Anatomy of a Column
eggy Noonan was sipping her traditional Mai Tai (so refreshing, so sweet) at the bar at Chelsea’s Pier (her favorite new watering hole), when her arch-rival, the six-foot Nancy Reagan impersonator (“complete with 5 0’clock shadow, just like the real one”) rushed up to her, and breathlessly begged for a favor.
“Peggy, Condi Rice isn’t here, and I need a back-up go-go dancer for my act next hour.” The Condi Rice impersonator, allegedly a Jets’ linebacker and a brute with massive hands (“Just like the real Condi”) was always flaking out on his commitments. “I’ll buy you drinks for the rest of the evening.”
Noonan agreed to the terms. She knew from actual experience that in an hour’s time she could enjoy four rounds of thirst-quenching refreshment. “It’s the same number I enjoy during the State of the Union Address.”
Of course during happier times when Ronald Wilson Reagan, the greatest president of the last half of the last century, perhaps the greatest president ever, would give a riveting SOTU speech, one that she had written, he would get standing ovations. “Ronnie, dear Ronnie, he knew how to give a speech.”
Unlike that horrid, professorial man now sitting at her beloved Ronnie’s desk. “As a rule, when Mr. Obama speaks, he literally says too many words, and they’re not especially interesting words. They’re dull and bureaucratic or windy and vague, too round and soft to pierce and enter your brain,” she sniffed.
She knew from actual experience that in an hour’s time she could enjoy four rounds of thirst-quenching refreshment. “It’s the same number I enjoy during the State of the Union Address.”
“Every White House wants their guy to get more applause than the previous guy,” she peered into the rapidly emptying hurricane glass, and took a thoughtful sip of Mai Tai. “The great thing for the president is that expectations are low,” she snickered. “The sad thing,” she grimaced, is that there is no way to escape the SOTU.”
“TV and radio carry it live, and it’s hard for the average citizen to avoid seeing at least a piece of it,” she sniffed. Noonan was still scared by her last attempt to interact with an average citizen, and thus when she got the barkeep’s attention ordered another round, to sooth her jangling nerves.
Noonan was finishing her fourth round–as she predicted–when she was called to the stage. The MC announced that for the first time in the history of the Chelsea Piers that Nancy Reagan and Peggy Noonan were appearing jointly, and there was thunderous applause.
“Psst, Nancy. What song are we doing?,” Noonan inquired, while wobbling onto the stage.
Nancy turned to her and whispered “The Bitch is Back.”
We have photographic evidence that Noonington dances the Pony and knows the Frug!