The weekend’s weather wasn’t welcomed by anyone, but the dog was especially bummed. Newly stripped for the warm season, he spent much of the last two days shivering pathetically. I considered popping out to Steve & Barry’s to get him a dog-sized maize-and-blue Michigan sweatshirt — or even a dog-sized green-and-white Ohio U. sweatshirt — but came to my senses. When you start buying clothes for your dog you pass a point of no return. Not going there yet.
Not going anywhere else today, either. I have an assignment to flog into the homestretch — on a warm-weather topic, dammitall — and globs of snow on the garage roof to contemplate as I do so. This must be what it’s like in the magazine business, where the Christmas issue is closed in July.
In the meantime, the day’s bloggage:
Lance, full of pith and vinegar, takes on Justice Sunday. (Warning: Liberal politics alert.)
Mitchgate went away quietly on Saturday, pretty much the way I expected. Meanwhile, in the L.A. Times, David Shaw expresses bafflement at the level of outrage directed at Mitch by his colleagues. David: Read this column and see if the truth doesn’t begin to penetrate. I don’t think I’ve seen such shameless self-promotion masquerading as humility since Bob Greene dropped to his knees weeping as Baby Richard was hauled away.
Or, to put it another way: It’s a gut thing. You wouldn’t understand.
One of the best speakers we enjoyed during my fellowship year at UM was Dan Okrent, the inaugural-and-now-departing public editor of the New York Times. I suppose I still have to abide by the Wallace House off-the-record agreement, but I can say this: The man was witty, long-suffering and more than up for the job. I thought this Boston Globe profile, while brief, captured him nicely.
Oh, and while I discovered this late, I thought Michael Kinsley’s valentine to Charles and Camilla was worth a mention: There’s no special magic about a prince approaching middle age who marries a young society beauty. And the more we learn about Princess Diana, the less magical that story seems. And, of course, the abdication tale remains far from inspiring. …Now, what about a prince who marries a young beauty out of his sense of duty, who waits for decades until a car crash frees him and then marries the woman he really loves — a woman whom almost everyone else in the world finds remarkably unattractive; a woman he didn’t need to marry in order to enjoy her companionship as he had for decades; a woman his family and the world didn’t want him to marry. And what about a woman who watched her longtime lover marry a much younger beauty; who married someone else herself out of some kind of bitter realism; who fell in love with a young future king but is marrying an old weirdo who very likely won’t ever occupy the throne; a woman who is inviting a lifetime of public mockery for every aspect of her public appearance. . . . Now that is a love story.