So who should New York governor David Paterson appoint to that senate seat? Washington Post writer Ruth Marcus provides excellent reasons why it shouldn't be Caroline Kennedy but then, absurdly, decides she needs to become a senator so as to fulfill the "girly" dream of Ms Marcus to make possible the "modern fairy tale to have the little princess grow up to be a senator." I kid you not. First Marcus explains how her head says "no" but her heart says "yes" in her article about the possible appointment of Caroline Kennedy to the senate (emphasis mine):
On the question of Caroline Kennedy for Senate, my head says no, on balance. My heart says yes! Yes! Right now, as you might guess from the hedging on the former and the exclamation points on the latter, my heart is winning.
And now Marcus lays out some really good reasons why Caroline Kennedy should not become a senator. But don't worry, her silly little heart still holds the ace card:
As to the head: I always find it a bit creepy when children follow the career paths of their parents. It bespeaks a certain undue eagerness to please, not to mention a decided lack of imagination. In particular, even though politics as family business has a lengthy pedigree in American history, I recoil from political dynasties.
For one, dynasties tend to illustrate the phenomenon of reversion to the mean: It's rare that the second generation outperforms the first. The Kennedy family itself offers a good illustration of this trend -- although Caroline Kennedy, to judge from her impressive résumé, could prove the exception.
More unsettling, political dynasties are fundamentally un-American. This is not -- or is not supposed to be -- a country in which political power is an inherited commodity. The notion that Caroline Kennedy could simply ring up the governor and announce, or even politely suggest, her availability grates against the meritocratic ideal. After all, even the children of politicians generally take the time to climb the usual rungs rather than parachute into top jobs.
From this temporary height of rationality, Marcus suddenly takes a flying leap into the depths of the strictly emotional:
What really draws me to the notion of Caroline as senator, though, is the modern-fairy-tale quality of it all. Like many women my age -- I'm a few months younger than she -- Caroline has always been part of my consciousness: The lucky little girl with a pony and an impossibly handsome father. The stoic little girl holding her mother's hand at her father's funeral. The sheltered girl, whisked away from a still-grieving country by a mother trying to shield her from prying eyes.
In this fairy tale, Caroline is our tragic national princess. She is not locked away in a tower but chooses, for the most part, to closet herself there. Her mother dies, too young. Her impossibly handsome brother crashes his plane, killing himself, his wife and his sister-in-law. She is the last survivor of her immediate family; she reveals herself only in the measured doses of a person who has always been, will always be, in the public eye.
Then, deciding that Obama is the first candidate with the inspirational appeal of her father, she chooses to abandon her previous, above-it-all detachment from the hurly-burly of politics.
I know it's an emotional -- dare I say "girly"? -- reaction. But what a fitting coda to this modern fairy tale to have the little princess grow up to be a senator.
Sheesh! Could someone out there satisfy Ruth's "girly" heart by sending her a DVD of "Camelot?"
It's true! It's true! The crown has made it clear.
The climate must be perfect all the year.
A law was made a distant moon ago here:
July and August cannot be too hot.
And there's a legal limit to the snow here
In Camelot.The winter is forbidden till December
And exits March the second on the dot.
By order, summer lingers through September
In Camelot.Camelot! Camelot!
I know it sounds a bit bizarre,
But in Camelot, Camelot
That's how conditions are.
The rain may never fall till after sundown.
By eight, the morning fog must disappear.
In short, there's simply not
A more congenial spot
For happily-ever-aftering than here
In Camelot.