The Squad’s new podcast uses the Oscars as a springboard to ponder the influence the movies have had on culture, sexuality, politics, and our perception of history. This segues into a consideration of abortion on demand’s effect on society and on the individual.
Join my inimitable Squad colleagues Shrink, Siggy, and Dr. Sanity in our usual freewheeling (and, no doubt, fascinating) discussion.
Surprise, surprise–the course of designing a new blog never did run smooth (I’m still feeling a trifle Shakespearean, I guess). There’ll be a bit of a delay with the new blog‘s official grand opening while I iron out (or attempt to iron out) some glitches.
Some people have said they are being stopped from commenting on the new blog. Others have complained about problems with the RSS feed. I think I may have fixed the problem that was stopping the commenting, and will be working on the other. I encourage all of you to visit and try to comment: please let me know if you experience any problems.
Due to these technical difficulties and general busyness, “Strategies for Children (Part II): killing them” will be delayed till tomorrow.
I heard the news with surprise on the radio: the Bush administration has announced that the US will participate in talks with Iran and Syria.
That seemed awfully odd to me, given the administration’s previous declarations that this will not happen. And, although politicians are notorious for changing their minds depending on which way the wind is blowing–and although not all changes of mind are bad ones, by any means–this one made me very suspicious, indeed (see this for my discussion on talking with Iran).
The money quote from that post is here:
If by “talk” you mean threats with a big stick to back them up, I’m all for talking. But…[t]he talks that are proposed [at the time the post was written] are to elicit Iran’s cooperation in covering a planned retreat from Iraq, to “stabilize” the country. The only stabilization Iran is interested in there is stabilization under Iran’s thumb, and they will say anything and do anything to get it. Thus talks are inherently duplicitous and counterproductive.
So, if the present proposed talks contain two elements: (1) a strategically viable “big stick” threat from the US; and (2) Iran’s awareness that the talks are not a cover for a planned precipitous US retreat from Iraq–then I think talking to Iran and Syria would not be a particularly dangerous thing to do. Although I still doubt the productivity of any such talks, they would no longer be especially risky, as long as we remain realistic about their chances of success, and continue to pressure Iran in other ways.
Whether these two needed elements are fully in place right now, I’m not sure. The second one appears to be–albeit weakly, albeit temporarily–since the antiwar resolution advocates in Congress don’t seem to be winning out (yet). But there’s no pretense of a united front on that score, either, and Iran knows that.
As for the first element, take a look at this. It’s a very promising development I first heard about at a lecture I attended a couple of months ago: a new form of economic sanctions (under the umbrella of that favorite bete noir of liberals and the Left, the Patriot Act, which appears to be doing some good, after all). The economic effects of these sanctions have already been felt by both Iran and North Korea. Hmmm. Previously (as the article points out), sanctions have been relatively feeble and toothless, but these seem to have a bit of a bite.
Good.
Another point is that the proposed talks are not just between the US, Iran, and Syria. They involve twenty key countries in the region including Iran and Syria. The goal is, apparently, to improve Iraq’s relations in the area as a whole, and the US is attending in deference to Iraq’s need to establish regional credibility, not necessarily to do a whole lot of negotiating with Iran and Syria.
In a delicate metaphor, Jon Alterman, of the Center for Strategic and International Studies in Washington says:
The [Bush] administration is still skeptical, but they were not going to be the skunk at the garden party and say we are not going at all.
So, let’s retain our skepticism, have some tea and some cucumber sandwiches, and talk.
As you can plainly see, they’re still pretty tough in New England:
[This is the first of a two-part series. Tomorrow Part II, “killing them,” will appear.]
Last night I was working at my computer when I got a call from a friend telling me to turn on my TV and watch the Oprah Winfrey special called “Building a Dream.”
I don’t watch much TV to begin with, and Oprah isn’t usually on my list. But I trust this friend so I turned it on, even though I’d missed the first twenty minutes. And within a few moments I was surprised to find tears streaming down my cheeks.
The premise? The plans began five years ago, when Oprah went to South Africa to build a boarding school (grades 7-12) for girls who’d shown special scholarship and leadership abilities. These were not children of the elite; she combed the countryside to find girls in out-of-the-way places, children of poverty who’d known terrible privation and yet hadn’t been beaten down by it–yet.
Oprah’s idea was to make sure that never happened, and in doing so she believes the project could have a transformative effect on the next generation of the whole country–Oprah thinks big. There’s no doubt there’s something to what she’s saying; children are the future of any society and as they go, so goes the nation.
Oprah’s got money, scads of it, so she spared no expense in constructing a school with 28 buildings, and began a process that would ultimately select the 152 young girls who would be the members of its first class.
And it was those girls who were the stars of this show, the ones who caused my tears. You can take a look at Oprah’s (rather simplistic) website for some information and photos, but I urge you to watch the repeat of the show (I can’t believe I’m doing this!), which airs the evening of March 3 on ABC at either 8 or 9 PM (check your local listings).
What was it about these children that was so moving–and yes, so inspiring? Even though they were individuals–some fat, some thin, some quiet, some talkative, some pretty, some plain–they all shared a common charactistic that is actually quite uncommon, at least in my experience, a trait not usually seen in girls in their early teens. They showed remarkable poise and self-possession without a hint of obnoxious arrogance, a sweetness combined with a steely strength. All were well-spoken and almost superhumanly polite, obviously intelligent, with a maturity not only beyond their years, but beyond the years of most people on earth even if they lived to be 100. And yet somehow they retained the lightheartedness of children.
These girls have known hardship, all right. There are Lincolnesque scenes of doing homework by candlelight, no running water, primitive outhouses. And material privations are not the only ones they’ve experienced; far worse is the amount of violence and death–particularly of parents–in their young lives. But even as they describe these things there is a reluctance to consider themselves victims–or, as one girl, Lesego, says, in her lilting, musical voice (speaking of herself in the third person, but charmingly rather than obnoxiously), “Lesego is a fighter and she’ll never give up.”
When you hear her say this, you believe it’s not just idle boasting. In fact, it’s not boasting at all, just a simple statement of fact. She’s been through enough already to know whereof she speaks.
There’s a famous statement by Ernest Hemingway: The world breaks everyone, and afterwards, many are strong at the broken places.” These children are among that “many.”
What has given them their phenomenal strength? That certain something is mysterious, but from studies of so-called “resilient” children (also see this), we’ve learned that it usually includes the loving support of at least one adult. Often, in these cases, it’s a grandmother, something Oprah (and I) can identify with. Resilient children also probably have some innate personality traits that predispose them to doing well despite the odds: they usually possess a naturally optimistic and outgoing personality, for starters.
These girls appear to fall into that category. Despite their losses, they all seem to have at least one loving adult in their lives (perhaps even a village of them). You can see it in their faces when they bid good-bye and leave for the school; there are heartfelt tears there. But they know they are going on to a place that will give them opportunities they may have dreamed of, but were impossible–till now.
There’s a celebrity presence at the ceremony for the opening of the school. Besides Oprah, of course, there’s Nelson Mandela, as well as the usual Hollywood biggies (Spike Lee, Sidney Portier). But the true celebrities are the shining faces of these girls, standing proud and as tall as they possibly can (maybe even taller) in their new uniforms.
I know, I know–I’ve been saying I’m going to move for a long time now. But it really should be happening very soon–perhaps even tomorrow.
This is the URL of the new blog. Please bookmark it, if you haven’t already.
At first, not everything on the new blog will be in its final state. So please bear with me. The blogroll there, for example, is rudimentary, as are a number of other things, and they may take a while to fine tune.
I am also planning to duplicate virtually all the posts on this blog on the new blog, and that won’t be done right away, either. For that transfer to take place, this blog will have to go from what’s called “Old Blogger” to “New Blogger,” among other things. That transition is supposed to go smoothly, and if it does, you won’t notice any changes on this blog; it should look the same. We’ll see.
The end result–and this could take quite a few weeks to complete–will be that this blog will remain as is, and no more new postings will take place on it. But it will still be possible to read the old ones here. The new blog will go forward with all the new posts, but all the old ones will be imported there, as well.
In addition, there will be an index system on the new blog. All new posts–and, ultimately, all of the old ones from here–will be categorized. For example, if you wanted to take a look at all my posts on “dance,” you could just go to that category and you’d find the list of links to all my posts on that subject.
Other improvements (at least, I hope they’ll be improvements!) will be happening there as time goes on. But in the meantime, it should be quite functional.
[I’m going to keep putting this post at the top of the page until I actually make the move.]
Here is the URL of the soon-to-be-unveiled new home of my blog. It’s getting closer to being ready.
Senator Lieberman has had a strange year. His ostracism from the Democratic Party failed to stop his re-election, and has paradoxically put him in a stronger position than ever–although, for many reasons, I doubt he’ll ever hold national office, even were he to switch parties.
In such an evenly divided Senate he holds the threat of upsetting the balance between the parties were Joe–now an Independent (like me!)–to defect. Despite the fact that he votes with the Republicans on security issues, he’s still not officially tied to them, and thus the Democrats hold onto their slim majority and their power over all the committees. Lieberman’s rejection by his fellow-Democrats has bought him a certain amount of freedom–and potential power to gum up the works and rain on the Democratic parade, were he to make an outright switch to Republican, a possiblity he has wisely refused to rule out.
With that in mind, Lieberman has written an appeal to Congress. It appeared in today’s Opinion Journal, explaining exactly what’s at stake and why members of Congress needs to focus on reality instead of playing petty games. The tone strikes me as reasonable and measured, practical and realistic. But it’s backed up with an implicit threat of Lieberman’s power of defection, nowhere mentioned in the piece:
What is remarkable about this state of affairs in Washington is just how removed it is from what is actually happening in Iraq. There, the battle of Baghdad is now under way. A new commander, Gen. David Petraeus, has taken command, having been confirmed by the Senate, 81-0, just a few weeks ago. And a new strategy is being put into action, with thousands of additional American soldiers streaming into the Iraqi capital.
Congress thus faces a choice in the weeks and months ahead. Will we allow our actions to be driven by the changing conditions on the ground in Iraq–or by the unchanging political and ideological positions long ago staked out in Washington? What ultimately matters more to us: the real fight over there, or the political fight over here?
I fear if the truth be known that many in Congress would answer: the latter.
Lieberman then goes on to detail the differences between the new approach and the old. He agrees that there’s no way of guaranteeing the former’s success, but:
We are now in a stronger position to ensure basic security–and with that, we are in a stronger position to marginalize the extremists and strengthen the moderates; a stronger position to foster the economic activity that will drain the insurgency and militias of public support; and a stronger position to press the Iraqi government to make the tough decisions that everyone acknowledges are necessary for progress.
Unfortunately, for many congressional opponents of the war, none of this seems to matter. As the battle of Baghdad just gets underway, they have already made up their minds about America’s cause in Iraq, declaring their intention to put an end to the mission before we have had the time to see whether our new plan will work.
True, and very shortsighted, as well as cowardly. Lieberman points out their basic lack of bravery in refusing to do what they should do if they really believe what they say: cut the funding. Instead, they are proposing the death of a thousand cuts–the “slow bleed.”
Lieberman again:
Many of the worst errors in Iraq arose precisely because the Bush administration best-cased what would happen after Saddam was overthrown. Now many opponents of the war are making the very same best-case mistake–assuming we can pull back in the midst of a critical battle with impunity, even arguing that our retreat will reduce the terrorism and sectarian violence in Iraq.
Lieberman then appeals to his colleagues to give peace a chance–peace in Congress, that is. He asks for a moratorium on political squabbling till the end of summer, in order to give General Petraeus and the plan some time to begin to prove itself, or not.
My guess is that his pleas will fall on deaf ears. But don’t forget–Lieberman may be walking softly, but he’s carrying a big stick–the stick of his potential defection.
I had Chinese food for lunch, and this was my fortune:
Wise men learn more from fools than fools learn from the wise.
Which may actually have been one of the deeper fortune cookies I’ve ever gotten.
Okay, so I watched the Oscars. In addition to observing the usual self-congratulatory self-righteousness from the very rich and very famous, I observed what’s far more important, of course: the fashions.
Since I’ve seen none of the movies except “Dreamgirls,” I had no dogs in most of those races–nor have I really cared much about the Oscars even when I did go to the movies far more often. But fashion and hair–ah, that’s another story!
A small digression and small confession: when I was about eleven, I wanted to be a hairdresser (that was a few years after I’d given up my dream to become a roller derby star–but more about that, perhaps, another time). When I announced my hair salon aspirations to my mother she was a bit distressed, “Don’t you think that would be–ummm–wasting your mind?” I eventually abandoned the idea, but not after spending quite a bit of time in high school and college cutting friends’ hair and applying their makeup for proms and special occasions.
And so you’re reading the observations of a semipro here, although a very outdated one. And I’m happy to report that this year’s fashions (guys, are you still with me?–thought not) were better than in recent years that had featured the sloppy nightgown look. The gowns this year erred in the other direction: very tightly constructed, almost trussed (although what these skinny ladies need trussing for I’ll never know). But rather pretty and much more elegant.
Ann Althouse described Nicole Kidman’s dress as “all plastic-y and shiny. She’s wearing an impossibly tall, thin red dress.” True; she looked less like a human than like a walking larger-than-life Barbie. She’s a woman with an unusual body to begin with–very broad shoulders and narrow hips–and her dress emphasized the broadness of the former and the narrowness of the latter (no, it’s not just envy speaking and being critical–oh, well, maybe just a teeny tiny bit).
Diane Keaton looked oddly severe; but she’s always been a very eccentric dresser. Also, she looked rail thin, which I don’t remember before. In fact, “rail thin” was very much in evidence in general; did you take a good look at Kate Blanchett’s extra shoulder bones, the little ones that stick up when a person goes down to starvation weight? None of that for Jennifer Hudson, who seemed very revved up, but in a manner that seemed natural for an excited young newcomer.
Helen Mirren set a subdued and dignified tone for the Woman of Certain Age (after all, she played a queen). A bit monochrome for my tastes, though. Al Gore–well, he continues to look stuffy, but he actually did a funny bit when his “announcement” was drowned out by the “time to go” music.
As for Jack Nicholson–whom I think long ago became a parody of himself, a self that was already dangerously close to parody even at the outset–he looked bizarre. The camera kept going to him–why, I don’t know: celebrity? disbelief? awe? disgust? To me he looked like a cross between Daddy Warbucks and Lex Luther, but even that is being kind.
I don’t get Leonardo di Caprio. A good actor who absolutely doesn’t interest me, and he looks like an eternal boy. Peter O’Toole, a good actor who does interest me, looked so shockingly old and frail that I didn’t recognize him until he was identified. I’ve always liked Forrest Whitaker, and his speech seemed very genuine. I want to ask Martin Scorcese to take off the Groucho disguise, but I’m too polite to do so.
And I’d like some information on whatever it is that Catherine Deneuve’s been doing to keep herself looking forever young. Of course, it doesn’t hurt to start out gorgeous, but that’s no guarantee that you’ll stay that way, as she has.
Enough fluff, don’t you think?
One of the most famous misunderstood lines in all of literature is Juliet’s balcony query: “Oh Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?”
As most of you probably know, the archaic “wherefore” means “why.” But the misconception that the word means “where” persists, even though the latter would make no sense in the context of the scene: Juliet is musing to herself and Romeo is eavesdropping, overhearing her words without her knowledge. She’s certainly not searching for him at that moment.
Shakespeare is difficult, and it’s not just because of his use of outdated words that require explanation in order to understand (well, we can hardly blame him; they weren’t outdated at the time). We’re simply not accustomed to hearing such sophisticated speech and being able to divine meaning from its poetry, its playful images and complex metaphors. Apparently in Shakespeare’s day people were more adept at that, but it’s since become a lost art.
Studying Shakespeare with a good teacher can bring the words and their meaning alive in a way that makes the plays the beloved masterpieces that they have been for centuries. I once had such a teacher; we’ll call him Mr. Jones.
Mr. Jones was an ex-actor with a vaguely British accent crossed with a hint of a Jamaican lilt. He was also a black man at a time when African American teachers weren’t all that common, back in my junior high school days. How he ended up at my school I don’t know, nor do I know much else about him except that he lived with his elderly mother.
Mr. Jones was very big on reading aloud. He had an old-fashioned over-the-top rhetorical style, a huge voice left over from his days treading the boards of un-miked stages, and a fearless disregard for giggle-prone eighth-graders. He would declaim in that commanding voice, and his presence would stifle any desire to laugh. The sounds would wash over us impressively, even if the meaning eluded us.
But he wanted us to understand the meaning, as well. And to this end we spent months studying Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet.” One would think that this work would be the best choice among all Shakespeare’s plays for a bunch of eighth-graders, and one would be right. After all, Juliet, at fourteen, could have been an eighth-grader herself.
But she wasn’t like any eighth-grader we’d ever known. And Romeo was no better. What were they talking about? It seemed an impenetrable thicket of verbiage.
Mr. Jones tackled the whole thing by making us read every single word aloud. He called on some students to act out each part for a few pages, then switched to other students, and on and on, right to the last line. It took months. No matter how embarrassed we were, or what poor actors we were, or how we stumbled and faltered, we had to read those words. And he was big on non-traditional casting, too; he’d sometimes call on the boys to read the female parts and vice-versa. Talk about embarrassment!
One boy, Carl Anderson, who had the platinum hair and fair skin of his Norwegian forebearers, blushed scarlet every time he was called on to read. Then he’d blush even more startlingly scarlet as embarrassing words were revealed (“Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast! Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest!”). But read he did.
Some read in monotones, some gave it pizazz. And then, after every couple of lines, Mr. Jones would have them pause and try to explain the meaning. If they couldn’t guess, the class would tackle it. If all else failed, Mr. Jones would tell us. But, line by line, the wonderful and sorrowful story emerged, and we slowly got better at deciphering it.
As the characters came alive for us, line by line, Shakespeare (and Mr. Jones) managed that feat at which the writers of so many modern movies fail abysmally: making us care about the characters, and making us believe the lovers actually love each other, and showing us why. We loved Romeo and Juliet, too; and we could see that they were exceptionally well-suited to one another, each able to express emotions in ways no other teenagers ever have or ever will.
When Romeo and Juliet first meet at the ball, they have a conversation in which both show an equal adeptness at imagery and playfulness. The whole scene is an extended metaphor that compares the religious (the hands in prayer) with the sexual (the lips in a kiss).
Classier pickup lines were never heard, at least not in my life:
ROM: If I profane with my unworthiest hand
This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
Juliet plays hard-to-get with an equally witty rejoinder:
JUL: Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,
Which mannerly devotion shows in this;
For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch,
And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.
Ah, but Romeo is not so easily put off from his goal:
ROM: Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?
But again, Juliet is equal to the task of parrying him:
JUL: Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in pray’r.
But Romeo is not to be dissuaded. He cleverly extends the image in an attempt to get what he’s looking for–a kiss (to understand what he’s getting at here, think of two hands clasped together in prayer):
ROM: O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do!
They pray; grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.
Ah, who could resist? Certainly not Juliet, who clearly doesn’t even wish to hold him off, although she pays some final lip service (pun intended; after all, Shakespeare likes puns!) to restraint:
JUL: Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.
And Romeo sees his opportunity:
ROM: Then move not while my prayer’s effect I take.
Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purg’d. [Kisses her.]
Are they not well-matched? Precocious and intensely emotional, they exude the essence of heady young love, love that has as yet no experience of sorrow or betrayal (although they’ll know sorrow soon enough). These two love with all their hearts; they are made for each other, and the audience knows it immediately through their words.
A few years later when I saw the Zefferelli film version of “Romeo and Juliet,” I marveled at the scene as it was acted out with suitable hand gestures (oh, so that’s the way it works!) by the achingly-young Olivia Hussey and Leonard Whiting (I can’t locate a photo of that scene, but here’s a different one–and, by the way, Whiting was a ringer for my boyfriend at the time):
If you’ve never seen that film, please take a look. Yes, it was roundly criticized for leaving at least half the play on the cutting-room floor. And for including nakedness (as I recall, a rear shot of Romeo during the post-wedding rendezvous in Juliet’s bedroom). And for casting unknown actors who were so young they lacked the requisite Shakespearean gravitas.
But for me, the film made the play come alive. You believed they loved each other. You believed their desperation. And in the death scenes, you could not help but cry at the waste of these two beautiful young lives.
In the film, the meaning of all those Shakespearean lines was clear; a testament to the actors’ skill. But they wouldn’t have been anywhere near as clear to me–or as wonderful– without those efforts of Mr. Jones.
[ADDENDUM: I’m pleased to report that fellow blogger and Romeo-and-Juliet-aficionado[a?] Fausta has found a photo of the scene I described from the Zefferelli movie, where the lovers use “suitable hand gestures” in their prayer/kiss conversation. Here it is:
And here Fausta elaborates on her own relationship to R&J, as well as how a nun at her Catholic school inadvertantly drummed up business for the movie.]
The Clinton-Obama Democratic matchup is study in contrasts, so far.
We know Hillary only too well; one of her problems is that of too much exposure. Obama is the proverbial blank slate. They’re both trailblazers, demographically speaking, but of different types: she, a woman and ex-First Lady; he, an African-American with a multicultural past. Hillary possesses many interesting and useful traits, but charisma seems not to be one of them. Obama has almost nothing but charisma.
Commonalities are that they are both smart, and they both lean to the Left, as does the party itself these days. Who leans more heavily to the Left is anybody’s guess.
If I were forced to choose between the two–and “forced” it would have to be, because I have no interest in voting for either–I think I’d go (albeit very reluctantly) for Hillary’s toughness over the sketchy touchy-feely (but so far, empty) “inspiration” of Obama. This, of course, could change, if he fills in the blankness with something of substance.
I’ve never hated Hillary, and still don’t. And yes, I know, that’s not a very strong endorsement, nor is it meant to be. But I well understand the hatred for her. She emanates the same vibes that made people hate Leona Helmsley (remember her?), Martha Stewart, and any other woman who is perceived as both coldly ruthless and powerful.
We’ve had so few female heads of state that comparisons are hard to find. Actually, I amend that thought: there have been many female heads of state, but most of them aren’t widely known, and most ascended to power through a sort of inheritance–the death of a husband or father.
Even the very-well-known Indira Gandhi and Golda Meir were somewhat in this mold: Gandhi filled a power vacuum her father Nehru’s sudden death left open, and Meir ascended to the office of Prime Minister when chosen by her party after the sudden death of former PM Levi Eshkol. Both were political beings prior to those events, particularly Meir, but there’s little question that the openings left by the deaths of prominent men facilitated their rise in an atmosphere in which women leaders were by far the exception rather than the rule.
Interestingly enough, Hillary fits very well into that mold. Her career has been closely linked to that of her more conventionally electable husband. And now, although Bill is still very much alive, he’s “dead” in the political sense. Since he can no longer run for President, Hillary has taken on the mantle.
Margaret Thatcher is the one woman leader who seems to have climbed to the pinnacle without the help of a father or husband who was a political predecessor, or the sudden death of a political colleague creating an opportunity that otherwise would not have existed. Of course, she was elected not through a direct process of people voting for her, but voting instead for her party, (as is always the case in Parliamentary systems). But still, she was elected under her own steam.
Thatcher was certainly in the mold of a woman perceived as exceptionally strong and rather cold, and was hated by many in her time. But (at least to the best of my knowledge; and I don’t pretend to be an expert on Thatcher) she was not perceived as corrupt or amorally opportunistic, as is Hillary. Instead, Thatcher was hated for her policies, and for her no-nonsense firmness in implementing them. Thatcher was devoted to conservative ideas, and was unusually and rather firmly consistent about them for her entire life. Her iron qualities seemed to be less in service of self-aggrandizement than in service of her political cause. But iron she was.
Hillary’s iron has been shown more in the cause of getting first her husband and then herself elected, at least so far. And she’s tainted by the brush of her own possible corruption as well as Bill Clinton’s moral failings, and her own compromises in service of his career and the preservation of their marriage.
As far as the latter goes, I have some sympathy for the position in which Bill’s philandering placed her. Despite his lengthy history of infidelity–of which she no doubt knew–the Lewinsky affair during his Presidency must have violated some important pact between them. I’m not sure of the nature of that agreement (no, they haven’t taken me into their confidence), but it certainly must have included refraining from misbehaving in such a way as to get caught and jeopardize both of their political careers. And if she’d left him at the time, her calculation was probably that it would have jeopardized them still further. Call me naive, but I also believe she was wounded in the personal sense, as well.
The idea of Bill in the White House again, if only as a spouse, must fill many with dread–just as it fills many with glee. He’s a polarizing figure of great intensity. Perhaps that’s why many Democrats prefer the blank slate of Obama. He may seem to be a lightweight, but at least he carries no real baggage.