The Further Adventures of Peggy Noonan
Anatomy of a Column
eggy Noonan sat on the terrace of her little penthouse (the Aviary, as she called it, so small, so chic) sunning herself. In a moment of reckless abandon, she undid the top of her bikini to get a little tan on the girls; “Why not,” she thought, “up here, no one can see you, well maybe airplane pilots and astronauts.” The amazing men in their flying machines, like birds soaring overhead, into the wild adventures of the sky. The ditty that the other girls sang when she was a youngster pulled her back to earth, “Peggy has freckles on her but she is pretty.” Ah, for want of a comma…
“The lack of commas, lack of clarity, is the crux of the matter,” Noonan thought as she sipped her Mai Tai and listened to the Sotomayor hearings on her little Bose radio, so expensive, so perfect. The dance the senators and the Wise Latina did seemed so choreographed, a tango of sorts: two quick steps forward, one slow step sideways. Noonan remembered doing the quick-quick-slow with Jeff Greenfield, so small, so perfect. Feeling suddenly warm, she slurped down the Mai Tai and licked the pineapple stick before biting into it, the juice running down her chin and landing neatly into the little crater that was her navel. “My own little Sea of Tranquility,” she laughed as she poured another from the thermos jug.
“The sound-bite tonight will be Perry Mason,” she thought. That little man from the comedy show, that horrid show that made fun of Ronald Wilson Reagan, the greatest president of the latter half of the twentieth century, that horrid little man was enjoying himself. “Yes, yes, he has cribbed from Hillary’s playbook, playing earnest and sincere and that wicked little man will work to reveal himself as an, aw-shucks kind of man. But he’s not. Not like Ronnie.”
Hillary was a puzzle to Noonan. She hated her of course, but admired the way she was making her own success. “Nancy Reagan is no Hillary,” she mused as she rubbed sunscreen on her now bright pink bosom, being careful to not get any on the ever-present pearls. “Won’t see Nancy at the free clinic handing out clean syringes. Bitch.” Hillary had stood up to that horrible husband and decided to make a difference, and now she is the Secretary of State, “that no one sees,” she thought. “Clever man, that Obama, keeping his enemies close. No palace insurrections for him.”
Noonan enjoyed the warmth of the sun and the feeling of freedom. By the third Mai Tai, Noonan felt weightless, like those brave spacemen must have felt so long ago as they dashed off to the moon, so far away and yet so near, to play golf and say great things about stepping on the moon. “We used to be made of stronger stuff,” she mused, “we should go back to the moon again, the moon, the moon the man in the moon. We need to remember who we were once, and who we could be again.” She thought of the great smiling Ronald Reagan, so moonlike, so happy. He had the foresight to energize the space program with the shuttles now orbiting about. She looked up to the sky and waved to the spacemen, winked salaciously, and loosened the ties to her bikini bottom.
Sotomayor Hearing Escapes Gravity
They put a man on the moon, and a comedian in the Senate. — By Peggy Noonan
This is a brilliant insight into the wafty lofty spacey thought processes of Peggy Noonan. This can’t have been written by Peggy Noonan since it isn’t particularly flattering and reverential enough for her. Does she talk about herself in the third person? I suspect she does. But god she’s a lunatic. A very wafty lofty spacey lunatic.
I hate that I’m named Peggy.
Beeyooteefull TG! A Nooner classic.
Also love how TG leaves us, erm, hanging on the thought/image of the Nooner’s Reagan-shaped brazilian.
Ms. Noonan needs to inform Mark Sanford of her availability. That loose bikini bottom would seal the deal.
Oh, my, TG! You captured the Nooner oh so perfectly.
However, the thought of her nudie…..I think I will have a glass of wine and try and erase the image.
i was gonna do a post of Noonan’s lastest round of insanity
but you do it SO MUCH BETTER
ps – she still has fat calves
and she still is completely insane
you should be peggy nooner’s speechwriter
OMG Tengrain, that was absolutely perfect!
I am awed.
You have captured the essence of the noonan.
TG, you have managed to creep me out better than Peggy her self, uhhhh, thanks……I think.
Capt. Bat, it is a small service I provide for a nominal fee.
I just have a hard time believing that Nooner gets paid to write this stuff. The whole Anatomy of a Column category is dedicated to the notion that these columnists write about or are inspired by their daily lives, not deep thought or analysis.
Regards,
Tengrain
Every Nooners piece starts with a drinky-poo or five. They’re not even op-eds – they’re listed as “opinion declarations.” Soon she’ll approach Larry King’s random, one sentence observation style.
Franken knows more about policy that Noonan ever has, and certainly cares about it more. She would have known that if she had bothered to watch the hearings – well, watched them not in drunken haze of longing for Uncle Ronnie.
i smell an “anatomy of a column” book, ‘grain.
Dayum, TG. No one on this great, grey-green greasy Limpopo of a world all set about with fever trees channels Noonan better. You do this jungle proud.