EDITOR’S NOTE: The following is Jonah Goldberg’s weekly “news”letter, the G-File. Subscribe here to get the G-File delivered to your inbox on Fridays.
Dear Reader (And those of you who, who, uh, I seem to be missing a page, so I’ll just have to ad lib. So what do Mark Foley and Kathleen Sebelius have in common? They’re both missing their pages. Oh, dear. I better just stop.)
So things have been a mixed bag here at Hillsdale. The people are great, the students are very sharp and almost Stepford-ly polite. They were entirely perplexed when I walked into class, snapped a pool cue over my knee and declared “We’re gonna have tryouts.” And, I must say Zoë loves Hillsdale. Loves it. She’s at a total loss why we don’t live here. More on Zoë later on.
So, like the guy who bought a bag of mixed nuts that appeared to be only Brazil nuts, you might be asking, “Where’s the mixed part?”
Well, Tuesday night I came down with a crazy fever. Lacking a thermometer I’d have to gauge its severity from the body aches and intense fever-dreams involving Helen Thomas wearing Princess Leia’s gold bikini while riding a pogo stick. Plus I had a pain in my abdomen that could easily be mistaken for an angry baby ferret who’d been sewn in there under protest. In short, I felt like a million
bucks Weimar Republic Deutschmarks circa 1924. Fast-forward to yesterday; I found myself drowning my old nemesis Cordoba, the one-eyed Sardinian assassin (you may know him by his nom de guerre “The Poisoned Water Lilly”) in a toilet at the student union. But that’s not important right now. (How he ever found me here will remain a mystery buried at sea, as it were).
Anyway, Thursday morning I found myself at the health clinic and then the local hospital. The clinic thought I might have kidney stones. The good news is that I didn’t. The bad news was that I have an acute case of diverticulitis (don’t google it, not pleasant). As consolation prizes go, it was sort of like thinking you got a lump of coal for Christmas only to find out it was a lump of zinc. Better than coal, but who yells, “Yay! A lump of zinc!”? I know, I know, there’s an old saying in showbiz about turning intestinal inflammation into your muse. But personally, I found it pretty inconvenient on a day I needed to write a column and deliver a big speech.
I gave the speech, which went pretty well even though I pulled a Sebelius and got lost a few times and had to compensate by making with the yuk-yuks and magic. As for the column, it’s okay. You can judge for yourself, here.
Shut up, They Explained
The column is ostensibly about the confirmation bias of folks like Ezra Klein and Paul “facts have a liberal bias” Krugman. But what I was really going for was a unifying theme between the more effete hubris of the “reality-based community” pundits and the angry mob wing of liberalism. I write that they are both part of a “mass psychology that simply takes it for granted that liberals have sole access to the Truth. It’s like having God on your side without having to believe in God.”