What's Breaking News Tonight?
Handsome, precious Paul Ryan, six-term Republican from the safe-as-apple pie Janesville, Wisconsin, has fallen into a pout that worries his friends and entertains his enemies in the family feud that is the House GOP.
Eric Cantor, John Boehner & Paul Ryan (AP Photo 3)Ryan, 40 years old, is supposed to be the bulletproof numbers guy, ranking on the House Budget Committee, who is eager to take the chairmanship in the new Congress following the promised wave election; he is supposed to be the gifted ingénue who spent these last years in the minority bent over his spreadsheets while he tweaked his grindingly wonkish genius of 2008, A Roadmap for America's Future.
Instead, the Paul Ryan talked about these days on the Hill is withdrawn, conflicted, chagrined, and unavailable. And most importantly, he was missing in action last week at the ballyhooed Republican rollout of "The Pledge to America" in a Virginia hardware store.
One critic says of Ryan's relationship with Boehner: "He wants more love from Daddy."
Why was Ryan a no-show? Ryan's flacks claim his absence was a scheduling problem, which is a deliberately uncreative excuse. Ryan's allies say he skipped the event because he's genuinely stumped about why the leadership ignored his celebrated Roadmap, which lays out a utopia in which America would solve health care, Social Security, taxes, and jobs with Leprechaun dust and diligence. Nothing of Ryan's years of homework is to be found in the Pledge, and the absence is so obvious that the whispering is that Ryan is either in fresh disfavor or worse, self-exile.
"He's been very coy," says an ally. "He's not talked in about a month. He's caught in the middle. He doesn't know what to do. They ignored his Roadmap."
Another ally is more mocking: "His scene got left on the cutting-room floor."
Says another observer: "Boehner, Cantor, and [Kevin] McCarthy didn't think as much of his Roadmap as the (Wall Street) Journal does. (They think) it's a Roadmap to the minority."
One critic says of Ryan's relationship with Boehner, "He wants more love from Daddy."
Ryan has cause to believe he has fallen in stature in the Republican Conference. John Boehner not only did not ask for Ryan's help on the Pledge, but also Boehner's flacks claim that the boss correctly handed the construction of the Pledge to America to a member who pulled off the pretentious gimmick of "Listening to America"--the two-term California back-slapper Kevin McCarthy, a man not known for policy cogitation of any sort. In fact, the general suspicion is that the document was cooked by a Boehner flack named Brian Wild, whose mission was to heat the stew--"we go forward now with optimism"--until it disappeared into instantly inedible, forgettable jargon.
The Pledge stunt is not Ryan's only problem with Boehner and the Republican team. There is also the fiasco of the recent vanity publication, Young Guns, co-authored with the same schmoozer McCarthy and the big money man in the leadership, Whip Eric Cantor. The book is a sluggish presentation of the innocuous and the inane. Sipping what we are told are Diet Cokes and bottled water, Cantor says to Ryan, "We've got to reconnect and inspire the American people." Ryan replies to Cantor, "The American people still love the American idea." McCarthy contributes the factoid, "We have 4 million more government jobs in America than manufacturing jobs." Several dozens of these heart-stopping exchanges create the impression that a colloquy of congressional stars is not unlike the Jonas Brothers discussing what they got each other for their birthdays.
Not surprisingly, Paul Ryan is said to be in deep despair over the fact, suddenly revealed, that Young Guns is hack work and that, in the videos and still photos, he has been exposed as a trivial faceman.
"Ryan is embarrassed by the whole thing," reports a close observer, not a foe. "He shouldn't have done that. He made a mistake. He did Greta (Greta van Sustern show on Fox News Channel) to put a happy face on this thing."
"He caved on TARP, he caved on the Roadmap, poor Paul Ryan," measures a conservative Republican, summarizing correctly that Ryan voted with Boehner and Cantor on the infamous and Mark-of-Cain TARP of 2008; and that Ryan's Roadmap is an irritation to the conference, the tedious work of an acolyte who tries to outshine his professor as if politics is a spelling bee. "[Young Guns] was Cantor and McCarthy's idea. Ryan is ashamed."
There is yet a deeper problem for Ryan, and it may also be pushing him into this unusual sullenness. Many Republican wags, such as David Frum and Erick Erickson, are already on to the Boehner paint-by-numbers game of the Pledge. The document is worse than hollow, because it illustrates that the Republican ambitions are not anything about policy or philosophy or even passion. They are about conquest on K Street and dividing up the plunder of majority. The sprightly rumors of Boehner's lassies--"He enjoys looking at women. He's a guy," says a companion--are a tawdry exaggeration that Boehner and Cantor treat their ascendancy as deserving of booty. More, there are rumors from Wall Street that point to the slow-tongued Cantor and hint of challenges, double-crosses, coups. You scoff? Why?
How can guileless Paul Ryan hope to make his way in the frat house melodrama of the Republican ranks between the faint-heartedness of Boehner, the deceptions of Cantor, the shallowness of McCarthy? You begin to see why Ryan is said to be sulking like a teen who can't get the keys to the car.
An adversary knocks Ryan for his willingness to join the Cantor and McCarthy Young Guns farce and at the same time to yearn for the blessing of the weakling Boehner. "They've issued a pledge and didn't put out a list of people who took the pledge. Who's taken your pledges, you and your boyfriends? Why not? They only care about themselves."
A friend of Ryan's remarks with irony, "Ryan's not broken with Boehner. He's just risk-averse, and I don't know why. He got burned. He's with everybody now." (Ryan's office did not immediately reply to a request for comment.)
A Republican member looks past the current backbiting to the supposed GOP majority next year. "They've all been trying to be leaders, speakers, now they've got there. Look out to April and May, if they don't have it together, they will have to borrow more money, and the fighting will start again. They can't see the forest."
A Wall Street economist judges: "The Republicans will be bailing out the regional banks by next summer."
Republican conservatives who read Edmund Burke and Russell Kirk, rather than the Club for Growth's materialist sonnets or the dynamic poison of the Crossroads GPS attack ads, judge the Pledge bluntly and defiantly, like raising a war drum in Sherwood. "It's the cesspool of Rousseau, a libertarian cloak. No mention of earmarks. Of immigration. We hear Boehner wanted the war left out. They say America is an 'idea.' They're idiots. America is an inheritance."
America, William Bradford's inspiring image of the "city on a hill," is preparing to receive news of the new bosses of the GOP, which is said to be why the markets are rallying, anticipating a Republican House, a filibuster-frozen Senate, and a gridlocked Washington. Paul Ryan, spoiled, sullied, and now educated by the court intrigue, prepares the Budget Committee that is soon to be his for more pledges, debts, and disappointments.
The GOP's Fat Elvis
Newt Gingrich spoke to a closed-door breakfast of the Republicans of the House the other day after the last primaries, and the irony you need to know is that the only members who showed up were the clueless Boehner crew, who are not in on the joke that in the GOP cloakroom they call Newt "Fat Elvis."
The young House members have spent the last four years living under siege from the Democratic battalions while their ranks thinned and their cash dwindled, and all the while Newt Gingrich was in the pulpit of Fox News castigating them for their gutlessness. The young remember the scoldings and the sermons, and, much like a child who grew up to be a star athlete, they resent having been kicked by Grandpa Gingrich when they were helpless--and yet they are not yet ready to belt back at him now that he comes preening to show how much he loves them.
"The young people who have no ties to him," an observer explains of Gingrich, "they think, what an asshole."
Does Gingrich notice that the young do not turn up to celebrate his wisdom? Not much, because Gingrich wanted only the obeisance of being feted at the breakfast as a "special guest," so he could go on Fox News to boast, as one indifferent observer put it, that "I addressed the House Republicans, and they need me." Last Wednesday, Gingrich filled the cozy audience's time by dispensing cookie-cutter advice such as, you should have more than $50,000 in your NRCC account if you're serious about the majority; and such as the Gingrich genius, "Any of you who think this is locked doesn't get it."
The more useful question than why Gingrich lays himself out for ridicule by the young and restless (and it is likely he hears the snickers when he walks in) is why do Minority Leader John Boehner and his leadership team put up with a busybody?
"You appease Newt," a Republican concludes, reminding me again that John Boehner and his "Young Guns" are all conflict-averse, "and then he won't say bad things about you on TV."
"The young people who have no ties to him," an observer explains of Gingrich, "they think, what an asshole."
Gingrich has been emailing House members for years with his searing advice and grandiloquent concepts, and everyone is mostly used to the fact that Boehner puts up with it just as if he was still Newt's waterboy and bagman from 1995, handing out Big Tobacco checks to good soldiers on the floor of the House. In sum, Boehner is not afraid of Newt, but then again he acts as if he is beholden in the way of a co-dependent dealing with an abusive and cranky older relative.
The best description for this strange family arrangement follows along the satirical description of Gingrich as the "Fat Elvis" of the Republican Party. A wag in the cloakroom observes of Gingrich, "He's turned Boehner and Cantor into Red and Sonny"--a reference to Red and Sonny West, the Elvis bodyguards during the years of drug abuse, who were charged with fetching Presley's banana sandwiches and cleaning up after his rampages. "It's [Gingrich's] self-satire."
Boehner and Cantor are both suffering the same sort of open mockery as Gingrich from the young House members, and they endure it with flustered dignity. The GOP House is not a dysfunctional family; it is better understood, according to a disgusted member, as "6-year-olds on a sugar high."
The imminent wave election prospect has deeply rattled Boehner--as well as the self-promoting trio calling themselves "Young Guns," Eric Cantor, Kevin McCarthy, and Paul Ryan. A wise ally who has watched this transformation comments on the peculiar phenomenon of how the GOP House leaders are trying to explain their suddenly rosy future to the media and to the donors: "The beauty of what they're going through is that they have nothing to do with the success, but they don't know it."
The snickering fiasco of the Gingrich breakfast is an aspect of this quandary. The Republicans are like lads holding a winning lottery ticket, yet are seeking philosophical reasons for their unearned riches before they cash the check. By standing in front of Gingrich, Boehner and the Young Guns hope they will be associated with a golden age of Republicanism. At the same time, Boehner makes the same boneheaded mistakes as before, such as when he went on national television last Sunday and goofed on the tax-cut question.
At the breakfast, after Gingrich cast his pearls, Boehner--who hails the former speaker with a hearty "Newt!"--spent many tense moments trying to explain to the bored audience how he didn't mean what he said about voting for the president's tax hike if it was the only choice he was offered, and that the rascally media had twisted his words. The audience tsk-tsked in sympathy. The conference is understanding of Boehner, because everyone knows, from the elderly to the puppies, that John Boehner will say anything any time that keeps him from feeling unwelcome.
Boehner's personal foible of fear of conflict, his yearning for comity regardless of incoherence, is the door that is always open to the bullying Gingrich--who is genuinely self-hypnotized to believe he is presidential timber. The next excitement for the House members is that Boehner promises a document, "America Speaks Out," that is constructed by the footman Kevin McCarthy to represent the email suggestions of tens of thousands of Republicans. Boehner hopes to imitate the "Contract With America" that he helped Gingrich write back in 1994 and that Gingrich has been using as a carte blanche ever since to get what he wants from the GOP.
Another sturdy Republican comments with a great deal of irony of the lavish bedlam at the baronial National Republican Club of Capitol Hill, "The Capitol Hill Club is swarming with donors and lobbyists. The DCCC is a graveyard. What's that tell you?" What it describes is a wave election that is so far advanced that the hapless surfers in the House cannot do anything too self-ridiculing, not even using Newt for a surfboard, to stop it.
The GOP's Wimpy Whip
Eric Cantor is in line for a big promotion if Republicans clean up this fall. John Batchelor on Cantor's fundraising ...
Eric Cantor, a soft-spoken Virginian, is a fresh face to curious Tea Party voters who, we are told, are surging like Marines in order to make him the majority leader of the Republican House come January and the new 112th Congress. What do you need to know about the man who would be King Lite besides the brandished fact that he is the only Jewish Republican in the solar system?... (continued)
The explosions left a deep crater filled with body parts at the entrance to the base while bloodstains and bullet marks in an unused defense ministry building bore witness to a fierce gunfight.
"It was a well organised terrorist attack but our soldiers were alert and managed to stop them," Defense Minister Abdel Qader Jassim said at the scene.
What does John Boehner say of his plans for the No. 3 job in the Republic? Two of his recent policy speeches in Cleveland and Milwaukee are so stunningly facile that there is an open question as to whether the guileless Mr. Boehner is putting us on. Boehner warned with a mighty trumpet, "Never before has the need for a fresh start in Washington been more pressing." Boehner cried out like a blue-eyed Jeremiah for "a series of immediate actions to end the ongoing economic uncertainty..." Boehner proposed with drum-rolling militancy, "...We must focus on working together to identify our national security priorities ..."
What explains this colossal banality? Grant that Boehner is a foreign-policy tenderfoot after two decades of kissing the hem of the domestic Abramoffs. Still, his remarks on the economy suggest, as Mark Twain taught us to repeat, that he is an idiot as well as a member of Congress. It may be possible that Boehner, one of 12 children of a modest tavern keeper in Cincinnati, has worked so hard at being an anonymous footman since entering Congress in 1990 as part of Newt Gingrich's dynamiters that he's incapable of the cogency associated with historical memory. He might be nothing more than what we see: a maitre de pork, a Buckeye hack on the make, a fall guy who played Newt's bagman for tobacco companies on the floor of Congress once upon a time in 1995, who inherited the IED ruins of the GOP House from the fleeing Tom DeLay in January 2006, who took a palooka's dive for Hank Paulson's TARP folly in 2008, and who has clung to his "Leader Boehner" with the bravery of a parasite these last years of leading the "No" team as if it were destiny.
Then again, it is also possible that Boehner has taken on this rinsed-out golfing partner act just because he is struggling to stay youthful, hip, in step with his backroom boys. Boehner may have an envy problem and, if so, it is making him sillier and sweatier by the week. The problem has names: Eric Cantor, Kevin McCarthy and Paul Ryan. Easily the most self-involved Republican tyros since TR and Cabot Lodge, they call themselves the "Young Guns," and they do this without measurable irony. Not only does the trio offer a new book, Young Guns, of sensationally unoriginal genius--"...less Washington and more hope, opportunity and freedom..."--but also they have produced a YouTube video that sets a new standard for suicidal vanity. Appearing in open-necked white shirts, either like frosh virgins or West Hollywood parking valets, they gaze longingly at each other with a soundtrack of celestial choir-wailing and a script written from Frank Capra outtakes. "America is at a crossroads ... a new team is ready to bring America back ... together they are ready to make history ... innovative, energetic, forging new solutions ... a new generation of conservative leaders."
As we watch the manly gunslingers stride purposefully down the horse trail together, it is worth considering that this trio is about to be given the keys to the House of Representatives because John Boehner is spooked by their togetherness. It is an incredible fact that John Boehner thinks calling yourself a "Young Gun" is a vote-getter. The "Young Gun" video is humorless, callow, tyrannically stupid--including the phallic Washington monument under photoshopped storm clouds and a cameo with a frightened, angry citizen shouting down the surly, worn Arlen Specter. If the video were less inane, it would be a burden to the GOP comparable to Michael Steele cracks. As it is, it is a threat only to John Boehner's fantasy life.
Consider what the rest of us see in the "Young Guns," who are neither young nor noticeably armed. Eric Cantor, VA-7 (R), has limited social skills and no charisma; his position as majority leader-in-waiting is built on the money he can raise as the only Jewish Republican in the Solar System. Kevin McCarthy, CA-22 (R), is a backslapper and small-talker from a safe district, who can work a room full of Gingrich cronies as a stand-in for the slow-tongued Cantor. McCarthy is useless as muscle, as an enforcer, because, says an observer, "That would put him in a position [where] he was unpopular."
Paul Ryan, WI-6 (R), is the babyface of the lot, no money, but lots of braininess about taxes and spending. Ryan loves to spew numbers in Cantor's earshot, which makes Cantor feel smart and less bad about the fact that he voted for TARP twice and every other bank bail-out he could find in Nancy Pelosi's kitchen. Ryan also has the problem of two "yes" votes to TARP. Oddly, McCarthy, thinking of his options, rejected TARP twice, but he is too polite to bring it up to his amigos, the "young conservatives" Eric and Paul.
Cantor, McCarthy and Ryan are most of the faces that Boehner sees in his smoke rings when he orders his food-taster changed monthly and feels a chill as he starts another cigarette. Another face Boehner sees is Mike Pence, IN-6 (R), an older gun, sort of a pop gun, who is generally uninvolved in the intrigues in the House because he fancies himself presidential timber, another Hoosier without a sense of proportion.
Boehner also knows that Cantor has presidential ambitions. Surprised? There is no sentimental limit to the delusions of these fellows, and why would there be? The pollsters tell us that this wave election will sweep out the Democrats. By default and for no other reason, a great deal of the responsibility in the First Article of the Constitution will then pass to the hands of men who have eyes only for themselves and their self-described guns.



























