason to say to himself, "This debate's gonna be a challenge.") Though rumors still swirl and unanswered questions about her official actions in Alaska remain, Palin might end up an asset, not a liability, for McCain. She has to meet the press and withstand the ongoing and intense media scrutiny that only began a few days ago. She has to handle that debate with Biden. She has to prove her mettle on the harsh campaign trail. But while pundits before the speech were pondering how the McCain campaign could put lipstick on this (seemingly) pig of a choice, after the speech was over, it was clear, for at least the moment, that with Palin there's more lipstick than pig.

On the first night of the GOP convention, Fred Thompson, the actor-senator who flopped as a presidential candidate, was given the role of a lifetime. This grumpy old guy was asked to play Marie Antoinette. And he nailed it.

As soon as Thompson hit the podium to give one of the two centerpiece speeches of the night (his co-star was Joe Lieberman), he derided the Democrats for harping on the current economic difficulties, poking fun at them for acting as if the country was in the middle of another "great depression." He didn't accuse them of whining, but he came close, as he hailed the United States as a "prosperous" country. His performance garnered applauds from the delegates, many of whom, playing to type, looked as if they spend more time at the country club fretting about tee times than at the kitchen table worrying about bills.

There are two Americas, it seems. One with concerns about the nation's economy, the other in happy denial. And the latter was in full view at the Xcel Energy Center in St. Paul. Through opening night, there were hardly any references to the troubles at hand. The convention spent more time celebrating former military heroes and POWs than addressing worries voters might have about the economy, health care, education, climate change or any other issue other than national security. On these fronts, it was as if the Republicans had nothing to say. Thompson tried to get the crowd stirred up over taxes and abortion, but that was so 1980s. Voters viewing the proceedings could be forgiven for wondering, what are these guys going do for me and my neighbors?

That was odd, given that the slogan of the convention is "Country First." What was being placed first by McCain's convention planners was McCain--specifically McCain the POW. This night was not about country; it was not about what can be done to make this country better and stronger; it was not about offering policy proposals that would improve the lives of Americans; it was about promoting a brand: Hero McCain.

After the first night was over, I strolled over to a hotel bar and met up with several journalists and pollster Frank Luntz. Luntz mentioned that in Michigan only 9 percent of the voters believe the country is on the right track. Nine percent? What do the McCainites think the other 91 percent in Michigan are looking to the GOP for? Heroic tales of McCain from 40 years ago? Hagiography?

It was a vapid start to a convention, which will probably end up being dominated by Sarah Palin's acceptance speech, not John McCain's. (Soap opera usually trumps politics.) But Tuesday evening was an example of hollow patriotism. Country First? No, it was McCain First. And a true patriot might consider placing the needs of his fellow countrymen ahead of his own political needs.

So much for all that talk about Hurricane Gustav helping the GOPers by providing George W. Bush a convenient excuse for not showing up at their convention in St. Paul. On Tuesday night, Bush will address the convention via satellite.

The theme of the night, McCain campaign officials said, is "Who is John McCain?" Putting it that way seems odd. Why a question. Don't most voters already know? Using such a formulation reminded me of a not-so-grand moment in presidential politics involving retired Admiral James Stockdale, who was Ross Perot's running mate during the 1992 campaign. (Ignore the Fred Thompson bits in the below clip.)

Having Bush speak on Who Is McCain night is more proof of the hollowness of American politics. Only eight years ago, Bush supporters, during the 2000 primary contest between Bush and McCain, waged a whispering campaign to try to define McCain as a syphilitic, Manchurian Candidate who was married to a mob-linked, drugs-abusing wife and who had fathered an out-of-wedlock black child. At the time, the Bush campaign--and Bush himself--said nothing to distance itself from the vicious rumor-mongering. Of course, the McCain camp suspected that Karl Rove and the Bushies were actually behind the effort. Compare that to how Barack Obama has publicly declared that Sarah Palin's family life ought not to be a campaign issue.

In any event, Bush's appearance tonight will close a circle on the Bush-McCain relationship. Bush will return the praise that McCain, sacrificing honor and principle for expedience, (insincerely) heaped on Bush at the 2000 convention. And Bush's appearance will be a reminder to voters that McCain, the so-called straight talker, has forged a phony bond with Bush to advance his political career. It turns out that not even a hurricane could blow away McCain's deal with the devil.