The Voice of Treason

“Judge not, lest ye be judged judgmental.”

– Florence King

(LARRY) KING: Our guest is Tammy Faye, known — known around the world, isn’t she?

“If you could have people” — an e-mail from Jane in Ashburn, Virginia, Tammy Faye — “If you could have people remember you for one thing, what would it be?”

T.F. MESSNER: Well, my eyelashes.

I rarely watch Larry King; truth be told, I’d rather read Rob Long’s masterful parodies of show’s transcripts in National Review. But I admit I had to tune in this week to watch Tammy Faye.

T: Urgh. Why does she still wear all that eye makeup?

Me: Would you know who she was if she didn’t?

At sixty-five pounds and happy to have just gained that last five (and, no, those cannot be attributed to the additional coat of mascara for the television cameras), Tammy Faye was gracious, even when Larry’s questions were nothing short of crass.

To Tammy:

KING: We have a lot of e-mails for you today, as you might imagine. One comes from Debbie in Fredericton, Canada. The question is: “My prayers are you Tammy Faye. What have the doctors said to you about how much time you may have left?”

To Tammy’s husband:

KING: By the way, do you still have prostate cancer, Roe?

To Tammy’s son:

KING: What kind of mother was she…er… what kind of mother is she? I’m sorry.

Honestly? I’ve never harbored ill feelings towards Tammy Faye. In fact, I remember being somewhat sympathetic when she was vilified for spending money on accessories – like air-conditioned doghouses – for her pets. I mean, some people – especially those “beautiful” Hollywood types — spend $175 for blueberry facials for their dogs, dress them in designer togs, fit them with jewel-encrusted collars, and fill their crystal bowls with imported water. An air-conditioned doghouse, to me, seemed perfectly practical by comparison.

This, of course, does not dismiss the Bakkers’ criminal behavior and excesses. Jim and Tammy Faye may be guilty of many things, including misusing funds from desperate people who couldn’t afford to give, but millions of people donate money to support the church of their choice. And that is a choice, not coercion.

KING: We have an e-mail question from Tina in Forestville, California: “If you go back — if you could go back and change one thing in your colorful, eventful life, what would it be?”

T.F. MESSNER: Well, I don’t think about that, Larry, because that’s just a waste of good brain space.

KING: Well, you might forget The PTL Club.

Tammy says she has gotten over that terrible episode in her life, but I haven’t – and I’m happy about it. I actually tuned in and watched the show when I was in college because I lived in a small Northern California town with a limited television schedule. Late at night, both the streets and the TV channels would roll up and the only form of entertainment available to me was PTL. I tell you, it was riveting.

I’m dead serious. I was in no way an evangelical Christian and I never sent the Bakkers a solitary dime, and I often felt guilty about it – almost the way you feel if you watch PBS but don’t contribute during pledge week. Why, I was getting quality programming for free – shame on me.

Truly, I just couldn’t take my eyes off Tammy Faye. She was funny, bigger-than-life, and she talked about things I was interested in. I admired her exuberance when she sang and I liked the way she interacted with people – especially the guests who would appear on the show during those fascinating interview segments. People from all walks of life who seemed to have these perfect existences, but then they hit absolute rock bottom and discovered religion. I’m not kidding: Sometimes Tammy made Barbara Walters look like a rank amateur. She could draw out the most intimate, the most shocking, depraved details. Guests seemed so willing to open up and confess everything to Tammy Faye and she hung on every word and made them feel it was okay to admit that they had made such poor choices. She was warm, engaging, and often adorable. I still remember – and it’s been more than twenty-five years – when Maria Muldaur was the guest. I can’t hear “Midnight At The Oasis” without thinking about that interview. It was fabulous.

Frankly, if there really is a Heaven, and Tammy Faye is there, and if it’s true that when you get past the Gates you meet those who have reached their destination before you, then add Tammy to the list of people I’d like to introduce myself to and engage in a conversation. That is if, of course, we do end up in the same place.

R.I.P.

Runners:

1. Joe Biden

2. Barack “Barama” Obama

3. Chris Dodd

4. John (and Elizabeth) Edwards

5. Hillary (and Bill)

6. Bill Richardson

7. Dennis Kucinich

8. Mike Gravel

Joggers:

9. Algore

Jumpers:

1. Mark Warner

2. Russ Feingold

3. Tom Daschle

4. Evan Bayh

5. John F. Kerry

6. Tom Vilsack

“I love the feel of estrogen in the afternoon.”

– Governor Jennifer Granholm (D-MI) at annual NOW Conference in Dearborn

“Who is that?… I don’t know anything about that… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

– Hillary Clinton to Katherine Prudhomme-O’Brien when asked about Juanita Broaddrick

“She and I are from the same generation. We both went to law school and married other lawyers, but after that we made other choices. I think my choices have made me happier. I think I’m more joyful than she is.”

– Mrs. John Edwards comparing herself to Hillary Clinton

Meeee-ow. Yes, it’s possible Jenn loves estrogen because it makes her nails sharper, as Mrs. Edwards has just demonstrated. Jeez, it’s not enough for the ladies to turn on Jeri Thompson – now they’re eating their own.

It’s odd that Mrs. Edwards is out and about, trying to make the point that her husband is more of a woman than Hillary; wasn’t that made clear enough when she picked a fight with Ann Coulter? Sorry, but she kinda made Ann’s point for her. It’s obvious John spends more money and time on his hair than Mrs. Clinton spends on hers; dollars to doughnuts, I’d bet John has had more professional attention paid to his nails than Hillary has.

Mrs. Edwards assures us that her husband cares more about women’s issues and will do more for women if he, not Hillary, moves into the White House in ’09. Yup — that John is one sensitive guy. After witnessing a male candidate challenge Hillary during a debate as an equal — and practically bursting into flames seconds later — I’ll be curious to see how sensitive John will be in future debates. Will he do a Lazio, or will he just let Elizabeth fight his battles for him?

Speaking of wives, these catty remarks about Jeri Thompson are laughable. What is the big beef precisely? That she’s attractive? Or is it the age difference? Chris Dodd’s wife is considerably younger than her husband, but if this is what has tongues wagging, then Dennis Kucinich’s wife – another Elizabeth — should be fair game. Younger – much! — extremely attractive, and so tall, too. No one wants to put a damper on this Libran love match, but it would be very easy to suggest that Elizabeth K. could simply be a gold digger. She’s in America for what, two days? She meets a guy and now she’s running for First Lady? This is the stuff of fairy tales: beautiful princess kisses a frog and he becomes a President.

Gee, and I thought feminism was going to put an end to all these classic stereotypes and free our little girls from such sexist tales. Why, you don’t need any prince when you can fight off the dragons yourself! Pick up that sword and stiletto heels and go forth!

EMILY’s List promotes itself as a factory for producing smart, strong, independent Democrat women candidates, but for once I’d rather see a list of women who are smart, strong — and independent of their well-connected husbands.

I, like the Senate, was thinking about pullin’ an all-nighter because I couldn’t avoid all those exciting previews for The Big Sleepover. The bad news: Who paid for all those prop cots? The good news: Now that Michael Vick’s been indicted, and the disgusting details of his crimes involving Bad Newz Kennels are in the news, I was able to switch off the Vick segments and go to C-SPAN 2 for some light entertainment.

This came in handy first thing this morning when Megyn Kelly, lip curling, started to report on the Vick story. I quickly grabbed the remote and switched over to The Sleepover, just in time to catch John McCain. I’m not supporting the man for 2008, but I’ll give him credit: When he’s good, he’s very good. The problem is that his ship has probably sailed and it’s looking more and more like the Titanic. Sure, he’s sailed solo before, but this isn’t something you can do alone. Again, I don’t support him, but I’m feeling some sadness over his current predicament. And, doggone it, I shouldn’t. The man has a great life – interesting work, a lovely wife, a new home, and a couple dozen pets — and he’ll be better off out of this race.

Right now I’m sitting here with the radio, listening to our local afternoon host – Jim Villanucci – and he’s talking about the Vick case, asking callers to contribute any dog-fighting experiences they might have had. If this is going to be the next BIG story and every cable news network will be trying to out-gross the others with graphic details and video, now would be an excellent time for me to get back into the workforce and help pay for the next Sleepover. Where’s that resume?

And while we’re on the topic of depressing news… is it me, or does Tony Snow look like his treatment isn’t going well?

Runners:

1. Duncan Hunter

2. John McCain

3. Rudy Giuliani

4. Tommy Thompson

5. Mitt Romney

6. Sam Brownback

7. Tom Tancredo

8. Mike Huckabee

9. Ron Paul

10. John Cox

Joggers:

11. Fred Thompson

12. Newt Gingrich

Jumpers:

1. Bill Frist

2. Frank Keating

3. Jim Gilmore

“It is not in the nature of politics that the best men should be elected. The best men do not want to govern their fellowmen.”

– George E. MacDonald

I suspect this also means that “the best men” don’t even bother to run. And I don’t believe that voters sit and compare the virtues of candidates anymore; instead they compare their vices, their character flaws, their missteps, their misstatements.

I was at the sink earlier today rinsing some dishes and I heard George Bush speaking from the White House. There was a time when I would have stopped what I was doing and gone directly to the other room to watch. Instead, I kept rinsing. This is not to say that I’ve completely written off the President – I haven’t. I just know I can rewind and rewatch when I’m done with what I’m doing.

And then I heard it. It sounded as if, when referring to Tony Blair, he said: “My Prime Minister.” I cringed. Oh, no, I said to myself. That’s all we need. The blogs will be all over this one – poodle this, poodle that. Oh, snap.

But, like I said, I can rewind and rewatch. (Every time I think about dropping cable I remember how handy the DVR is.) Thankfully, he didn’t say “my” – he actually said “former.” I misheard him. But see how quickly I jumped to conclusions?

But I have noticed a difference. I used to pay closer attention to him when he was speaking. Now my mind wanders. I catch myself, but it’s too late – I’ve missed a large part of what he’s said. Yes, I know, I can rewind and rewatch. Sometimes I do… more often than not, I don’t.

It was exactly one week before Peggy Noonan’s piece appeared that I expressed a certain disdain for the President’s serenity here on The V.O.T. It was his birthday, and I said:

“Meanwhile, the President seems unfazed. Serene. I admire that sort of serenity, but admit that some of us might start getting a wee bit resentful about it. Like, it’s nice that the constant ranting doesn’t bother you, Mr. President, but what about the rest of us?”

Don’t misunderstand – I’m not saying this is a completely original thought. Others have noticed the same thing and have long been grumbling, but when Peggy Noonan writes a column that zeroes in on it… well, it’s gospel.

She’s not happy with his demeanor and calls it “weird.” True, but I don’t want him as miserable as LBJ, either. His presidency killed him. No one can say that there isn’t something weighing on him: the man has aged considerably in six years. Perhaps this is how he registers despair. Cracking jokes with the press, staying calm. The beef is that perception is everything and he’s being perceived in ways that… well, Peggy said it better than I ever could.

The difference, though, is that now we’re quicker to mishear, to misinterpret, to misperceive. But this is where Peggy makes her strongest point:

“In arguing for the right path as he sees it, the president more and more claims for himself virtues that the other side, by inference, lacks. He is ‘idealistic’; those who oppose him are, apparently, lacking in ideals. He makes his decisions ‘based on principle,’ unlike his critics, who are ever watchful of the polls. He is steadfast, brave, he believes ‘freedom isn’t just for Americans’ but has ‘universal . . . applications,’ unlike those selfish, isolationist types who oppose him…

I suspect people pick up with Mr. Bush the sense that part of his drama, part of the story of his presidency, is that he gets to be the romantic about history, and the American people get to be the realists. Of the two, the latter is not the more enjoyable role.

Americans have always been somewhat romantic about the meaning of our country, and the beacon it can be for the world, and what the Founders did. But they like the president to be the cool-eyed realist, the tough customer who understands harsh realities.

With Mr. Bush it is the people who are forced to be cool-eyed and realistic. He’s the one who goes off on the toots. This is extremely irritating, and also unnatural. Actually it’s weird.”

So… in discovering the man’s flaws, we are flawed. In discovering where he might have gone wrong, we are wrong. In discovering where we disagree with him, we are disagreeable. This isn’t his fault, it’s ours.

Excuse me, but this is precisely what I detested about Carter and Clinton. If a president fails, why am I expected to shoulder the blame?

“Results? Why, man, I’ve gotten lots of results! If I find 10,000 ways something won’t work, I haven’t failed. I’m not discouraged, because every wrong attempt discarded is often a step forward…”

– Thomas Alva Edison

Tip o’ the hat to the Phillies fan bearing a sign with this version of the Edison quote: “I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.” The Philadelphia Phillies just became the first American professional sports franchise to lose 10,000 games. Not too bad, really, when you figure the team has been around for 125 years.

And not too bad if you’re a Cubs fan. I know, I know – I said I was through with baseball after the fisticuff in the Cubbies’ dugout and I was staying true to that. I didn’t even watch the All-Star Game… um, until the ninth inning. But I admit I had to tune in for this Phillies game because I’ve always had a soft spot for the team and their fans. When I was a kid I actually witnessed Phillies fans cheering Cubs players when they’d make a good play. It made an impression.

More good news: The Braves, not the Cubs, are next in line to lose 10,000 games. (Okay, okay, then it’s the Cubs.)

One day you have Hillary and John Edwards kvetching about the crowded Democrat field and how most of the candidates should just pack it in so the top tier can have some breathing room, and then Jim Gilmore removes himself from the race. See how we’re willing to accommodate? Such submissive puppies.

Add Jim – highly qualified, but more useful elsewhere – to The Jumpers List.

Friday the 13th is usually benign, but this one stands out as one of the weird ones. First, the dog hears a hot air balloon and wakes me up:

“I need to go outside and investigate that noise. Get up and let me out.”

“Huh?”

“Please — I need to go out.”

“I was in the middle of a weird dream here.”

“You’re always having weird dreams – what’s new? Look, I need to go out NOW. I’d open the door myself, but you’re the one with thumbs.”

“Lemme put on my shoes, okay?”

“It’s right outside! The noise is right outside! I have to protect you – can’t you speed it up?”

I stumbled to the door; we went outside and stood in the backyard. The neighborhood dogs were barking; my girl was restrained. She patrolled the area, sniffed, investigated, barked authoritatively, then looked at me.

“Okay, I give up. Where the hell is it?”

Hot air balloons over the house are nothing unusual in Albuquerque, but this was peculiar in that we could hear it but couldn’t see it. I looked at the dog, and she at me. And then it was clear.

“It’s in front, I bet. And it’s landed.”

Yup. A couple doors down, just down the hill… there it is. And this was the normal part of the day. A couple hours later we discovered the bottom half of a rat in the yard. A large rat with a banner tail.

“Could this be a kangaroo rat?”

“Half of one maybe.”

T had heard a commotion in the locust tree around three in the morning when he went out to have a cigarette. An owl, perhaps? Maybe it dropped half its snack. A cat delivering a gift? It was just one more oddity in a week filled with strangeness. Like, baby lizards keep coming into the house. They’re so tiny, yet we manage to capture them and return them to the outdoors. The real weirdness comes with the bugs. Every year there’s a new group and sometimes old “favorites” return. We had two six-inch centipedes come a-callin’ this week. (Rumor has it they travel in pairs.) Ever notice the Chamber of Commerce never mentions this stuff when you ask for the relocation package? And then the trip to the schoolyard with the dog where kids were playing soccer.

“Is that kid pissing on that shrub?”

“Why, yes… it appears he is.”

“There’s a port-o-potty right there next to the skate park.”

Yes, a new skate park for the little darlings! Surrounded by litter and broken glass! Ah, my tax dollars at work! Kid’s pissing away, his mother’s running around the track, oblivious to her three boys.

“It’s the Third World, I tell you.”

More weirdness what with weather, odd drivers, and a visit with my mother, but the capper was this: Dinner with friends and a visitor who grew up here but now lives in Maryland and works at the Pentagon.

Ordinarily, a hundred and one questions from me, but the conversation went in an entirely different direction. Now that’s weird.

“Lock up the streets and houses
Because there’s something in the air
We’ve got to get together sooner or later
Because the revolution’s here, and you know it’s right
And you know that it’s right…”

I’m having one of those Thunderclap Newman moments. It’s okay – they come only a few times each decade and they don’t last very long. I guess it’s like hot flashes: they arrive quickly and unexpectedly, stop you in your tracks, then move on. Whoa – there it is again. Yes, there’s definitely something in the air.

Chertoff called it a gut feeling and got blasted for it, and I’m not one to run to his defense but I did hear the entire statement and, frankly, it wasn’t anything that warranted Keith Olbermann’s shorts to get all in a bunge. Still, Keith got bunged. And that’s fine. That’s what happens on MSNBC, and that’s probably why I find myself tuning in. It’s like watching Bette Davis and Joan Crawford. You just can’t afford to blink.

If I’m near the set at 4:00 I’m going to watch Brit “Eggnog” Hume because I adore the man and there’s always a good chance that Charles Krauthammer will be on the panel. It’s what I live for: a few moments with Charles. But for some reason I’d switched over to Tucker – something I wouldn’t ordinarily do – and I have to admit it: I caught a really good show. It’s not that I like or dislike Mr. Carlson, and, unlike some, I have no desire to slap him ‘til he bleeds, so I can actually just sit there and watch him without getting myself worked into a lather.

It’s like Glenn Beck. Locally, his radio show is doing quite well, and occasionally I tune in and catch a little. I even stop off at Headline News and watch a bit of him. It’s not like I’m Bobby Kennedy, Jr. – I don’t have this visceral response to people. I don’t respond that way to Leftists and nutty Imams either. Again, it’s that thing in the air. RFK Jr. appeared on Beck’s show and was brittle, nasty, and humorless. I’ve got to say it: This wasn’t half as much fun as Rectenwald v. Tucker.

CARLSON: Mr. Rectenwald, let me… here’s my proposition. If you disagree with a policy position that a candidate or an elected official puts forward, why don‘t you argue against it? In other words, if you don’t agree that kids ought to be taught abstinence-only education, that stem cell research ought to be illegal, or that abortion ought to be banned, or that gay marriage ought not be allowed, why not argue against it? Instead you’re taking a shortcut and just trashing the guy’s personal life? What a sleazy shortcut that is.

RECTENWALD: You worked for The National Review! Their whole career was based on that!

Aaaarrrggghhh!!! You worked for The National Review! At the same time Tucker’s saying he didn’t, I’m saying the same thing. What is that? It’s almost like shouting at someone: You worked for the SS! You were a Nazi sympathizer! You burned people in ovens! You molested children and tortured small animals!

Well, suffice it to say, Leftist blogs went wild over this. Proof that none of these people actually reads NR. (Incidentally, that July 9 issue is just sterling. Scratch that. It’s platinum.) And proof that the Left has lost all reason if they really believe Tucker Carlson is some sort of crazed right wing partisan Republican hack.

Bush’s weird serenity is under attack from both sides, but I’m starting to sense strategery here. He’s saying there’s a feeling out there… no, not malaise, but there is a certain fatigue. With that, I agree.

It’s similar to people who are held captive for long periods and finally just stop resisting. We are becoming worn down by the constant grind from the media. The Left is ratcheting up the volume, and the Right is responding like… well, like submissive puppies. This was annoying and demoralizing at first, but now I see what’s going on here.

The Dems and the Left are foaming up like rabid dogs – sometimes foaming up over the most insignificant things. I tell ya, it’s weird, but the only person on the Left who looks relaxed and renewed, like he’s actually enjoying life is… well, Dennis Kucinich. Last time I saw him he was glowing. He’s more serene than Bush! He belongs to the party that won and has a good shot at winning again, yet they’re all so high strung and tightly wound. Methinks, despite the war, Dennis is a happy man.

Those on the other side, however, are actually more peaceful than Dennis. We’re exhibiting a little more humor. We’re relaxed. With all the chaos in the world, why add to it? We say: Just calm down… breathe… focus. Jeez, even Giuliani can put on a dress and have fun. It’s starting to look like we’re the more open-minded ones — you guys are the people who are demanding all the rules and regulations. Can’t say this! Can’t eat that! Can’t smoke! Can’t joke! Soon we won’t be allowed to do anything fun!

Tucker’s right. The Left has become the party of poopers.