Americans, perhaps more than anyone, worship the future and resent the past.
This is never truer than during a political season. It doesn't matter whether the past (meaning all of four years ago) trumps the present or whether the future carries a whiff of embers and smoke. We gallop into tomorrow like a dog who mastered the screen-door latch and find little worthy of regard in yesterday.
The new tell-all, "The Residence," featuring intimate anecdotes collected from past and current White House staff members, is absolutely delicious -- and utterly lacking in nutritious content.
President Obama got it two-thirds right when he said that the delayed confirmation of his attorney general nominee, Loretta Lynch, is owing to Senate dysfunction and Republican stubbornness.
I'm standing in the Starbucks line behind 10 other sleepyheads, waiting to order my tall skinny cappuccino, otherwise known as a shot of coffee described as I wish to be.
Absolutely no one is talking about race.
Amid all the verbiage about Hillary Clinton's e-mail, one irrefutable fact emerges: Polls will drive us crazy before the Clintons do.
With a few tweaks to Scripture, herewith today's relevant verse: What therefore President Obama hath joined together, let Republicans put asunder.
"At least nobody died," we often hear in politics to explain away some regrettable act.
Denizens of social media were rankled during the Academy Awards telecast when actor Sean Penn made a crack about Mexican director Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu and green cards.
Republicans seem ceaselessly enamored of litmus tests, but the newest one -- Do you believe President Obama loves America? -- makes birthers seem witty.
Channel-surfing the nightly cable news, one is reminded that certitude is the enemy of sanity.
With each of their actions, the world has provided a predictable reaction.
There's a very 2001 feel to President Obama's request for authorization to use military force and the nauseating sense that we'll be at war indefinitely.
This isn't to say that Palin was part of the war on women, though many Democrats would say so. Rather, she was one of the war's most conspicuous victims -- fragged, you might say, by her own troops.
Forget E.F. Hutton. It's P.F. (Pope Francis) these days who, when he talks, people listen.
If we can be serious for a moment: The president made an error in judgment by not sending someone with a higher profile than our ambassador to join world leaders Sunday at a solidarity rally in Paris.
The White House has admitted the error.
Recent events from Ferguson, Mo., to Staten Island might prompt an observer to infer that American cops are racist and that a bigoted white populace tolerates unnecessary lethal force against minorities.
One might also conclude that the United States has a hearty appetite for the carnival barker, the jester, the rabble-rouser, the race-baiter and, lest we leave anyone out, the performance-activist who pretends to be a newsman while fomenting unrest that only he can quell.
A writer seeking profound pronouncements for a year-end column is likely instead to find herself awash in punch lines.
Life isn't a comedy. It's a joke.
If I were a cartoonist, a phrase cartoonists are loath to hear, I'd sketch a chubby imp dressed in a diaper, sporting a chia Mohawk and munching the last Big Mac on Earth while straddling a nuclear-armed missile that bears a striking resemblance to Dennis Rodman.
By now, most Americans probably have formed an opinion about what comedian Bill Cosby did or didn't do sexually to or with at least 16 women beginning in the 1960s.
Post-election analysis falls somewhere between amusing and clueless.
About that stunning defeat.
Conventional Wisdom, that self-righteous propagandist, has it that Republican House Majority Leader Eric Cantor's trouncing by an academic, tea-sipping nobody marks the end of the GOP establishment.
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