Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Upcoming Teaser

I am working on a long-ish post about our recent trip to Vegas.  I would also like to write something about the Republican Primaries, except that they sadden and weary me so much that it's hard to talk about them without becoming, uhm, sad.  And weary.  But let me say that I predict not only an Obama victory but a crushing and overwhelming one.  In a way, I think that's what the party needs.  It's time for a come to Jesus moment--a real serious stock-taking, on the part of party elders, about where they are going.  They need to wander in the desert.  And there, in the desert, they should leave Rick Santorum.  And Newt.  And Sarah Palin.  And Rush.  And all the many, many knuckleheads who have made the party the sad spectacle that it is today.

But, Vegas was great, and grand, and food-orific.  I made friends with some blackjack pit bosses, embarrassed my wife by my good-natured boisterous vodka-tonic-y-ness, and somehow managed to win money playing poker AND--miracle of miracles--blackjack.  And I got to eat fried nuggets made of bone marrow.  So.  That's something, right?

3 comments:

JMW said...

"good-natured boisterous vodka-tonic-y-ness."

Can't wait to hear more about Vegas.

I think you could make the case -- though I don't know enough to -- that the party elders have some foundational sense of where things should be, but that the party elders are not really in control of the party at the moment. Not sure that wandering in the desert would solve the problem. Maybe it would.

ANCIANT said...

Yes, I should have said that wandering in the desert might force the party to put actual leaders in charge. Or something. But you're right. David Brooks has been publicly wringing his hands about what's happening to the Republicans for months now. And he's not alone. The madmen have taken over the asylum, methinks. Or some such analogy.

Cartooniste said...

I would respond to this, but it's tacky to sound smug.

So I'm just going to settle back here with my slippers on (with chemical warming inserts, because Ithaca bites the big one), and pretend to work on my dissertation, and eat popcorn, and chuckle leftily to myself.