Being Sarah Palin
As we gird our loins preparing for Citizen Sarah’s Coming Out Party, it’s probably worthwhile to remind ourselves that we are witnessing the beginning of two separate but occasionally converging story lines that will continue only as long as Palin’s handlers (and Palin herself) can dazzle the rubes with homilies and shiny objects. One story line is political, the other is personal.
The political Sarah will manifest itself as the resurrection of Sarah Palin as a viable national candidate courtesy of the PNAC for Lunch Bunch. In Sarah Palin, Bill Kristol and his buddies have found their Chance the Gardner, an empty vessel who will blithely repeat whatever they put in front of her with a winsome smile and a well-timed wink. It’s no coincidence that PNACer Randy Scheunemann is riding herd on Sarah or that Kristol’s butt-boy, Matthew Continetti quickly landed a quickie book deal to defend Palin’s putative honor. Add to that the shop that churns out her Facebook posts and her China speech and propping up Sarah can be fairly described as a growth industry. Are they wrong to bet the bank on Sarah Palin? When you look at the blasted landscape that is the Republican Party… do you have a better idea?
The personal : Sarah Palin hates you.
She hates your smug elitist lower-48 ways because, when you come from Wasilla, everyone from the lower-48 is an elitist. You laugh at the way she talks and at her snowbilly ways. You are unaroused by her fading physical charms. But mostly she hates that you can see though her and recognize her for the venal grasping fraudulent second-rater that she is.
So she is going to make a shitload of money just to show you who is extra special awesome. She is going to collect her royalty checks and her speaking fees and she is going to let people fly her around the country (first class or private jet), put her up in luxurious hotel suites, and take her to fabulous restaurants. She will have people standing by just waiting to run and fetch her a stack of fashion magazines (which ones? all of them!) and a skinny white mocha latte. And if the PNAC guys want her to run for office, hey, it’s their dime, and it sure beats the shit out of gutting fish, making moose jerky, and changing Trig diapers.
As God is her witness, she’s never going to settle for Wasilla again.