The Voice of Treason

C-SPAN had been running an interview with Hillary Clinton. A woman who introduced her explained to the audience that the first time she heard the name Hillary Rodham she heard it from her good friend Bill Clinton. He said he’d met someone who was even smarter than he was. And, she said, “he thought that was fabulous!”

The audience of women shrieked with delight. I knew where this was headed so I switched to something else. Yes, that Bill sure knows how to appreciate a woman! It’s one thing to cheat on a spouse and humiliate her in front of friends, family, and coworkers, but to do it in such a way that you humiliate her in front of every living being on the planet for now and for all time because your infidelities will be documented forever in history? Yup, that Bill sure knows how to treat a girl. Whether it be a wife, daughter, intern, or mummy.

Doesn’t matter. Bill loves her. We know that because he just gave her a big honking diamond ring for their thirtieth anniversary. Obviously Bill likes his jewelry the way he likes his ladies.

“Which millennium are you waiting for?”

“Show her you’ll love her for the next thousand years.”

“Isn’t she worth two months’ salary?”

It’s not a huge news story. I heard a blurb on the radio - she’s had the ring for some time but hasn’t worn it because she felt a little uncomfortable. This is one of those moments when I consider cutting Hillary some slack. I recall a time when T and I had just started dating. We walked past a jewelry store and he pulled me inside and asked the associate to show us a marquise cut diamond engagement ring. She just happened to have a size 6 that fit my ring finger perfectly. And the ring should have been just that: perfect. Marquise is the Cadillac of cuts. It’s feminine and elongates any finger it sits upon. It’s elegant. It was at least a carat, but it might have been a 1.25 stone. On my hand it looked enormous. Gaudy. Garish. Cheap and tacky. Classless. Tawdry. I thanked the woman and handed her the ring.

To me, a one carat solitaire beautifully set is sufficient, but this stone looked and felt too big. I wouldn’t have been comfortable in it. Was Hillary uncomfortable because she feels the ring is too showy? Or is it just tacky for a candidate of the people to be wearing something that could buy so many of “the people” new cars? Maybe even pay a mortgage. I don’t know what Bill spent, but I think I heard the ring was at least three carats. I only saw a flash at the funeral - I assume that was what was on Hillary’s hand. She needed something to catch someone’s attention; after all, Bill was there stealing most of the limelight.

I’d tuned in to the funeral of Coretta Scott King because I’d heard in early reports that President Ford would be in attendance. I didn’t believe it when I heard it so I wanted to see for myself. I still maintain that he’s not well, and that the next televised funeral might just be his.

There was the acknowledgment in the crowd of the Reverends Jackson and Sharpton. Once I had confirmation of where this service was headed, I scrambled to the kitchen to grab a cold beer. So I missed it. Was Jesse with a pregnant mistress? Inquiring minds want to know.

It’s this weird way we see the world. We’re looking at it through gauze, through candlelight and champagne bubbles. Camelot. Jack and Jackie. Chuck and Di. Oprah and Steadman. Brad and Jenn - no, Angelina. Tom and Nicole - no, Penelope. Er, I mean Katie. Bill and Hillary.

Why do we continue to conjure up these fractured fairy tales?

There were always rumors about Bill. Get this straight: we don’t care who Bill is screwing. We just don’t want to hear about it. Same with Hillary. There were rumors about Vince Foster and Donna Shalala. Again, we don’t care. We just don’t want to know. We don’t want the details. Why? Because there was a time I used to enjoy a good cigar. Now I can’t even say that without someone snickering. When President Bush talked about the new Oval Office rug in his State of the Union speech, most Americans thought he needed a new one because the old one had so much DNA in it.

The funeral began with a statement - something like: We want to move this along in a timely manner and get through it before Jesus returns. I swear I caught a glimpse of him in the third row. Is the funeral still going on?

What a spectacle. What a sideshow. What a disgrace.

Where to begin. Maya Angelou. I don’t know why her caged bird was compelled to sing, but…oh, never mind. Everybody had their two cents to chip in. The Reverend Lowery exclaimed that we know there were no weapons of mass destruction. (No, Rev, some of us still believe there were WMD, but they’re in Syria, waiting just for you.) To sum up his eulogy: There’s plenty of money fo’ the wo’ but no money fo’ the po’.

To sum up the eulogy of the worst president - and now the worst former president: Martin and Coretta had their civil liberties violated by our government. They were secretly wiretapped. Big applause line there. I’m disappointed that no one took the opportunity to ask Ted Kennedy - who just happened to be there, too - why his brother, Attorney General Bobby - authorized those wiretaps. Oh, that’s right. There were rumors about Martin, too. Communist ties and fourteen year-old girls. Dirty business, politics.

Then Bill and Hillary campaigned - er, spoke. Bill reminded those in attendance that this was about the woman in the box. And then he talked about how good she always looked - even in her golden years. And I was reminded that he had thought a mummy was pretty darned fetching, too. Is he getting treatment for this?

He also reminded the crowd that they were in the House of God. Something that everyone except the Bushes had seemed to forget. Again, both Georges displayed a sense of decorum. They were dignified. They demonstrated class. It’s a funeral, remember. Not a DNC convention. It was hard to tell, actually. I was struck by how so many people felt it was necessary to be the center of attention when only one person had that right: the woman in the box.

My only hope is that we can now put the fairy tale of Bill and Hillary in the White House again - like the body of Mrs. King - permanently to rest.

Mark Steyn just wrote a wonderful piece about the “sensitivity” of nations, how we all tiptoe around the issue of radical Islam and offer niceties, bending over backwards to avoid offending the militants who want to kill us. He ends the article with the famous Shakespeare quote. Well done, Mark.

I saw the piece on Jewish World Review with dozens of others that address the real issues we’re facing. It’s comforting to know that there are people who are fully aware that we are engaged in a battle for salvation. Oops, sorry - I should have been more careful in choosing my words. I’m certain “salvation” has offended those who don’t like to think about religion. Well, let me say that words are a funny thing. They can have many meanings and there’s no guarantee that an audience will understand the one the author intends. I’m not talking about salvation in the Christian sense - of sin and redemption. I’m talking about deliverance from evil, from mass destruction. Our destruction.

“First they came for the Communists, and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Communist. Then they came for the Jews, and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Jew. Then they came for the Catholics, and I didn’t speak up, because I was a Protestant. Then they came for me, and by that time there was no one left to speak up for me.”

The anti-Nazi German pastor Martin Niemoller wrote that in 1945. An outspoken critic of the Nazis, Niemoller was arrested for treason and held at Sachsenhausen and Dachau. He survived the war and emerged from the camps an unyielding pacifist and an advocate of reconciliation.

I’m no pacifist, and I know that there are some differences that cannot be reconciled. I feel like I’m back in elementary school, having to jolly-dog the sadistic bully. The kid who will beat up anyone for no particular reason and does it simply because he can. Even the teachers are afraid of him, so the kids get no protection. They’re on their own. A few of them devise ways to appease the bully. Give him your lunch money. Hand over your new jacket. Take whatever you want, just leave me alone. Others learn to outrun him. They get out of the classroom as soon as the bell rings and make it to the exit before the bully does. When the door opens, they start running and don’t stop until they get home.

Maybe it’s like living with a mean drunk, an abusive partner, a psychopath. Never knowing if you’ve said the right thing until you get a fist in the face to remind you that you didn’t. Walking on eggshells, afraid to speak. Afraid to act. Afraid to think.

People got on boats and braved the oceans to come here so they wouldn’t have to be afraid to think, to speak, to act. And now we cower. Mince words. Apologize for absolutely nothing. Don’t provoke the intimidator. Don’t set him off. Just do as he says. Keep your head down, say nothing. Hope he doesn’t hurt you. Maybe if you do everything right, he’ll change. Women with broken jaws and little kids with cigarette burns know that some people never change. They know their options: Stay and take it; hide and live in fear; or stand up and fight back.

“To be or not to be, that is the question.” The Danes should know this play well. It would behoove the rest of the Western world to brush up our Shakespeare.

I’d heard, over the weekend, that Al Lewis had died; then, soon after, I learned about the passing - on her birthday - of Betty Friedan. If this isn’t a separated-at-birth moment, I don’t know what is. There’s always been a sort of resemblance, that’s-alls-I’m-sayin’.

I’m fascinated by the outpouring of fond memories by women who, not so long ago, criticized Betty for not being radical enough. She was a dinosaur. She was part of the bourgeoisie. She didn’t get it. Goodness - they might as well have just called her “homemaker” or, worse, “man.”

Betty, like a well-intentioned bowler, picked up the heavy ball of feminism, and swung it down the lane, intending to strike down all the longstanding pins. But halfway down, the ball rolled wrong and ended up in the gutter.

I don’t mean to diminish the work of feminists. Why, just the opposite. In fact, I’d like to take a moment here to thank those who made it possible for me to pump my own gas, open doors for myself, pay for my own dinner, compete for the same crappy jobs, and take out my own garbage.

I’d also like to thank them for those awkward moments, like when a man reaches for a door, then freezes, paralyzed, wondering if he’s just committed a crime. Or worse, wondering if I’m going to shriek: “I’m perfectly capable of opening a door for myself, you pig! You think I’m helpless, you condescending @$$hole????”

Or those moments when a man, obviously without thinking, tells a woman that she looks nice or smells good. The words leave their mouths, then there’s that strange silence and the look of shear terror. “Have I just kissed my job goodbye?”

I know harassment well, and I know the difference between a harmless remark and one that’s inappropriate. I’m reminded of a woman I used to work with. She wanted to be regarded as strong, capable, independent. If a male coworker offered to help her with something, she’d bark: “I can do it myself!” Competitive, she worked out and wanted to complete in triathlons. Because she rode a bike to work and jogged during lunch, she demanded that the company install a shower for her. They did.

It was no secret that she’d slept with several male coworkers - all married - and one day she had a loud, nasty spat with one in a conference room. The HR Manager’s office was next door; he leapt to his feet and burst into the conference room to make it clear that their behavior would not be tolerated. When I saw him later, he was slumped at his desk. “I’m an old black man. I don’t need this sh*t.”

She lectured the rest of us on women’s issues; we were civil, but the two of us battled fiercely over Bill Clinton. I’d write anti-Clinton pieces for the company newsletter, she’d censor them. Yes, women’s voices should be heard…uh, just not mine.

As strong and independent as she was, she had no issues with slicing cake and pouring coffee for the male managers. Although there was a policy in place that stated that employees who transferred from the other plant to this one could not and would not be promoted and that all moves would be lateral, she was promoted.

She was often wrong and when challenged, she’d become a high-strung, quivering mess. People were afraid to confront her about an error because her lip would start trembling, then she’d get shrill and argumentative. When she’d realize she was losing, she’d burst into tears.

I remember the day I was walking down a corridor at work and she was ahead of me. A male coworker tiptoed past me and gave me a wink. He was a prankster, so I figured he had a plan in mind. He quietly walked up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder, then acted like he hadn’t done it. She spun around and shrieked at him: “I’ll report you to HR! Don’t you ever touch me again!” She went on like that for several minutes, threatening to get him fired.

I imagine he was thinking about his wife and kids and how he was going to find another job so he could continue to keep a roof over their heads. It was a chilling moment.

Time passed and when her sister had a baby, this woman’s biological clock started ticking so loud you could hear it on the other side of the building. One day she announced that she was getting married to someone we suspected she barely knew and didn’t care for, but he was a potential sperm donor. Her plan was to quit her job, take some classes, and work on getting pregnant. She left the company. There was an audible sigh of relief.

I don’t know, maybe I’m wrong. When a man opens a door for me, I smile and say thank you. If I get there first, I’ll open it for him. It’s not about ovaries and gonads - it’s a case of consideration. If only we could just be considerate of each other, but that’s impossible. We’ve been told that the roles we’ve been playing are the wrong ones, but no one seems to know what the right ones are. There’s a new script, but no one knows what it is because of the constant rewrites.

What lines to say? How to act? Where to stand? How to behave? We’re actors on a stage, there’s no clear direction, and it’s all bad improv. The result is that we’re all behaving badly and making asses of ourselves.

Men don’t have to be adversaries. Early in the movement, there were women who were perfectly comfortable with their femininity and were aware that they had power. They’d quip: “Who wants equality? Why stoop to that level?”

Why, indeed.

“The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.”
– Benjamin Franklin

Now embassies in Lebanon have burned. Protesters have moved from floor to floor, tossing computers from windows and setting fire to offices. Police and firefighters have been attacked and injured.

In Gaza City, Palestinian militants lobbed a bomb at a French cultural center, and a boycott of European goods began.

“Whoever defames our prophet should be executed,” said a protester in Ramallah, marching with hundreds of others who chanted: “Bin Laden our beloved, Denmark must be blown up!”

Throughout Palestinian cities, clerics condemned the cartoons. An imam at the Omari Mosque in Gaza City told 9,000 worshippers that those responsible for the drawings should have their heads cut off.

“We are ready to redeem you with our souls and our blood our beloved prophet!”

“Down, Down Denmark!”

Turks left mosques after Friday prayers to demonstrate in front of the Danish consulate in Istanbul. Outside the Merkez Mosque they chanted: “Hands that reach Islam must be broken!”

In Jakarta, Muslims stormed the Danish Embassy and burned the country’s flag.

Pakistan’s parliament unanimously voted to condemn the publication of the drawings, calling it a “vicious, outrageous and provocative campaign” that has “hurt the faith and feelings of Muslims all over the world.”

Hundreds protested in Islamabad, chanting “Death to Denmark” and “Death to France.” Over a thousand rallied in Karachi.

In Malaysia, fundamentalist Muslims protested outside the Danish Embassy, chanting: “Long live Islam, destroy our enemies!”

French theologian Sohaib Bencheikh denounced the pictures in a column in France Soir. “One must find the borders between freedom of expression and freedom to protect the sacred,” he wrote. “Unfortunately, the West has lost its sense of the sacred.”

John Esposito, Roman Catholic and editor of The Oxford Encyclopedia of the Modern Islamic World says the ban on the depiction of the Prophet is so imperative that the cartoons simply reinforce the “deep-seated belief that respect for Islam doesn’t exist” in Europe. “It can be read as a deliberate attempt to provoke and test, not only religiously. It expresses the tensions toward immigrant communities. It says this is what democracy is about: nothing is sacred.”

In France, Grand Rabbi Joseph Sitruk said he, too, was angered by the cartoons. “We gain nothing by lowering religions, humiliating them and making caricatures of them. It’s a lack of honesty and respect.” He said freedom of expression “is not a right without limits.”

This controversy has roused some crucial issues. Issues about religion, the freedom of expression, democracy, censorship, tolerance, peaceful protest, reverence, and the question of setting limits. These are concepts that should be openly discussed and debated; instead, we’ve witnessed irrational, self-destructive behavior and vague pronouncements from politicians.

In Munich, Angela Merkel said she “understood” Muslims’ hurt, but denounced the reaction. “I can understand that religious feelings of Muslims have been injured and violated. But I also have to make clear that I feel it is unacceptable to see this as legitimizing the use of violence.”

Sounds too much like “we understand, but don’t condone.” Where are the balls?

Why, they’re in Detroit. Uh, perhaps we can all get back to the business of concern once this football game is over.

“Europeans, you will pay!
Extermination’s on its way!”

Call me paranoid, but I don’t think this Muslim protester had the eradication of cockroaches in mind when he fashioned this sign. A Danish newspaper publishes a few political cartoons and - next thing you know - Muslims not only turn out at various foreign embassies to protest, carrying menacing signs, and burning flags and effigies, but the cartoonists have been forced into hiding because if they don’t disappear they’ll end up like Theo van Gogh.

Islam is a peaceful, loving religion, and don’t you forget it.

The depiction of the Prophet Mohammed/Muhammad is blasphemous. Fine and dandy. And I understand that taking the Lord’s name in vain is, too, but good God, for Christ’s sake, we do it all the time and Christians aren’t in the street setting buildings on fire.

Happily, the San Francisco Bay Area has spoken. This is a place that has rejected the parking of the USS Iowa in the Bay because residents don’t want to see the militarization of their coastal waters. History and tourism dollars mean nothing - that boat is bad news and represents violence. Bay Area Muslims have come out to “express disappointment and anger” over the Danish newspaper cartoons, but they vow to “remain peaceful.”

Abu Quadir al-Amin, the imam of the San Francisco Muslim Community Center: “Our religion discourages people from belittling other people’s beliefs or religion or making fun of other human beings.” (Unless, of course, they happen to be pig/ape Jews or American infidels and crusaders.)

These images promote negative stereotypes, Muslims say, and they violate an Islamic prohibition against visual depictions of Muhammad. Fine. If you subscribe to Islam, don’t draw pictures of the Prophet. One of these cartoons depicts the Prophet standing on clouds, arms raised, before a long line of dead suicide bombers, smoke wafting off their bodies, waiting to enter Paradise. The caption: “Stop! Stop! We ran out of virgins!”

Let me see if I understand this. This cartoon promotes negative stereotypes, but Islamofascists, strapping explosives to themselves in order to kill Jews and become martyrs so that they can cavort with virgins in the after life, doesn’t promote any negative stereotypes.

Bay Area resident Souleiman Ghali says these Danish cartoons “showed a total lack of sensitivity and disrespect for the limits of free speech.” The limits of free speech. I believe the point of the Danish newspaper editors was to test those limits. So if free speech offends or provokes, it should be limited? Restricted? Controlled? Regulated? Like Google in China?

Sheikh Hasan Al-Haj, from the Islamic Society of San Francisco, urged Muslims gathered there for services to “be strong and remain calm.”

“When it comes to some people, they feel hatred is the most important thing,” Al-Haj said. “This is a sign of defeated people.”

Wahid Umerani of Cupertino said he “appreciated freedom of expression,” and said Muslims “need to understand that not all people will honor their preferences.” But he was offended by the caricatures. “There are sick people out there,” Umerani said. “That’s all I can say.”

Ah. So political cartoons are “sick.” Carrying signs that say “Death to Israel” and “Death to America” are…what? Free speech? So are there limits or not? Gee, I’m confused now.

In Jordan, Jihad Momani is accused of “insulting religion” under Jordan’s “press and publications law.” He decided to reproduce the cartoons and was summarily fired. Mr Momani’s paper, Shihan, printed three of the cartoons, and included an editorial that questioned whether the reaction to them in the Muslim world was justified.

“Muslims of the world be reasonable,” wrote Mr Momani. “What brings more prejudice against Islam, these caricatures or pictures of a hostage-taker slashing the throat of his victim in front of the cameras or a suicide bomber who blows himself up during a wedding ceremony in Amman?”

A lone voice. Silenced. Where are the rest when planes fly into buildings and incinerate thousands of innocent people? Where are they when school buses and candy stores are blown to smithereens? Where are they when their political leaders call for the annihilation of an entire country?

Christians are ridiculed when they protest an episode of Will & Grace that features celebrity slut Britney Spears as a Christian conservative who hosts a talk show cooking segment: “Cruci-fixin’s.” They’re called narrow-minded, intolerant, humorless. Nazis. Call them whatever you like, but it’s important that we all respect pissed off Muslims.

A punk kid shoots up a gay bar in Massachusetts and churches have been burned in Alabama. Which story will get more media attention? It’s interesting that we have something we call “hate crime” but it seems that the term only applies to a chosen few.

I do not subscribe to a particular religion. I like the idea of Buddhism, but I eat animals and occasionally decimate bugs. I like the sentiments expressed in the New Testament, but sometimes I feel Christians are too quick to turn the other cheek. Forgiveness is an admirable, noble thing but I believe that one shouldn’t always be so willing to roll over and appease a foe.

I’m reminded of a story about an imprisoned Nazi war criminal in Israel. A minister asked to see the man, promising that if he could speak with him, he could convince him to be penitent so he could be forgiven. The rabbi stopped him and said: “Thanks, but no thanks. There are some things that should not be forgiven.” I tend to agree.

Some can forgive and forget. Some can not and will not. It’s beginning to look like it’s not only difficult for some who practice Islam to forgive, but that they have made an art of holding a grudge. So it’s up to the rest of us to walk on eggshells and carefully choose our words, limiting our free speech.

And while we all sit here and fiddle with words, embassies in Damascus are burning.

The first news story I heard this morning was about a slimeball who got out of his car, walked up to a five year-old girl — sitting, waiting for her mother — pulled a chain from her neck, then took off. It was captured on tape so we can actually see the slug stealing jewelry from a little girl. There was a time that the lowest thing a person could do was steal candy from a baby, but I guess we’ve evolved.

This piece of human debris has not only left the girl traumatized, but she now has a deep slice across her neck that will no doubt result in a scar which will forever remind her of this incident. Well, I’m sure this sluggard is pleased with himself.

I then got online and discovered another story concerning the discovery of hundreds of dead pets in the woods of West Virginia. Most were cats and dogs, still wearing rabies vaccination and identification tags. Several had been decapitated and others had intravenous tubes in their forelegs.

It appears the animals came from counties around the Washington, D.C. area — animals that had previously been turned over to Family Pet Cremations, a Chantilly, Virginia-based company that has contracts to dispose of dead, sick or stray animals. Unfortunately, authorities will be following up with pet owners as part of their investigation. It’s difficult enough to lose a pet, but to discover that the family member that you believed would be cremated ends up tossed in a makeshift dump…well, maybe it’s better that you don’t know.

I say this because the same thing happened where I live. And, unfortunately, it happened at the same time I lost my Boxer to pancreatic cancer. The story broke soon after I picked up an urnful of ashes from my vet. The pet crematorium had heaps of corpses to burn and either mixed bodies in mass incinerations, or neglected to burn them at all - letting them pile up and rot. So I have this container, sitting at the end of my hallway, but I cannot be sure if the remains inside are that of my Barbara. Could be Polly the parrot or Muffy the cat. Or a combination of several pets. Well, whatever it is, whoever it is, it has a home here.

Hell, the same thing happened with human corpses not so long ago. Wasn’t that in Georgia? For me, this falls into the category of bad business practices. This includes incompetent or negligent employee behavior, not heinous criminal activity like abuse, torture, murder, or slicing up puppies to use as drug mules. No, there are whole other categories for this vileness. (You know, you would think if they wanted to save money, this West Virginia company could have dropped the corpses into a coal mine for cheap and easy incineration instead of piling them up in the woods.)

And so, the Loogy goes to…the slug who would steal a chain off a little girl’s neck. You see, in this season of awards show, I have decided to create a new award: the Loogy. I will, from this day forward, “hock” a Loogy to anyone who performs badly as a human being.

This contemptible little chain-stealing turd is the recipient of the very first Loogy. Congrats, you lowlife pilferer — I’m certain the wolves who raised you are very proud. I’m sorry to say that there will be many more recipients of this not-so prestigious award. This malefactor is the first member of a reprehensible Rogue’s Gallery. He won’t be alone for long.

Is there anything as chic and glamorous as heroin addiction? You see Sid and Nancy or Requiem for a Dream and think: Yeah! That’s it! That’s what I want! The chronic constipation, the abscesses, the collapsed veins and oozing sores. Forcing yourself to eat cans of fruit cocktail so your clogged intestines won’t burst inside you.

It’s hip, it’s cool. It’s…well, romantic. So when Colombian drug lords slice open puppies and stuff them with pouches of liquid heroin, then fly them out of the country so they can be popped open and left to die an agonizing death, that’s something an addict can feel good about.

Liberals criticized Sam Alito for supporting the strip search of a little girl, but I didn’t hear them condemn the people who routinely stuff a child with contraband to elude the authorities. I imagine these are the same people who fervently support the rights of animals.

What about those puppies’ rights? And who gives anyone the right to do that to a puppy? Using children and animals as mules can be expected of a lowlife drug dealer. But it was a veterinarian who surgically implanted the smack inside these puppies.

Were the drug lords holding a gun to his head? His children’s heads? Or did he do it for money? They’ve arrested the smugglers; my hope is that someone finds that vet, slices him open, and leaves him to die like a dog.

The day started with Oscar, then it was Bernanke in, Greenspan out; Alito in, O’Connor out; State of the Union in, Sheehan out. Felt like an episode of Project Runway. And that’s why it’s so surprising to me how few people take an interest in the President’s speech. Some call it the SuperBowl of politics - yes, it’s an event and I prepare for it. I planned my entire day, then settled in with a foreign lager and a domestic pizza.

People think nothing of plunking down nine bucks to see a bad movie, but they don’t scramble to catch this speech. In this season of awards shows, how is this much different? The buzz, the anticipation, the press leaking what they’ve heard behind the scenes. The pomp, the big entrances, the walk down the red carpet. Who’s wearing what? Who’s hobnobbing with who? Who’s hogging the camera? What will be better: the script, or its execution? Will there be comedy? Drama? And the best part? The reaction shots!

If the RNC doesn’t use clips from this speech, along with Democratic reaction shots, I’ll be bitterly disappointed. They could save millions in creating new ads - they have the footage already for both 2006 and 2008. All those shots of Hillary! We have our whole campaign if she’s on the ticket in 2008. The scowling, the eye-rolling, the smirking, the glaring.

“We must also confront the larger challenge of mandatory spending, or entitlements. This year, the first of about 78 million baby boomers turn 60, including two of my Dad’s favorite people — me and President Clinton.” (Laughter. Cute line, but Hillary was not amused.)

“This milestone is more than a personal crisis — (laughter) — it is a national challenge. The retirement of the baby boom generation will put unprecedented strains on the federal government. By 2030, spending for Social Security, Medicare and Medicaid alone will be almost 60 percent of the entire federal budget. And that will present future Congresses with impossible choices — staggering tax increases, immense deficits, or deep cuts in every category of spending.”

“Congress did not act last year on my proposal to save Social Security — (applause) — yet the rising cost of entitlements is a problem that is not going away. (Applause.) And every year we fail to act, the situation gets worse.”

This was like the Democrats cheering after they announced they’d “killed” the Patriot Act. Bush says Congress didn’t act to save Social Security (killed that, too), and the Dems jump to their feet to give themselves a standing ovation. I would hope that the average voter realizes that once there’s a Democrat in the White House, or the party gains control of Congress, the first thing they’ll say is “Social Security is broken, and the Bush administration did nothing to fix it.” It’s coming. Now obviously people like Clinton, Kennedy, Kerry, Feinstein, and Rockefeller have no need to rush to fix Social Security. Their millions should keep them in fine shape. Why, maybe Hillary would like to donate her benefits to someone else. For the greater good and all that.

But partisan snarkiness aside, the best moment of the evening was seeing Sam Alito, in his robe, standing with John Roberts and Clarence Thomas. I watched him and wondered what the day had felt like. I couldn’t help think he was pinching himself, wondering when he would wake up. He stood there, eyes wide and full of wonder, and looked around the dome. The man was six years old again and this was his first time at the circus. Just taking it all in and marveling at the enormity of it.

Like John Roberts, Sam Alito gets it. He understands that this is hallowed ground. Precisely why it was so gratifying to see the new Chief Justice swear the newer man in. Now if only Sandra could convince a former colleague or two that teaching is a noble reason to retire and leave the bench.