I'm Sorry

If only Brenda Lee were here to cry out “I’m Sorry,” or maybe Roy Orbison could (if he were still with us) plaintively croon “Crying.” After sitting through the State of the Union address on Wednesday night, I felt as if I had been in some therapy session involving basic victimology. I actually felt unclean.


Mr. President, you will be 50 years old when you leave office in 2012. Isn’t it time that you began to wear long pants? Isn’t it time for you to “man up,” and stop the incessant whining and moaning that characterize your public appearances? Your bi-columnar address to the nation followed a pattern that has become all too familiar to those of us who observe the political scene. One column lists the disadvantages and barriers that work in concert to deny you your self-perceived place in the pantheon of history. The other column while liberally laced with the first-person pronoun is dedicated to the reinforcement of your obviously superior position among mortals.

Frankly, Mr. President, I find your shameless self promotion to be tiresome, and your childish whining and blame-casting to be excruciatingly annoying. Seventy minutes is much too long for someone in your position to be immersed in self adulation and self pity. It is unseemly. It is un-Presidential. It is not at all helpful.

Oh yes, you tossed a couple of bones about the strength and the character of the people. Anyone who closely followed the speech knew that those were simple rhetorical devices devised to soften the overwhelming self-absorbed nature of your speech. By the way, Mr. President, what is the state of the Union? I must have missed your veiled reference. Are we safer or stronger? Are we richer or poorer? Will we survive your socialist policies through sickness and health? Just askin’. Mr. President, I’m sorry because your potentially shining moment was so sorry also.

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