As Roy points out, Peggy Noonan who only asks of Hillary Clinton to let her please help, offers to write a speech wherein Hillary gives up her pipe dream of Presidential inevitability and comes clean by "making peace with yourself. So you’ve got to kill them like I did."
As in: "Look, let’s be frank. A lot of politics is spin, for reasons we can all write books about. I’m as guilty as anyone else. But right now I’m in the fight of my life, and right now I’m not winning. I’m up against an opponent who’s classy and accomplished and who has captured the public imagination. I’ve had some trouble doing that. I’m not one of those people you think of when you hear a phrase like ‘the romance of history.’ But I think I bring some things to the table that I haven’t quite managed to explain. I think I’ve got a case to be made that I haven’t quite succeeded in making. And I’m going to ask you for one more try. Will you listen? And if I convince you, will you help me? Because I need your help."
Could Mrs. Clinton do something like this? I doubt it.
You may not realize it but Peggy has always considered herself Hillary Clinton’s guardian angel, full of friendly tips ("Wash that man right out of your hair" , "Spray, stay, walk away", "Always sit near the waitress station at the bar. The olives and limes are like a free salad"). In fact, when Peggy wrote The Case Against Hillary Clinton (written in the loving spirit of sisterhood as exemplified by What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?) she penciled out another little speech for Hillary:
It should come as no surprise, then, that the best sections of this book are scriptlike. In a lively passage set in the Hollywood home of Michael Eisner, Noonan "quotes" the first lady lambasting the assembled heads of the entertainment industry for producing degrading, violent art. Before the likes of Ted Turner, Steven Spielberg, Rupert Murdoch and Gerald Levin, she says, "I’m going to speak my heart — the real one, not the one I show on TV." She rips the executives for undermining our society (wait, I thought that was her job) and demonstrates a canny grasp of contemporary culture.
"How is ‘Sex in the City’ going to be more demeaning," she asks them rhetorically, "are they going to start dating German shepherds next year?" These comments were made a few months after the Columbine massacre, see, and Clinton was imploring these taste-makers to look into their hearts, to try and make America a more decent place.
"Which is just when I awoke," writes Noonan.
Yep, it had all been a dream! Though she roasted Edmund Morris’ acorns for the liberties he took in his biography of Ronald Reagan, Noonan is not above a little "Dutch" courage herself when the occasion calls for it (i.e., when the narrative flags, as it does after the usual flogging of Travelgate, Filegate, Whitewater, etc.). That the Hillary Clinton who stuns the entertainment moguls into silence sounds nothing like the Hillary Clinton we have come to know (or not know) seems to be the point. She’d be a better person, and certainly a better politician, Noonan implies, if she spoke in long, ideological Paddy Chayevksy-like speeches.
Which might explain that Noonan’s latest piece has very little to do with Hillary Clinton’s campaign problems, and more to do with the fact that the writers strike is over and Peggy hasn’t let the time go to waste, although, personally I was anticipating a Lifetime teleplay of The Lonely Passion of Judith Hearne, but this time with a happy ending where God speaks to Judith and tells her that she will move to Florida and bear his second son, Elian.




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Peggy Noonan and Maureen Dowd — separated at birth. Not because they were twins, but because each of them started eating the other babies in the hospital nursery. Odd that they would both pursue the same career.
I sure hope Senator Clinton recognizes the gift she is offered. That Noonan is a helpful bitch, isn’t she?
Noonans rum soaked brain has her believing this remake as savior of all political wastrels. In the cold morning light, through the fog of a hangover, Peggy dare not look in the mirror. Instead of elder sage, there will be a pathetic has-been hag that once again made a fool of herself.
Poor Peg. The only thing that smells more than the rum is the jealousy.
Wasn’t Peg the one who said in 2000 that watching George W. Bush mature on the campaign trail was a thing of beauty?
Watching the goopers implode under the weight of their own corruption, incompetence and treason — a thing of beauty, indeed.
When the dolphins leave, Peg is gonna be soooo lonely…
Fortunately, the Earth will be destroyed shortly afterwards, so it won’t last long.
I wonder if this is how Peggy thinks of Reagan? That he was just another desperate, dissembling politician until Peggy put The Truth in his mouth.
That pictures is worth a thousand words, even of your words, Tbogg. Can’t we googlebomb it?
aimai
In related news–
Noted blogger, author, and terrible asshole Lee “The Dingo Ate My Baby” Siegel appears last night on the The Daily Show and is beaten like a red-headed step-child by John “The Baby-faced Assassin” Stewart. Good fun.
This is the speech she really wants Hillary to give.
While she watches, controlling the TV remote with her one free hand.
My brain simply won’t take in certain things. One of them is Noonan. I can watch her being interviewed and not retain a single word.
The mind is kind. Either that or it’s early-onset Alzheimer’s that’s selective along political fault lines.
Where is that picture from? It reminds me of the girl Paul Newman meets in a bar in the original “The Hustler”.
I blame the educational system, television and video games. That Noonan, Dowd, Kristol, Broder, Cohen, Krauthammer, etc. still write under the imprimatur of national newspapers is a clear sign that no one else in America can write 500-1200 words of clear prose with a definable premise. The continuing employment of the aforementioned columnists, especially in the face of the fact that they’ve never been right about anything in their benighted fucking lives must be proof of the paucity of alternatives.
Or it just could be that the editorial boards of the papers just prefer a vigorous circle jerk with “the right sort of people.”
The one bit of light is that no one reads papers anymore. I quit once I discovered the bloggidy world. Fishwrappers? Who needs them!