Saturday, October 22, 2016

Kathleen Parker

Every now and then I read a newspaper column that wows me, not for the brilliance of the writer's point of view, but just for the sheer brilliance of the writing. Kathleen Parker's column today about the Donald Trump appearance at the Al Smith dinner has a few passages that are simply great.

The first one is about Maria Bartiromo, who was sitting right behind the speakers...

No one watching could have missed the cleavage clad in candy apple red beneath long sparkling earrings, as Bartiromo’s elbow-length gloves fluttered like white doves directing traffic to the heart of things. A flickering female vision floating in the TV frame among four, dusty-white males, the television journalist appeared as one of those online ads that distract readers as they try to concentrate.

Absolutely love that. The second passage I love was about Trump's supporters watching on television...

To them, the dais was a diorama of self-congratulatory elites, smugly tittering at insider humor and then, suddenly, betraying white-tie outrage at their redneck Gatsby, who hocked up his couth and hurled it into the nearest vat of Dom Perignon.

And finally, about Trump himself...

Like Gollum, he loathes what he loves and can’t resist sabotaging himself. Like Capote, he turns on his own. If Capote alienated all his “swans,” the belles of Upper East Side New York, by betraying their confidences in “La Cote Basque, 1965,” Trump betrayed the hopes of his powerful and wealthy colleagues that he could be trusted to behave.

Bravo. Really. Seriously. That's some great writing there.