The Devil Made Me Do It
By GAIL COLLINS
NYT
Long, long ago there was a television series, called “Kolchak: The Night Stalker,” about a newspaperman who spent most of his time tracking down demons of the underworld. Since his editor never believed his stories, Kolchak did not get in the paper much. Today, of course, he would be a blogger and have a wide international following although no real source of income.
But I digress. The point here is that in one memorable episode, Kolchak was confronted by a politician who sold his soul to the devil in order to win a seat in the State Senate.
When I first saw this particular program, coyly titled “The Devil’s Platform,” I was covering a real-life State Legislature in Connecticut. My first thought was that accepting eternal damnation in return for a career as a state senator was a little like swapping your house for a pair of socks.
But lately I am beginning to wonder if, in our troubled times, being in a Senate — any Senate — actually is hell. Everybody has seen pictures of the state senators in California, held hostage to a spectacular financial fiasco, sleeping at their desks during the long, long hours of deliberations, which revolve around whether Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger can get a wealthy Republican broccoli farmer to vote for his budget.
(More here.)
NYT
Long, long ago there was a television series, called “Kolchak: The Night Stalker,” about a newspaperman who spent most of his time tracking down demons of the underworld. Since his editor never believed his stories, Kolchak did not get in the paper much. Today, of course, he would be a blogger and have a wide international following although no real source of income.
But I digress. The point here is that in one memorable episode, Kolchak was confronted by a politician who sold his soul to the devil in order to win a seat in the State Senate.
When I first saw this particular program, coyly titled “The Devil’s Platform,” I was covering a real-life State Legislature in Connecticut. My first thought was that accepting eternal damnation in return for a career as a state senator was a little like swapping your house for a pair of socks.
But lately I am beginning to wonder if, in our troubled times, being in a Senate — any Senate — actually is hell. Everybody has seen pictures of the state senators in California, held hostage to a spectacular financial fiasco, sleeping at their desks during the long, long hours of deliberations, which revolve around whether Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger can get a wealthy Republican broccoli farmer to vote for his budget.
(More here.)
Powered by Blogger
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home