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February 08, 2004


I have no idea who this Wonkette, chickette is (she seems like a conglomerate) but amid the regular stuff on he blog was this ROTFHMSBIH post about Peggy Noonan's latest column.
We've been hearing from people who read Peggy Noonan's Wall Street Journal column yesterday. Their main question: Has this woman gone irredeemably insane? Of course not. Allegations that Justin Timberlake is a tool of Satan, that Janet Jackson's booby will cause the next 9/11, and that our culture is like a small amphibian all make perfect sense if you understand what she's trying to say. Which is why we present this very special, one-time-only edition of "Translating Peggy Noonan."

Especially helpful since you can't read the WSJ without spending money. Nope, I just checked and you can get it here. a sample:
Later, as we got into a cab, we said nothing. It was odd to go from such sound to such silence. But we were both pondering.

It wasn't that any individual moment during the evening was so stunningly bizarre. (Mr. Brando, for instance, was only as bizarre as Brando is.) It was that taken as a whole the night yielded an unmistakable sense of decay and disorder. "I feel like we just witnessed the end of our culture," I said.

"We are," he said. "It's a freak show now. The whole thing, it's just a freak show."

Two-and-a-half days later came 9/11 and the ending of a world. When my friend and I talked again he said, "Remember that night? You could see it coming then."

Why am I treating you to a bad memory? Because I am disturbed about our culture and can't stop thinking about it. I'm embarrassed by our culture too, and made anxious by it. Aren't you?

For a while after 9/11 we seemed to sober up. There seemed a new seriousness. It wasn't heavy and somber, there was a lot of humor and wit, but we were perhaps a little chastened, a little more mature. Sept. 11 was such a shock to the national system that after it the culture's long slide into narcissistic netherworlds seemed momentarily stopped, or at least slowed. But it's picked up again.

Last Sunday night I joined some friends at a Texas barbecue restaurant in Manhattan. We were a football-free zone, marking the birthday of a friend from San Antonio. We had a great time eating what Texans call barbecue and we call brisket. I got home about 9 p.m. and put on the television. It looked like a good game. I logged on to Drudge, and saw the big picture of Justin Timberlake, whose expression could have been described as evil if his face had more intelligence, turned toward Janet Jackson, whose famous breast was exposed to show the famous nipple decorated by the famous Goth-looking metal sunburst.

Oh no, I thought. We're back to the pre-9/11 freak show.

Have I ever mentioned Noonan has quite a husky voice? Sexy even.

(ROTFHMSBIH - Rolling On the Floor, Holding My Sides Because It Hurts)