But this is about Nancy Gibbs.
last night i concluded that i should write a love letter to Nancy Gibbs. I love her words, i love to read from her… she is delicious, line for line, she is delicious… I’ve read very many of her essays that i always feel like reproducing them. Typing it all over again, because, i imagine, it must be such a thrill to type words like; Chimpazees apologise, or atleast perfom “reconciliation protocols.” How hard can this be?
-The masters of the universe who caused this money
mess can’t master a simple skill, apologising; Time Mag. March 30 (p.52)
At a moment of obvious peril, America decided to place its fate in the hands of a man who had been born to an idealistic white teenage mother and the charismatic African grad student who abandoned them — a man who grew up without money, talked his way into good schools, worked his way up through the pitiless world of Chicago politics to the U.S. Senate and now the White House in a stunningly short period. That achievement, compared with those of the Bushes or the Kennedys or the Roosevelts or the Adamses or any of the other American princes who were born into power or bred to it, represents such a radical departure from the norm that it finally brings meaning to the promise taught from kindergarten: “Anyone can grow up to be President.”
shat, i have to leave now… to be continued