The Confidence Man has long harbored, shall we say, *suspicions* regarding (as Jibbenainosay would put it) the "heteronormativity" of Karl Rove.
Now, ever since that eruption of Gannon/GuckertGate died down (we understand penicillin helps with that sort of thing), our suspicions had been held in abeyance.
However, when Time's Matt Cooper rolled on Rove last week, our (ahem) radar was set off by this:
'"A short time ago," Mr. Cooper said, "in somewhat
dramatic fashion, I received an express personal
release from my source."'
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/07/11/politics/11time.html?pagewanted=print
And then, just yesterday, David Gergen insisted to the NYT that "Karl is [Bush's] right arm."
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/07/13/politics/13memo.html?pagewanted=print
Um ... "express personal release"? "Karl is [Bush's] right arm"?
We were *right*: Rove IS a jerk!
(Though we always thought W was a lefty. Perhaps he's ambidextrous ...)
July 14, 2005
July 11, 2005
No Blood for Ink!
The Confidence Man must object to the naked, unilateral aggression shown by the press today at the Gaggle.
With their failure to push forward with Social Security destruction, their internal battles shaping up over the Supreme Court nomination, the dissension in the GOP ranks, the tanking poll numbers, their lame-duck status, the debacle in Iraq, and their continued inability to manage their way out of a paper bag, the Bush Administration has been contained. They no longer represent a direct threat to America. We must let Fitzgerald's inspections continue. Yes, Bush is an evil despot whose rule must be ended some day by the freedom-loving people whom he has under his thumb, but a preemptive attack by the media is a violation of Bush's sovereignty.
Of course, a more cynical mind than that of your humble interlocutor might suggest that it is the very weakness of the Bush Administration that prompted the media to strike now, after lo these many years of appeasement. The media figure they will win in a cakewalk, and will be greeted by the American people as liberators, with parades and rose petals at their feet.
With their failure to push forward with Social Security destruction, their internal battles shaping up over the Supreme Court nomination, the dissension in the GOP ranks, the tanking poll numbers, their lame-duck status, the debacle in Iraq, and their continued inability to manage their way out of a paper bag, the Bush Administration has been contained. They no longer represent a direct threat to America. We must let Fitzgerald's inspections continue. Yes, Bush is an evil despot whose rule must be ended some day by the freedom-loving people whom he has under his thumb, but a preemptive attack by the media is a violation of Bush's sovereignty.
Of course, a more cynical mind than that of your humble interlocutor might suggest that it is the very weakness of the Bush Administration that prompted the media to strike now, after lo these many years of appeasement. The media figure they will win in a cakewalk, and will be greeted by the American people as liberators, with parades and rose petals at their feet.
Denouement
Well, if this Rove thing is indeed the Beginning of the End (actually, the Bush Social Security Debacle was the Beginning of the Beginning of the End, but we digress), the Confidence Man fully expects the remainder of Bush's term to look like the last 20 minutes of GOODFELLAS: as the Lufthansa Heist that is the Bush Administration finally corrupts every member of the team who participated in it, and our Principals become ever more paranoid and coke-addled, we start seeing the bit players (Ralph Reed, Duke Cunningham, Tom De Lay) show up in Dumpsters and refrigerated trucks.
The parallel actually works pretty well: Bush, the ne'er-do-well scion who mucked with the drugs against the advice of his various father figures, is Ray Liotta; Rove, the impetuous, hotheaded ultimate dirty trickster who ultimately becomes too volatile even for his friends' naked lust for power and gets offed just before being "made," is Joe Pesci; and Dick Cheney, the older outsider who never quite fit in by dint of birth, class, and paternity, is Bobby De Niro.
The parallel actually works pretty well: Bush, the ne'er-do-well scion who mucked with the drugs against the advice of his various father figures, is Ray Liotta; Rove, the impetuous, hotheaded ultimate dirty trickster who ultimately becomes too volatile even for his friends' naked lust for power and gets offed just before being "made," is Joe Pesci; and Dick Cheney, the older outsider who never quite fit in by dint of birth, class, and paternity, is Bobby De Niro.
July 09, 2005
The New Hot Zone
http://www.cnn.com/2005/HEALTH/conditions/07/08/aids.prostitution.ap/index.html
Influenced by the reasoning (though incapable of imitating its glittering irony) of the Confidence Man's post "George W. Bush is a Great American," I confess that my initial objections to this new policy (the by-now-boring Republican tactic of making you state the obvious in policy in order to reduce your flexibility in practice) have been replaced by a more long-term view that supports its implementation.
If successful, this initiative will promote first abstinence and then monogamy and unprotected, reproductive sex among folks currently with or at risk for HIV. This will channel HIV propagation to the heteronormative, reproductive, fundamentalist community, and in particular, will target recent converts. Then we will see if the Lord will provide. At the very least I suspect funding for HIV research will rise.
Government places new restrictions on AIDS funding
Friday, July 8, 2005; Posted: 4:28 p.m. EDT (20:28 GMT)
WASHINGTON (AP) -- U.S. groups fighting AIDS overseas are being given an ultimatum by the government: Pledge your opposition to sex trafficking and prostitution or do without federal funds.
Influenced by the reasoning (though incapable of imitating its glittering irony) of the Confidence Man's post "George W. Bush is a Great American," I confess that my initial objections to this new policy (the by-now-boring Republican tactic of making you state the obvious in policy in order to reduce your flexibility in practice) have been replaced by a more long-term view that supports its implementation.
If successful, this initiative will promote first abstinence and then monogamy and unprotected, reproductive sex among folks currently with or at risk for HIV. This will channel HIV propagation to the heteronormative, reproductive, fundamentalist community, and in particular, will target recent converts. Then we will see if the Lord will provide. At the very least I suspect funding for HIV research will rise.
July 08, 2005
Tin Cup
http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/2005/writers/chris_lewis/07/06/inside.golf/index.html?cnn=yes
What's incomprehensible is that it's so obvious why there's no buzz about Wie's playing on the men's tour, yet no one will say it: she's playing as an amateur, and won't take any prize money. When Annika went out, there was a risk of her doubling her annual earnings!
To a male golf pro, anyone who won't take home the money is neuter.
"Michelle Wie is 15 years old. Michelle Wie is 15 years old.
Excuse me if I keep repeating it, but to me this fact is almost incomprehensible.
It's so unreal that the young Hawaiian's gender -- Michelle Wie is a girl -- takes a seat so far back in the minivan that it's almost behind the rear bumper."
What's incomprehensible is that it's so obvious why there's no buzz about Wie's playing on the men's tour, yet no one will say it: she's playing as an amateur, and won't take any prize money. When Annika went out, there was a risk of her doubling her annual earnings!
To a male golf pro, anyone who won't take home the money is neuter.
July 07, 2005
Is Judith Miller a Great American?
Missus Miller, of that fancified broadsheet rag from up in New York City, certainly has Confidence. In point of fact, she may have too much Confidence -- or, perhaps, too many Confidences.
Her sub-paramour Ahmad Chalabi certainly would qualify as a Great American, were he a Native Son. Then again, every man is a Native Son of some land, and America is the great Melting Pot -- so, welcome, Br'er Chalabi!
Miller's dalliances with Br'er Chalabi, howe'er, mayhap indicate that she was not the mistress of her own dance card, if you get our drift.
No, Miller seems, in so many instances to have been the gull -- for Br'er Chalabi, for Br'er Ledeen, for Br'er Wolfowitz.
And the gull, while an essential component of the perpetual motion machine that America has pawned off on Mother Nature, is most certainly not a Great American. Even the great tragic Losers of American history -- Willy Loman, Benedict Arnold, Preston Tucker, Preston Sturges, George Donner, among others -- have been men who crapped out trying for one last seven.
That being said, there may be hope yet for Judy Miller in the annals of our Many-fist Destiny.
For, when you come right down to it, there are only three logical explanations for Judy Miller's perfidy lo' these last 10 years in advancing the PNAC/INC cause: incompetence (she was a common Sucker Americanus, unable to suss the dross from the truth), acquiescence (she didn't care enough to discern the truth from the disinformation, and was concerned merely with riding the Tiger wherever it led so long as it kept her public dropping the nickels in the paperboys' hands), or ... Confidence (she was in on the game, and when it came her turn to hold the deck, she self-dealt with the best of 'em; Calamity Judy to Wild Bill Chalabi).
If the lattermost is indeed the case, then the Confidence Man may admit Judy to the Panklepton.
Until we see proof of such, however, we request that Judy remain in the antechamber with the other drummers and solicitors.
Her sub-paramour Ahmad Chalabi certainly would qualify as a Great American, were he a Native Son. Then again, every man is a Native Son of some land, and America is the great Melting Pot -- so, welcome, Br'er Chalabi!
Miller's dalliances with Br'er Chalabi, howe'er, mayhap indicate that she was not the mistress of her own dance card, if you get our drift.
No, Miller seems, in so many instances to have been the gull -- for Br'er Chalabi, for Br'er Ledeen, for Br'er Wolfowitz.
And the gull, while an essential component of the perpetual motion machine that America has pawned off on Mother Nature, is most certainly not a Great American. Even the great tragic Losers of American history -- Willy Loman, Benedict Arnold, Preston Tucker, Preston Sturges, George Donner, among others -- have been men who crapped out trying for one last seven.
That being said, there may be hope yet for Judy Miller in the annals of our Many-fist Destiny.
For, when you come right down to it, there are only three logical explanations for Judy Miller's perfidy lo' these last 10 years in advancing the PNAC/INC cause: incompetence (she was a common Sucker Americanus, unable to suss the dross from the truth), acquiescence (she didn't care enough to discern the truth from the disinformation, and was concerned merely with riding the Tiger wherever it led so long as it kept her public dropping the nickels in the paperboys' hands), or ... Confidence (she was in on the game, and when it came her turn to hold the deck, she self-dealt with the best of 'em; Calamity Judy to Wild Bill Chalabi).
If the lattermost is indeed the case, then the Confidence Man may admit Judy to the Panklepton.
Until we see proof of such, however, we request that Judy remain in the antechamber with the other drummers and solicitors.
George W. Bush is a Great American
The Confidence Man has for some time been musing over the temperament, methods, and achievements of one George Walker Bush, erstwhile ne'er-do-well scion, thence former ne'er-do-ill ready-made Achilles, and current canard boiteux.
Monsieur Bush, wethinks, mayhap indeed be, as our title indicates, a Great American.
A Great American, that is, in the line of descent that includes thy humble correspondents the Confidence Man and Jibbenainosay, as well as Masters Huckleberrry Finn, Ichabod Crane, and Captain Simon Suggs.
America, you see, is a nation founded on Confidence. And it takes a particklar pride in rejuvenatin' isself from time to time with a dose thereof.
Yes, the Confidence Man claims George W. Bush as one of his own, and claps George to his own hotblooded bosom.
Welcome, George, to the Brotherhood of Lit'ry Scoundrels. You rapscallion, you.
Monsieur Bush, wethinks, mayhap indeed be, as our title indicates, a Great American.
A Great American, that is, in the line of descent that includes thy humble correspondents the Confidence Man and Jibbenainosay, as well as Masters Huckleberrry Finn, Ichabod Crane, and Captain Simon Suggs.
America, you see, is a nation founded on Confidence. And it takes a particklar pride in rejuvenatin' isself from time to time with a dose thereof.
Yes, the Confidence Man claims George W. Bush as one of his own, and claps George to his own hotblooded bosom.
Welcome, George, to the Brotherhood of Lit'ry Scoundrels. You rapscallion, you.
On Returning
"And, for the sake of form, Tim Price resurfaces, or at least I'm pretty sure he does."
Yes, the Confidence Man has returned. Thy humble correspondent tugs at his forelock in apologia for his long incommunicado trek through the canebreak. Things to do, people to see, et cetera, et cetera.
In any event, we are glad to see that Josh Marshall has been empire-building while we were at Croatan. Marshall's TPMCafe.com is an invaluable resource (which we shall add to our blogroll, when we get around to building it), and, of much interest to us here at Croatan, features a section titled :"Early Returns from the Political Wilderness." As frequenters of the political wilderness, we Croatanians welcome dialogue on this subject; although we of course do wish for certain modes and methodologies of wilderness-tramping and -returning-thenceforth remain occulted.
As, we are sure, does Karl Rove. Part of his amazing success has been the maintenance of various Republican doppelgangers, shadow cabinets, camerae obscurae, secret twins in the attic, termites in the woodpile, et cetera, et cetera. Yea, some of those pigeons may now be coming home to roost, as it were; Cain asking for a seat at the table; yet we have Confidence that Unka Karl will wriggle his way back into the briar patch soon enough.
For this is Unka Karl's secret, as well as that of the many forces assayed against the tsunami of Liberalism and Modernism that continues to flood higher and higher ground, creeping its way intercontinental: illicit urges demand not their release in ugly peccadillos, but rather their own entombment in a sekrit chamber, so as to spin endlessly in the musty dark and thereby provide the black matter to drive the engine of social revanchism. The festering imp at gthe heart of every man does not wish to live in the City on the Hill; it wishes above all else to Go to Croatan.
Of course, to swathe the Imp deep in a velvet cloak is to strike a fustian bargain. For nothing that Goes to Croatan may reside e'er in that bower. Its own wilding spirit drives it occasionally, mindlessly, into the light of day.
And when the Imp returns -- then, boys, it's padlock-the-chitlins-in-the-larder time, for as the Sun impels the Imp to the surface, the Imp commands the blood to rise in other creatures.
Yes, the Confidence Man has returned. Thy humble correspondent tugs at his forelock in apologia for his long incommunicado trek through the canebreak. Things to do, people to see, et cetera, et cetera.
In any event, we are glad to see that Josh Marshall has been empire-building while we were at Croatan. Marshall's TPMCafe.com is an invaluable resource (which we shall add to our blogroll, when we get around to building it), and, of much interest to us here at Croatan, features a section titled :"Early Returns from the Political Wilderness." As frequenters of the political wilderness, we Croatanians welcome dialogue on this subject; although we of course do wish for certain modes and methodologies of wilderness-tramping and -returning-thenceforth remain occulted.
As, we are sure, does Karl Rove. Part of his amazing success has been the maintenance of various Republican doppelgangers, shadow cabinets, camerae obscurae, secret twins in the attic, termites in the woodpile, et cetera, et cetera. Yea, some of those pigeons may now be coming home to roost, as it were; Cain asking for a seat at the table; yet we have Confidence that Unka Karl will wriggle his way back into the briar patch soon enough.
For this is Unka Karl's secret, as well as that of the many forces assayed against the tsunami of Liberalism and Modernism that continues to flood higher and higher ground, creeping its way intercontinental: illicit urges demand not their release in ugly peccadillos, but rather their own entombment in a sekrit chamber, so as to spin endlessly in the musty dark and thereby provide the black matter to drive the engine of social revanchism. The festering imp at gthe heart of every man does not wish to live in the City on the Hill; it wishes above all else to Go to Croatan.
Of course, to swathe the Imp deep in a velvet cloak is to strike a fustian bargain. For nothing that Goes to Croatan may reside e'er in that bower. Its own wilding spirit drives it occasionally, mindlessly, into the light of day.
And when the Imp returns -- then, boys, it's padlock-the-chitlins-in-the-larder time, for as the Sun impels the Imp to the surface, the Imp commands the blood to rise in other creatures.
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