Fascinating bit of navel gazing sadness, especially the comments.
Basically, the leftist bloggers (I'd call them that, more than progressives) were all stoked in 2005 when everyone was reading them and saying, "F%ck yeah! Right on!" But then Democrats came to power and had to, like, govern and everything. And the leftist bloggers were all confused that Democrats didn't do things like shut down the government over Iraq or impeach Bush over Katrina.
In other words, the leftist bloggers were upset that the Democrats didn't behave like the Tea Party.
And this makes them sad. Marginalized. Abandoned.
The single greatest strength of the Democratic Party right now is that it listens to its base, but doesn't cater to it. It will draw from the left and the center (and even center right) in order to hold on to power. This is a lesson the Left never learned in the '70s and the Tea Party hasn't learned today. It's something the party of Reagan understood really well (Reagan's Eleventh Commandment).
A few decades in the wilderness have taught Democrats that being in power beats the shit out of being out of power.
Yes, there are the inevitable intramural squabbles on the Democratic side, but they pale in comparison to what the party was like in the '80s or the GOP is today.
I will let TBogg take it away:
Let me see if I can explain it this way:
Every year in Happy Gumdrop Fairy-Tale Land all of the sprites and elves and woodland creatures gather together to pick the Rainbow Sunshine Queen. Everyone is there: the Lollipop Guild, the Star-Twinkle Toddlers, the Sparkly Unicorns, the Cookie Baking Apple-cheeked Grandmothers, the Fluffy Bunny Bund, the Rumbly-Tumbly Pupperoos, the Snowflake Princesses, the Baby Duckies All-In-A-Row, the Laughing Babies, and the Dykes on Bikes. They have a big picnic with cupcakes and gumdrops and pudding pops, stopping only to cast their votes by throwing Magic Wishing Rocks into the Well of Laughter, Comity, and Good Intentions. Afterward they spend the rest of the night dancing and singing and waving glow sticks until dawn when they tumble sleepy-eyed into beds made of the purest and whitest goose down where they dream of angels and clouds of spun sugar.
You don’t live there.
Grow the fuck up.
No comments:
Post a Comment