Posted on 12/03/2018 10:47:15 AM PST by simpson96
TORONTO—The snow is falling lightly.
My thoughts are racing darkly.
I’m feeling something foreign, something I’ve never felt before. It takes me a moment to identify it.
I’m feeling sorry for the Clintons.
In the 27 years I’ve covered Bill and Hillary, I’ve experienced a range of emotions. They’ve dazzled me and they’ve disgusted me.
But now they’re mystifying me.
I’m looking around Scotiabank Arena, the home of the Toronto Maple Leafs, and it’s a depressing sight. It’s two-for-the-price-of-one in half the arena. The hockey rink is half curtained off, but even with that, organizers are scrambling at the last minute to cordon off more sections behind thick black curtains, they say due to a lack of sales. I paid $177 weeks in advance. (I passed on the pricey meet-and-greet option.) On the day of the event, some unsold tickets are slashed to single digits.
I get reassigned to another section as the Clintons’ audience space shrinks. But even with all the herding, I’m still looking at large swaths of empty seats —and I cringe at the thought that the Clintons will look out and see that, too. It was only four years ago, after all, that Canadians were clamoring to buy tickets to see the woman who seemed headed for history.
It’s a sad contrast with the sold-out boffo book tour of Michelle Obama, who’s getting a lot more personal for the premium prices. But introspection has never been within the Clintons’ range.
I can’t fathom why the Clintons would make like aging rock stars and go on a tour of Canada and the U.S. at a moment when Democrats are hoping to break the stranglehold of their cloistered, superannuated leadership and exult in a mosaic of exciting new faces.
What is the point? It’s not inspirational. It’s not
(Excerpt) Read more at nytimes.com ...
I thought dowdy was dead
Madame Dowd goes to great pains to prove that once an intellectual dust-bunny, always an intellectual dust-bunny. Hop-a-long, there Dowd.
The first thing I thought of when I heard the news of GHWB passing was that Clinton was calling media pals and ghost writers to start work on revising the history of his political career to make him into a saint.
“On the day of the event, some unsold tickets are slashed to single digits.”
Couldn’t happen to a more worthy pair of grifters.
How low the mighty (they thought) have fallen.
Brings to mind a poem about a dude named Ozymandias written by that Shelley cat.
Words of an absolute fool.
Would you please provide me with a highly detailed description of just what that left hand is doing
Disclaimer: Opinions posted on Free Republic are those of the individual posters and do not necessarily represent the opinion of Free Republic or its management. All materials posted herein are protected by copyright law and the exemption for fair use of copyrighted works.