Senile old lady Nancy Reagan has endorsed doddering old fart John McCain, my friends. It's a surprise move, too, cloaked in the sort of drama that surrounded Bill Richardson's endorsement of Barack Obama. Said Nancy herself:
"Ronnie and I always waited until everything was decided and then we endorsed. Well, obviously, this is the nominee of the party."
Gee, what a courageous pair, waiting until everything was decided and all. No wonder Republicans revere such flinty-eyed, steel-in-the-backbone resolve.
As for John "Huggy Bear" McCain, he was slobberingly grateful for that ringing, brave endorsement and had high hopes for its salubrious effect:
"McCain said he hopes the endorsement brings the fractured party together and said: "This is an important, most important kind of expression of confidence in my ability to lead the party that I could have."
At the same time, a Reagan nod also could help further align him with the former president who attracted Democratic as well as Republican voters. Said McCain: "The Reagan Democrats are very important and I hope every one of them and new Democrats will be watching."
Did you hear that, Taylor Marsh? He means you. But seriously, what is up with the Reagan fetish? Why would a luke-warm nod after the nomination has long been decided be seen as such an important and potentially game-changing event?
To those for whom Reagan conjures up images of choirs of angels and hosts of seraphim heralding Morning in America, I suppose it makes perfect sense. But it seems odd to those of us who remember Reagan as an ordinary mortal (and, in my case, as a supremely crappy president -- until George W. Bush came along and redefined the term). In fact, I think it's positively creepy -- in a Tom-Cruise-Scientology-recruiting-video sorta way, as is the Cruisesque impulse to give speeches under giant portraits of dead dudes. All that's missing is the salute.