I'm sorry, but I don't feel the Rove. It's strange, after years of pleasant mind control rays making life easy. Now all of a sudden, I have to think on my own and it's not working.
I don't understand the end of the Harriet Meirs' story. I didn't understand the begging and middle of this story either. It's been like a bad movie. I want to get out of the theater and into a cocktail. Or sort my socks. I'm willing to take on my kitchen sink trap, if it will get me out of reading read her letter of withdrawal.
I like Meirs. She has way more experience than Roberts, and nobody claimed he was any smarter. I especially like the nature of her experience. The ruling class elite are already fully represented on the SCOTUS. It would be very useful to have someone who has been on the business end of so many gonzo rulings in the past, to have a supreme voice. But nobody made those points for her, and now she has given up the chance to make them for herself.
Am I supposed to be happy? Early on, Frum called this an "unforced error." Now he suggests we keep "the powder dry," because writers know that sports metaphors make them look smarter. Coulter says "it's morning in American" and time to pleasure herself in ecstatic prose, because ... that's what she does so well. We hear that Liberals are sad all over. If this is a Conservative victory, why do I feel victimized?
At this point, an MIB flashy thingy would be perfect. All I need to remember is how the nomination process started with an articulate Constitutional scholar sporting stelar Conservative creds, and proceeded through the Senate like railroad tracks in the Wyoming desert. Just a few glimpses of Joe Biden's french cuffs and Pat Leahy wiping up drool will be fine, thank you.