HOLD YOUR HEAD HIGH, TOM DOOLEY.

How long are the Fifties going to last? I like skinny ties and full skirts, dry martinis – the whole Mad Men shtick. (Except smoking – I’m glad that’s gone.) It’s the conservative politics that bore me, the whole conservative moment that we’ve been living through. It’s been way more than a moment and has overstayed its welcome.

I realize that we never, truly repeat anything. That we only copy styles and - even then – interpret them. That watching Mad Men on a twelve-inch B&W Philco wouldn’t be nearly as much fun as watching it on a sixty-inch color flat screen TV. Yet, some styles are more consequential than others and changing them makes some kind of progress a bit more likely. Styles in politics, for instance. It’s time for outspoken liberals to be outspoken again. For political extremists to return to the margins (from memory in the case of the Left) and to admit that replacing William F. Buckley jr. with morons was never a good idea. It may not produce anything of real political consequence (what does?) but it will introduce the last several generations to the idea that politics is more than a lame enterprise devoted to fear and greed. That Republicans are about more than mugging the middle class (if that’s true) and that Democrats are motivated by something a touch more elevated than appeasement (if that’s possible.) 

I don’t propose a return to the political styles of the late Sixties and early Seventies. That would be nice, but “Occupy” has bungled that so completely, discredited the idea so thoroughly that no one can touch it for a while. Nor do I advocate a return to the cultural styles of that period. Not, at least, without irony. I suggest that we nudge the cultural calendar forward. Not a great lurching movement, but a small, logical step from the grey flannel Fifties to the madras plaid of the early Sixties. It’s time for a folk song revival.

The Weavers are too early and Bob Dylan is too late. The Kingston Trio is just right. Three wholesome young men giving earnest renditions of wonderful songs. Don’t worry, we’ll get to Bob Dylan and Joan Baez and Judy Collins. (They may well get there before us.) Admit it, we’re heading there anyway. Think of all the mandolins, banjos and ukuleles you’ve heard lately. Mumford and Sons are just one “Wimoweh” away from folk music.  

I humbly submit my own attempt at folk music below. Like all good folk songs, it concerns death and disaster. In this case, the crippled cruise ship that drifted for days in the Gulf of Mexico recently. I based it on a traditional tune called either “Titanic” or “It Was Sad When The Great Ship Went Down.” Let’s get this hootenanny started!

                                   

                       CAPTAIN’S LOG.

Three thousand boarded Triumph

To sail the Gulf of Mex.

When the ship ground to a halt

The passengers were vexed.

The toilets didn’t flush,

Food in freezers turned to mush.

It smelled bad when the cruise ship slowed down.

It smelled bad, it smelled bad, 

It smelled bad when the cruise ship slowed down 

To a dead stop.

Good wives and nags,

Little children shit in bags.

It smelled bad when the cruise ship slowed down.

Three days out of Galveston

And not that far from shore,

The rich refused to let the poor up

Where the air was pure.

So they kept them below deck

Where they almost drowned in dreck.

It smelled bad when the cruise ship slowed down.

It smelled bad, it smelled bad, 

It smelled bad when the cruise ship slowed down 

To a dead stop.

Good wives and nags,

Little children shit in bags.

It smelled bad when the cruise ship slowed down.

A Very Hot August For Father Lawrence C. Murphy.

(HBO) MEA MAXIMA CULPA: SILENCE IN THE HOUSE OF GOD (2012) Alex Gibney documents the case of the Rev. Lawrence C. Murphy, a Catholic priest in Wisconsin who died in 1998 after molesting dozens if not hundreds of children in his care at a boarding school for the deaf, resulting in a trail of denial and cover-up from rural America to the Vatican.


 August 21, 1998. Rev. Lawrence C. Murphy pauses before entering the Gates of Hell. He talks with the guard, an average-looking man with a flaming clipboard.

MURPHY: Excuse me, there’s been a mistake.

GUARD: Rev. Lawrence C. Murphy? From St. John’s School For The Deaf in St. Francis, Wisconsin?

MURPHY: Yes.

GUARD: No mistake. This way to eternal damnation.

MURPHY: You don’t understand. I’ve been forgiven.

GUARD: There’s no record of that.

MURPHY: I was there, I should know. I got Last Rites.

GUARD: Were you conscious?

MURPHY: No.

GUARD: That way to the lake of fire.

MURPHY: You mean I died unshriven?

GUARD: Don’t ask me, I just work here.

MURPHY: Okay, I was really forgiven before that. A long time before that. GUARD: By whom?

MURPHY: The Archbishop.

GUARD: Forgiven?

MURPHY: Not exactly, but I wasn’t punished.

GUARD: Lack of punishment is not forgiveness. It’s more like a vacation.

MURPHY: Okay, I did something that some people might think was wrong, but I wasn’t punished.

GUARD: Hmm. Was there any official recognition of wrongdoing?

MURPHY: No, not even by the Pope. Although, he wasn’t Pope at the time. He was a Cardinal.

GUARD: Congratulations!

MURPHY: I go to Heaven?

GUARD: No, you got away with something. The wailing and the gnashing of teeth begin at seven. Don’t be late.

MURPHY: Who’s in charge here?

GUARD: See that line over there? That’s the line to see the Devil.

MURPHY: That’ll take forever.

GUARD: You’re catching on.

MURPHY: I want to speak to him now.

GUARD: Get in line – if you know what’s bad for you.

Father Murphy gets in line and – after what seems like an eternity – gets to speak with the Devil himself, another average-looking man except he’s bright red and wears a pink suit.

DEVIL: Drives the art directors crazy. (He takes a long sip from a tall, cold glass of lemonade.) Want some?

MURPHY: Sure!

DEVIL: Can’t have it. Ha! I love myself.

MURPHY: There’s been a mistake. I should be in Heaven.

DEVIL: By all means, let’s get down to business. You’re Father Murphy, right?

MURPHY: Yes.

DEVIL: Do you know why you’re here?

MURPHY: No.

DEVIL: To make my life miserable, that’s why! This was a good job until the priests starting coming. Sure, it’s Hell, but I got to rule and that was enough for me. Then it started filling up with Catholic priests – and they all think they’re special. “I repented. I was forgiven.” 
God doesn’t care! God sent you here for treating his church like a toilet! You, Father Murphy, took hundreds of innocent, little boys - deaf boys, that’s the brilliant part, even I couldn’t have imagined that – and raped them over a period of twenty years. They were already disabled and you ruined them for life! Is there any doubt that you belong in Hell?

MURPHY: But the Pope –

DEVIL: He’s coming. Don’t worry about him. I opened a new German wing after World War Two and there’s plenty of room for the Pope.

MURPHY: But I spent my entire life serving God. I can’t believe he would do this to me.

DEVIL: If it’s any consolation, that’s the worst part of his job.

MURPHY: It’s no consolation at all.

DEVIL: Good! I thought I was losing my touch. Now, beat it before I get angry. You don’t want to see me angry.

LINCOLN RE-SHOT.

The movie opens with a Union soldier strangling a Confederate soldier who is bayoneting a Union soldier who is gouging the eyes out of a Confederate soldier. They get off the subway and start fighting the Civil War.      

THE CAPITOL BUILDING. Congress is in session. A bullfrog in a frock coat (Tommy Lee Jones) takes the floor and commences a stirring peroration against the evils of slavery. Every time he uses the word, “enfranchisement,” the Southern senators leap to their feet, scream and shake their fists. Secretary of State Charles Seward (David Strathairn) leans over to Secretary of War Edwin Stanton (Bruce McGill) and asks, 

  “Why do they hate the word, ‘enfranchisement?’” 

“It means giving Negroes the right to vote.”

“I thought it meant owning a MacDonald’s.”                                                        

THE WHITE HOUSE. In the Lincoln Bedroom (which was, then, just the bedroom) Abraham Lincoln is talking to a golf umbrella, which, upon closer inspection, turns out to be his wife, Mary Todd Lincoln (Sally Field) in a crinoline wider than she is tall.

“You know those splitting headaches I always get,” she says, “I find that they begin when you arrive and stop when you leave.” 

“What a coincidence,” he replies, “the same is true for the pain in my ass!”

          THE WHITE HOUSE. In the Oval Office, a man who could be Mark Twain’s grandfather (Hal Holbrook) tells President Lincoln, in the greatest confidence, that the Confederacy is willing to begin peace talks. 

“They want to surrender?” Lincoln says, brightening.

“No, negotiate.”

“Like one country to another? That’s crazy.”

“Do you want this war to end?”

“Yeah, when all the Confederates die or they surrender. Whichever comes first.” 

“You take a hard line.”

“There’s a reason I give my best speeches in cemeteries.”                                        

WHITE HOUSE. Later that night, Abraham Lincoln talks with his 

oldest son, Robert (Joseph Gordon-Levitt)

“Pa, I want to enlist.”

“Do you want to die?”

“I want to serve my country.”

“You can’t serve it with a Confederate bayonet up your hoo-ha.”

“Everyone I know is in uniform.”

“They’re either soldiers or slaves. Neither of whom has a choice. You’re one of the rare – and lucky – people who do.”

“Then I’m making my choice. I choose to enlist.”

“Just kill me, instead. Take this gun and shoot me in the back of my head. Put me out of my misery.”  

“Ma said I could do it.”

“Really? Your mother said you could join the army? Why do I doubt that?”                           

THE WHITE HOUSE. The President and Secretary of State confer in the Oval Office.

“Tell me, Charles, how close are we to passing an amendment abolishing slavery?”

“We need ten more votes, Mr. President.”

“How do we get them? I assume you’ve already asked nicely.”

“Voting in favor of the amendment could cost these men the next election. They’ll need a lot of persuading.”

“Hmmm. If we can’t get ten more votes, what if we had ten less opposing votes.”

“How do we do that?”

“We kill - ”

  “It will look bad.”

“No one has to know.”

“Ten empty seats will be obvious.”

“In that case, I know some men who are very good at persuading.”

“Short of killing.”

“If necessary.”

“I’m afraid I must insist, Mr. President.”                                                                            

THE CAPITOL BUILDING. Office of Representative Robert Latham. (R-West Va.) Young and impressionable, Mr. Latham (John Hawkes) doesn’t need much persuading. All it takes is the political operative, W.N. Bilbo, 

twisting his arm until Latham’s face is pinned against the desk.

“You don’t need this arm to vote. All you need is to say, yea.”

“I’ll do it. I’ll do it.”

“Do what?”

“Vote for the amendment.”

  Mr. Bilbo, by the way, looks like James Spader, only blown up with a pump and tied closed with a mustache.                                        

THE WHITE HOUSE. To provide plausible deniability,President Lincoln invites a variety of congressmen and cabinet members to the White House for brandy and cigars. While there, he regales them with the sort of homespun, corn-fed stories that prove what a regular guy he is.

“There was young man from Nantucket - ”                                                              

THE CAPITOL BUILDING. Congress votes and the amendment passes. The abolition of slavery is celebrated by Republicans (that’s how long ago it was) and bemoaned by Democrats. The former sing, “Battle Cry of Freedom,” the latter pack their carpetbags and begin planning Reconstruction.                                                      

THE WHITE HOUSE. Waiting alone for the results, Abraham Lincoln is a solitary sihouette, slumped in thought. Or worry. Or regret. Possibly all three. Finally, he hears church bells. First one, then more. They are tolling a new birth a freedom. Announcing his success. Crowning his work. He moves to the window and parts the drapes. The light is so strong, it threatens to consume him, but doesn’t. It humbles and exalts him at the same time. THE MOVIE ENDS. THIS IS WHERE IT SHOULD END – AND NOT A SECOND LATER.                                                                    

If you don’t know what happens next, look it up.

Anna Karenina (2012): Muddled Russia.

Leo Tolstoy’s novel, Anna Karenina, is a simple story: a love triangle that ends badly. How he got nine hundred pages out of it, I don’t know. I’ve never read the book. I’ve tried, but it is my Everest. (I’d say it’s my Moby Dick, but Moby Dick is my Moby Dick.) I’ve seen two movie versions of it, however, and, as far as I can tell, they’re no substitute. You would think one of the world’s great love stories would make a hell of a movie, yet the current one, directed by Joe Wright, is only hell. Why?                                                                                             

          First, casting: Anna has to be beautiful. Here’s where Wright gets it completely right. Keira Knightley is so beautiful that she even looks good through a veil. But he blows Vronsky (so to speak.) Count Vronsky must be 

so dashing and physically attractive that Anna, a respectable wife and mother, is overwhelmed with passion at the very sight of him. Yet, the actor he chose, Aaron Taylor-Johnson, looks like Gene Wilder in Young Frankenstein. Karenin, Anna’s husband, must be formidable and Jude Law does his best, but he’s made up to look like an accountant for Rasputin & Co.                                                         

Then, the conflict. Every drama must have it and Anna Karenina, both the character and the story, is rippling with it. Conflict between Anna and her husband, her society and within herself. All of which is intensified by being a woman in nineteenth century Russian society. Upper class, no less. In this version, it’s all underplayed. Karenin frowns and threatens, opera-goers sneer and the only indication of inner conflict is Anna’s early shunning of Vronsky and later embrace of morphine (in a bottle, by the way, big enough to stun the entire Russian army.) Nothing about her gender. Don’t think we’re supposed to assume that, either. (It’s very difficult to claim that without looking like you’re making excuses.) Mr. Wright, though, isn’t done with the Russian upper class. Not yet. That brings us to the theater.                        

The movie begins in a theater as if all the action will take place on stage. It doesn’t – and that’s a problem. The director has claimed that “theater” is a symbol for the artificial, restrictive and over-determined nature of high society in Moscow and St. Petersburg. Not a bad idea, but let’s give it a haircut. Suppose, instead of a theater, we compare society to a doll’s house. Hey, didn’t Henrik Ibsen write a play about that? Yeah. And he didn’t show a doll’s house! Going back to the theater, however, it doesn’t function as a frame for this story or the background or even a theme. In Wright’s Anna Karenina, it’s merely an interruption. Doubly a shame because he already has a powerful symbol that can serve all those functions, but neglects it:
dancing.                         
           Nineteenth Century beau monde, like dancing, depends on shared knowledge for smooth functioning. Everyone must know all the steps and do them exactly in time to the music. If as little as one person is out of step, ugliness and conflict results. Yet what does Joe Wright do with the fancy dress balls in his film? He catches their spectacle, but not their meaning.What about the scene where Anna Karenina dances in a black dress while everyone else is wearing white? Subtle. Makes you wonder what he’d do with Hawthorne’s Scarlet Letter. Not that you can’t shoot the same scene effectively. I’m thinking of another film based on an epic novel of love and death in the eighteen sixties. A beautiful and decidedly independent heroine shocks the local nabobs by the dancing in a black dress. In the case of Scarlet O’Hara, her widow’s weeds.                                                                      

You don’t have to go as far afield as Atlanta, Georgia or back to 1939 to see how well similar material can be handled. Elvira Madigan (1967) tells the story of a beautiful, Danish circus performer and her tragic love affair with a handsome cavalry officer. True, it’s no Gone With The Wind, but a lot of people can’t hear Mozart’s 21st Piano Concerto without thinking of that movie.          

The 1935 film of Anna Karenina is no masterpiece, either, but it looks like one in comparison. It reduces Tolstoy’s nine hundred pages to a brisk ninety minutes, but not a single one is wasted. It moves like a train (so to speak) from beginning to end.  Greta Garbo burns white-hot without losing any of her iciness and Frederick March is va-va voomsky. An even bigger irony, however, is that the screenwriter of the current Anna Karenina, Tom Stoppard, shares a name with . . . he is? Never mind.

Here Speaks One of Us.

I write not only for sophisticates,
For intellectuals with learned mates.
On frontiers wild, and even in far Britain,
Troops quote my epigrams with lips frost-bitten.
But this regard fills not my money pouch however I keep proving I'm no slouch.
They say this is a new Augustan age,
But no Maecenases support my page.

                                       Martial
                                       (40-102 AD)
                                       tr. Gary Wills

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year.

I saw a man standing at the corner of Madison Avenue and 57th Street - perhaps the most fashionable intersection since Anna Wintour met clothes - and he was wearing a sleeveless mink coat! A full-length, sleeveless mink coat. He looked like Conan the Vulgarian.

                     *              *               *           
Robert Bork, whose 1987 nomination to the Supreme Court was rejected by the Senate, is dead at 85. Reacting to the nomination, Sen. Edward Kennedy (D-MA) said, "Robert Bork's America is a land in which women would be forced into back alley abortions, blacks would sit at segregated lunch counters, rogue police could break down citizens' doors in midnight raids, schoolchildren could not be taught about evolution, writers and artists could not be censored at the whim of government and the doors of the federal courts would be shut on the fingers of millions of citizens for whom the judiciary is - and is often the only - protector of the individual rights that are at the heart of our democracy."

To which Mr. Bork's many, ardent supporters replied, "Sure, when you put it that way!"

               *                   *                    *
Did your mother collect guns? Mine didn't.It's just as well, too. If my mother had a weapon besides guilt, the world would be empty. Still, she did pretty well with guilt.

             *                    *                     *
Ha ha happy holidays sounds cynical. Happy ho ho holidays sounds lewd. How about,"Eat, drink and be merry?" Yeah, that's the spirit.

"KIss of Death" Starring Senate Republicans.

     “Kiss of Death” is a 1947 film noir starring Victor Mature as a reformed criminal and Richard Widmark as the killer who gets revenge on him in a particularly hideous way. He pushes the man’s crippled mother down the stairs in a wheelchair, laughing maniacally the whole time. That is what Senate Republicans did on Tuesday (12/4), minus the entertainment value. They blocked ratification of a U.N. Treaty that would protect the rights of disabled people around the world. Particularly children - in wheelchairs. How could they behave in such a Grinch-y fashion? Envy. The envy of people without spines towards people with broken ones.

      Conservatives hate the United Nations and anything connected to it.According to Jennifer Steinhauer in the New York Times (12/5) “A majority of Republicans who voted against the treaty . . . said they feared it would infringe on American sovereignty. Among their fears about the disability convention were that United Nations bureaucrats would be empowered to make decisions about the needs of disabled children - and that it could trump state laws concerning people with disabilities.” In other words, supporting the treaty would make us the U.N.’s bitch. Thus, any Republican who voted in favor would forfeit his conservative credentials and, very likely, re-election.

     It would be easier to understand their reluctance if the treaty concerned global warming, chemical weapons or, god forbid, economic policy. It doesn’t. The U.S. was asked to join 126 other countries in banning discrimination against people with disabilities. What’s more, the treaty is based on the Americans with Disabilities Act. So, instead of threatening our world leadership, the U.N. is enshrining it.

To be fair, not every Republican senators voted against ratification. Six supported it. Among them, Scott Brown (R-MA), a lame duck, Olympia Snowe (R-ME), who’s retiring and John McCain (R-AZ) who’s lame and should have retired a long time ago.

     The chief speaker in favor of the treaty was John Kerry (D-MA) and I can understand Senate Republicans resisting his appeal, but what about Bob Dole? Aging and very ill, the former Senate Majority Leader and Presidential candidate was wheeled onto the floor of Congress to personalize the issue and rally bi-partisan support. Surely, his colleagues, old and young, and the party he devoted his life to had to be influenced? Not so. They subjected him to a humiliation so public and so complete, it was almost ritual in nature.

     Ultimately, it’s not their craven grubbing for re-election, irrational fear of world organizations or even treating Bob Dole like a leaking bag of garbage that bothers me about Senate Republicans. It’s their hypocrisy. Given the chance to push a real crippled child down the stairs, I’m sure a good seventy per cent would refuse.  

Romney: 'Tis a Gift to be Simpleminded.

          Mitt Romney? He lost. Why is that empty barrel still making noise? According to Ashley Parker’s article in The New York Times (11/15) the occasion was a conference call with fundraisers and donors to his presidential campaign. Mr. Romney was attempt-ing to explain why they got nothing in return for all their millions. Something that, to his credit, he never had to do at Bain Capital. His lack of experience shows.

Mr. Romney attributed his loss to strategic “gifts” from President Obama to young people, African-Americans and the Hispanic community. Loan forgiveness, free health-care and amnesty for the children of illegal immigrants, respectively. The word “gift” is doubly significant. First, it means an outright bribe or trading favors, ward-heeler style (“Vote for me and I’ll see that my friend, the banker, loses the paper-work on your loan.” The only thing missing is a glad-handing clap on the shoulder and a schooner of beer.) Mr. Romney clearly intended that because he drew a direct connection, “A big gift to young people. They turned out in large numbers, a larger share in this election than in 2008.” Second, it implies that education, healthcare and citizenship are privileges that the powerful may choose to bestow on certain groups. Given that Mr. Romney has already stated outright (to the same audience, no less) that forty-seven per cent of the people in this country are lazy slobs who pay no taxes and gobble up government largesse, that  also seems like a good bet.

Okay, he’s good at blaming the other guy and heaping contempt upon minority groups, but did Mr. Romney say anything positive? Did he learn anything? Should the Republicans give away their own “gifts” in 2016, adopt a counter-strategy or do something entirely different? Mitt Romney doesn’t know and doesn’t care. “Frankly, we’re still so troubled by the past, it’s hard to put together our plans for the future.”

Romney's Statistics: Like a Lottery, But More Random.

     Mitt Romney’s Presidential campaign never lacks the necessary facts and figures. Perhaps, that’s because he invents them. Take the unemployment statistic that he employed against President Obama in the last debate. He claimed that the national unemployment rate may be 7.8%, but when you add all the people who stopped looking, it’s more like 10.7%. How does he know? How does anyone know? Do people call up the Dept. of Labor and say, “That’s it. I’m done. No more looking for me. Don’t try to change my mind. I’m stopping as of now.”

Suppose Mr. Romney contacted one of his offshore banks – you know,  the ones he uses to avoid paying taxes – and instead of getting his balance, they say, “Don’t worry, it’s a lot. No, really, a bunch. You want a figure? How about, oh, $25,000? You want us to count it?” That, essentially, is the answer he gave to a woman at the debate, who asked him a very specific question about what deductions (mortgage, education, children, charities) would be sacrificed to pay for his proposed across-the-board tax cuts. He replied that a fixed amount of, “I’ll pick a number,” $25,000 may be deducted any way she chooses. First, that’s a “voucher” system, regardless of what he calls it. Second, why $25,000? Why not $10? Extreme tax cuts, as this woman clearly understood, require extreme measures to underwrite them. Even gutting middle-class tax deductions may not be enough. What’s surprising is not that a Republican President or other official is forced to raise taxes after promising he wouldn’t, that’s S.O.P. for the G.O.P. What’s surprising is that Mitt Romney won’t even admit the possibility. In his defense, though, he can’t. 

       If he allows the slightest amount of complexity to color his judgment of Obama’s performance, he’d have to admit that Presidents are not gods and that campaign promises are closer to prayers than to miracles. Then, faster than a day trader loses his shirt, his entire campaign is gone! Mitt Romney has nothing to offer except direct criticism of President Obama. Take “The last four years” out of anything he utters and see what’s left. Very little  - except, what was it, another number, definitely not a fact, but a figure. Something about 47 %.

It began as the number of people who don’t pay taxes and became – in his head or maybe just in his mouth – the number of lazy slobs sucking at the public tit. The truth of it (that it includes retirees, working poor and servicemen on active duty) is almost incidental because he was saying it in private to an audience he believed already believed it. The other lies and imaginings were said in front of sixty five million people. They were intended not only to misinform us, but to mislead us. By insulting our intelligence in this way, Mitt Romney has extended his contempt for the 47% to the other 53% as well. Before, he was just a bad choice for President. Now, he’s 100% wrong.

John Silber 1926-2012:Too Negative does not make a positive.

John Silber, former President of Boston University, was an unhappy man. Growing up in Texas with a deformed arm, he endured a lot of mistreatment. His later life was shadowed by the death of his son, David, from AIDS at the age of 41. Yet, the former did not help him deal with the latter because it didn’t teach him sympathy, only bitterness.

His career in politics was stunted – along with that of Gov. John Connally of Texas  - when President John F. Kennedy was assassinated. An attempt to revive this career was cut short when, thirty years later, Silber ran for Governor of Massachusetts and lost.

He was meant to hold power, though, and hold it he did as President of Boston University. John Silber took a commuter school with shaky finances and made it into a national university with a large endowment and distinguished visitors among its faculty. In the process, however, he ended some truly excellent programs, alienated everyone from deans down to freshmen and became a millionaire in office. What’s more, BU’s relative position, particularly within the greater Boston area, never changed. Better than a lot, but not as good as some. True distinction has always eluded it.

Finally, despite his vaunted achievements, no one has ever copied John Silber’s methods. Why? Because, as an academic, he taught Richard III by example. Silber was a smart man, who wielded his intelligence like a blunt object. A strong man, who traded in pain. A proud man, who humiliated others. Everything he achieved could have - and has – been done with far less human cost. If John Silber has no followers, it’s because no one ever worked with him, only under him. In the end, he may have taught Ozymandias, too.

A Wandering blogger I: A Post of Votes and Akins, Election Gaffes and Romney.

But no dreamy lullabies. It may seem like we should be saying, “goodnight” to the Republicans, but there’s still time for the Democrats to blow it. There’s always time for the Democrats to blow it.

                       

Deliverance? Home-Schoolers Squeal Like Pigs For Akins.

Sen. Todd Akins (R) running for re-election  in Missouri has lost the support of the Republican Party, his party, but that doesn’t stop him. He believes he can make up for the loss of campaign funds and official sanction by rallying support among people who home-school their children. They are, according to John Eligon’s article in The New York Times (9/26/12) “Deeply religious people who want a biblical worldview to be part of their children’s studies, and many connect on a spiritual level to Mr. Akins.” Not only because he and his wife home-schooled their own six children, but because, as a State Representative, Mr. Akins was instrumental in killing a bill that would have required home-schooled students to take the same standardized tests as children in public schools. Sen. Todd Akins, by the way, lost his party’s support after stating – on television – there’s something about a woman’s vagina that keeps her from getting pregnant after a “Legitimate rape.” Now, he’s seeking votes from people who don’t believe in Evolution.There’s something appropriate about that.

            I Kid Because He Cares.

After something dumb he said appeared on television (imagine that) Mitt Romney is desperately trying to repair his image. I don’t use “desperately” lightly. While campaigning in Ohio, perhaps the most critical “swing state,” Mr. Romney told NBC’s Ron Allen, “One hundred per cent of the kids in [Massachusetts] had health insurance. I don’t think there’s anything that shows more empathy and care about the people of this country than that kind of record.” First, convincing one person that you care is difficult, especially if they have reason to think otherwise – which is usually the case. Convincing a majority of the voters in Ohio, much less an entire nation? Second, if you do convince swing voters that healthcare reform is a good idea, you’ve lost your base. Remember them? All the Republicans who hate the idea and disdain it as Obamacare. Third, if reforming health care proves that you’re sensitive and care about people, then all the Republicans who oppose it (see above) are cold and uncaring. Is that what you want to say?  Fortunately for you, but not for us, the Republican Party can’t withdraw its support – like it did for Sen. Akins – because you’re their candidate for President of the United States and it’s six weeks before the election! Romney, we hardly knew ye

MITT ROMNEY: IN HIS HEART, HE KNOWS YOU ROT.

People paid $50,000 to have dinner with Mitt Romney, so he owed them more than a canned speech. He tried to level with them, but that was a bad idea. Instead of the private thoughts of a public person, they got an unwholesome hash of half-understood strategy and ignorant prejudice. Okay, it was a mistake. Clint Eastwood did worse at the convention. At least, Romney did it in private. Right? Not exactly. When his secretly recorded comments were made public, the Republican Presidential candidate had a lot of explaining to do. 

First, he tried to quiet the uproar by confessing that his views were “Not elegantly stated.” That didn’t matter because the message was clear: poor people suck. He copped to the message, but, according to Jim Rutenberg and Ashley Parker’s front-page article in The New York Times (9/19/12) said it helped voters define the philosophical choice between him and President Obama. Except there’s nothing philosophical about calling forty-seven per cent of the country a bunch of weak, lazy, greedy sponges who live off entitlements and will vote for Obama just to keep the gravy train rolling.

Next, Romney tried to reframe his comments as an argument for limiting the role of government in American life. Really? Did Mr. Romney want to go there? The man who, as Governor of Massachusetts, created the model for national healthcare reform? Who, running for the Republican Presidential nomination, defended the government bailout of banks and, as candidate, defended both Medicare and Social Security? The only person in his campaign who might credibly argue for limited government is his running mate, Paul Ryan, who has limitations of his own. He thinks the literary novelty, Ayn Rand, is a great intellectual and not the reason that Alan Greenspan’s economic theories collapsed. 

What about taxes? A Republican politician has to talk about taxes and Mitt Romney obliged his wealthy audience by criticizing people who don’t pay income tax. Not them, of course. He meant the forty-seven per cent that bloat the government with their lust for entitlements. This coming from a man who has hidden more money offshore than Captain Kidd – and in the same places. Without actually defending those comments (He couldn’t. The figure of forty-seven per cent includes retirees, working poor and soldiers in combat zones)  Mr. Romney, again, tried to reframe them by suggesting, as the NY Times article states, “That it is time for a full debate about dependency, entitlements and what his campaign characterized as a long history of Mr. Obama’s support for ‘redistributionist’ policies.” First of all, Mitt Romney calling for any kind of debate is a small dog barking at a big one. Second, the greatest redistribution of money in American history was under President Reagan. It went from the middle class to the upper class. He shouldn’t bark 

up that tree, either. 

It’s not what Mitt Romney said or how he said it that concerns me. I know many people who are vastly more prejudiced and very few who speak in full sentences and express clear, complete thoughts. What bothers me is how Mr. Romney falls exactly in the middle. He is utterly average and wants to be President of the United States. Painfully ordinary yet thinks that he should be leader of the free world. Look at the clumsy way he tried to make up for this recent blunder. No artful dodging or crafty charm that might compel our grudging respect. Only the demi-cunning of someone, anyone trying to avoid embarrassment. We deserve better.