By any other name $374,327.62 is a lot

MANY LINGUISTS agree that language is continually evolving, which is a relief. We'd sound silly walking around talking like Robert Burns' poetic ode to a mouse ("wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie").

The speed of modern communication has left us breathless in learning the evolved language of presidential politics. It wasn't that long ago the thoughtful pundits measured the candidates by something called "gravitas", which few people really understood other than to guess that if you had it, you were worthy of sitting in the White House. The word hasn't come up in the current mess of candidates, but others have evolved - "food stamp" president to replace "socialist" which replaced "Kenyan fugitive" which - well, you can see where this is going.

The biggest right turn in language evolution has now come from Mitt Romney, who shushes his critics by insisting that $374,327.62 is "Not Very Much". That's the operative figure for what he was paid in a single year for talks to friendly audiences. Besides questioning how sixty two cents were added to his fees, I imagine he belittled his take in contrast to Newt Gingrich, who shrugged off $1.6 million he was paid by Freddie Mac for "consulting". (Newt didn't mind the criticism at all as he headed back to Tiffany's.)

Still, I should warn you that "Not Very Much" only works in certain presidential venues as a substitute for "A Whole Lot". Keep that in mind when you ask for an estimate to repair a strange thlunk in your car's motor.

Doesn't either side want to be presidential?

IF YOU HAVE any interest at all in next year's presidential election - and I know that's a stiff challenge -then you can only conclude that:

While the current preposterous Republican job-seekers are doing their damnedest not to win the election next year...

President Obama's repeated concessions to the GOP suggest he is doing his damnedest to lose it.

Will it be a tie?

In politics, a belly ablaze replaces gravitas

AS WE STUMBLE to another presidential election in the hazy distance, this will be the moment when new criteria are accorded wannabe candidates. Unlike the sensible days when we judged the aspirants on whether they had "gravitas" or whether he or she was an alpha person, today's standard is whether any of them has "fire in the belly." Haley Barbour, you may recall, retired to the bleachers with the explanation that his settled tummy told him that he needn't bother. On the other hand, Sarah Palin took umbrage to reports that she had suspended her ballyhooed tour because she no long saw the oval office in her future. (Nor did the media that grew tired of her stunt and stopped covering it!) She reminded anyone who still cared that she was not a quitter and still had a blazing belly.

I spent my childhood around immigrants who kept Alka-Seltzer at their fingertips after a hell fire dinner that could have been serviceable to clean battery terminals. Their agony was never very easy to witness. On this topic, trust me. I know what I'm talking about.

I think we ought to find other ways for candidates to judge their personal ambitions. The level of gray matter in their skulls would be a valid indicator of whether to be or not to be. A maximum of three dumb statements would disqualify one faster than a fiery dyspeptic belly, don't you think? That would eliminate most of the Republican field, including the alphas. And one of the things I learned when candidates were being judged by the gravitas quotient was that most voters had no idea what the pundits meant. (I do recall being told by one astute observer that he was certain gravitas was a major league shortstop.)

Well, I'm digressing, I know. But it comes from paying too much attention to the oddest things that will determine the next GOP presidential nominee - if, as we are repeatedly being warned, the world doesn't end sooner.

Haley Barbour: Another door left open

A WASHINGTON source is reporting that Haley Barbour, the Republican Mississippi governor, has "left the door open" to a candidacy for president in 2012.  In political jargon, Barbour, once the Republican national chairman, is sending a coy signal that he may very well run if the planets line up in his favor.    It's smart politics.  He'll keep everybody guessing that he might be the 25th or 50th potential Republican candidate in the race and lobbyists and donors will tread carefully around him the next year or so  in the outside chance that the will be in the presidential pack. 

The former New York Times columnist Russell Baker once called it the great mentioning game.  And you have little chance of winning a free lunch at McDonald's if you are not at least mentioned on all of the Sunday morning talk shows, particularly by George Will on a good day. Newt Gingrich also says he might run if things don't change.    He had better hope that they do inasmuch as President Obama's latest  ABC News poll numbers gives Barack a startling 72 pct. "favorability" rating with Americans.  Against  congressional Republicans, he leads 61-24.

 But the mere fact that Gingrich is now leaving the door open means he will be a regular guest on conservative talk shows to revive his failed "contract with America."  Right now, there are doubtless 20 others leaving the door open with a promise of letting in some fresh air.  It works wonders with political egos. So if any of them is invited to throw out the first pitch at a baseball game, the announcer is bound to say, "Congressman Smiley is from Arkansas and has left the door open to run for president.

One, however, must be careful not to get too far ahead of the curve.  Texas Gov. Rick Perry, who is mentioned as a possible presidential candidate, made quite a spectacle of himself at a photo-op to declare that Texas might secede if the Feds don't leave him alone with stimulus money and other Big Brotherly incursions.  How silly he must look today after he asked the very same Feds for help in combatting the swine flu epidemic. (Sorry, Texas politicians never think they look silly about anything.)

I never left the door open for myself.  Happily for me, when I came home from grade school with a report card with two c's on it, my mother sensed my gloom, but came though with a consoling remark by a dear mother who preferred bingo to books.    "Don't worry," she said. "You're never gonna be president anyway."

She was right.  Mothers usually are.  

  

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