So last night after a beautiful evening with my friends Eric Gnezda and Blue Girl (wherein we deconstructed the mercenary BS of post-industrial capitalism and told dirty jokes) I went to bed in the Ohio State University's luxury hotel (named after a convicted hedge fund trader) and owing to the coffee and the Graeter's ice cream I was wide awake. So I started reading Nixon Land and found myself in the failing lemon groves of baby Nixon's childhood. And page after page baby Nixon experiences humiliation after humiliation. He can't go to Harvard because his family has no dough; he goes to Whittier College and the "swells" treat him badly; he goes to Duke University's law school before it's really "Duke" and Wall Street won't hire him. On and on. And all I could think was: "Man! What a mealy mouthed complainer Nixon was! He had no apparent disability, people paid attention to him; he got jobs; he went up the ladder from poverty to acceptance. And yet, poor Dick Nixon was affected by the miserable and soul crushing narrative of American success–so much so, that he never felt successful, merely mean, toxic, and vengeful. I read all night, heaven help me. Baby Nixon. Who hit another boy over the head with a hatchet. Who, as a grown man in the White House, discussed Viet Namese body counts with Henry Kissinger while eating cottage cheese with ketchup. This put me in mind of today's presumptive GOP nominee. Romney is the very type that Nixon hated. And like Nixon, Romney is charmless. Unlike Nixon, Romney hates the poor. One might do better than Nixon, but not with this year's GOP nominee. Where's Gerry Ford when we need him?
Planet of the Blind 