Remember before the Roberts nomination, when I said Little George was going home? (meaning New England, not Texas)? No? Oh, well.
I was right. He did. And now, with the Meirs nomination, it’s clear he wants to stay.
Everything has gone wrong. It's so unfair. The realists around Big George—remember how Brent Scowcroft tried to warn Little George off Iraq?—were right after all. But, as his real mother, iron-jaw Bar, might say, he was too big for his britches to listen to anyone back then. But now—ah, now—Little George is sinking into the swamp of humiliation he recognizes, at some level, as his rightful home. Big George and Bar know that's where he belongs. Jeb too. Little George is having those dreams again. He’s cheerleading at Andover, jumping up and down, yelling through his megaphone. Slowly it dawns on him. He has no pants on. But he keeps jumping up and down. There’s nothing else he can do. The dread creeps over him. Soon the audience will notice his nakedness...
OK, I know some of you think I’m too inclined to psychologize when it comes to explaining Little George’s political decisions. I don’t generally favor that kind of explanation in the political realm, by the way—but, in this case, it’s the only choice. Most politicians who reach positions of real power have represented certain social forces for decades. But Little George is not one of those. Everything is personal with him. What “ideas” he has, he adopted on the fly because he liked the way they made him feel at the moment.
If you don’t believe me, look at the barely concealed contempt on the faces of people like David Frum and William Kristol as this truth dawns on them, not only in relation to Iraq—but, now, just to clinch it, with the nomination of Harriet Meirs.
Picture the dinner where he asked her to take the big job. Nice Mommy Laura and Nice Mommy Harriet, doting on Little George. Imagine the glow. He’s telling himself he’s taking care of those who have been loyal to him. That allows him to maintain a certain feeling of power, and of course they reassure him in every possible way on that score. But what he’s really doing his groping for his personal pillow, his blankie. He wants to snuggle down forever in a cozy place. He’s humming that old country tune—
“Make the world go away...”