Thursday, May 25, 2006

Broder's World

We should thank the Broder for providing us with a full bay window view of the vacuous world where he and the gang of 500 operate. He was the man who laid it all out when he said of Clinton:

He came in here and trashed the place, and its not his place.

Whose place is it? Why it's David Broder's place, where unelected hacks like to think that not only do they run the country, that this is the way it should be. I'm all for a powerful independent press, and perhaps they have to be a bit full of themselves to think they have the stature to take on government, but David Broder isn't interested in taking on government or serious policy issues. Not the Broder, nor the Gang of 500, nor The Note. He's interested in cocktail weanies! He's interested in what people are wearing! He's interested in who is fucking who, when, and how often!

Let's unpack this excerpt from his column:

The two sides of Hillary Rodham Clinton -- the opposites that make her potential presidential candidacy such a gamble -- came into sharp focus Tuesday morning at the National Press Club.

For the better part of an hour, the senator from New York held forth in a disquisition on energy policy that was as overwhelming in its detail as it was ambitious in its reach.

But the buzz in the room was not about her speech -- or her striking appearance in a lemon-yellow pantsuit -- but about the lengthy analysis of the state of her marriage to Bill Clinton that was on the front page of that morning's New York Times.

Now, my readers, I know you aren't as smart as sophisticated as the Broder, so perhaps he's invoking a linguistic construction above our intellectual abilities. But I sat there considering what he termed the "two sides" of Hillary Rodham Clinton, her "opposites." What are they?

Apparently one "side" is her desire to talk about energy policy in a way which is "overwhelming in its detail as it was ambitious in its reach."

Her other side is, apparently, David Broder's obsession with her sex life. Two sides indeed. Heh. As Digby writes:

Yes it was, wasn't it? The press is putting everyone on notice that they are going to keep their noses firmly buried in Hillary Clinton's panty drawer for the next two years. As he gazes upon her "striking appearance in a lemon-yellow pantsuit" old Dave is so aroused he can't concentrate on her serious energy speech. Hillary and Bill are more potent than Viagra to these nasty old geezers in the Washington Press corps

Oooh. What delicious, delicious fun it is for these shriveled old crones. Finally they can write about things they really enjoy instead of all this boooring corruption, war, terrorism and political failure. Damn it's invigorating to be back in the saddle isn't it Dave?!

I am actually kind of impressed with Broder's candor here. He's not mincing any words. He comes right out and admits that the press is laying down the gauntlet: if Hillary runs, the Washington Press Corps is going to treat her like a whore. A frigid whore, of course, but a whore nonetheless. No games, no pretense. They are primed and cocked for a full-on Clenis porn-fest. It's clear they are desperate for it.

And Christy adds:

Ah, yes. Panty sniffing is back in vogue this season. Along with binoculars, a recording device, a quick shutter camera and Linda Tripp’s plastic surgeon.

Good heavens, don’t these people have anything better to do? Is Rudy Guiliani going to get the Mistress in the Mansion treatment? Do they plan on running the McCain divorce for the booze distribution heiress marriage up the flag pole to salute? I could go on, but I’m making myself queasy with the memories of 7th grade note passing. "Will u b my date 2 the dance? Write yes or no." Blergh.

Here’s how it starts: plant a seed in the NYTimes, and then allow Chris Matthews to provide a little rain to get things going on Hardball. The next thing you know, all the kool kidz are talking about it around the corporate media water cooler. Then the Dean of All Things Acceptable in Washington Journalism comes out to watch it blossom as a rumor weed that we can all cherish from now until 2008, spreading its tendrils among the corporate press in print and on the teevee. And thus, the discussion of the Clinton bedding rituals begins, until this malarky is cemented as a given fact for all the world to know — whether or not it’s true, or even worth discussion at all. (See last night’s Rove cartoon.)

Except for one thing: who the hell cares? I mean really, who cares? Except for the inside, gossip queens of the Beltway, how exactly does this put gas in someone’s tank, keep their kid safe on the battlefield, stop their job from being downsized, or help them pay the balloon payment on their already-ballooning mortgage? What in the hell are these people doing calling this crap "reporting?"