TIME OUT OF MIND. So, just to take a clear stand against the rising tide of overt Young
Fogeyhood around these parts, I wear baseball caps, okay? My current one comes from Three Chimneys Farm in Kentucky. I wear them for comfort and for style, and because several centuries of Hibernian breeding left me with skin that is well-nigh translucent. I also wear them so that, when I read something like this, I have something handy I can throw across the room besides the obvious cursewords.

Who dealt this mess? I mean, a group of important someones at Time freaking Magazine need an essay on the lessons to be learned from TR's politics, and they all decide to hire a goon who should be kept away from elections for the same reasons we keep Charlie Manson away from the cutlery. And not only that, but a goon who spent a flat year hanging one of Time's own reporters out to dry. Karl Rove is not a historian. Karl Rove is not a political theorist. Karl Rove is not any combination of the two. He's a vandal and a thug who would tear the Time-Life Building down for a parking lot if he thought it would mean five points on the next Gallup Poll.

"There can be great joy in politics," reads the piece.

Great joy in politics.

Karl Rove.

Holy mother of God.

--Charles P. Pierce