Thursday, July 17, 2008
Leonard Pitts on the New Yorker cover
I enjoy reading Leonard Pitts, he has a refreshingly grounded sense of reality. That's why his take on the New Yorker cover and its implications saddens me. Not because he presents it, but because I agree with it.
Indeed, as I sat down to write these words, there beeped into my mailbox an e-mail with this subject line: ''WOW, The New Yorker got it exactly right, for once.'' Said without a trace of irony.To you Mr. Pitts I offer a terrist fist jab in agreement.
But increasingly, that's who we are in this country: ignorant, irony-impaired and petrified. So maybe we should just cancel the campaign and ask that the last intelligent person turn off the lights when he or she leaves. And bring the last book with you. Nobody here will need it.
Somewhere between the stained blue dress and the vice president shooting a guy in the face, between swift boat lies and ''war on terra'' alibis, the absurd became the ordinary, facts became optional and satire became superfluous.
We are beyond satire, my friends. These days, there's nothing more ridiculous than the truth.
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