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A Rotten Poem

I don't who Elinor Lipman is. But I was reading the Boston Globe this morning only to find her snotty little column, "Get me to the ranch on time," on the op-ed page. Lipman is distraught because Jenna Bush and her intended are not having their wedding at the White House but at the ranch in Crawford, Texas. I actually think it's a sign of moral restraint that she and her beau, Henry Hager, decided not to have a big splash at the executive mansion at a moment when so many people in the country are being squeezed financially. Maybe, Jenna even knows that her father's economic policies have exacerbated the straits that in which the poor and even the lower middle class now find themselves. As for the mortgage crisis, to get at those responsible for the present emergency in the economy you'll have to look elsewhere.

From what I can gather, Jenna seems to be a very sensible and even idealistic young woman. At 26, she has her head screwed on right. And she has been and is a full-time teacher at a D.C. charter school, the Freedom Charter School. It is not a place for the over-privileged. Moreover, she hasn't tried to get her bearings in life with a high-paying job at a hedge fund.

So what got me so riled up at Elinor Lipman? It's a little ditty she wrote:

"Dear Jenna and Henry,

who worked for Karl Rove,

may your days be as fragrant

as con carne and clove."

Rotten.