Wednesday, December 17, 2008 - Posts
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Sometimes, Hanna, the self-parody is so much funnier (and sadder) than anything people can make up. The Daily Beast has a first-person account by Alexandra Penney, who lost her life savings in the Bernard Madoff scheme. Not only is she going to have to sell her cottage in West Palm Beach, Fla., (her second home) but
I love beautiful things: high thread count sheets, old china, watches, jewelry, Hermes purses and Louboutin shoes. I like expensive French milled soap, good wines and white truffles. I have given extravagant gifts like diamond earrings. I traveled a lot. In this last year, I've been Laos, Cambodia, India, Russia, and Berlin for my first solo art show. Will I ever be able to explore exotic places again?
Now, I have a measure of sympathy for those who lost their fortunes to Madoff. They did nothing wrong except to trust him with their money. I hope that our legal system metes out the proper punishment for him. (I will try to set aside my inclination to remind people that the first rule of investing is Diversify! Diversify! Diversify!) And normally I don't hate on people for enjoying the finer things in life. But when hundreds of thousands of people are losing their jobs or having their hours and benefits cut, and all of us are cutting back on expenses, neither can I get too worked up about someone having to give up her Hermes bags.
That wasn't the only thing that bothered me about Penney's story, though. She recounts how, in the 1970s, she was married to "a talented industrial designer. We lived right off Park Avenue and had a son. But the chichi uptown lifestyle was not for me." So she gets divorced and brags about leaving without taking a penny, opting to work three jobs to support herself and her son. Because "I was a feminist and I would make it on my own." But isn't that as much foolish pride as it is feminism? She could have refused spousal support but taken child support and worked a bit less, enabling her to spend more time with her son.
I realize I'm looking at this from the perspective of 2008 and not the 1970s, when she made her decisions. Was feminism that much different then, that motherhood was seen as secondary to being independent?
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Jacob Gershman's New Republic spanking of Eliot Spitzer for not appearing contrite enough upon his return to public scrutiny by way of a new Slate column is causing a minor blogosphere kerfuffle. As Gershman sees it, Spitzer isn't sufficiently sorry for having sex with a call girl, cheating on his wife, and, according to a former Spitzer aide, "the fact that the entire state government ground to a halt." Instead, the New York governor turned Luv Gov should endure a period of professional mourning, throw himself into public service so he'll be re-seen as wholly contrite, and then slowly but surely earn back the trust of the hopefully forgiving (and forgetful) American public.
Unsurprisingly, Salon's rabid legal dog Glenn Greenwald doesn't exactly agree. Greenwald, whose general modus operandi involves identifying one wrong, comparing it to anything the Bush administration has ever done, and deeming the supposed wrong a right by comparison, posits prostitution as a victimless crime for which Spitzer should never apologize. Rather, he presents Spitzer as a pseudo-victim who committed a "minor, consensual, victimless, private crime," a teeny-tiny not-even transgression for which he was "forced to resign as Governor, had intimate details of his sex life voyeuristically dissected by hordes of people driven by titillation masquerading as moral disgust, and was as humiliated and disgraced as a political figure can be." Sniff. Dick Cheney should apologize! he trumpets.
Back in January, I launched an online project called Letters From Johns. While call-girl stories aren't all that uncommon these days, there wasn't much known about why men pay for sex. I put out a query, asking men to send me their anonymous stories about why they'd paid for sex, and the letters started coming. While many of the men I heard from were contrite and conflicted, many were not. Take, for example, "I Am Ashamed of Nothing I Have Done." Unlike Greenwald, I don't believe prostitution is a "victimless crime"—the business of buying and selling sex is far too complicated for sex workers and johns alike to be summed up so succinctly—but I don't know that I understand why Spitzer should have to apologize for what other men do, too, private actions that sometimes sit in stark contrast to their professional lives. The only difference is that Spitzer got caught. Maybe he could apologize for that?
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All the talk about Blago's fundraising in Illinois makes it harder to hear the talk about Caroline Kennedy's potential fundraising in New York, don't you think?
I mean, rationally, one has nothing to do with the other. On the contrary, the country's most entrepreneurial governor (we hope)—and Kennedy are from such different parts of the jungle that Blagojevich's apparent thuggishness is something of an argument for her candidacy: Her granddaddy was a bootlegger, so his descendants didn't have to be, and she isn't likely to be tempted by the kind of pay-to-play schemes that seem to have so consumed Blago's brain that I'll be amazed if he doesn't wind up pleading insanity.
Still, you hear that story about how Jesse Jackson Jr.'s wife may have been passed over for a big state job because she wouldn't be held up for $25,000 by her extortionist of a governor, and that can't help but effect how you hear Harry Reid's comment about all the lovely pots of money that Caroline K. could raise for herself and other Democrats: Ugh, right? As Emily B. points out, that should not be the yardstick we use to take the measure of a candidate.
Whether we talk about it or not, though, the ability to raise pots of cash is, in fact, a huge part of the job. So much so that my distinct impression back when I used to cover the New York congressional delegation was that they had very little time to learn about public policy—through no fault of their own—because they had to spend so much time dialing for dollars and attending fundraisers. As a result, I don't assume that her potential competitors who've been serving in the House are necessarily so much more steeped in policy than she is. And while I agree with Emily Y. that nepotism is demoralizing for those of us who are have-nots when it comes to family or other connections, our current system virtually guarantees political dynasties and other celebrity candidates, like Reagan and Arnold and Al Franken, maybe even as a protection against Blago-style graft. As long as name ID equals campaign cash and the candidate who raises the most so often wins, how could it be otherwise?
I also take issue with Emily B's feeling that New York Democrats don't have to worry too much about campaign cash anyway, because they'll surely hold on to Hillary's Senate seat in 2012. The likely Republican candidate, Peter King, is so reasonable, likeable, and well-funded that I'm not at all certain of that; he's no Rick Lazio and should not be underestimated.
Mostly, though, I like Caroline for the job for reasons that have nothing to do with money: Because her Uncle Teddy has done such an admirable job on so many issues that are high on my own list—health care, anti-poverty programs, pushing for worker protections—I can't help hoping that his favorite niece has learned from him and could take up where he leaves off. She's a plain old-fashioned great story. And for perhaps silly, sentimental, even tribal reasons, I'd like to see her happy.
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