So, the other day, I participated in the Ricochet podcast. For those of you who don’t know, Ricochet is a hotbed of mopery, crapulence, and sloth that, like the kid who shot Gene Wilder in the ass in Blazing Saddles, is trying to murder National Review, conservatism, and vast swaths of Western Civilization. The podcast was hosted by Rob Long, a writer for NR no less, who is also the world’s foremost crypto-Shachtmanite narcoleptic – he constantly drops hints and insinuations that we can reach an ideal socialist state without sacrificing democracy, and then falls asleep before explaining how.
He was joined by Peter Robinson, another apostate contributor to National Review, who spends nearly all of his free time going to laser-tag emporiums by himself. And Andrew Klavan — yet another longtime friend of NR. Not much is known about Klavan, save that the street children of Macchu Pichu and Newark run in terror when they see Klavan turn the corner with his magnificent red velvet cape. Klavan was sitting in for Mark Steyn. Yes, that Mark Steyn. Who, you may not know, is actually one of three identical triplets, each of them assigned a different nefarious role in their plot to overthrow the world as we know it. One of them travels through Europe constantly, “coincidentally” hailing cabs that he ends up sharing with potentates, movie stars, and 1950s singers everyone has long assumed were dead. The other writes for nearly every newspaper and magazine in the world, the perfect cover for activating sleeper agents in remote corners of the globe. Need to “turn on” the Steynian assassin in Munich? Just sneak a seemingly innocuous reference to the chorus vocals in the 1979 off-Broadway version of 42nd Street into your SundayDeutsche Allgemeine Zeitung column. Need to notify your asset in the Congo that the CIA is coming for him? Why, just compare Mel Torme’s vocal stylings to the total fertility rate of Manchester, England. As for the last Steyn (soon to be the title of my novel), he spends his entire time expanding his Bond-villainesque headquarters in New Hampshire — and choking mallard ducks, for some reason.
Now, all of this is true, and beyond dispute. But, anyway, I was on the podcast. What’s that? Why did I agree to join such a wretched hive of scum and villainy? Well, they said there would be doughnuts.
Anyway, I was asked something about my book, and I jokingly responded that it was a work of stunning prophecy. I meant it as a joke. Really, I did.
But as the Italians say, “If you don’t need a receipt, I can sell you this wheel of cheese for a lot less.”
Oh, wait, wrong quote.
As the Italians say, the truest things are said in jest.
Now, I don’t mean to say that my book has turned out to be a work of stunning prophecy as an objective matter (“No, you just mean to imply it very, very, very strongly” – The Couch). Opinions differ among reasonable people. But I’ve been shocked at how determined the events seem to be to prove my book right. Not on every point, to be sure. But on the basic nature of liberalism, it’s kind of hard for me not to see Obama, his administration, and the intellectual climate defending them as a confirmation of my basic argument(s). I argued that liberalism is shot through with a deeply ideological faith in the power of government that masquerades as “pragmatism”; that liberalism is addicted to crisis and the moral equivalent of war; that liberalism is intellectually deracinated from its own tradition; that liberalism is in many respects a new religion (in the Voegelinian sense); that the default economic “doctrine” (tendency might be a better word) is corporatism; and so on. On all of these points I was proved right.
As for my historical arguments, I’ve been stunned that the efforts by the historical profession – late, mean-spirited, and hysterical as they’ve been – to debunk them have been so weak (see here, for more on that).
Why am I bringing all of this up? I dunno. I still get so much grief for the book from the left, largely from people who haven’t read it or refused to read it in good faith. Or maybe I’m just starved for topics for today’s G-File. We’ll never know.
David Gergen in a Dress
This morning, I posted a long item on the Corner about the news that Kathleen Parker and Elliot Spitzer will host a CNN show together. My guess is it’s doomed. It might end up being the most successful show on CNN, which is a bit like being the best string quartet on the Titanic. Hmm, that might be too generous, because the string quartets on the Titanic were probably really, really good. The show might end up being akin to the best Indian food in Duluth.
Regardless, I got an e-mail that I thought was pretty funny and on point: “Reading your post, I couldn’t help thinking, ‘Oh, so she’ll be the Alan Colmes.’ ”
Just a thought.
Discuss amongst yourselves.
Mailbag
Here’s an interesting e-mail in response to last week’s G-File:
Speaking of asses…
Oh. Yet another “joke” about France. Pretty strange, since we’re in the midst of massive reaction to a “joke” of similar caliber from Helen Thomas about Israel leaving Palestine. This is probably a waste of time, but here’s some real history, you ignorant bigot [?$%@]. (And, I couldn’t care less about your golf game or your endless ego.)
[I’ve cut his long excerpt from the linked page on French courage]
Note to self: the loudest “Conservatives” don’t give a [@&%!] about the truth.
Now what I find amusing about this – and the scads of e-mail I get along these lines – is this guy says he couldn’t care less about my endless ego, blah, blah, blah. But he’s clearly read me for years and – wait for it – he signed up for this “news” letter. And I have been nothing but transparent about my intention that the New G-File will be nothing if not grotesquely, scandalously self-indulgent. Want proof?
Booger!
Look, cows!
The framfra is disconnected from the queenestray!
I can do this all day long.
If you want to call this sort of thing a celebration of my endless ego, so be it. I can certainly understand why someone who hates my guts would see it that way.
What I don’t get is why such a person would sign up for this “news” letter. It’s like a homophobe signing up for a ten-day gay cruise. “I hate you! You’re disgusting! . . . When is the La Cage aux Folles Trivial Pursuit baby-oil Twister game starting on the Lido deck?”