I’ve long insisted that my plan was to die in a fall from a horse at age 88—suitably remote as to make it a joke. A smug, stupid joke. I’ve also argued—as friends’ broken shoulders and fractured pelvises accumulated—that riding bicycles in traffic is a damn fool thing for mature citizens to do.
People are going about their normal daily activities with seeming equanimity — although there’s been a marked increase in convenience store parking space shootings, actually. Maybe an armed society’s not such a polite society after all. How surprising would it be to see gunfire erupt at a presidential campaign event? But I digress, and ominously.
For argument’s sake, let’s say you ran into this Trump character in a bar. First off, he’s boasting about how incredibly smart, rich and good looking he is. He’s a big, big winner. He’s even got his own TV show, and you don’t.
To somebody like me whose professional career roughly parallels Gabler’s, the man’s personal choices are mind-boggling. As he correctly points out, “writer…is a financially perilous profession.” To keep your head above water, it’s important to keep your wits about you.
Imagine if Hillary Clinton had flown to the Vatican and stationed herself at Pope Francis’s door for an ambush interview. She’d be caricatured as a power-mad shrew or worse.
When the corrections and retractions reach critical mass and the “investigative” articles start to read like Henry James novels — i.e. diffuse and impenetrable — the end of a given “scandal” episode is near.
Can anybody doubt that Obama would defeat either leading Republican candidate—the Sideshow Barker and the Snake Charmer alike—in a landslide? Doubtless his increased popularity derives partly from the contrast.
Some days I wonder if I’m qualified to express opinions about American politics anymore. See, I’m not particularly angry, and I also doubt that voters in general are any more worked up than usual. Voter outrage is mainly a media trope. Even at Donald Trump rallies, there’s a whole lot of sheer entertainment and play-acting.
This just in: Nothing boosts circulation or enhances ratings like a sex scandal. The more prominent the actors and the more prurient the allegations, the better. How else to explain the ugly resurgence of talking about the Clintons’ bedroom dramas?
It’s tempting, but specious, to draw comparisons between the publicity-seeking antics in Oregon and senseless tragedies involving law enforcement. That hasn’t stopped ideologues on the left from being as vocal in their enthusiasm for a shootout as anti-government militia types.
Everybody’s throwing themselves a pity party this year. Whether it’s Christians wringing their hands because they can’t regulate other people’s lives or college students complaining about cultural appropriation in the food court. Sorry, guys. None of this makes you a victim. It makes you a crybaby.
In my experience, you can fool a golden retriever exactly twice with the old hidden ball trick. So if the paper’s latest blunder is any indication, a golden retriever is overqualified to edit ‘The New York Times.’
Conservatives are emotionally committed to binary thinking — good vs. evil, white vs. black, Christian vs. Islamic — and so Obama’s resistance to melodrama and appreciation for complexity reads to them as weakness. In embracing a laughably simplistic worldview, Republican blowhards risk throwing away America’s moral authority.
From sea to shining sea, college students seem determined to make us argue about race, pondering the exact color of their navels and compiling lists of fruitless demands, to the exclusion of all else.
It almost goes without saying that you can’t make treaties with such people. They can only be defeated. The question is how? And at what cost?
At the expense of spoiling all the fun, let’s get real about Dr. Ben Carson’s presidential campaign. Carson fans have been slow to grasp that their party’s presidential nominee will need the votes of millions of “blue state” Republicans historically resistant to religious zealotry.
The current Republican presidential race is less a political contest than a reality TV series: a stage-managed melodrama with a cast of characters selected to titillate and provoke.
Anonymous sources are tricky enough, but journalists simply have no business contriving dramatized scenes with dialogue and characters — describing their innermost thoughts and feelings with no attribution whatsoever. To do so is inherently deceptive.