Alienated and seditious.
Even moderate liberal Kevin Drum agrees: in fact, he’s said it himself: “Bush has gone a step beyond the Imperial Presidency and is now conducting something like a Papal Presidency: he does nothing in public except make speeches ex cathedra and then wait for his friends in the press to fawn over his commanding presence.” —And maybe I’ll just let the “even the liberal” joke (good-natured, I’ll have you note) stand as my comment on the radical/extremist/moderate/centrist debate, as others have said what I’d want to say much better than I’d ever get around to saying it myself.
But! I was talking about papal presidencies, which, if you Google it, brings up all manner of creepy conspiracy-think of the them-Papists-and-their-Jews variety, which I may well trawl for nuggets of this and that the next time I’m feeling up to playing with creepy conspiracy-think. (Not so fun, these days.) —Teresa Nielsen Hayden calls to our attention another manifestation of the presidex maximus:
Thousands of marines have been given a pamphlet called “A Christian’s Duty,” a mini prayer book which includes a tear-out section to be mailed to the White House pledging [that] the soldier who sends it in has been praying for Bush.
“I have committed to pray for you, your family, your staff and our troops during this time of uncertainty and tumult. May God’s peace be your guide,” says the pledge, according to a journalist embedded with coalition forces.
Kevin Moore points us to another, more secular:
Republican-led legislatures in five states believe they have found a way to ease the budget crunch: eliminate the 2004 presidential primaries.
President Bush is unlikely to face serious opposition in the Republican run-up to the election, so any budget-driven change to the primary would affect the growing field of Democratic candidates.
I feel like the government just took a shit on my chest again, to paraphrase Jon Stewart. Perhaps now’s a good time to bring up what Becca overheard at work?
It’s not that I don’t trust God. I just don’t trust Bush. I don’t think he’s talking to God, or letting God talk through him. And I find that very, very disturbing.
And aside from this, I got nothin’. So maybe we’ll close with a joke: see, there was a brief cessation in the rain this weekend, so we all up and down our street came out and mowed grass and weeded and did gardening things and got caught up, since when it’s raining no one’s ever out working in the yard. Our neighbor on the south side is the street’s designated crank: mumblety-mumble years old, fighting feuds with half the street whose origins no one can at this point remember (barking dogs, a car bumper an inch too close to a driveway, garbage cans clattering at 2 in the morning and now he crosses the street when he sees you coming, that sort of thing); he also knits stocking caps for homeless Navajos and has what is perhaps the Western Seaboard’s largest collection of jazz recorded on 78s and wax cylinders in private hands. Plus the Victrola and the Edison to play them on. Loudly. Very loudly. At nine in the morning. On a Saturday. Which is okay, really, because the rain’s stopped and you’ve got to get up and go mow the grass anyway…
“You Republicans?” he asks us, this particular Saturday, after advising our neighbors to the north as to the possible provenance of a couple of interloping lillies on their streetside strip. (He is also a gardener of some note, this crank.) —And you’d have to look at us, me, and our neighbors to the north, to see why, exactly, we all burst into laughter at that. “Well,” he says, chuckling, “I am. Anyway. I got a joke for you.
“See, the president, George Bush, he was having a dream. And in this dream he wanders along”—the writer in me is tempted for no especial reason to set it in Disney’s animatronic Hall of Presidents, but our cranky neighbor did not, and so I won’t—“and he meets George Washington. And Washington says, well, hello, Mister President. Now, I don’t want to poke or pry, but I’ve got to tell you: things are looking a little rough for America right now.
“And Bush, he nods, he says, well, President Washington, it maybe isn’t going as well as I’d hoped. Could I maybe trouble you for some advice? As to how to be a good president?
“And Washington says, well, the thing that worked for me is honesty. Tell the truth, Mister President. Always tell the truth.
And Bush nods at that, and walks on. And he comes across Thomas Jefferson. And Jefferson, he says, you know, Mister President, I’ve been keeping an eye on things, and I’ve got to tell you: it looks a bit precarious at the moment, what with that and that.
“And Bush, maybe he quibbles at precarious and maybe he doesn’t, you know, but he does say, President Jefferson, sir, I was wondering: do you have any advice you might offer me? As to how to be a good president? Even a great one?
“Jefferson, he looks thoughtful for a moment, and then he says, well, the American people, Mister President. Take care of them first and foremost, keep their concerns always in your mind. You can do no wrong if you act for them.
“Bush nods at that, and he walks on. And this being a dream, of course, he runs into a third president. President Lincoln, this time. And Lincoln nods sagely and he says to Bush, Mister President, you have yourself a tough row to hoe.
“And Bush, he nods and he says, well sir, I’ve met President Washington already, and I’ve met President Jefferson. And they seemed to agree that maybe things aren’t as rosy as they could be. And I firmly believe that, as the president, it is my duty, my responsibility, to lead America to that rosy future. So. I’ll ask you, sir, what I asked them: what advice might you give me, one president to another, as to how I could be a good president of these United States of America?
“And Lincoln, he strokes his beard a moment. And then he says, well, Mister President, you could start by taking in a play.”
Thank you! I’m here all week.
(Our cranky neighbor, he then says, “I’m a Republican, yes. And I wouldn’t vote for George W. Bush if he was the last dam’ Republican on the planet.”)
Commenting is closed for this article.
We don't live lives anymore; we merely walk through rehearsals for our blogs. Or so it sometimes feels.
Sometimes cranks get that way from being marginalized, rather than the reverse. Betcha he's got other good jokes... and stories.
Thanks for the laugh, Kip.
Thank you. I'm still laughing as I type this. He may be a crank, but he surely knows a good joke, and thank God, he isn't a fool like other tens of millions of Republicans.
Having lived next door to this crank for a year and a half, and having been the object of his ire (thanks to my barking dog) and then having fallen into his good graces again, I think because he found out we were moving, I can for certain say that this crank has been marginalized to a point beyond fringes where he has established borders of his own. Or, if one accepts the theory of a gay neighbor across the street, "he's just a bitter old closeted queen."
But then no one tells a good joke like a bitter queen.
I adore him, really; he's one of those things that makes a neighborhood a neighborhood. --And yes, Barry. Life is merely an engine for generating anecdotes. Or something.
Gawd, I howled over that one! Your cranky neighbor is a valuable addition to the neighborhood. And k is right, cranky neighbors are part of the whole crazy quilt. My neighborhood's gettin' all gentrified and yuppified, and sometimes I find myself missing the folks down the block with the menagerie of goats and rabbits and the major appliances on the front porch.
A footnote, confirming a suspicion I've had since Saturday.
(How many other such jokes can we would we want to reappropriate?)
Loved the joke, but I'm still cringing in terror at the other stuff.
Ummm, maybe it's because I'm not American but I don't get the joke. Is it funny because one of your presidents (Kennedy?) was assassinated in a theater? (if he was). Please help