The Voice of Treason

Okay, let me clarify this one before someone accuses me of contradicting myself. I just said that our candidate for governor dropped out of the race and was replaced by another who has “baggage.” And lots of it. I know this because everyone says so.

“Oh, it’s a mistake to put this guy on the ballot - he’s got so much baggage.”

“Even members of his own party won’t support him - he just has too much baggage.”

“This guy can’t run - he’s toting way too much baggage!”

I noted that I didn’t particularly care about this candidate’s baggage; however, it was only last Thursday when I stated that Newt and the rest of the top contenders for 2008, whether Republican or Democrat, were carrying too much baggage - and wouldn’t it be nice if two candidates could compete for the presidency without all that extra weight?

I’ll stand by that one. It would be refreshing to get a couple people out there on the campaign trail who are traveling light. So why would I support this local candidate who’s being accused of carrying more than a full set of Samsonite?

Easy. The Democrat who’s running for governor has just as much baggage. My theory is this: If a candidate has baggage, the other side can run someone with baggage. If the opponent doesn’t have baggage, he or she will be accused of being an empty suit with no record to run on. So the other guy’s baggage becomes a “record.”

Also, it’s more of a level playing field. If each candidate has about the same amount of baggage, they have a fairly even quantity of political ammunition. He has his baggage; his opponent has his baggage.

The better to beat the other about the head and face with, my dear.

Wait a minute. Didn’t I just go vote in a primary election a couple weeks ago? Wasn’t I one of the sixteen percent of voters who actually took the time to go down there to the polling place to exercise that privilege that is ours because people have died to make sure we can trudge on down to a polling place and vote for candidates we don’t particularly care about?

The reason there was a stunningly low turnout was because most voters felt it was a “done deal.” The important race was the gubernatorial (for those of you who attend government schools, that means the race for governor) and everyone knew that there was no one who could defeat the incumbent (that refers to the dude who’s currently in the position and who will easily retain the position until he announces his run for the presidency). The Republican who threw his hat into the ring (at gunpoint, I suspect) was a doctor who had difficulty abandoning his practice just so he could glad-hand, raise money, and actually have a prayer of winning. That’s not a bad thing necessarily. He’s obviously a physician first and a politician second. Fine. That might save lives, but it doesn’t win elections.

Voted for him anyway, and was interested to find out that he’s dropped out of the race. Yup. He resigned. And he was immediately replaced by another candidate who was not on the ballot so no one could have voted for him. Yo - the ol’ bait and switch. I came in for one thing and I got something else. Um, it’s not like I went to Target to buy a coffee maker and I got stuck with a different model. This is a person who’s now on the ballot, running for governor.

Was this the plan from the beginning? Paranoid voters want to know. Frankly, I don’t even care. I don’t feel I was hoodwinked or misled; instead I feel that the race has become just a bit more interesting.

There was no race. The Republican didn’t have a freaking prayer. Hey, the new guy probably doesn’t have one, either, but at least it makes the next few months more fun to watch. The new guy has baggage. He’s a crazed right wing pit bull. He’s aggressive. He’s taken positions that ruffled feathers and upset people. He defended policies of the former - controversial - Republican governor. Well, hell, that’s reason enough for me to vote for the guy! I loved the former governor. Still do. Unlike a former president, he actually admitted that he inhaled. A lot.

But I have to wonder: Is this a trend? Will there be more candidates on the ballot who drop out of the race only to be replaced by the party and not chosen by the voters? Sure, we get to make a decision when we go vote in November, but it’s not the model we thought we were going to get.

Maybe they should have just issued a raincheck.

I was just reading - for the umpteenth time - Charles Krauthammer’s tribute to “Chester.” Have I mentioned lately how much I like this man? It’s peculiar, I know, but I could listen to him speak all day long. Similarly, I could read him all day long. He speaks and writes in a manner that pays homage to the wonderful rhythms of the English language. He’s brilliant, intuitive, and has the knack of choosing just the right words. Moreover, he writes with an unusual sensitivity. I do love the way he crafts his columns.

Krauthammer was born in New York, but raised in Montreal. His father spoke nine languages; Krauthammer explains that French was his father’s best language, and English was “his last and relatively weakest.” Krauthammer admits to speaking three languages himself. As he says, he has learned firsthand “not just the joys but also the perils of bilingualism” and wonders why America would flirt with the same system.

It isn’t racist or xenophobic to ask those who choose to live in America to be able to function in English. An example this week was when a classmate on a field trip spent a day in the Mother-Baby unit at a local hospital. A 35 year-old woman was admitted and gave birth to a daughter. The woman has three children; this new infant is her fourth. The baby has Down syndrome. Hospital staff needed to communicate this to the mother quickly, but could not. Basic Spanish wasn’t good enough; they needed to find a staff member who could fully communicate with the mother. They did find someone fluent in Spanish. My concern is that this mother speaks no English, yet now has to take care of this baby in a predominantly English-speaking country. Raising a Down syndrome child is difficult enough, but to do it without English skills? I’m still depressed about this.

I visited my mother the other day and was pleased to discover she had company. Florence is an elderly Jewish woman, originally from New York, who moved here from Florida. I don’t remember how it came up, but suddenly she blurted: “I never spoke Yiddish. Never wanted to. This is America. If you live in America you should speak English. People around me spoke Yiddish. Sure, I know a few words, but can I speak it? No. And why should I?”

Apparently no one is speaking it these days, I told her. I’d just read where there was a time over 20,000 Jews in Chicago spoke Yiddish and now there are maybe 2,000. But when I was a kid - a gentile growing up in a Jewish neighborhood - I loved to hear Yiddish. And I love English. Smatterings of foreign words and expressions, and different dialects - like various spices in your food - make the world a richer place.

The world is richer because people like Charles Krauthammer can speak three languages. But I’m convinced that the world is a better place because Krauthammer speaks and writes…in English.

“That which does not kill us makes us stronger.”

– Friedrich Nietzsche

Every now and then, results from a scientific study are released and they confirm something a person has always suspected. It appears that rats who live in the wild are healthier than those who live in antiseptic laboratory environments.

Scientists compared the “wild” rats to the lab rats and discovered that an overly hygienic environment can lead to allergies and autoimmune diseases. There’s something called the “hygiene hypothesis” which suggests that exposure early in life to infections from environmental dirt and dust; runny-nosed, pox-faced siblings; or germ-encrusted surfaces might just reduce the risk of developing diseases in adulthood.

Lab rats, which live in a virtually germless and parasite-free environment, have specialists on hand - or paw - at all times to monitor their health. Like humans living in Westernized, hygienic societies.

Wild rats, on the other hand, are exposed to all sorts of microbes and parasites, much like humans living in societies without HMOs and paranoia about personal hygiene.

So, compared to the Third World, we “rats” in industrial societies have higher rates of allergy, asthma, and autoimmune diseases. Maybe those mothers who pushed their kids outside to play with the neighbor kid who had chicken pox had the right idea.

During my life I’ve known women who douche excessively; men who eat organic food, avoid sugar and white flour, consume vitamins and supplements, and give themselves enemas; and people who filter their water and air, clean their homes and offices obsessively, scrub themselves with antibacterial cleaners, and run to the doctor for antibiotics at the first sniffle.

They all lecture me on the importance of good health. Which none of them, apparently, have. I’m one of those people who, by the time I remember that I have pain killers on the shelf, discovers my headache is already over.

The human body is a marvel. Like a car, it requires a good quality energy source and routine maintenance. Get sloppy on these details and you’re asking for trouble. But if you start out with the wrong car - say, a 1973 American Motors Hornet - you might experience more problems than a person who drives a Lincoln Continental. That’s where genetics figures into the equation.

Start with good genes, eat smart, and take care of the body to prevent repairs. The body is designed to deal with a hell of a lot and it needs to be allowed to do its job. It’s like buying a car and never driving it. A car needs to get out on the road. Or buying a border collie and crating it in an apartment. A border collie is designed to do certain things and if it is not allowed to do what’s in its nature, it will become a crazed baby killer. The dog needs intellectual stimulation and exercise. And so does the human body. Keep it moving. Don’t let it or your brain become idle.

I believe there are conditions that can’t be avoided, but I also believe that many can be. I maintain that a good deal of illness is psychological. I know a man who used to get upset because people would bring Krispy Kremes to morning meetings. “My doctor says I can’t have that!” But it wouldn’t end there. He’d obsess. I think if he had just had half a doughnut and then shut the hell up, he would have been a healthier human being. And those around him, as well.

All that fretting over diet and environment is only going to produce the stress that will kill you. I know people who have had luck with the Atkins Diet. Good for them. They can pry that loaf of rye from my cold dead hands - I’m not giving it up willingly. The stress from living without rye is probably more detrimental than the rye itself.

It’s simply a matter of moderation. You won’t need to bleach your home or drown yourself in Summer’s Eve; your body will just do its job and deal with the dirt and germs that come its way. Get out of the lab. Just be that wild, happy rat you were meant to be.

Rat on.

I’m old enough to remember when loyalty was a good thing. I guess loyalty is still a good thing - but only when someone is loyal to you. You can cheat on your spouse, but your spouse had better not cheat on you. You can let your dog’s water bowl run dry, switch to cheap kibble, and eventually put him to death when you get tired of the responsibility of caring for him; but that dog had better be Johnny-on-the-spot, pulling you - with his teeth - out of your burning house when the time comes. You can steal over two thousand ball point pens from the company you work for, and skip the overpriced seminar they sent you to Boston for to see a Red Sox game instead; but they better not mess with your health benefits or perks.

If you’re loyal, you’re a jerk. But you demand loyalty from everyone around you. Don’t you?

George W. Bush gets criticized for being so loyal to the people around him. The people around him get criticized for being so loyal to their boss. The reason I mention this is that “the boss” happens to be in town today.

He’s here to support a local candidate who might just be in trouble this November. It’s a shame because she’s actually a better candidate than the Democrat who’s running against her. Honest Democrats admit that their candidate is not only incompetent, but she’s one of the dimmest bulbs in the fixture. Party loyalty, however, dictates that they vote for her.

The Republican candidate has actually been doing a fine job and for a long time I suspected she was being groomed for bigger things within the party. Yet this is the same candidate who’s been aggressively taking the other side of issues and backing away from Bush like he’s a stinking, bloated corpse. The last time he was in town, she was supposed to meet him for dinner, but something came up and she couldn’t be there to share some green chile enchiladas with the Leader of the Free World.

I know where Bush eats when he’s in town and I would have been there with bells on. Clinton used to go to this other spot - the food’s really not as good and the place is kind of a dump - but…uh…I digress. Anyway, I would have met George and Laura for dinner; I would have ordered the carne adovada; and I would have asked about the twins, their grandparents, and, of course, Barney, Miss Beazley, and India the cat. And I probably would have asked about Dave and Jackson Cheney, too.

But then, I’m loyal as a Labrador.

I’m listening to people call in to our afternoon talk radio host to report smoke. I thought I smelled something, so I walked outside and looked at the mountains. They weren’t there. It appears our city is burning again.

Feeling a little like Nero, I’ve got a beer and I’m sitting here at the computer. Time to fiddle. I thought I’d take some time to read some articles while authorities figure out why the air over our town is thick with smoke. There’s an article by R. Emmett Tyrrell, Jr. entitled “The Boy Speaker.” Bob, editor of The American Spectator, is none too fond of his subject, and that subject would be Newt Gingrich.

I like Newt. I admire his passion for political science and history, and used to enjoy watching his televised college courses. He’s an engaging instructor. But, as Tyrrell is quick to point out, Newt carries a lot of baggage. He’s the Republican version of Bill Clinton. Ouch.

But Tyrrell makes a good point. I was disappointed that Newt had such a wonderful opportunity to initiate real change, but because of some character flaws, he blew it and fell short of the objective. Oh, my. Tyrrell might just have nailed it on that Clinton comparison.

I won’t rehash the article, but it might be worth a gander. As much as I like Newt, I think Tyrrell is correct when he says that the man should not run for President. Names emerge for 2008 - names like Clinton, Kerry, Gore, Edwards, Gingrich, McCain - and the problem with every one of them is baggage. Each carries more than a full set of Samsonite. (Well, maybe Kerry carries Louis Vuitton.)

And I’m suddenly reminded how tired I am, as a voter, for having so few new options on the ballot menu. I’m sick of meatloaf - it’s time for something different. I’m in the mood for something light, fresh, crisp, and tasty. Right now I’m thinking I’d like to check out a platter of Romney greens for an appetizer, and - if it hits the spot - I might consider it again for a main course.

We may have our differences, but we can all agree - unless you suffer from some bizarre eating disorder - that food is a wonderful thing. Even the most xenophobic amongst us is tolerant of other cultures when food is involved. Sure, there are those oddballs who aren’t adventurous when it comes to food and tend to limit their menus. A friend dated a girl who would only eat steak and drink Tropicana Twisters. A couple martinis, and Bob is the Galloping Gourmet. Obviously the relationship was destined to fail.

Oddballs aside, most of us like food. And most of us appreciate variety. I’ve never understood travelers who go to another country and want to eat what they eat at home. Would you fly to Rome and look for a KFC or Burger King? When in Rome, eat what Romans eat. I would hope that would be something I could identify as Italian.

The wave of immigrants to America was a mixed blessing, and a lot of Americans weren’t happy to see all those dagos getting off the boats (”they don’t speak English, they smell like garlic, they breed like rabbits”) yet…something strange happened (”they make this thing with bread and cheese and tomatoes and I just can’t get enough of it!”).

Italians had been making pizza since the third century B.C., but once Americans tried it, they liked it. People work together, they eat together, they share food. Next thing you know, they’re trading recipes.

Soldiers go off to war and are introduced to foods in other countries, then come home and for fifty years talk about the streudel they had at a farmhouse in the German countryside. My stepfather’s plane was almost shot down in Asia, but he never talked about details like that. He did remember every meal during the war and could describe it as if he’d just consumed it: what it looked like, smelled like, and tasted like.

Soldiers who fought the war in Italy came home with a hankering for pizza. “When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s amore.” America’s love affair with pizza began a long time ago — and this honeymoon’s not over.

Most Americans are pretty welcoming of new cuisine. They’ll go to a Japanese restaurant, remove their shoes, sit on the floor, and eat raw fish with wooden sticks. They’ll order souvlaki, keftedes, spanakopita, dolmades, mousaka, and baklava at Greek restaurants; kimchi, bibimbap, and bulgogi at Korean restaurants; parantha, uttar pradesh, samosa, saag, and murgh masala at Indian restaurants; adobo, lumpia, and pancit at Filipino restaurants; fug tong gang buad at Thai restaurants; cuisseau de lapin rôti au thym and mijote d’oignons et d’orge a la bière sur lie at French restaurants; and schnitzel at German restaurants. At Middle Eastern restaurants, they’ll sit on floor pillows and eat without utensils. We’re an adventurous group.

An American might go to an Italian restaurant and order something called “aglio olio.” It was my grandfather’s favorite dish, and why anyone would order it in a restaurant when it’s the cheapest and easiest thing in the world to make I do not know. But I’ll give points to anyone who is brave enough to try to pronounce “aglio olio.” But we’re game. We’ll go into an Iraqi restaurant or wander into a taqueria, and we’ll see something interesting on the menu, take a deep breath, and give it our best shot. “I’ll have the…uh…quzi?”

So why all the fuss over Joey Vento’s policy at his South Philly cheesesteak place - Geno’s Steaks - to place your food order in English? If Geno’s is anything like the Carnegie Deli in New York, you need to know what you want, you have to be able to communicate that, and you have to be quick. If you can’t do that, you’re gonna starve. The people who work at the deli are busy and don’t have time for indecision or stupidity. No questions, no hesitation, no substitutions. Don’t ask the waiter if you can get mayo, lettuce, and sprouts on your pastrami on rye. You won’t like his response. (I liked it, but then I wasn’t the idiot who asked for sprouts.)

Ah, the firestorm. Bloggers are calling Mr. Vento everything from “stupid wop” to “Nazi.” Some comments are too vile to repeat here. One person offered this remark:

“I’ve been in South Philly. When in the world did people there start speaking English?”

You can see where this is going. But I have to defend Vento’s decision. I’ve seen the menu at Geno’s. Dick and Jane is more of a challenge. If Americans can learn a word like spanakopita or bibimbap, then anyone from any corner of the world should be able to master “steak-with” and get a greasy world famous taste treat. Personally, I’d rather have the stuff at Carnegie Deli or a nice Chicago-style Italian beef sandwich, but I’d never say no - or non, nein, ne, nej, nee, or nyet — to a Philly cheesesteak.

“I have come today to personally show our nation’s commitment to a free Iraq. My message to the Iraqi people is this: seize the moment; seize this opportunity to develop a government of and by and for the people. And I also have a message to the Iraqi people that when America gives a commitment, America will keep its commitment.”

– George W. Bush, June 13, 2006

I was on my way to class this morning when I heard that Bush had landed in Baghdad. Surprise! I just love surprises like this. And now I’m listening to callers on our local afternoon radio talk show bitch about it.

Our afternoon host - a Libertarian - makes a good point. This is the George Bush he likes. There are a lot of George Bushes he doesn’t like, and he’s made no secret of that. He says he hates the smug, smirking, arrogant Bush; the deer-in-the-headlights Bush; the slippery politician Bush. But this Bush - the committed, sincere, and grateful Bush - is the one he likes. This one and the one that comes across as a likable guy with a good sense of humor.

Says our host: “I voted for him twice and he drives me nuts half the time.”

Liberals look at Bush and wonder what we see in him. We see the flaws, trust me. We saw them in his dad, but we still liked the man - the human being George H.W. Bush. Same with Dubya. We just like the guy. We all have a list of things we can take him to task for, but when all is said and done - we like him, we like him, we really like him.

It’s like your spouse. He or she can annoy you like no other, and there are things that drive you nuts, but again when all is said and done - this is the person you chose to be with for better or worse. It’s called commitment.

Going to Baghdad today was the right thing to do. Being in Iraq is the right thing to do. Staying in Iraq until it’s time to go is the right thing to do. He knows it, he’s sticking to it, and that’s why we like him.

Unlike that other guy who ran in 2004 and changed his position on Iraq yet again today. You know…the nuanced guy.

There was a time when I took an interest in awards shows, but at some point I realized that these shows - especially for music - were breeding like cockroaches. Suddenly there were awards for everything and, frankly, there isn’t enough time to really care. I’ve pretty much stopped watching them, but still tune in for the Oscars and Tonys.

Yes, I’ve been watching the Tonys for years. The complaint has been that no one watches the Tonys, the ratings are always dismal, and no one outside of Manhattan knows what a Tony is. That’s not true. I’m not the only one who watches the Tonys. Uh, there are three of us, I think.

The reason I watched the Tonys every year and the reason I went off to a university at age 17 to study theater, was that there was something about the Tonys that separated them from the other awards shows. Better production values, better time management, better acceptance speeches, better hosts, better audiences. The Tonys just had a certain something. A sense of decorum, for one thing. Oh, that’s it. The Tonys had class.

Veteran stage actors would accept awards and deliver short, tasteful speeches that expressed their love of theater, the importance of theater, the value of theater, their gratitude and sheer wonder for having the opportunity to work in theater - all that and more. A young actor making his Broadway debut wins his first Tony and his whole future is clear. He thanks his mother who worked three jobs just so she could take him and his little sister to see a show every few months. They seemed sincere. There was a certain magic about it all.

People expect the Academy Awards to be blatantly political, but the Tony Awards usually manage to keep the focus on theater. Actors in particular. The Tonys don’t have to be blatantly political because theater itself tends to be very left of center. You live in Manhattan; you take tap, jazz, and ballet; you wear make-up; you wanted to grow up to be Chita Rivera; and you have a penis. Chances are you’re not a Conservative Republican.

Not to say there aren’t Conservatives in theater. There are. Uh, three, I think. But Broadway and even local theater should keep in mind that there are a lot of Conservatives who sit in the audience, buy the tickets, and write the donation checks.

But last night’s show felt a little different. The Tonys, to me, are starting to feel a little like the other awards shows. One might say it’s the Hollywood influence, what with all the film and TV actors strutting their stuff on the boards. I’m not sure that’s it. There’s always been a crossover of actors; someone like Rita Moreno, for instance, has done it all. A lot of actors can successfully move from one genre to another.

It definitely felt more political than usual, and there was one overt comment in particular that wasn’t all that amusing, but got a good response from the audience. The one about “a Republican puppet.”

It’s not that I’m overly sensitive, it’s just that it seems that there’s blood in the water and the sharks are circling. Sure, Liberals are drooling at the prospect of winning big in November, but it’s classless and unwise to count your chickens before they’ve hatched.

But I must say I’m disappointed. Last night’s show just didn’t have the magic, the - dare I say it? - the innocence of past productions. There was a real Hollywood cynicism, an atmosphere of self-importance, and a palpable lack of humility. In years past, Broadway has been fully aware of its financial hardships, so those who appear on the Tonys are quick to grovel and “invite” the audience to come to Broadway and see a show. Support your local theater. See a play. Just be a part of it.

That’s the magic of theater. You really can be a part of it. But last night was different. I didn’t get the sincerity, the graciousness, the we-really-need-you-and-appreciate-your-support kinda feeling I usually get when I watch the Tonys. And I didn’t get another thing that I watch the Tonys for. The inspiration.

Maybe it’s because Broadway’s had a pretty good year financially, and there’s some smugness. But I would advise Broadway to be careful. Just be careful not to forget the magic.

“You fill up my senses like a night in a forest
Like a mountain in springtime, like a walk in the rain
Like a storm in the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean
You fill up my senses, come fill me again…”

– “Annie’s Song,” John Denver

I have been defending Ann Coulter for what seems like forever. Back when she had a “disagreement” with the boys at National Review, a lot of people said that she had finally “crossed the line.” I didn’t get worked up over the flap at NR for two reasons: 1) the details of the story were murky and I wasn’t there to see and hear what actually happened, and 2) I like everybody at National Review and I like Ann. I seem to be in the minority on this latter point.

Surely, I’m not the only person who likes her because her books sell and she has an audience. But as popular as she is in some circles, it’s difficult to locate anyone who will admit they like her. Leonard Pitts Jr., a columnist whose work appears in The Miami Herald and The Baltimore Sun has expressed his opinion:

“…Ms. Coulter is reviled because she is mean, malicious, the barbed-wire front woman for a cabal of bloviators, bully boys and blowhards (Rush Limbaugh, Bill O’Reilly, Michael Savage and too many others) who are pleased to regard themselves as the guardians of conservatism’s soul. Conservatism’s soul should sue for slander.

But again, it plays in Peoria. And why not? It is loud, simple, stupid. Not unlike The Jerry Springer Show…”

My question is this: Why do Rush Limbaugh, Bill O’Reilly, and Michael Savage appear on the same list? I get edgy when anyone tries to put Rush and Savage in the same category. Mr. Pitts is mistaken if he is labeling these three as Conservatives. I’ll accept the label for Rush, but not for O’Reilly or Savage. I like Bill; I do not like Savage. As I’ve said here before, the man is a fraud.

I don’t like Pitts’ portrait of Coulter, either, and I don’t like that he compares her and the three men to Jerry Springer. Jerry is, after all, a Liberal, and let’s not forget his comments about the death of Zarqawi this week. And don’t get me started about that show. Springer has polluted the culture, denigrated humanity, and has made his living off humiliation. If there are any similarities amongst this group, I’d lean towards comparing Springer to Savage.

Just when I was going to sit down and rattle off my defense of Ann Coulter, someone came along and did it for me, saying everything I was planning to say. That person is another who is reviled and one whom I often defend. That would be David Horowitz. Like me, Horowitz recognizes that Ann is one of those rare, delightful individuals who doesn’t muzzle herself. There are too many on the Right wearing muzzles: the world needs an Ann Coulter to remind us to be bold.

And bold she is. Someone has to articulate what the rest are thinking but are too timid to utter - and Ann gladly takes the heat for it. The least we can do is defend the woman for doing what we should be doing.

So she said something unflattering about the Jersey Girls, did she? Good for her. Here’s Pitts again on the subject:

“Ms. Coulter’s victims, by the way, felt compelled to release a statement. It said in part: ‘Contrary to Ms. Coulter’s statements, there was no joy in watching men that we loved burn alive. There was no happiness in telling our children that their fathers were never coming home again.’ In a better nation, that would go without saying.”

But Mark Gauvreau Judge, writing for The American Spectator, sees things a little differently. He admits when he first heard Coulter’s remarks, he thought that perhaps she’d finally come “unhinged.” But then he saw the response from Kristen Breitweiser and the other 9/11 widows - the quote from Pitts, in particular - and something clicked. Writes Judge:

“I read that, and a thought came to mind. I tried to push it away, ignore it. But I simply could not get that line out of my mind: ‘there was no joy in watching men that we loved burn alive.’

But I couldn’t get around it. What person describes the death of a loved one in such detail?”

Precisely. All Ann Coulter is saying is that we have become a nation of the mealymouthed who have been trained to keep mum about certain topics because we somehow aren’t qualified to assert an opinion. I can’t talk about the “black experience” because I am not black. Why, I’m not even allowed to have an opinion. Yet I could probably get by with saying something derogatory about Italians because I can qualify any statement with: “Oh, I can say that because my mother’s family is Italian.” Well, get out that big ol’ stamp of approval, then.

But Coulter further clarifies her position by explaining that we accept whatever comes out of a victim’s mouth and that it cannot be debated. Oh, this person suffered, so suddenly his words are gospel. It’s a freakishly Christian concept, don’t you think, for so many Sectarians?

We are not allowed to question these “victims.” Well, how convenient is that? Can’t beat up the kid who wears glasses, can’t criticize the stupid kid, can’t pick on anyone with shortcomings or anybody who has been victimized by this cold, cruel world we live in.

Says who? I don’t care if you’ve suffered a loss or heartache - who hasn’t? You are still part of the human race and if you say something stupid, someone else has the right to call you on it. As Mark Goldblatt, also in The American Spectator, points out about this new brand of victimization: “Grief does not confer competency.”

Mark Gauvreau Judge, like Coulter, can sense when a victim is taking advantage of his or her victimhood. A word of advice to all victims: these tactics only cheapen your experience. You lose credibility. The Jersey Girls, and others who use loved ones in this fashion, should be confronted. And, sadly, it appears only Ann Coulter has the balls to do it.