I was working late, something that I actually enjoyed doing because my office sat at one of the obtuse angled corners of an irregular-hexagonal tower at the corner of Market & New Montgomery Streets in downtown San Francisco. From my desk, without even leaning to the back or the side, I could see down the length of Market Street almost to the Castro, and up Post to well past Union Square.
The office was also the first door off of a main corridor coming off of the lobby/reception area, and from my desk I could see the reception desk and the elevators behind it.
That night the sun was heavy on the day, sliding towards Twin Peaks where it would begin to intrude on my workspace. I drew the blinds and continued to work at my desk. The next time I picked my head up from my work, it was nearly seven; the sun was still out, so the chill I felt I chalked up to the drawn blinds. That’s when I heard the elevator door open; it was late, but I just assumed that someone from another department had just ended a similar long day.
I looked back out the window, pondering my own departure, and that’s when the chill became more profound. For whatever reason, I knew the feeling had come from out in the reception area. I looked, and who did I see? The Staypuft Marshallow Man Newt Gingrich!
My old company got started by getting into bed (ew!) with Christian Universities (it was a distance-learning company), and apparently also into bed with Newt (double-ew!). There was no one about. Just him and me. No more than 10 meters apart. It was disgusting, but I remember being disgusted not just for breathing the same air, but the fact that we were going to have to boil the whole of San Francisco. Thank Goddess (blessed be!) that the concentrated Evil that is Newt Gingrich was no match for San Francisco’s yummy goodness.
Still, I can’t help but be reminded of this once in a while, usually while walking past a urine-stenched alley, after I stop to feel bad that there are some people who have no choice but to piss there.
Speaking of pissing on public property, pay very close attention to the tactical change the Repubicans are beginning to employ. They’ve been cultivating it for a long time, this notion of being the “victim”. Victim of the MSM (that’d be all the news media except for FOXnews—they’re victims, too!), victim of prejudice, victim of bad haircuts.
Now Newt is out there calling himself an outsider:
“I’m an outsider,” he claimed. “I have no interest in propping up whatever the current slogans [are] of whatever establishment you want to describe.”
He now says things like:
“I never went down to Langley, before the war, on Iraq intelligence. I went down on other topics,” he said. “I thought, frankly, the argument for replacing Saddam was so overwhelming that it was silly to base it on weapons of mass destruction. And it never occurred to me that [intelligence on weapons of mass destruction] would be such a total mess.”
But in late 2001, he wrote:
We are a serious nation, and the message should be simple if this is to be a serious war: Saddam will stop his efforts and close down all programs to create weapons of mass destruction.
And on Halloween (irony alert!), 2002, in a Washington Times op-ed piece in which he opposed UN inspections of Saddam’s weapons labs:
President Bush and his administration have been abundantly clear why they believe Saddam must be replaced. They have convincingly argued that time is on the side of the Iraqi dictator, and that every day spent waiting is another day for him to expand his biological, chemical and nuclear weapons of mass destruction program.
Will the Right Wingers, notorious haters of “flip-floppers”, file charges against Newt? Hell no, they’ll just claim he’s the victim. Of the liberal press. Never mind that they can research and find his own words.