. . . and for most, being a journalist is like being a prostitute.
~~Krauthammer, the masterful .......... PING!
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“I recently told an assembly at my son’s high school,” I wrote in 1997, “that they were living through a time so blessed they would tell their grandchildren about it. They looked at me uncomprehendingly . . . because it is hard for anyone to apprehend the sheer felicity of one’s own time until it is gone.”
I concluded with “golden ages never last.” Throughout the decade, and most especially as it began to wane, I returned to this theme of the wondrous oddity, the sheer impossibility of an age of such post-historical tranquility.
And inevitable ennui. So profound was that tranquility, so trivial the history of that time, that my colleague George Will and I would muse that if this kept up — an era whose dominant issue was a president’s zipper problem — he might as well go back to the academy and I to psychiatry.
Of course, it didn’t keep up. It never does. History is tragic, not redemptive.
Our holiday from history ended in fire, giving birth to a post-9/11 decade of turbulence and disorientation as we were faced with the unexpected resurgence of radical eschatological evil.
*snip*
Obama intends to be the Reagan of the new liberalism.
Thank God, not all.