I’d say good riddance to the ‘aughts, or whatever the hell we’re calling this lost decade, but this sad ten year period – which really began with the aftermath of an unelected group of political hacks giving George W. Bush the Presidency the Supreme Court deciding for Bush in Bush v. Gore, has one more year to run.
And while I know that 9/11 is considered the seminal moment of the decade, I’d argue for that horrendous SCOTUS decision, which cost this country so much of its present and future. The first nine years of this decade pivoted on a decision made a mere 19 days before its official start.
Eh. Enough grumpiness. I leave with Roger Angell, who is back writing the New Yorker’s annual Greeting, Friends. For 42 years it was the province of Frank Sullivan, then Angell took it over, only to take a hiatus for nine years, resuming last December.
A snippet from this year’s version:
Our deadline’s near, so off we go,
Ignoring tweets and vertigo,
Counting beats and storing linage,
Melding Keats and major signage:
Names and rhymes and scenes of winter,
Parties, Magi—hit the printer!
God Jul, old friends, let gladness reign
O’er Sean Penn, then Dennis Lehane;
And season’s joy sift slowly down
On Agyness Deyn and Tina Brown,
Jay-Z, Kobe, Simon Schama,
But first of all on Prez Obama:
Hail to the chief, our frequent flyer!
Wassail from this creaky crier—
The same, along with love and kisses,
To Michelle and two First Misses.
Amen. Happy New Year, everybody. And if we can limit the ‘aughts to nine years, that’s fine with me.