Spock at the Bridge

By MAUREEN DOWD
NYT

Wow. What a phone call that must have been.

“Hey, 43, it’s 44. How’s retirement? You’re biking around the new neighborhood? Buying a nightlight for the bathroom? Can’t be too careful. I hear you’re working your way through a book Dick Cheney gave you on your Kindle. So Vice is still assigning your reading? Sounds like a full plate. No wonder there was no time to watch my address to Congress.

“It must be a relief to tune out — altogether. Still, you might have noticed we’re sort of busy in Washington. That’s why I’m calling, actually. I’m ending your stupid war.”

Mission Relinquished.

The contrasting images were pretty astounding: W. and Laura back in Texas, puttering around the new hood, borrowing chairs from the Secret Service next door to have a big dinner party, oblivious to the shrieks of pain, anger, shock and fear around the country, while Barack Obama engaged in a Sisyphean struggle to push the huge boulder of grief left behind by Bush up the hill.

(More here.)