I know, you don’t want to hear “quickie” and “Jimmy,” as in Carter, in the same sentence, or headline. Anyway, I say in Impromptus today, “As regular readers know, I have been a Carterologist for a long, long time. (It’s a lonely and sad profession.)” A reader from Plano, Texas, writes, “Carterology may be a lonely and sad profession, but I can assure you there are millions of us who lived through those times who are grateful that someone is doing the job.”
Aw — with encouragement like that, I might resume Jimmy on something like a regular basis. (Why don’t we say “regularly,” or “weekly,” or “daily”? When did “a . . . basis” creep in? I think Churchill commented on that once.) Actually, I should keep my Carter pledge: There’s only so much you can say about him. The rest is repetition, fresh outrages.
I believe I’ve kept my pledge about the New York Times: I haven’t commented on the paper since, I think, 2003. Well, now that I think about it, I fell off the wagon a couple of weeks ago, when Jill Abramson took over, or was announced as taking over. And now that I think about it further: I think my pledge had to do with Tom Friedman and Maureen Dowd, specifically, not the paper in general. Can’t remember. Was a long time ago . . .
I have told readers before about my friend Eddie, a classmate. Many years ago — 20? — he swore off reading anything — anything at all — about race. We had grown up in race, been soaked in race, been absolutely suffocated by it. Race, race, race — it touched, and tainted, everything. Anyway, Eddie made a vow to stop reading anything having to do with race. He had had enough race to last five lifetimes. And his life — his mental health — improved immediately.
Yeah, an important subject — a critically important subject. But so mishandled.