He Who Must Not Be Named
America’s Own Voldemort
I’m not a betting man but here’s one I couldn’t resist: a friend bet me that I couldn’t go a week without mentioning the name of America’s 45th president. You know: the orange-faced, bizarrely-coiffed former resident of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
My friend thinks I’m so obsessed with Mr….oops, I almost lost the bet right there and I’m only into the second paragraph of this piece. She thinks I’m getting so worked up about this fellow that I’m losing perspective and maybe even endangering my health.
Needless to say, I disagree. As I see it, I’m simply writing careful, evenhanded analyses of the past president. The fact that I’m doing it every day is, in my view, no cause for alarm but simply an indication that I am dedicated to expressing a certain point of view.
My friend feels that maybe I’m losing perspective and lacking in objectivity when it comes to writing about Tangerine Mussolini. Given the wealth of written material I’m generating, I can see why she might be concerned, but I assured her I can stop at any time.
Admittedly, this is a bit of a test. Can I even write one single opinion piece without mentioning the subject of the piece by name? I am confident that I can.
