JUNO THE ALONE. The Best Picture Oscar nominees have developed a twee-indie slot, filled in 2004 by Sideways (which I considered here); last year by Little Miss Sunshine, which I admired with qualifications; and now by Juno. The hallmarks are high quirk, small scale, and some intellectual flourishes which mark them as upscale entertainments.

Juno goes a little further than its predecessors. For one thing, the twee is laid on with a trowel. The Kimya Dawson soundtrack assures more toothache than heartbreak (though I really hope she goes to the Oscars dressed like a bumblebee or something), and the Wes Andersonian sidebars and psuedo-naive animations indicate that Academy voters are finally warming to New Cool.

Certainly having a pregnant teen who isn't a beaten-down victim and in fact appears in control of her situation is a new one; Sharon Curley had great spunk in The Snapper, but she was grounded in an old-fashioned working-class reality and reacted to it, whereas our current heroine is exceptional in nearly every way and brushes off the social implications of her act as nuisances. She's as much a goddess as her namesake, and such social comedy as Juno provides is based on her and her family's steadfast indifference to other people's expectations. Her frank talk at the Lorings' -- "Maker's Mark, please" (flashes thumb) "Up" -- is funny enough that the other characters barely need to react. Despite some commentary we've heard about the movie, this very successfully removes society as a factor in her journey: her mission to deliver the baby to the appropriate couple is not a social policy decision but pure self-assertion by a precocious 16-year-old who trusts her own instincts completely.

It's to Juno's credit that she finally encounters disappointment in an unexpected way, handles it in a manner consonant with her character, and changes her mind about something important. (Spoiler alert.) When the couple she's picked don't live up to her expectations, she takes (private) time to absorb the loss, and gives the baby to the now-single woman she knows will care for it. If one were to try and put a message on it, it would look more like a plea for single motherhood in a world of inadequate males, and very much beside the point.

The mind-changing is dramatically interesting. (You still reading? I'm still spoiling.) Juno's most important relationship, on the story's terms, is with Bleeker, her best friend and father of her child. If her pregnancy isn't a significant problem for her in any other way -- her friends and parents are accepting, other people don't count, and the destiny her great intelligence and confidence indicate for her seems totally unaffected -- it's the sticking point between her and him. She shields Bleeker from the consequences as an act of love, but this has the effect of pushing him away, and -- classic turnaround! -- dim as he is in many way, Bleeker understands it better than she does. In fact, she doesn't have a clue, even when he tells her, and only the breakup of the Lorings brings her to the conclusion that Bleeker is important to her, not as the father but as the boy she was meant to be with.

If this sounds sentimental, that's because it is. Juno's pregnancy is a McGuffin that complicates her unconscious search for romantic love. Once this sinks in, the movie suddenly feels very slight. Though the tart, teenspeak dialogue and unusual premise make Juno feel hip and wised-up, Juno's gynecological coming-of-age basically leads to a life-lesson straight out of an after-school special. Through most of Juno -- and especially during the development of the troublesome relationship of Juno and Mark Loring -- we expect that the flip tone and emotional distancing of the characters are covering for something deeper. But as it turns out, not so much: everyone's a child, and not much capable of growth. Juno's final discussion with her father (which, significantly, she ends by deceiving him) and her profession of love to Bleeker return us right back to the breezy place where we started, only now Juno and Bleeker are for-reals gf and bf, playing emo bullshit on acoustic guitars. It's kind of a relief, but not a revelation.

Revelation's a lot to ask, though, so let us be content with the excellencies Juno offers. The dialogue really is snappy, and the actors sell it beautifully. It probably says something that the fine supporting cast is mostly from prestige TV shows: they have a great feel for lines that might have choked actors who aren't used to thinking fast. (I'm especially fond of Michael Cera and hope he gets the film career fate has perversely denied that other talented skinny-boy Topher Grace.) Ellen Page so dominates as Juno that I really suspect the movie wouldn't work at all without her. I haven't seen the other nominees but I wouldn't be shocked if she won the Oscar because her performance is so clearly indispensable. She's got the genius-child bull-headedness, and the charm to make us like it.

THE VIRTUES OF HYPOCRISY. Beliefnet's Rod Dreher starts out saying "there's something ...not quite there when conservatives who don't have families give advice and commentary on family-related issues." He tells us how a "conservative acquaintance... explained that the experience of raising kids, especially the one who suffers so much, has made him far less willing to pass judgment on other parents."

You know the drill. After several paragraphs Dreher executes a McArdle Maneuver and ends up talking about murderous teens who won't do their homework and "self-centered, couldn't-give-a-s**t parents." (He also says that having children "made me less quick to judge others harshly.")

Dreher's apparently in a mood to advise his fellow conservative commentators on lifestyle choices. Some days earlier, he told them to leave "Leave the NYC-DC Bubble":

I wonder if The American Spectator would be better off moving back to Bloomington, Indiana. I wonder how different National Review would be if it kept its DC bureau, but relocated its offices to Dallas or Atlanta. Similarly with the Weekly Standard. And so forth. For one thing, there would be much greater attention paid to culture, and less to policy and pure politics.

More attention to culture? Didn't he see Jonah Goldberg's review of Cloverfield? (Spoiler alert: it's about 9/11, "a message worth pondering.")

We've been over this before. Pleasing as is the prospect of Goldberg spending his lunch breaks at the Cracker Barrel in Fritters, Alabama, there's no reason for rightwing columnists to walk the walk. They're big idea men; they have read Hayek and Bloom and Coulter. It is for the lumpen to follow their social prescriptions, while the Smart Ones ponder welfare policy over phyllo-wrapped salmon at Persephone.

It would be easy to twit them for hypocrisy, but let us say this for them: they want others to think as they think, but draw the line at demanding that they live as they live. Dreher wants them not only to think as he thinks -- insofar as they can follow that snaking stream of half-baked ideas -- but also to live as he lives: religiously, away from major cities, with kids, organic food and compost heaps. He's the sort who will worry over "what American conservatism has become," and in the very next post worry over those who are "policing conservatism from within." And he thinks he's being non-judgmental. Some kinds of hypocrisy really are worse than others.

WITH GOD'S HELP, MY LAST CLINTON DERANGEMENT SYNDROME POST*. Back on January 4, when some people thought Hillary Clinton was cooked, National Review's Lisa Shiffren mourned:

Deep in my psyche, in the place that kind of misses the toothache I've been prodding at with my tongue, I am having a tiny little pang of missing Hillary. Not her, but hating her. Hating Hillary has been such a central political impulse for so long now — 15 years... I don't really know what I will do with that newly freed strand of energy.

She needn't have worried. Here she is today:

It is bad enough that the first serious female candidate for the world's most powerful office got where she is (as of now that is the U.S. Senate), by dint of her marriage, and not a career of ever more responsible political officeholding. It is bad enough that we all must work overtime not to dwell on the deal with the devil that constitutes her marriage to the former president: specifically, that she overlook a lifetime of unbridled public infidelity — in return for power.

Hate will find a way. Oh, and there's this:

And really, for all those feminists out there — and I know this is the wrong website for that audience, but I wouldn't be allowed to write at one that reached those women...

For similar reasons, I wouldn't be allowed to write for the National Review, but I will here advise Schiffren and her fellow sufferers: I don't support Hillary Clinton, but when you call her marriage a "deal with the devil" simple chivalry warms me toward her. In fact, crap like this constituted no small part of my rather sentimental decision to vote for her when she ran for the Senate. I suspect I'm not the only one -- and that's part of what she's counting on now. If you're really serious about shutting her down, you might try breaking the cycle of violence from your own end.

* 'til February or thereabouts.

OCCUPATION. Though I'm an old film nerd, there are a lot of esteemed directors whose works I've completely missed. I'm a little ashamed of it, but I must admit now that I was unfamiliar with Jean-Pierre Melville before tonight, because I've just seen Army of Shadows and can't contain myself.

As you might expect from a film about a French Resistance crew, it is one harrowing, nerve-tearing incident after another. There is no attempt to frame them with an overarching narrative; the men (and one woman) do their jobs, get caught or fail to get caught or escape. Between the exploits there is a patient attention to everyday activity that sustains the tension; when you are fucking with the Nazis, just eating a meal or walking down the street is a prelude to more terror. And the actors observable carry the weight of their occupation, in both senses, at every moment, and their seriousness doesn't get tiresome because it is palpably appropriate. What they're doing is heroic, but there is no lingering over that for effect, and when someone gets emotional it has to be tamped down for the good of the cause. (We get a clue that this will be the method at the beginning, when our hero coolly endures some chatter from a jolly Vichy gendarme. Later, the clasping of a hand is allowed to linger, under extraordinary circumstances, but that too must be put aside.)

Though the heroes are out of uniform, this is one of the best war movies I've ever seen. The two top Resisters' visit to London, where they meet DeGaulle and endure a blitz (and the central character, Gerbier, hitches a ride back to France with the RAF and makes his first parachute jump) gives a sense of the wider conflict within which they operate. This is war seen from deep inside, where the planning is endless and everything can go wrong and one can no longer be interested in what came before or hope too much for what may come afterward. "Struggle" and "conflict" are not conveyed by gritted teeth and flexed muscles but by silent attentiveness to opportunity and the occasional run for freedom or quick, bloody strike (and, in one hair-raising case, the dilemma of killing a man without disturbing the neighbors). The clarity is bracing. It makes Saving Private Ryan look like a soap opera.

I want to see more Melville soon, though my accursed taste for contemporaneity may postpone that so I can see a few more of this year's probably-shitty Oscar nominees.

GENERAL DERANGEMENT SYDROME. In Britain, "a story based on the Three Little Pigs fairy tale has been turned by a government agency's awards panel as the subject matter could offend Muslims." You can guess how I feel about it, and I can probably guess how you feel about it.

You may also guess how James Lileks feels about it too, but with him you can never guess far enough. He interrupts his rant to make this observation:

All the brave people waiting for things to get really bad so they can put on their V for Vendetta masks and upload YouTube videos of themselves writing graffiti on stop signs will roll their eyes and shrug their shoulders at this, because A) it’s just more wingnut hyperventilation, B) the people who get exercised have a deeper agenda, which probably involves deportation and gas chambers, and C) it’s just pigs, man...

Dig hard into your memory banks, lefty friends, and see how many people you can recall meeting who remotely match this description. They may safely be said to barely exist. I'm sure Lileks knows this, but he isn't really talking about these near-imaginary people. He's talking about you and me. Because we didn't wake up the morning and say, "I must protect America from this dhimmitude." You and I are not being criticized for our imagined support of the idiots on the children's book award committee, but for not caring so much about foreign idiocy as about the local variety. Which makes us graffitists who use beatnik slang.

We might call this the McArdle Maneuver, or attach it to a law of wingnut nature: any argument against any outrage will inevitably expand to encompass their ancient grudges, regardless of relevance.

Someone should clue Lileks et alia that the repetitive use of non sequiturs doesn't make them Cato, it makes them incoherent.

TRIBUTE. Heath Ledger was a very good actor and I'm sorry he's gone. Looking back, I see that in my review of Brokeback Mountain I didn't speak on his performance. His vocal characterization reminded me, strangely, of Brian Keith in another movie with a gay theme, Reflections in a Golden Eye, when his Langdon was drunkenly muttering about the departed Anacleto. Langdon was openly contemptuous of the houseboy's feminine manner, but in his cups -- and in the presence of his good buddy and screamingly obvious closet case Penderton -- he rumbled and mumbled and moped over Anacleto's "dancin' on his toes."

Keith's Langdon was wrestling with man-attraction, though at a remove; Ledger's Ennis had no remove. He was simple, and love took him like a plague. The way Ledger played him, I got the feeling that if Ennis had loved a woman instead life would still have been hard for him, but loving Jack made it impossible. Still, he had love and kept it, and though his eyes receded they never became angry, watchful slits that dared the world away; they were warm and full of hurt and confusion, and even attracted affection, disastrously. A large part of the sorrow of watching the movie is expecting Ennis to adapt and realizing that he can't.

The words and directing carry a lot but it's the acting that makes the sale. Actors don't just portray, they also imagine, and under any great performance is always a humane conception that makes the display of skill worth attending. Whatever pain was particular to Heath Ledger, on screen the pain was all Ennis'. We should be grateful to have this fine example of the player's art by which to remember him.

WATCHING THE PROS WORK. Andrew Sullivan:

It really is time to acknowledge that Clinton is running for a third term - in flagrant violation of the 22d Amendment.

Gasp! Can we pre-impeach him? Meanwhile a humorous Onion article spurs one of the Protein Wisdom crew to deep thought:

However, in the past, comedians targeted Bill’s inability to keep his pants on in the workplace. This time the subjects are the implied co-presidency the Clintons offer and Bill’s honesty with respect to the political, rather than the personal. Those doing the mocking are not conservative talk show hosts, but left-leaning humorists. As previously noted, a psychological line may get crossed that permanently erodes — to some degree — the style of politics the Clintons made dominant in the 1990s.

You rarely see this sort of bipartisan spirit, let alone respect for "left-leaning humorists," at Protein Wisdom. In fact you rarely see it anywhere. Well, there was that period in '98 when every newsman was tracking Monica Lewinsky and every late-night comic was making cigar jokes. Great days, those. But it was Clinton who had the last laugh.

I hope someone other than Clinton gets the nomination, but in these early innings it is nostalgically pleasing to observe the continued potency of the Derangement Syndrome she and her husband engendered so many years ago.

HOW CAN THEY TELL? Fred Thompson has tottered off the national stage. His supporters are taking it hard. Kim du Toit, who once called Thompson "the man who’s going to get my vote in the primaries," now delivers this envoi: "Thanks for nothing. Good-bye, go back to Hollywood, and fuck you."

But most of the Fredheads alternate between mourning and belligerence. At RedState, where Ole Fred kinda sorta blogged, they are vacillating between the denial and bargaining stages. The Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler says, "Now we get to decide which of the remaining horses we’re going to have to ride, if any." At Cold Fury Joe will still vote for Fred; Mike laments "Twilight in America," endorses a new American Conservative Party. Stephen Bainbridge wonders "whether there’s any one of the 4 [remaining GOP candidates] for whom it will be worth holding one’s nose and taking the plunge."

I expect they'll all come around when it's time to vote against Hitlery or that black guy. For now, let us remember the good times. Back when he was only a potential contender for the Presidency, Thompson sent conservative hearts aflutter by making videos like this one, in which he chewed a cigar and threatened Michael Moore with incarceration in a mental institution. How they loved the dazzling fantasy of that tough-talking D.A. from Law & Order stepping out of the idiot box to dispense rough justice to liberals. How Reaganesque it was!

Then he actually entered the race, and soon we were hearing about his "different kind of campaign" -- one in which he did little actual campaigning, or even filing to get on ballots. He was so somnolent on the stump that whenever he showed a flash of vitality, supporters lauded the event as if he were coming around from a long, debilitating illness.

Maybe he never really expected to get very far. Maybe the Thompson demi-campaign was only meant to raise his profile sufficiently to get him better TV gigs. Or maybe he thought all he had to do was show up, and the prize would be handed to him. For a certain kind of conservative, I guess that made him the ideal candidate.

THE PETER PRINCIPLE DIDN'T GO FAR ENOUGH. Early last year, in her much-covered "20/20 Bias" post, Megan McArdle began by announcing that she had been wrong about the war in Iraq, and then proceeded to explain why people who had been saying the war was a mistake all along were right for the wrong reasons, and were also in some way persecuting her:

This has not convinced me of the brilliance of the doves, because precisely none of the ones that I argued with predicted that things would go wrong in the way they did. If you get the right result, with the wrong mechanism, do you get credit for being right, or being lucky?...

What the doves would like to see the hawk's do--"I was wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong about everything, I am a stupid idiot, you are a brilliant figure with god-like omniscience"--is no better a guide to future decisionmaking than ignoring the fact that you were seriously wrong about the Iraq invasion.

This sort of work got McArdle a job with The Atlantic, where she has been writing a great deal lately about her diet, in which, her readers have learned, she will "only eat humanely raised meat" and has "virtually stopped eating bread." In this post she starts out talking about "a very real phenomenon: meat-eaters who are angry at you for not eating meat." She describes these unpleasant encounters, and says "Those who, like me, have made ethical choices about our diets that we haven't asked anyone else to emulate, find the aggressiveness of these encounters puzzling..."

By the end, you may have guessed, McArdle is lecturing vegetarians who are "hectoring" and "humorless jerks" and blaming them for making the meat-eaters mad at her. "You're not only annoying them," he says, "you're annoying me by proxy. Please stop."

If you think old-fashioned magazines are dying now, wait till the bloggers they've hired get through with them.

SHORTER JAMES LILEKS. I can't enjoy Hollywood films anymore because of their steady drumbeat of anti-Bush politics. I am speaking of course of Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End.

NOT BEANBAG. I won't even bother to link many of bazillion posts going now about how Bill Clinton shouldn't campaign so ruthlessly for Hillary Clinton. Two are indicative enough. On the left, Ezra Klein:

The impulses behind his actions are easy to understand. And, on some level. it's his reputation, his capital, his right to expend it as he sees fit.

But even as he's got that right, he's also got a responsibility to the millions of Democrats -- and Americans -- who worked on his campaigns and fought in his battles, who sacrificed and toiled so he could have this place in our polity, and who expected he would use it to push for progressivism, not just for his family.

I hate to break it to Ezra, but Clinton was barely a progressive president. The distinguishing features of his reign were welfare cuts, pro-growth business policies, and NAFTA. The "progressive" social programs he managed to get through (like the Family and Medical Leave Act) were sufficiently modest that the moneyed interests were able to accommodate them without breaking a sweat. FDR he wasn't. He wasn't even Hubert Humphrey.

Despite this, he had to fight off the most highly developed political attack machine in history. He knows that even moderates have mortal enemies and have to fight like radicals to win. Why should he give a fuck about his reputation among the goo-goos or anyone else? He governed from the middle and got treated like an American Lenin. Presumably he thinks his and his wife's brand of competent, centrist government will be judged kindly by history, but it has to get voted in first.

And from the right, sort of, Andrew Sullivan. I don't even need to quote him; you know what to expect from him and have known it for years. If Sullivan has nothing else in common with his old rightwing colleagues anymore, he is reunited with and even outstrips them in his reflexive hatred of all things Clinton. I'm not so keen on them myself, but I don't need a fucking drool-cup whenever they come into view. And I must say that Sullivan's current concern for gentlemanly conduct in Presidential contests is a little rich when compared to his far more measured assessment of Karl Rove* as recently as 2004:

And the Mary Cheney thing is a brilliant maneuver by the Republicans. Rove knows that most people do find mentioning someone's daughter's lesbianism to be distasteful and gratuitous. So he can work it to great effect, exploiting homophobia while claiming to be defending gays. Again: masterful jujitsu. I tip my hat to the guy. Poisonous, but effective.

Compared to that loathsome episode, what the Clintons have been doing is strictly Marquis of Queensbury stuff, but they'll never get the kind of good-show Sullivan gave Rove because Sullivan is afflicted by what, in other contexts, is commonly called a Derangement Syndrome.

Again, Hillary Clinton is my least favorite Democratic candidate, but here reason forces me to defend her. The notion that saying mean things about Obama to beat him in a Presidential race is some kind of offense to decency is ridiculous even when you don't consider the source.

* Please forgive the tertiary sourcing; Sullivan's posts from his days of Bush enthusiasm are effectively memory-holed.

THE NEWS BUSINESS. Michael Yon gets a very friendly profile in the New York Times. Conservative bloggers for the most part treat it as a further opportunity to hammer the Times. (Tigerhawk is among the few noble exceptions.)

"I guess it’s that time of the year again, for the broken down clock at the NYTimes," sneers Flopping Aces. "The NY Slimes," says Ray Robison. Jammie Wearing Fool complains "they carefully avoid saying too much about his coverage other then giving his web site and the obligatory nod to the now famous picture he took of a soldier cradling a wounded little girl" as if that weren't something most journalists, citizen or otherwise, would kill for. "Pigs were recently seen flying over Central Park," hyuks the Ace of Spades correspondent. Neptunus Lex sees it as a "through the looking glass" event, and his commenters pile on the "chronically lying and serially leaking of defense secrets scumbags at the NY Times!"

RedState, trying hard to huff up some outrage of its own, gets oh-so-close to reality:

The article wasn't negative at all; however, to me it just seems like you could substitute any topic, and any individual, that you wanted to, and the story would read the same way, no tweaking necessary -- like it was a prefab piece.

Of course. The New York Times is a very large newspaper with plenty of room, resources, and motivation to maintain a consensus reality that will accommodate enough readers to keep it viable. When it feels it has to shore up its right flank, it hires a William Kristol or employs freelancers like Glenn Harlan Reynolds and Ann Althouse to write for them, or covers someone like Michael Yon, albeit in a "pre-fab" manner.

The paper is "liberal" only to the extent that it does not, in its institutional voice, full-throatedly endorse the views of its most rightwing constituents. If it did, it would gain nothing, least of all the respect of folks like the ones quoted above. But why should the Times strive for their respect, so long as it clearly retains their attention? Scan the conservative blogs and note all the references and links to the Times. In these days of newspaper attrition, such bloggers are among its most reliable readers.

As for Yon, as I have noted before, he has been far from unnoticed or even underemployed by the "mainstream media," and his insistence that he is being ignored has built his following and enhanced his profile, as the current article amply demonstrates. I applaud this old punk-rock trick of loudly announcing you're too hot for The Man until The Man comes calling with coverage lauding your independence; David Peel couldn't done it better.

As for the rest, I wonder if it ever crosses their minds that all this journalism stuff has something to do with money.

(HATE) IN THE NAME OF PRIDE. MLK Day (observed) has drawn no observations at this writing from National Review Online -- which, given their past observances, is about the most respectful thing they could do.

Wingnuts in general are quiet, perhaps saving up their vitriol for Abraham Lincoln's birthday. Extreme Mortman manages only a short MLK tribute:

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. in a 1968 appearance at Harvard: “When people criticize Zionists, they mean Jews. You are talking anti-Semitism.”

I don't blame him; all I remember about Nixon is his rousing piano rendition of the Missouri Waltz.

At Reason Jesse Walker reproduces a very apt passage by the late Dr. King. I assume concern over the recent Ron Paul newsletter fiasco prevented Reason from printing their planned denunciation of the statist Civil Rights Act. Well, isn't Martin Luther King Day all about being grateful for the little we get?

UPDATE. They're still pretty quiet about it. One of the guys at Libertas does stand up for King against his mortal enemies -- that is, the "wretched NAACP today or liberals in general trying to effect change through divisively revelling and dwelling on our real or perceived mistakes and refusing ever to acknowledge our many virtues." Because King was nothing if not a booster. That's why he kept interrupting the "I Have a Dream" speech to lead the crowd in a chant of "U.S.A.! U.S.A.!"

Pierce has this sort of gibberish well-handled at Sadly, No!:

No, what MLK was all about was color-blindness! Yes, he was only interested in a unified world where everyone behaved exactly like white people. He was not interested in nonsense like affirmative action or restitution for slavery, despite his many public statements to the contrary; even the fact that he wrote an entire book about it shouldn’t sway us into thinking that Dr. King supported anything as crazy as racial quotas or economic compensation in addition to legal equality.

We live in a hell of a world, where liberals are fascists and MLK is Edward Brooke.

On a lighter note, there are some laughs in this Ron Paul video which compares the two doctors' philosophies and (disastrously for Paul) rhetorical styles. There's even a glimpse of young Paul talking cheerfully with black people -- I though Lew Rockwell burned all those!

And since he's all the rage (literally) these days, let me close with a little somethin'-somethin' on Jonah Goldberg's history with the schvartzes.

STILL MORE LIBERAL FASCISM. Jonah Goldberg leads his latest column about the liberal fascists with the grim news that "California is proposing revisions to its housing code that would require all new or remodeled homes to have a 'programmable communicating thermostat'... you would basically cede control of your home's heating and air conditioning to the state (when and if state officials wanted to exercise it)."

You cannot tell from Goldberg's column that the California Energy Commission withdrew this proposal on January 16, nor that the Commissioners, with one exception out of five, were appointed or re-appointed by Republican Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Then Goldberg talks about all the bans proposed or put in place by New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg without mentioning that Bloomberg was elected as a Republican.

I can't wait for the Ole Perfesser to put this one in his "name that party" file.

Goldberg pads out the remainder of his column with references to other countries, "public service announcements that use fear, terror and gruesome imagery to encourage workplace safety," and the Third Reich.

At The Corner, Goldberg links to an item on the invention of the cup-holder without mentioning that it was first proposed by Hitler to weaken the self-reliance of German motorists.

THE HOLLYWOOD VERSION. Via Memeorandum, I see Oliver Stone wants to do a George W. Bush biopic. Roger L. Simon and Libertas have already started snarling.

I am intrigued. Stone's Nixon is a muddle, but a pleasurable one, and certainly not a hit job -- in fact, it's Stone's quixotic attempt to humanize Nixon that makes it both confused and interesting. Stone could never concede that Nixon was just a monster of ordinary ambition; he scours his biography for insecurities that might explain him ("I kept thinking of my old man tonight -- he was a failure, too"), even inventing troubled relationships with his wife and mother to show the depth of his existential loneliness. These Freudian interludes clash badly with the massive historical events to which Stone absurdly gave equal weight: Nixon goes to China, Nixon goes to Russia, Nixon goes to Hell.

At times the ill-fitting gears mesh to lovely effect, as when young Nixon attends his mother's admonition to seek "strength in this life, happiness in the next," and the camera sweeps skyward and then down upon a thoughtful Nixon waiting to take the Republican Convention stage in 1968. But the real Nixon, or even a poetic equivalent, remains as elusive as Nixon's dialect in the mouth of Anthony Hopkins. The real hero of Nixon isn't Nixon but Stone, the adrenaline-addled Vietnam volunteer seeking to justify his psychedelic patriotism even amidst ample, excellent cases for abandoning it. His sentimental inability to see Tricky Dick plain provides its own fascinating spectacle of wishful thinking, which reverberates through the eulogies Bob Dole and the ex-Presidents yammer during the end credits.

How could I not be eager to see what Stone will make, ten years later, of Dubya and his exceedingly strange family (and please God let James Cromwell play Poppy)? We'll see then if even Stone's forgiveness has its limits.

IS NOTHING UNTAINTED BY LIBERAL FASCISM? Now the color blue is fascist, or something. Jonah Goldberg posts a reader's note:

I'm powering through the book and will try to send more interesting thoughts and criticism as I can, but I had to write in about that little trivia about the naming of the Philadelphia Eagles. That aside solved a huge mystery for me. This year, the Eagles celebrated their 75th year with throwback jerseys from their inaugural that were mysteriously hideous. They were blue and tannish/yellowish. What the heck did those colors have to do with eagles? Now I know. The blue, which was the main of the jersey, comes from the Blue Eagle of the NRA.

The Eagles were indeed named after the NRA's signature bird -- a neat bit of bandwagoning in a Depression-wracked city -- but the uniform colors are those of the Philadelphia city flag and had been worn by the jurisdiction's previous pro team, the Frankford Yellow Jackets.

But the city of Philadelphia is predominately Democratic, which means that it's fascist, so this only strengthens his point.

Presumably naming the franchise of ultraliberal New England the "Patriots" was just an attempt to fool people. Like Alger Hiss!

This isn't the first time a National Review writer has identified a football team's political affiliation by its colors: "I love it that [the Steelers'] opponents this year will be wearing the colors of — hard to comprehend this — Hamas! Couldn't be a better opponent, who will probably be favored..."

With pro football so riddled with treasonous influences -- and, per Rich Lowry, "a race-obsessed zone" -- it's no wonder another National Review author has argued for a change of allegiance -- expressed, naturally, in terms of occupation: "If American conservatives dedicate themselves to backing American soccer, the resultant energy and optimistic buzz might just push the U.S. men's national team to the final rounds of this summer's World Cup, or at least lower the percentage of the fans sitting next to me who voted for Mondale, Dukakis, and Gore."

Thank God pitchers and catchers is just a month away.

A CHANGE ELECTION. My first reaction to this ad was that it, and its sponsor, Americans for the Preservation of American Culture, couldn't be real; they had to be mischievous inventions of the Romney or maybe even the McCain campaign.



I'm still not sure, but I'm tending toward the view that I've been overthinking it. This is after all an American election, and a little Stars 'n' Bars controversy before a Southern primary is as much a tradition as lawn signs and walking-around money.

The innovations of our glorious new age have given 2008 a patina of novelty, but let's not get carried away. If Obama gets the nomination, we'll get Willie Horton II (and possibly III, IV, and infinity); if Clinton gets it, the position papers of the opposition will resemble the taunting letters-to-the-editor of serial killers of prostitutes, and if Edwards wins they will all be written by the Club for Growth and Mr. Burns from "The Simpsons." So maybe American Culture is being preserved after all. And maybe, despite all the talk of change, that's really what the American people want.

SOMEDAY NEVER COMES. As usual, Ed Driscoll is telling us that "legacy media" is over. But he also offers us the face of the future: Hotline TV! Turns out to be a lot like legacy media, except the jokes are even lamer, its viewership is in the low hundreds, and it has a scoop: the Michigan Primary was good news for Rudy Giuliani. (Male host: "We've been talking about how he's dead in the water, but he might end up being sort of crazy like a fox!" Female host: "Hmmm!")

I keep hearing Hollywood is over, too, but people are paying millions of dollars to go see The Bucket List instead of Bloggingheads, although the plots seem rather similar.

I have my own idea about what the future will look like. It involves omnipresent clouds of blue smoke, sporadic gunfire, and the revival of ring shouts. Naturally I don't talk about it much.

WHERE ARE THEY NOW? Ross Perot is right on top of things:

When I asked about Barack Obama, Perot said he admired his eloquence but thought it "a little odd that we would be less concerned about his background than being a Mormon." Perot was pleasantly surprised when I told him that Obama was a Christian, not a Muslim, and relieved when I informed him that the e-mail Perot (and untold others) received about Obama not respecting the Pledge of Allegiance was a fraud.

I hope we can resurrect some more former giants of American politics for their views on the Presidential race. Jesse Ventura, for example. This is from a review of his new book:

Jesse "reveals" that he met with CIA agents after he took office (it sounds about as sinister as a fan-club meeting between FBI agents and a NASCAR driver), says he told President Bill Clinton to bomb the Israel-Palestinian problem (Clinton considered the source) and imagines a weird scenario in which Jesse and Robert F. Kennedy Jr. make a run for the White House that ends with an assassination attempt that leaves Jesse in a coma.

How can they tell?

The final words of the book, while uncredited, are lyrics from "Hotel California," by one of Jesse's favorite rock bands, the Eagles:

"You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave!"

I want more! Please, somebody give Ventura and Perot a talk show, or a sitcom. It would beat the hell out of Mark Shields and David Brooks.

ASSHOLE BUDDY. Let me just say that I admire and approve the statement by Ezra Levant made to the Alberta Human Rights Commission. (You may also read his opening remarks to the Commission here.) If you don't have the right to print stupid, offensive things in your own publication, you have no meaningful freedom of speech at all.

I also reaffirm my defense of Mark Steyn's freedom of speech. Though I'm sure none of this changes the fact that I'm a fascist.

RAIN-DANCERS OF THE RIGHT. Peter Wehner, a former Fellow at the Bill Bennett School of Public Scolding and Bush White House strategist who has run for shelter from the upcoming conservative apocalypse to National Review's The Corner, nonetheless feels optimism: "Something good seems to be happening in our land." And that glad tiding is that Matthew McConaughey has referred to the thing growing in his girlfriend's womb as a baby.

"A baby, not a fetus," marvels Wehner. "I wonder how this locution will go down in the militantly pro-abortion world of Hollywood, where the 'right' to an abortion is sacrosanct." Trust me, if McConaughey's career ends in 2008, it won't be due to his use of the b-word -- it'll be due to Fool's Gold.

Things are rough for the right-wing when they jump on proud-parent usage as a sign of the Third Great Awakening. Not even The Corner's normally undemanding readers can stand for it, and they send Wehner complaints -- not, alas, that he has wasted their time with his gibberish, but that McConaughey has not married the mother of his proto-child and is therefore an unsuitable harbringer of moral revival.

Wehner, using some of the skills he no doubt honed at the White House, eats a certain amount of Christer shit before asserting, "I’ll take progress where we can find it. If we are seeing a movement toward respect for the unborn child in Hollywood, let’s accept that — and then, hopefully, we can move toward a greater commitment to marriage."

I suppose the next Hollywood wedding, however doomed, will have them convinced that Christ's Second Coming is right on schedule. (Maybe Jesus did help them with the timing -- they could have got stuck with Eddie Murphy.) Then they can move on to the next step -- getting McConaughey to denounce homosexuality.

Failing that, though, they could raise a small cheer if he tells some reporter that he's not into anal. Or if he gets a nice haircut or holds a door open for a lady or something. These people are like roadside rain-dancers; they can dance through weeks of drought, and still take credit for the shower that breaks it.

UPDATE. gypsy howell makes an excellent point in comments: "Huh. Judging by the number of celebrity out-of-wedlock babies, I was thinking that 'Hollywood' has never heard of having an abortion." What Would Tyler Durden Do concurs. They could add a "Cutest Baby" category to the Oscars and conservatives still wouldn't be satisfied. In fact, when Hollywood finally becomes a giant kindergarten they'll just complain that these "neo-Boomers" will all grow up to smoke pot and have riots.

GOLDBERG VARIATIONS. Jonah Goldberg is upset that Jon Stewart took him to the gas chamber:

Yeah, I knew I was in trouble when the interview just wouldn't end — and I got the sense it wasn't ending because Stewart didn't feel like he "won" so he had to keep going. I haven't watched it (though I pretty much never watch myself on TV), but I knew that editing wasn't going to help me. Still, I also went in knowing I wasn't going to get a supportive reaction from the guy.

I don't have cable, but let me guess -- did it go something like this:



Or was it like one of those old Smothers Brothers routines where Dick gets all up in Tommy's face and Tommy goes, "You... you.. you're a fascist"? Or was it like the old Bob & Ray routine in which an author of a book on American History (who is not an academic but a longshoreman, and so has written the book "mostly from memory") is called out for listing Lincoln's birthplace as "Bailey's Mistake, Maine," and responds, "Well, it's a big book, a few mistakes are bound to slip through"? (The author also, when confronted with a obvious 17th Century plate of American Indians parlaying with settlers that he had captioned "FDR signing the Social Security Act," counters, "Well, look, if you want to nit-pick a book...")

Well, such is the life of a legacy pledge when confronted with a world that, to his horror, is not bound by law or custom to be true to his school. I'm just surprised Ramesh Ponnuru didn't warn him off.

UPDATE. It must have been worse than I thought, as Goldberg has hauled out the "letters of support" routine. (I bet the interns hate this: "Get cracking, kids, Jonah needs some love!") As is common in the genre, one of the correspondents says he's a liberal -- though he adds "probably 'classical' by your definition" because even Goldberg fans might find the idea of a liberal saying "Thanks for calling me a fascist" hard to swallow.

CAN'T WE ALL USE A LITTLE GOOD NEWS? The local ABC Affiliate reports that should rich prick Michael Bloomberg run for President, he couldn't beat anyone or even carry his "hometown," New York City. For extra schadenfreude, WABC failed to add the usual "that's because New Yorkers want him to keep being their bestest mayor ever" that traditionally appears with these things.

Mmm. Even the air smells fresher.

I actually hope Bloomberg doesn't dwell on it too much -- and not just out of fellow-feeling for whatever servant he will abuse in his rage; I fear he may seek to punish us all with another ban. But what's left? Maybe sugar-free chewing gum. Which would suck, as that's part of my weight-loss program.

ROMNEYMENTUM! Another impressive showing by Old Fred Thompson. This guy's catching fire. Despite what the liberal media says, Thompson's manager says he got "about 15%*" in Michigan. No doubt the discrepancy is due to the fact that his supporters are still in their voting booths, trying to figure out how to work the levers.

(* Ooops -- misread, the manager was talking about Huckabee's 15%. My only excuse is all the excitement in the air -- call it Referred Huckafever -- and the peculiarity of a campaign release leading with the third-place finisher's number. So dazed was I that I also failed to mention the Thompson campaign's gracious congratulations to the winner. Oh, wait a minute...)

And say what you will about Uncommitted, he's still very much in this race!

Romney invokes "George Herbert Walker Bush," just to make sure no one thinks he's talking about that stupid drunk in the White House.

JONAH GOLDBERG'S I KNOW YOU ARE BUT WHAT AM I? I'll say this for him: Jonah Goldberg's Liberal Fascism is full of fun historical facts, including these hilarious biographical details for Rabbi Michael Lerner: "When [Lerner and his bride] were married, they exchanged rings extracted from the fuselage of an American aircraft downed over Vietnam. The wedding cake was inscribed with the Weathermen motto 'Smash Monogamy.'"

But the book doesn't offer much in the way of analysis. As in his writing for National Review and elsewhere, Goldberg treats facts as dirt-clods to hurl at his opponents; the task of condensing them into a case that fascism comes out of liberalism (and that modern-day liberalism is still just a putsch short of fascist dictatorship) is well beyond him.

We get a hint at the problem early on, when Goldberg defines fascism. "Scholars have had so much difficulty explaining what fascism is because various fascisms have been so different from each other," he says. But he is unwilling to take as a guide such apparently definitive statements as Mussolini's ("the resolute negation of the doctrine underlying so-called scientific and Marxian socialism") -- even while calling Il Duce "The Father of Fascism" -- prefering instead to emphasize Mussolini's youthful enthusiasms for Marx and socialism, which Goldberg accepts as proof that Marxism, socialism, and fascism are all the same thing -- that is, liberalism.

As a perhaps semi-conscious defense of this selective reading, Goldberg notes that "as a pragmatist, [Mussolini] was constantly willing to throw off dogma, theory, and alliances whenever convenient" -- yet he doesn't seem to grasp that this statement cuts both ways; if Mussolini was just conning people when he denounced the Left, why couldn't he have been conning them when he embraced it?

So Goldberg offers his own definition:

Fascism is a religion of the state. It assumes the organic unity of the body politic and longs for a national leader attuned to the will of the people. It is totalitarian in that it views everything as political and holds that any action by the state is justified to achieve the common good. It takes responsibility for all aspects of life, including our health and well-being, and seeks to impose uniformity of thought and action, whether by force or through regulation and social pressure. Everything, including the economy and religion, must be aligned with its objectives. Any rival identity is part of the "problem" and therefore defined as the enemy. I will argue that contemporary American liberalism embodies all of these aspects of fascism.

If the charge at the end surprises you, you have missed a trick: by "all of these aspects," he doesn't mean all at the same time. Any little piece of the bill of particulars, regardless of context, will serve. Thus, the fact that Mussolini supported old-age pensions and a minimum wage becomes as important to understanding his fascism as hyper-nationalism and the one-party state, because "takes responsibility for all aspects of life, including our health and well-being..." appears in Goldberg's definition.

You can imagine how this figures in Goldberg's classification of the Great Society and national health care as fascist phenomena. Indeed, there isn't an American welfare program or idea in the book that Goldberg doesn't find fascist or proto-fascist (this includes George Bush's compassionate conservatism). One wonders why he failed to mention the fascist provenance of Home Relief or the Sermon on the Mount.

Once you start using history and logic so irresponsibly, anything goes. For example, when we come to Hillary Clinton, Goldberg's "First Lady of Liberal Fascism," we are offered her 1973 Yale graduate paper arguing for granting legal autonomy to children in court cases as evidence of her fascism. Many of us might question the scope of Clinton's youthful claim, but it takes a Goldberg to compare Clinton's arguments to those of Robespierre and Hitler on the grounds that they, too, advocated "'capturing' children for social engineering purposes." Goldberg follows with some characteristic broken-field running, saying that Clinton's project "is in no way a Nazi project" -- and then compares her to Stalin and Mao ("they share a sweeping vision of social justice and community and the need for the state to realize that vision").

Clinton took a side in legitimate competing interests, and the most evident legacy of her efforts may be seen in the relatively mild legal and policy efforts of the Children's Defense Fund. But Goldberg finds her fascist because "while there are light-years of difference between the programs of liberals and those of Nazis or Italian Fascists or even the nationalist progressives of yore, the underlying impulse, the totalitarian temptation is present in both." And didn't Goldberg explicitly use the word totalitarian -- in italics -- in his bill of particulars? Close counts in horseshoes and Liberal Fascism.

If you think this is rich, see what he gives Norman Lear. Yes, that's Norman Lear the TV guy. The sitcom maker's formation of People for the American Way, and his despair at "the spiritual emptiness of our culture" and "our obsession with numbers, the quantifiable, the immediate," draws this analysis from Goldberg:

Lear's cri de coeur is an almost pitch-perfect restatement of the neo-Romantic objections to modern society that inspired fascist movements across Europe and the search for 'a cause larger than ourselves' of the American Progressives. He might receive an appreciative hearing from the early Paul de Man, Ezra Pound, and countless other fascist theorists and ideologues who denounced the Western -- particularly Jewish -- obsession with numbers and technical abstraction.

From wan, warm-hearted boilerplate to fascism in two easy sentences! And it can be used on anyone who pleads for deep feeling -- even Mr. Spock! ("It is almost a biological rebellion, a profound revulsion against the planned communities, the programming, the sterilized, artfully balanced atmospheres...") Try it at home yourself!

There are many similar howlers in the book. The barbarities of Leftist radicals in the 60s -- despite Goldberg's admission that these people sought to "differentiate themselves from liberals, whom the hard left saw as too concerned with politeness, procedure, and conventional politics" -- are connected to official Democratic politics because Howard Dean once spoke nostalgically of the Civil Rights Act and Hollywood made Easy Rider. Goldberg glides over the blacklists of the 50s -- he has previously spoken sympathetically of them -- but takes care to remind us that "[Joe] McCarthy's political roots lay firmly in the Progressive Era." The Da Vinci Code is linked to "the Nazi attack on Christianity." And there are all those brain-farts ("The white male is the Jew of liberal fascism") that have been the joy and solace of Sadly, No! lo these many weeks.

Goldberg is on firmer ground documenting the often deplorable overreach of the Wilson and Franklin D. Roosevelt Administrations. Of course, you may have already learned about many of their atrocities from Howard Zinn, Gore Vidal, and other liberal writers. That liberals, socialists, and progressives mainly took it in the neck from Wilson doesn't bother Goldberg -- after all, the Nazis fought the Commies, and they were all fascists. And I doubt Goldberg would even acknowledge that the more coercive aspects of the Roosevelt Administration are now rejected by most liberals, and indeed mainly defended by conservatives.

And that's really what this book is about. Throughout Liberal Fascism Goldberg inserts complaints that liberals unfairly call conservatives fascists -- a slur that, in our age of blogospheric intemperance and extraordinary renditions, is even harder to escape than when hippies were yelling it. Well, he'll show them. Having heard the "Why do you think they called it National Socialism?" routine for decades, I have some idea of the depth of Goldberg's well of resentment. Though he has plowed up a lot of source material to stuff his magnum opus, that sense of ancient grievance permeates and dooms his book. Goldberg betrays a palpable need to get all his (and previous generations of American conservatives') grudges in, from Rousseau to John Kerry. And he's got to prove they're all fascists. Even a skilled polemicist would have collapsed under the weight of the task, but a skilled polemicist would have known enough to rein it in a little. Goldberg doesn't. Whenever he does manage to string a few points together, The Quest calls him unto a new absurdity.

That won't matter to the built-in market of Coulter fans and dittoheads who have already adopted Liberal Fascism, but unaffiliated readers will probably be flummoxed. As for those of us on the other side -- the real fascists, if you will -- it is, as tradition dictates, just the latest, if also the largest, of Goldberg's gifts of laughter.

QUESTION OF THE DAY: Whatever happened to thepoorman.net?

UPDATE. Look, proud brothers: the club is open!

A SOLITARY MAN. Rod Dreher is on one his natalist tears. "Will Boomers die alone and unloved?" he asks, and refers to Philip Longman's harrowing premonitions of Boomer-geezer disappointment in Social Security, of which my favorite part is this:

The younger generation to whom Boomers will turn for support in old age will also contain a higher proportion of African Americans and Hispanics than does the Baby Boom generation itself. So on top of the generational divide, and on top of the culture divide, will be a widening racial and ethnic divide.

As if anticipating that the prospect of senescence in hands of dark-skinned strangers may not be enough to sway us, Dreher doubles down with a childless couple's lament: "It's the other side of the Boomer childlessness story."

It's amazing how much of the Jesus people POV is based on the Ant and the Grasshopper. Just you wait, they say, one day you'll be old and alone and godless -- and, if we have our way, broke. Then who'll be laughing?

Speaking as a childless man of no great fortune, I fully expect to die one of these days, and I have respect enough for narrative, and the odds, to also expect that my end may not be heartwarming. But I fail to see how that should drive me to procreate. As Lear and a million other geezers knew, children are an unreliable source of comfort and security. However long a span I am granted, the end is just a little piece of it. If that isn't sweet, I know that my memories, if I am blessed to retain them, will be, and thereafter is oblivion. I have front-loaded my happiness, and have no regrets.

I understand that Dreher wants for religious reasons to encourage increased childbearing, and would threaten abrogation of the Social Security contract to achieve it. That he and others would use such a crude weapon to scare people into having babies is frankly disgusting. If my natural inclinations would in any case encourage my resistance, under such circumstances my self-respect demands it. Better, morally speaking, to fall back on my default retirement plan: a pistol and a rooming-house.

If you are not so inclined, you might still consider carefully before taking life lessons from a guy whose idea of Walter Cronkite is Ross Douthat.

THE BLOODY HORSE. I'm surprised at the restraint Tim Burton shows with Sweeney Todd. To be sure, there's plenty of swooping camera movement, acres of grime and gallons of blood, and many inventive openings-up of the stage play (the "By The Sea" number was my favorite of these, with the comically morose Sweeney planted like a black beach umbrella in Mrs. Lovett's resort fantasy). But Burton doesn't really own the property so much as do a creditable movie version of it.

In a way I'd have preferred to see Burton do Brigadoon or something else that might have resisted his scalpel and thus encouraged him to outrageous mischief. He seems to respect Sweeney Todd a great deal -- in fact, by excising the original, didactic prologue and epilogue, he shows that he got the point well enough not to belabor it. Much as I love the musical, though, I would have liked to see Burton take more liberties with it. I appreciate, for example, Alan Rickman's vulpine Judge Turpin, but wasn't Burton tempted to show him running his fingers along something more interesting than the leather bindings of antique pornography? I wonder what Ken Russell would have made of it. A botch, perhaps. Still, with Burton in the ring with Sondheim, I expected a bit more grappling.

All in all, we get a first-class musical handled by a director with a feel for it, and that's not bad. The acting's very fine. It doesn't bother me that Johnny Depp's no George Hearn -- the film wouldn't bear that kind of high-voltage dementia. Though comparatively wan, Depp is sufficiently alert to the demands of his vengeance to keep us watching. Maybe if Burton keeps working with him, they'll eventually get to the places Hitchcock took Jimmy Stewart. Helena Bonham-Carter's underplaying beautifully captures the more ordinary madness of Mrs. Lovett. All the others are good, but I especially liked Timothy Spall as the Beadle. I only know Spall from his Mike Leigh grotesques in Life is Sweet and Topsy-Turvy, but here he really out-gargoyles himself, swollen with self-regard and bad diet, and most repulsive when he's trying to charm. The very tilt of his topper is nauseating. All the craft aspects are what you'd expect: extremely clever about torturing tones out of the Victorian London muck.

The blood must be mentioned. It may be that, in its display, Burton gave himself the largest measure of freedom. Were the film less successful, that would be a sad commentary. As it is, the bloodletting constitutes a kind of signature. An unnaturally viscid stream unites the elements in the credits; when the killing starts, more fluid sprays and seepings add color to Sweeney's joyless, silver-and-black shop -- a nice objective correlative. The climactic slaughters are best of all. (Mild spoiler alert.) When Sweeney achieves his revenge, he and Burton revel in a nicely choreographed, effulgent display of gore. And at the tragic conclusion, the blood drools thick and slow to unite, absurdly and pathetically, the lost lovers. With apologies to Roy Campbell, while I respect his use of the snaffle and the curb, it was something to see Burton give us at last the bloody horse.

UPDATE. There are apparently a lot of YouTube videos of Sondheim teaching musical acting. Here he instructs a couple of kids who are working on "My Friends." Kudos to the boy for wearing white pants; I would have worried about soiling them. But Sondheim is very gentle and very, very educational. I like to think Depp saw and took this lesson.

VARIATIONS ON CONCERN TROLLING. Brendan Loy publishes a long letter to Barack Obama, warning him to disassociate himself from race-baiting supporters. He concludes:

By the way, I am a registered voter in Tennessee, which holds its primary on February 5, I will be closely following this issue, among others, as I finalize my decision of whom to vote for. I hope that, in the end, I will be able to cast my ballot for you.

In an update, he says of those who accuse him of concern trolling, "Sorry to disappoint, but I actually am a (tentative) Obama supporter, as my archives make clear; I'm not just pretending to support him to make a point. It's telling that folks would assume that, though. How dare I question the party line, eh?" (In an update he clarifies further: "I am leaning toward Obama for the Democratic nomination, not necessarily for the presidency.")

Let us indeed consult the archives. Loy claims to have voted for Kerry in 2004, but when Kerry lost he said, "I’m not all that upset with the result... I think Kerry had a decent chance of being a colossal failure, and Bush has a decent chance of being a surprising success... Meanwhile, I look forward to watching the Loony Left implode in utter confusion over the result."

In 2006 Loy said he quit the Democratic Party because Connecticut Democrats failed to nominate Joe Lieberman, a result he called "disturbing one to anyone who cares about the future of the Democratic Party. (Which, frankly, I no longer do, particularly. I do believe it’s important to have a viable opposition party, but personally I’d love to see McCain and Lieberman hook up, form a third party, a centrist/unity party — let’s call it the Liberty Party, since Libertarian is already taken — and watch the Democrats’ numbers shrink and shrink until they become the third party. That’d be sweet.)"

Last month Loy ranked his Presidential choices: Biden, McCain, Obama, Clinton, Giuliani, Romney.

So in Loy we have an embittered ex-Democrat and presumptive McCain supporter (particularly since he seems very excited by the prospect of a McCain-Lieberman ticket), earnestly advising Obama on campaign strategy. Because he might just vote for him if things don't work out.

Is that concern trolling? Let us be kind. Loy is an earnest young man who perhaps doesn't know his own mind as yet, and may not be capable of the kind of cynical gambits employed by the pros. I will note, though, that when I offer advice to, say, Rudolph Giuliani, I don't expect to be taken seriously.

OLD WAYS. Perfesser Reynolds complains of woolen knickers on a Brooks Brothers model, and compares them to foofy shorts. Tigerhawk seconds: "Old WASP culture, of which I know more than most bloggers (other than GreenmanTim, of course), is now well and truly dead."

These gentlemen may wish to revise their judgments. Who was a better avatar of Old WASP culture than explorer George "Because it is there" Mallory? He was lost on Everest in 1924, and his remains, along with those of his companion Andrew Irvine, were found in 1999. Attend the words of their discoverers:

"The idea of these two Oxford English gentlemen in tweed coats and woolen knickers attempting to climb the highest mountain in the world in 1924 just automatically makes people's eyes open wide."

It does indeed. Here is a comparison of Mallory's outfit with that of the leader of the 1994 team. The latter is better prepared, but the former, you must admit, is more stylin'.

Mallory and Irvine sent themselves into harm's way, rather than send others as the WASPs in our current Administration do. So there is some argument for degeneracy there. But let us not harsh on the woolen knickers. Though I would like to see them in cream flannel. For tennis, you know.

CAMPAIGN ROUNDUP. Apparently Giuliani was paying his staff something, but now they're going to have to be content with him not killing their families. Meanwhile Giuliani keeps appearing in commercials and debates, which may explain his precipitous slide in the polls, even among New York Republicans. Unlikability will only get you so far in politics.

The rise of McCain has prompted Mitt Romney to remind conservatives why they hated the war hero in the first place. McCain is "an individual who voted against the Bush tax cuts and continues to feel that his vote against the Bush tax cuts was right," says Romney. You know a campaign is in the trouble when it tries a little of that old Bush magic to win votes.

Fred Thompson's brief display of vital signs continues to impress bloggers. "Who put the vitamins in Fred Thompson's oatmeal?" observes Ed Morrissey. "UPDATE: Fred ate more Wheaties between the debate and his appearance on Hannity & Colmes." After he drops out, perhaps Thompson can endorse high-fiber breakfast products.

Mike Huckabee's current strategy is to be a good boy and wait for Jesus to make him President. But the other Republicans have begun picking on him in debates, so he has gone to columnist James Pinkerton for backup. Presumably Huckabee thinks Pinkerton will help him sell religion in politics without sounding entirely like a snake-handler. For his part, Pinkerton has proposed a "space ark" to preserve human specimens when we have destroyed the planet, so maybe he thinks Huckabee is the best hope for effecting both ends of that plan.

Ron Paul's racist newsletter articles have been well-covered, but they won't effect his support, as none of the people who love him care about such things. But the mere imputation of crypto-racism is a much bigger deal for Hillary Clinton, and sent her husband to Al Sharpton to mend fences. I can comfortably predict that this concern with liberal racism will remain popular unless Obama wins the nomination, at which point we will hear much more about black racism. That and madrassas.

THIS FRIDAY MUSIC THING... I'm gonna dive in:











If you're an old 80s punk psycho like me, you'll come out of this wanting more Human Switchboard. No problem. You can turn your heart in if you like; I'm not turnin' in my hope. (You may follow the further career of Myrna Marcarian here.)

UPDATE. Oh, yeah... Phil Ochs. Sob. A good reaction would be to demoralize some fascists. Yeah, I know: we're supposed to be the fascists. Confront the idiots who think so with humor -- it tends to turn them out.

OLD MAN SMELL OF THE WEEK. Despite the recent brilliant adjustment in the Giuliani campaign, the National Review folks (previously pledged to Mitt Romney) are now pumped for... Ole Fred Thompson!

Smell the victory:

Thompson made a point of using an inside-the-Beltway question about whether the Reagan coalition still exists that had been directed to Huckabee to launch an attack on him. He obviously was waiting for such a moment -- as he criticized Huckabee on a litany of specifics, he was looking at notes.

As National Review previously tried to put it, this was Thompson's "I paid for these index cards!" moment.

Makes sense. Thompson's the most Reagan of the group, being observably dumb and close to death. And, as Kathryn J. Lopez observed:

Well, I think it certainly looked like he was running for veep until tonight. Wasn't too absurd a conclusion for folks who wanted to like him but were watching the campaign to draw.

Translation: irritable bowel syndrome revives Reaganism! If Giuliani is smart, he'll announce that his prostrate has begun to swell again, and has made him right pissy!

UPDATE. Speaking of piss, National Review keeps pouring it on:

Winner: Thompson. This performance was so commanding, I wanted his last answer to echo back to the lights in the back of the auditorium, blow out all the lamps and spotlights, for the theme to “the Natural” to play, and for him to trot around the stage in slow motion while sparks showered down in the background.

Of course, Ole Man Thompson circling the bases would of itself constitute a one-hour TV special. Maybe, hard against the commercial breaks, they could insert numbers by Joey Heatherton and Lola Falana, and then cut to Ole Fred huffing at whatever base he was crouched over, making cracks between sucks on an oxygen mask like, "Boy, I tell ya, Mike Huckabee talks about Jesus like he was some kinda Republican! I say suffer the little children come unto me, and I'll ask the little bastards for their green cards! Pant, pant..."

UPDATE II. Thanks to Atrios for pointing this out:

Mr. Thompson rocks tonight. Asked about the recent confrontation between United States warships and Iranian speedboats, he suggests casually that if Iran’s Revolutionary Guard becomes more hostile, the Iranians will see those virgins they’ve been looking for.

Rounding third and taking a breather in the coach's box, Ole Fred gasps, "I'ma gon' show them Irani-mescans what's what... they wan'em some virgins... i'ma show 'em some gals uppa Raleigh way knows how ta stick some chewin' gum up they cooters... pant, pant..."

READ HIS LISP. Giuliani's 9/11 message, and his recent invocations of Reagan, having failed to move the needle, he shifts to a classic Republican Presidential gambit, and in a big way: from his first day in office, his new ad promises, he'll "cut taxes by trillions of dollars." The ad claims that as mayor Giuliani "delivered more tax relief than all the other Republicans combined" and adds he's "gotten it done where it was even more difficult to do it than in Washington" -- that is, in the liberal hellhole New York City.

Giuliani's cuts (disputedly totaling $9 billion) mostly took place during an economic boom. His first and most successfully-slashed budget was $31.6 billion, and in his last post-boom days in office before the 9/11 attacks, he expected to leave a deficit of $2.8 billion (the WTC fallout stuck a few more billion on it). Giuliani's tax-cutting career seems to follow a national pattern for the era of big deals at the top, fudging in the middle, and a mess at the end.

The "trillions" in cuts he now proposes are still pretty fudgy: the Giuliani campaign includes "making the current tax provisions... permanent," "the expansion of tax-free savings accounts [which] will encourage Americans to save and eliminate the double taxation of individuals’ current savings," and exemptions that pertain to his health-care plan.

This seems a very old-fashioned Republican gambit, but the non-traditional campaign Giuliani's been running has demonstrably failed to work. I guess his operatives are moving Giuliani's old themes -- 9/11 and his peculiar mix of progressive and authoritarian social policies -- into the subtext. He will be the guy who is tough on terror, tough on goddamn New York, tough on ex-wives, tough on anyone who stands in his way -- and tough enough to cut your taxes by trillions! Whether this works may depend on how much voters surmise he'll also, when circumstances require, be tough on them.

THERE'S NO NEED TO FEAR -- UNDERDOG IS HERE! Subscribers received a message from Team Rudy this morning:

When Rudy started running for President, he never planned to run a conventional campaign. Conventional wisdom and political pundits said he wouldn't be a viable candidate and he would be out of the race by last summer.

This is a new one on me. As far back as December 2004, Quinnipiac's polling showed 68 percent of Republicans wanted Giuliani to run for President. When he declared in February, USA Today/Gallup had him as the preference of 40 percent of Republicans; his nearest competitor, McCain, had 24 percent. Rasmussen had him leading the GOP field as late as December 10!

And till recently, Giuliani never lacked for high-profile support, nor press coverage befitting a front-runner. In March a Time magazine profile, while admitting Giuliani's "missteps" and that "the political rule book says a pro-choice former New York City mayor married to wife No. 3 cannot possibly win the Republican presidential nomination," added, "the political rule book has been stuffed into a shredder this year," and ended, "No news is good news for the Giuliani brand, and every quiet week that passes, the unlikely candidate is one week closer to rewriting the rules." In June Chris Matthews said Giuliani was "always there, right in your face, dealing with reality. I think that's what -- with all his aggravations and personality stuff and roughness -- I think that's what people are looking for: somebody who's clear and present and right there answering our questions..." Scour your own memory banks and tell me if the man known universally as Rudy! was getting a raw deal before his numbers began to plummet.

It doesn't matter; the naysayers, Team Rudy says, "were wrong. This election, much like Rudy, is not conventional. We're in uncharted waters with this new election calendar and winning requires a different strategy..." To spare you the details, it all comes down to Florida and Super Tuesday. "Recent polls have demonstrated that our strategy is working. A new Insider Advantage Poll of registered Florida voters has Rudy at 24%, a solid lead over his next closest competitor..."

I am compelled to also note an August 23 USA Today article about Giuliani's vigorous campaigning in New Hampshire (!), headlined, "Giuliani out to win a state 'made for him.'"

Now, I don't like the guy, but I can't say I blame him. As the recent Clinton victory in New Hampshire shows, there can be magic in a dose of underdog appeal, even for someone who is only an underdog by the most forgiving of definitions. But, typically for Giuliani, this current attempt to capture some of that appeal comes mixed with belligerence and a haughty certainty that everything is going according to plan. Team Rudy might want to rethink that approach. As the late Wally Cox showed us, real, or at least plausible, underdogs don't snarl.

EVERYBODY WINS. Life gave the Cornerites Hitlery, so they made Hitleryade. As the New Hampshire votes rolled in, they went from sour conspiracy theorizing...

"The Hillary 'revival,'" Mark writes, "seems confined for the most part to Nashua and Manchester." How come? What would it be about those two cities that would make them more amenable to (or manipulable by) the Clinton machine? Jeepers. Think of all those state employees in Concord, the capital. Wouldn't you expect them to line up for the Democratic machine?

...to cheerier spin, like "Hillary as insurgent against the liberal MSM—you go, girl!" and "We will have Hillary Clinton to kick around anymore, and I'm glad."

Some operatives spun less happily. Right after Romney got his ass kicked, Hugh Hewitt greeted him with this:

Now Governor, this is not unfolding the way any pundit called it, certainly not the way you had hoped it would unfold, but also not the way your opponents hoped it would unfold. John McCain’s down from 60% eight years ago...

This is such a refreshing departure from all that MSM bias we had to put up with before the rise of the blogosphere.

The Anchoress thinks it's all fixed -- "It seems to me that such a circumstance makes fraud so easy" -- but approves because "I was getting a little creeped out thinking that an untested but charismatic guy could so overwhelm the process so quickly in such a dangerous age." This is quite a switch for her from just the day before ("Thanks to their 'naive' belief in the election process, they actually believed they could walk off the heavily fortified Clinton plantation, and they did it"). It's true what they say -- with God, all things are plausible.

A few days ago, Daniel Casse said at Contentions, "How ironic it is that, in the wake of her [Iowa] defeat, Hillary Clinton will retreat to the issues of health care and the need for 'universal coverage' as the core message of her comeback strategy in New Hampshire," and "Hillary is looking stale with that has-been husband at her side." Casse tonight: "She is substance over theory. She quickly got into the quicksand where Obama dares not tread: College loans, housing foreclosures... This was a gracious, patriotic, confident, American victory lap speech."

Here's to the miracle of democracy, by which I mean the fact that these people have jobs outside of canneries or fast-food outlets.

SLAP MY HAND, BLACK SOUL MAN! James Lileks surveys Presidential field, likes Mayor 9/11, but sees a black cloud on the horizon:

I do not want a National Dad or even a Cool Brother (double-meaning unintended) for the President; I want someone with JFK’s optimism, Roosevelt’s steel, Truman’s irascibility, and so forth.

But it’s all for naught if the Obamaboom continues, because he has the zeitgeist at his back and a sail the size of an IMAX screen. People will vote for him because they want to be part of something larger, and that’s a rare and potent thing these days. Whether that’s a wise thing to do in perilous times depends on whether people think we’re living in perilous times, I suppose. We’ll see.

I don't see how the wisdom of voting for the Cool Brother is contingent on the feelings of the electorate, and I expect he doesn't see it either. But let's give him a break: he does write these things for free, and he's obviously depressed. If even Iowa favors the dark over the dork, it's no longer the Great Flyover he grew up in and ran back to.

I do find these early, baffled stirrings of Obama dread amusing, but if things go like they're going I expect they'll haul out the firehoses soon enough.

UPDATE. In comments ChrisV82 rejoins: "I want someone with Taft's girth, Van Buren's hairstyle and Taylor's acute gastroenteritis."