I’ve always said the NY Times primarily — note the qualifier — featured a bunch of developmentally-arrested 14-year olds who have never been able to find their way out of the lunch room or the schoolyard, and these two pathetic pieces, showcased in what is arguably the most coveted real-estate in journalism, make the case.
Gail Collins, the editor of the op-ed page, while writing about Michele Bachmann, takes time to affect a sneer because Bachmann can remember what she was wearing on a particular day which, I guess, reinforces the “moron airhead” narrative that is immediately erected around GOP women who don’t know their place:
Is Michele Bachmann the new Sarah Palin? And do we really need a new Sarah Palin? Shouldn’t the first one be made to go away before we start considering replacements?
Bachmann, the superconservative member of Congress from Minnesota, made a big splash on Tuesday night with her Tea Party response to the State of the Union address. True, the placement of the cameras made her look as if she was talking to an invisible friend, and her eye makeup had a peculiar zombie aspect to it. But the next day all the attention was on her and not the official Republican response by Paul Ryan, the House Budget Committee chairman.
Ah, you tipped your hand a little, there, Gail. Just as you and MSNBC would rather keep talking about Sarah Palin than this or this or this or this, you naturally wanted to see a brain-dead jeer at Bachmann kept alive, rather than any serious discussion of Ryan’s response entertained.You also helped to perpetuate the gobsmackingly outdated and self-defeating notion that women in politics must still deal with the cattiness of other women, who should know better. Hillary had to hear about her hair, now Bachmann has to hear about her makeup. Meow. It’s so much fun to hate-on other girls, especially if they sit on the uncool side of the lunchroom!
I wonder if you will qualify for Maureen Dowd’s next “mean girls” column.
Speaking of mean girls, Ms. Dowd has returned from her recent sabbatical feeling all warm and fuzzy toward David Axelrod. More schoolyard stuff: goo-goo eyes and hero-worship!
Though Axe can wax endlessly about Washington’s wayward ways, he admitted to friends that it’s harder leaving than he thought, and he plunged into bon voyage parties and dinners. Asked about the cascade of “exclusive” exit interviews he was giving, he warned drolly: “Don’t turn on the Shopping Network!”
“The White House is like fantasy camp for him,” said his charming assistant, Eric Lesser. “He could go to an Afghan war council in the Situation Room, meet Sandy Koufax and have a baseball signed, and have lunch with Caroline Kennedy.”
It’s all so, “oh my God! He looked at me!” and “Oh my God! Her make-up! Ewww! As if!
All Collins and Dowd need is a house with the parents away for the weekend, or a dance and a bucket of pigblood.
I just realized, I haven’t missed reading either of these women, at all.