Word: socialism
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...reality a front group led by large insurance companies furious with Pallone for heading the charge for managed-care reform--unveiled an anti-Pallone "issue ad": the TV spot blasts Pallone's positions without explicitly advocating his defeat. Among other things, it accuses him of voting to raid the Social Security trust fund to pay for welfare. "Call Congressman Pallone," the announcer says, over a video of disreputable card sharks, "and tell him to...stop gambling with our futures." Pallone says the ad is false, but now he'll have to defend himself until Election Day. Americans for Job Security...
...Inglis, 39, a Republican Congressman, is measured, orderly and inoffensive, his hands cupped almost in prayer as he pads through the concept. Suddenly Hollings comes awake in a tumble of growls and bellows. "This is monkey talk," he says. The tax cuts the Republican promises will sap the Social Security trust fund. "They're raidin' the bloomin' fund," he blurts. Later Hollings swats away another of his opponent's carefully articulated responses, leaving the Congressman to plead, "I wish the Senator wouldn't belittle my ideas...
...because their father is a jerk." Murray, a former instructor and school-board member, boasts about her role in last week's budget agreement and the planned hiring of 100,000 teachers to reduce class size; Smith, who once managed a tax-preparation business, accused Murray of raiding the Social Security trust fund and said she doesn't want bureaucrats or politicians in D.C. "wrapping my school district in red tape...
...reason Clinton comes to mind is that the structure is both what it is and what it no longer is. One watches the President these days as if he were a man wearing a Bill Clinton Halloween mask. The mask says: Save education, save Social Security, Kosovo, the Middle East. The man slumps in a chair in a corner of his house and wonders who is going to save him and if he is going to make it through another hour...
...Bonfire of the Vanities in 1987 made Tom Wolfe a rich and very gratified author indeed. That big, boisterous novel, his first, proved a point that he had been arguing, much to the annoyance of literary folks, for years: American fiction could still portray the hectic complexities of contemporary social life, could still capture the textures and rhythms of a seething modern city, if novelists would just leave their desks, maybe take a sabbatical from their professorships in creative writing and go out and report on the fabulous stuff taking place all around them. But, Wolfe complained, most post...