To His Own Self, Untrue

SOME months ago, Al Gore was dropped onto a remote island to see if he could live with himself for a year. Evidently, he found it difficult. Within a week, he’d multiplied into half-a-dozen different AIs. The more AIs he voted off the island, the more showed up the following morning. No sooner did one Alpha Gore take the lead and tear some harmless sloth limb from limb than a bewildering array of Alternative Gores emerged to challenge his dominance. The Al Gore who made labored, wooden, self-deprecating jokes about his woodenness was swiftly dispatched and used for kindling. But other AIs weren’t so easy to spot, blending in against the trees in their Gap leisurewear.

As in CBS’s other reality-TV effort, Big Brother, it has been painful to watch some of these incompatible AIs trying to live together on one island. There was the original Big Brother, the Al who followed you into your bathroom and inflicted federal toilet legislation on you and 260 million others. And then there was his complete opposite—Big Cistern, the Al who’d rented out a home with an ancient leaking toilet tank held together by bread-bag ties and then sat idly by as a Niagara-sized torrent cascaded across his tenants’ floor 24 hours a day. There was the Al who, asked what he told his children about Bill Clinton and Juanita Broaddrick, replied that he would never violate the privacy” of a family member, and the Al for whom there’s no stricken relative you can’t get a convention speech out of. The Al who created the booming economy and the Al who raged against corporate greed and the Al who spent the immediate post-primary season campaigning as a human Denver boot: Stay exactly where you are, America; do not attempt to move—an inch in any direction would be too “risky.”

About the Author

Mark Steyn

Mark Steyn is an international bestselling author, a Top 41 recording artist, and a leading Canadian human-rights activist.

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SOME months ago, Al Gore was dropped onto a remote island to see if he could live with himself for a year. Evidently, he found it difficult. Within a week, he’d multiplied into half-a-dozen different AIs. The more AIs he voted off the island, the more showed up the following morning. No sooner did one Alpha Gore take the lead and tear some harmless sloth limb from limb than a bewildering array of Alternative Gores emerged to challenge his dominance. The Al Gore who made labored, wooden, self-deprecating jokes about his woodenness was swiftly dispatched and used for kindling. But other AIs weren’t so easy to spot, blending in against the trees in their Gap leisurewear.

As in CBS’s other reality-TV effort, Big Brother, it has been painful to watch some of these incompatible AIs trying to live together on one island. There was the original Big Brother, the Al who followed you into your bathroom and inflicted federal toilet legislation on you and 260 million others. And then there was his complete opposite—Big Cistern, the Al who’d rented out a home with an ancient leaking toilet tank held together by bread-bag ties and then sat idly by as a Niagara-sized torrent cascaded across his tenants’ floor 24 hours a day. There was the Al who, asked what he told his children about Bill Clinton and Juanita Broaddrick, replied that he would never violate the privacy” of a family member, and the Al for whom there’s no stricken relative you can’t get a convention speech out of. The Al who created the booming economy and the Al who raged against corporate greed and the Al who spent the immediate post-primary season campaigning as a human Denver boot: Stay exactly where you are, America; do not attempt to move—an inch in any direction would be too “risky.”