Friday, Sept. 15, 2006
The Aspens Are Turning: In today's column in the Wall Street Journal's OpinionJournal.com, Reagan-Bush speechwriter Peggy Noonan writes that autumn is the time to turn over a new leaf: "My resolution is to try in a renewed way, each day, and within my abilities, to be fair."
In that spirit, Noonan acknowledges that most Americans have stopped listening to George Bush, that he might well be "a catastrophe," and that it's exhausting to watch "this historical drama queen." She even adds, albeit not very convincingly, "I like Democrats."
Then, Noonan promptly predicts that Democrats will lose the election because it's all about Bush. "Familiarity doesn't only breed contempt, it can breed content," she writes even-handedly.
Her article is titled, "To Beat a Man, You Need a Plan." Apparently, the same strategy is needed to beat a drama queen. Noonan concludes, "If you're going to turn away from him, you'd better be turning toward a plan, and the Democrats don't appear to have one."
But, wait—Democrats do have a plan. We even call it The Plan. I guess in that same spirit of friendship, Noonan will have to turn over a new leaf and predict a sweeping Democratic victory. We haven't been friends for long, but it's only fair. ... 1:36 P.M. (link)
Thursday, Sept. 14, 2006
Not a Wimp, But a Seeker: President Bush will be thrilled to learn he's not the only one who sees America in the midst of a spiritual awakening. So does Newsweek. This week's issue even agrees with Bush that the '60s made it happen. The only difference is that while Bush says the '60s sparked a conservative Christian backlash, Newsweek says George Harrison, Sun Myung Moon, and easy access to drugs launched Boomers on a lifelong spiritual journey.
The magazine suggests that when it comes to finding their way through the wilderness, Moses, Jesus, and Mohammed had nothing on Boomers:
Americans who came of age in the 1960s were the first generation born in the shadow of the atom bomb; just awakening each morning was something to be thankful for. But they were also the first generation born into mass affluence, for whom material sustenance and comfort were a given, a situation that breeds spiritual hunger. So in addition to everything else the baby boomers were known for—political activism, sexual freedom, Yuppie careerism and a taste for expensive imported cheese—they have also distinguished themselves as what the sociologist Wade Clark Roof calls, in the title of his 1993 book, "A Generation of Seekers." To be sure, followers of the maharishi, or the Rev. Sun Myung Moon, or Hare Krishnas, Scientologists or the people who called themselves Jesus Freaks were a minority among the boomers. "But they were the trendsetters," says Dean Hoge, a sociologist at Catholic University of America. "They were the cultural innovators."
Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be sociologists. The article goes on to explain how the largest generation in American history came to believe that prayer and faith were old-fashioned compared to "chanting and peyote." Inspired by Transcendental Meditation, Boomers then "wrought another, subtler shift on American religion, turning it from a preoccupation with salvation in the next life to fulfillment in this one."
"What fueled this restless impulse for self-transformation?" Newsweek asks. Its answer – drugs, of course: "Drugs opened users' minds to the subjective nature of reality and the shortcomings of reason as the only path to truth."
But even a boomer-based newsmagazine can't embrace drugs as the only answer – Tom Cruise and other Scientologists might be watching! So Newsweek reminds us, "Drugs alone are a spiritual dead end." Side effects may vary, so be sure to consult your pastor.
The magazine even credits Boomers' willingness to question authority with cleaning up the Catholic Church: "Would the sexual abuse of children by priests have come to light if the 1960s had never happened?" By Newsweek's count, the '60s are pretty much a wash, launching one sexual revolution but ending another.
Newsmagazines love writing about the Baby Boom, and religious covers also are big newsstand sellers. So it shouldn't surprise us that sooner or later, a newsmagazine would get peanut butter in its chocolate.
But it's hard to look at religious belief in America today, and give celebrities and Boomer icons the credit. Christianity's current lead over Scientology is about 224 million to 77,000, which means that despite TomKat's efforts to catch up, the children of the children of the '60s are still mostly heading off to Sunday school.
For the most part, the Baby Boom is following the same faiths as our parents – if anything, in greater numbers. Which makes it all the more curious that Newsweek would end its story with this parting thought about Boomers:
Their journey has been an eventful one, and in the coming years they will, in increasing numbers, be preparing for the event that used to be called meeting one's maker. They must be curious to know which one it will be.
"Used to be called"? "Which one"? Relax, aging flower children. Your doctor can probably prescribe something. ... 4:17 P.M. (link)
Wednesday, Sept. 13, 2006
Wake-Up Call: As if stagnant incomes and a sputtering foreign policy weren't giving Republicans enough troubles this fall, President Bush revealed yesterday that under his watch, one of America's great awakenings has gone missing. First, the Bush White House lost track of Osama Bin Laden. Now, they've lost count of America's religious revivals.
In an Oval Office conversation with conservative journalists, Bush suggested that despite its current tribulations, the right will triumph in The End. According to National Review editor Rich Lowry, Bush told his fellow travelers:
"Cultures do change. … Ideological struggles are won, but it takes time. It just takes time. You look back at the '50s, I don't know how evident it was that—I guess there was—when you think about it, there was a pretty stark change in the culture of the '50s and the '60s. I mean, boom. But I think something is happening here."
Stephen Stills, call your agent! But as it turns out, Bush was just quoting the '60s, not predicting their return. The president was making a broader point, although what it is ain't exactly clear:
"I'm not giving you a definitive statement—it seems like to me there's a Third Awakening with a cultural change. And it would be interesting to get your observations if that is accurate or not accurate. It feels like it. I'm just giving you a reference point, if this is something you're interested in looking at. It feels like it to me. I don't have people coming in the rope line saying, 'I'd like a new bridge, or how about some more highway money.' They're coming to say, 'I'm coming to tell you, Mr. President, I'm praying for you.' It's pretty remarkable."
Of course, if Americans are looking for more than just a new bridge or some highway money, perhaps they should pray for a new Congress.
But Bush's quest for meaning is understandable. When times are tough, people count their blessings. When presidencies are tough, presidents count their awakenings.
Who's Counting: Unfortunately, while Bush's faith is admirable, his arithmetic—as usual—is not. Most historians and religious scholars agree that America has already been through at least Three Great Awakenings, or revivals of religious piety. Some scholars insist that we've had Four:
The First Great Awakening took place in the mid-1700s, during the heyday of Jonathan Edwards, of fire-and-brimstone (not Two Americas) fame.
The Second Great Awakening, led by New Englanders like Harriet Beecher Stowe's father Lyman Beecher, helped fuel the abolition movement. Bush alluded to that awakening yesterday, suggesting that his base was a lot like Lincoln's—Abraham, not Chafee. Just as many of Lincoln's strongest supporters were deeply religious people "who saw life in terms of good and evil" and slavery as evil, Bush said his strongest supporters feel the same way toward terrorism. The Mormon Church also emerged during this period but went on to become part of Bush's base, not Lincoln's.
The Third Great Awakening, in the late 19th century, helped fuel the social reforms of the Progressive Era and emboldened reformers of all stripes, such as William Jennings Bryan, Carrie Nation, and Mary Baker Eddy. Bush did not claim any of them as his base.
But many historians, scholars, and people of faith aren't willing to stop at three. In 2000, Nobel Prize-winning economist Robert Fogel wrote a book called The Fourth Great Awakening, which described the rise of evangelical Christianity since the 1960s and the emergence of the Christian right, and suggested that it might lead to an egalitarian backlash. For those keeping score at home, here's Fogel's clip-and-save chart of Great Awakenings.
That same year, longtime Slate favorite Hanna Rosin made a persuasive case that as Great Awakenings go, today's religious ferment doesn't hold a candle to "the one in which nineteenth-century New England teemed with religious prophets and the quest for the supernatural in everyday life lasted a generation."
"I Mean, Boom": If the 1960s kicked off our Fourth Great Awakening, why is Bush so tentative in hinting to the press corps that maybe, just maybe, we might be starting our Third?
Bush is like an evangelical Dr. Evil, the villain in the Austin Powers movies who was cryogenically frozen in the 1960s, thaws out three decades later, and tries to shock the world by demanding "one million dollars!"
Which Great Awakening is the president rubbing out? Does he discount the First, which helped put "endowed by their Creator" in our Declaration of Independence and "In God We Trust" on our coins? Does he refuse to recognize the Third, which led to Prohibition as well as William Jennings's Bryan's last stand for creationism?
Does he share the Rosin view that Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell are no Nathaniel Taylor? Or the Plotz view that there are just too many Numbers? Or is Bush simply speaking in some secret exurban code, trying to trump the longstanding appeal of Bill Clinton's Third Way with his own Third Awakening?
You're in our prayers, Mr. President. But next time we see you in the rope line, we'll demand a recount. ... 5:42 P.M. (link)
**Big Sleep Update: Learned reader and coin aficionado Jose points out that "In God We Trust" was added to U.S. coins during the Civil War as a result of the Second Great Awakening, not the First. Shortly after an impassioned plea from a Pennsylvania minister, Lincoln's Treasury Secretary Salmon Chase ordered the director of the mint to express America's trust in God in the "fewest and tersest words possible."
Francis Scott Key had conveyed the same notion years earlier in the last verse of "The Star-Spangled Banner": "And this be our motto: In God is our trust." Key wrote that anthem in 1814, between the First and Second Great Awakenings. Whatever we want to call such periods in the national REM cycle when the country wasn't awakening—Great Asleepenings?—Key had an excuse: He'd been up all night. ... 10:29 P.M.
Tuesday, Sept. 12, 2006
Base Knock: For the past year, disgruntled conservatives have given a host of reasons why President Bush is having trouble motivating his base. They complain that he spends like a drunken sailor. He never met a war he could win. He's an incompetent panderer, and if he really cared about the base, he'd be a competent one.
But the most overlooked reason for Bush's lackluster Republican support was on full display in his Oval Office address last night: He has become boring.
Except in moments of crisis, most Americans would offer the same basic advice to their presidents about prime time: If you can't say something new, don't say anything at all. To the country's increasing chagrin, the Bush White House has a different philosophy—that voters are no match for the numbing repetition and discipline of the Bully Pulpit.
That's why the president spent 17 minutes on Monday night giving more or less the same speech he has given on many prime-time occasions before. With Michael Gerson's departure to become a syndicated columnist, the quality of Bush's imagery has slipped. Last night, he looked forward to the day "when the people of the Middle East leave the desert of despotism for the fertile gardens of liberty"—which sounded more like ad copy for a Dubai desalination plant.
Stone Soup: But in every other respect, the speech tilled the same familiar ground. Bush referred to resolve four times. He promised to find Bin Laden and bring him to justice—one day after the Washington Post reported that our search party "has not received a credible lead in more than two years" and the trail of the greatest manhunt in American history has gone "stone cold." Most Americans have heard that speech so many times, they wouldn't be surprised if it bored Bin Laden.
Even the conservative echo chamber is tired of its own echo. As John Dickerson points out, most Republican candidates—worried about being banished to the political wilderness—don't have the patience to hum along when Bush promises to rain democracy on the Middle East.
The White House has run up against the same problem that plagues horror-film sequels. If the whole point is to scare people, that gets harder to do when they think you're just boring.
Back in the day, the Bush team understood the element of surprise. Before the president's Oval Office address in May 2002 endorsing the creation of the Department of Homeland Security, only a handful of his own aides knew what was coming. It turned out to be by far the dumbest idea Bush ever stole, but at least it was a new one.
The headline of today's Post analysis declares, "President Tries to Win Over a War-Weary Nation." If that's the strategy, it's bad enough that Bush spent the one day of the year when he didn't have to talk about his troubles in Iraq doing exactly that.
But the White House needs to recognize that above all, the country and the conservative base are Bush-weary. Unless the president is going to advance the ball, even Republicans would just as soon he didn't interrupt the football game. ... 2:08 P.M. (link)
Monday, Sept. 11, 2006
The Mother of Invention: For all the partisan suspicions about tonight's prime-time presidential address, the timing couldn't be more perfect. On ABC, the speech will run smack in the middle of the Bush episode of the network's crockumentary, "The Path to 9/11." That means that for the first time in history, an Oval Office address will be preceded by repeated viewer warnings that it has been "fictionalized" for "dramatic and narrative purposes."
All these years, we may have been judging the administration by the wrong standard. For a democracy, the Bush White House makes a lot of stuff up – but they prefer to think of themselves more as a docudrama.
In a brief talk at the World Trade Center last night, the president sounded the themes he no doubt will return to tonight. He spoke of approaching 9/11 "with a heavy heart." He called it a day of remembrance, healing, and renewed resolve: "It just reminded me that there's still an enemy out there that would like to inflict the same kind of damage again."
Remembrance, healing, and resolve are welcome virtues, and this anniversary should be a day of somber reflection. But if, at this late date, the president wanted to become an agent of healing rather than division, he would use tonight as an opportunity to give a different speech.
Unresolved: For five years, George Bush has delivered the same, numbing message: "all resolve, all the time." The White House long ago chose to stress character over results. The president and his advisers believe that the more they tout their resolve, the fewer problems they actually have to resolve.
If Bush had his way, he would change the back of the one-dollar bill to drop "Novus Ordo Seclorum" – the Latin inspiration for his father's "New World Order" – and replace it with his own national security motto, "Wibli Vibrant Non Cadunt": "Weebles Wobble, But They Don't Fall Down."
White House councilor Dan Bartlett explains in today's Washington Post that "there is an inherent contradiction" between Bush's two messages – that Americans should return to their daily lives and leave it to the president to watch their back in the war on terror. Bartlett unwittingly puts his finger on the fundamental flaw in the administration's approach. By making the post-9/11 era a test of his character rather than ours, Bush is betting on the wrong horse. His message is never, "Ask what you can do for your country," but rather, "Ask me what I can do for you." Inevitably, the answer turns out to be a disappointment.
Tonight, Bush ought to move beyond resolve, reflection, and remembrance, and ask the country for something more. Last week – and in most of the 250 weeks before that – Bush gave partisan speech after partisan speech about 9/11. If he wants to prove that this prime-time address is any different, he should find a way – any way – to ask us to make more of our daily lives, not just return to them.
Challenges, Not Promises: America would be far better off today if the president had used the aftermath of 9/11 to seek patriotic rather than partisan advantage. The irony is that Bush would be immeasurably better off as well.
It's probably too late for him, because he doesn't realize that it's not about him. But it isn't too late for us. And as one of the most unpopular presidents in history, Bush has precious little left to lose. For example, if tonight he issued a rousing challenge for Americans to cut gasoline use in half – and actually offered the policies that would enable them to do so – it's even possible a few voters might give him another look.
We now know Bush is a voracious reader who plows through three Shakespeares in a single summer. This evening, if the president followed our suggestion to ask all young people between the ages of 18 and 25 to perform three months of universal civilian service, Rahm Emanuel and I would be glad to send him a free copy of our book, The Plan.
But more likely, Bush will leave it to his successor to summon America to an historic and higher calling. Someday America will have a real 9/11 president. For now, we'll have to settle for the fictional version. ... 1:47 P.M. (link)
Friday, Sept. 8, 2006
Surprise Party: George Bush may have caught some in his own party off guard with Wednesday's September surprise challenging Congress to pass legislation to help him put the 9/11 masterminds on trial. Some Republicans are still using the GOP's 2004 talking points, when Bush ran ads insisting that only wimps think terrorism is a law enforcement matter. Others—like Sens. John Warner, John McCain, and Lindsey Graham—have been busy drafting an alternative because they think the administration's approach won't stand up in court.
Most congressional Republicans have a more fundamental objection to the president's challenge: The last thing they want to do is stick around here debating constitutional niceties when they need to wrap up this session of Congress and rush home to save their seats. Republicans already knew the Bush administration was running a secret prison: For embattled incumbents, the Republican Congress has become one.
But Republican members who don't want to spend the last "working" month of the 109th Congress actually working can relax: The Bush White House probably doesn't want them to get a bill done, either. According to the Rove playbook, this legislation will do more to motivate the conservative base if Republicans can blame Democrats for obstructing it.
As Ron Brownstein suggests in the Los Angeles Times, the White House may want to reprise its 2002 September surprise, when Republicans refused to reach agreement over an obscure civil service provision of the Democrats' homeland security bill so they could run attack ads claiming Democratic incumbents were against homeland security.
Mustn't Pass: In years past—especially election years—September and the first part of October have been the congressional equivalent of finals week: a brief flurry of frenzied activity after an otherwise wasted year. This trend intensified in the last few years of the 1990s, when the Republican Congress grew so tired of losing policy debates to Bill Clinton that it refused to take up anything all year except the must-pass annual appropriations bills required to avoid another government shutdown.
Ironically, this strategy put Republicans in the weakest possible bargaining position, trying to enact their conservative wish list just weeks before members had to face an electorate that wanted Congress to do just the opposite. After caving to Clinton's demands right before the 1998 midterms, Republicans figured out a way in 2000 to avoid the voters altogether, by putting off the must-pass bills until a brief lame-duck session after the election. Conservatives weren't kidding about government efficiency: Why spend a whole year on a do-nothing agenda when you can finish it in one day?
Even with one of their own in the White House, the Republican Congress seems determined to seek still greater efficiencies. Republican leaders spent August holding field hearings designed to prevent an agreement on immigration. They're advertising their own internal differences on domestic surveillance, perhaps to lay the groundwork for gridlock on that front. They'll probably postpone any tough must-pass appropriations until after the election—when a lame-duck session may have more lame ducks than usual.
Bush's Wednesday gambit was the latest adlib in this year's improvisational conservative comedy, "Whose Fault Is It, Anyway?" For the last several months, most Republican incumbents in tough races have worked diligently to distance themselves from the Bush White House. From Bush's troubles abroad to his agenda at home, the Republican message to voters is, "Don't blame me—I just work here."
Understandably, the White House has a different approach. Never mind that Republicans in Congress are the biggest obstacles to Bush's agenda on immigration and military tribunals. This White House wants voters to believe that if illegal immigration has ballooned on its watch, and Republicans can't pass a bill to address the problem, it must be Democrats' fault.
Madmen Theories: Ironically, the president might do his party's incumbents more good by accusing Republicans of obstructing his agenda. That would free the Republican leadership to carry out the Mickey Kaus ploy on immigration—by scaring voters into thinking that a Democratic Congress might pass the Bush plan.
If Republican incumbents can't persuade Bush to attack them, they could turn to their own mad scientist, Dick Morris—an old master at pitting one branch of government against another. In his column in The Hill on Wednesday, Morris gave his fair and balanced view of the 109th in action:
"This has been, truly, the do-nothing Congress of all time!"
Morris offers an excellent critique of this Congress's many failures—whiffing on ethics reform, setting records for earmarks, raising student loan rates—but focuses principally on its refusal to enact the Bush agenda of immigration and Social Security reform. As it happens, those are precisely the two issues that endangered Republican incumbents most want to convince voters they opposed.
At last, we can imagine a simple 30-second message for Republican incumbents to put in their October ad buys:
"My Democratic opponent claims she'll block the Bush agenda, but talk is cheap. If you want to make sure nothing gets done in Washington, you need a congressman with the experience to make nothing happen. Unlike my opponent, I don't have my own agenda, and I'm not afraid to drag my feet on the president's or anyone else's. Vote for me, and I won't just promise to do nothing all the time – I'll give you the do-nothing Congress of all time." ... 12:08 A.M. (link)
Friday, Sept. 1, 2006
There's No "We" in Team: If George Bush has his way, the Republican message for the fall elections will be the banner headline from this morning's Washington Times: "We Have Resolve." Republicans who are actually on the ballot this fall have a different message: "What do you mean 'we,' kemosabe?"
Frightened of Bush's unpopularity, Republican congressional leaders have spent the past year attempting to localize the midterm elections. With more than two-thirds of Americans convinced the country is going in the wrong direction, GOP incumbents are desperate for an alibi: Members say they were so busy bringing home the bacon, they were nowhere near the scene of the crime.
Until recently, Bush played along with that strategy, ducking into states and districts to raise campaign money but otherwise keeping his head low. This week, however, the White House shifted gears. Bush is giving a series of thinly veiled campaign speeches designed to nationalize the election around the administration's favorite theme—that if Democrats were in charge of the war on terror, we'd all be speaking French.
Muscular co-author Rahm Emanuel smartly parried Bush's thrust yesterday by calling for a no-confidence vote on Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld, the runaway winner in any secret ballot on "who lost Iraq?" Instead of just putting Democrats on the spot, the White House campaign forces Republican incumbents to make a fundamental strategic decision about whether all politics is local—or global.
Run Away!: Judging from the early returns, the smart Republicans aren't taking the White House's bait. John McCain, who said long ago he has "no confidence" in Rumsfeld, used a campaign appearance for Ohio Sen. Mike DeWine to criticize the administration's handling of Iraq. As John Dickerson reports, Rudy Giuliani—who is courting the conservative base—went out of his way to warn against waving the partisan shirt in wartime.
One of the most embattled Republicans in the country, Arnold Schwarzenegger, is running so far away from Bush that he spent the week letting Democrats give California its own foreign policy by enacting a landmark plan to cut the state's carbon dioxide emissions.
White House strategists no doubt believe their gambit will work this time because it worked before, in both 2002 and 2004. As a certain wildly overhyped book points out:
Rove invented a perpetual-motion machine: Republicans fail on national security, which invites Democratic criticism, which lets Republicans attack Democrats for lack of resolve, which buys Republicans more time to fail on national security.
Off the record, White House aides might also argue that they have no other choice—in most polls, national security is just about the only issue where Democrats don't have a substantial lead.
It's the Perfect Way to Hide: But the real reason for the White House strategy may be more basic: An all-politics-is-local campaign would leave the president with nothing to do. Bush rightly considers himself one of the best campaigners on the Republican side and doesn't want to spend his last campaign as little more than fundraiser-in-chief.
As a result, the president is like King Arthur's trusted servant Patsy in Spamalot. While Republican incumbents everywhere try to sing, "I'm all alone," Bush keeps interrupting to say, "Oh, no, you're not … I'm here, you twat!"
Individual Republicans in tough swing districts will still try to run local races and pretend they've never met either Jack Abramoff or the president. But the new White House strategy virtually guarantees that voters will see the midterms as a national election. These days, nothing could do more to test Republicans' resolve than hearing Bush say, you're either with us or against us. ... 12:33 P.M. (link)
Wednesday, Aug. 30, 2006
Tale of the Tape: Forget the Census Bureau's report on income and poverty and the College Board's report on declining SAT scores. The only one number from today's papers that George Bush cares about is in the Style section: Just weeks after the aging president's annual physical revealed that his weight, body mass index, and body fat all ballooned last year, Karl Rove is running around boasting that a liquid diet has helped him lose 22 pounds.
In the Bush White House, lying about leaking was no big deal. But one-upping this president's waistline? That's the kind of offense that could get even Rove fired.
He'll be lucky to last till suppertime. An ABC News headline after the president's physical asked, "How Much Is Too Much: Is the President Too Chunky?" and included Bush in a photo essay on "Famous 'Overweight' Men." The Washington Post headline on Rove's diet declared, "'Leaner and Meaner' Rove Has Less Weight to Throw Around."
The president wants to run a tight ship. But any empire builder like Bush must be familiar with Julius Caesar's famous words:
Over the years, presidential candidates have surrounded themselves with political consultants of Caesar's description – Roger Ailes, Dick Morris, Bob Shrum—although lucrative commissions may have shaped those men more than Caesar's warning. But even in America's thinner days a century ago, the very first political consultant—Rove's lifelong hero, Mark Hanna—was widely mocked for his girth. While the phrase didn't appear until two decades after his death, Hanna may well have been the original "fat cat."
"I Shamelessly Promoted The Planand Lost 80 Pounds": Characteristically, Rove appears to have concealed key details, such as body fat, BMI, and how much he weighed before he started losing. Rove's diet claims are a bit like Bush's claims on the budget deficit: it's easy to declare victory when you get to make up your own base line. As Rahm Emanuel and I write in our new book, The Plan, "No one should take seriously a political platform that promises more and expects less, any more than a diet book that says eating more and exercising less is the way to lose weight."
But apart from the sheer cheek of Rove's weight loss, what must concern Bush most is the way he lost it: a liquid diet. Bush gave those up years ago—and you don't have to be Gail Sheehy to assume that bad experiences with drinking spurred the president to become a fitness nut in the first place. (Rove doesn't help by attributing his success to "clean living.") More to the point, Bush must sneer at liquid protein shakes—rather than exercise – as the wimp's road to weight loss.
The Architect: If Rove is Bush's guru, Rove's guru is Dr. Arthur Frank, medical director of the obesity management program at George Washington University and a widely quoted expert on weight loss. Wait till conservatives find this out: Karl Rove's diet doctor seems to support a Twinkie tax.
In a 1999 piece called "Time for a Twinkie Tax?", U.S. News reported that Dr. Frank was "joining the call for the Pillsbury Doughboy's head." "We are losing the battle," Frank said. "It may be time for a last resort." Last year, in a Washington Post online discussion, Frank appeared to agree with a questioner's suggestion about advertising restrictions and Twinkie taxes. "We have to change the world of sloth and superabundance," he said.
Frank is also treasurer of the American Obesity Association, which holds a number of policy positions that won't endear Rove to Bush. The group wants a congressional investigation into whether the No Child Left Behind Act increases childhood obesity, supports making federal projects submit "Human Physical Impact Statements" similar to Environmental Impact Statements, and worries that American culture is making immigrants fat.
Rove's only hope: tell Bush that in 2002, the association helped convince the IRS to allow tax breaks for obesity treatment. So in the long run, the Twinkie tax is actually revenue neutral.
Keep Your Mouth Shut: Of course, if Dr. Frank had his way, Rove would never have blabbed about his weight loss to begin with. As Frank told the Post's "Lean Plate Club" just last month, many patients make the mistake of advertising their success because "they think it will help to keep them on the straight and narrow," then can't handle the pressure once everyone around them starts judging their every bite. "It's better not to get other people involved unless they have to know," he says—proving that Rove's diet doctor might have done an even better job as Rove's lawyer.
Frank and his colleagues direct successful patients to what sounds like another conservative nightmare, the National Weight Control Registry. Indeed, Rush Limbaugh may already be on the airwaves with the warning, "If food is outlawed, only outlaws will have food."
But so far, the National Weight Control Registry only wants to know your weight if you've lost more than 30 pounds and kept it off at least a year. They're not interested in Karl Rove; they have their eye on Arkansas Gov. Mike Huckabee.
The registry uses its members to conduct studies on what separates dieters who put weight back on from the one in 20 who succeed in keeping it off. Last year, Oprah magazine reported on the registry's "potentially groundbreaking study" into how dieters think. The study found that success depended on which quadrant of the dieter's brain was dominant.
Rove is often called "Bush's brain," but which quadrant? Judging from the study's description, he's clearly not the upper right ("strongly visual and easily bored, attracted to new ideas, fun, and risk taking") or lower right ("emotional, spiritual, and focused on people and human connection"). He would seem to be closest to the upper left ("analytical, mathematical, logical problem solvers" who are "drawn to statistics and the workings of machinery").
Scales of Justice: The study suggests that the quadrant successful dieters need is the lower left: "Punctual and neat, they always have a plan, timetable, and calendar with appointments penciled in." That's bad news for Rove. The only way he dodged indictment was by claiming to forget which reporters he talked to when. If he keeps the weight off, we'll know he hid his lower left quadrant from the special prosecutor to save his own skin.
But just in case Rove was telling the truth, the Oprah article spells out how absent-minded dieters can train themselves to become lower-left-brained, through a three-week regime to "bolster your inner bookkeeper."
Step One: "Begin with organization. Alphabetize your CDs, then, a few days later, your spices. A few days after that, rearrange your closet, then your tax papers." Step Two: "Keep a time log of your daily activities." No wonder the Fitzgerald report sold so well—it doubles as a diet.
But poor Karl Rove may never get that far. The president may want to help his old friend stay slim by giving him a little extra work on Step One: clean out your desk and organize your walking papers. ... 3:31 P.M. (link)