Another Scorching Silly Season

The Brits have a term for the sultry ennui that undresses, betwixt June and August, the serious business of news broadcasting: “silly season.” America’s industriousness may outpace the old continent, but its domestic politics is on permanent vacay. Our legislative fooleries go all four seasons, never taking a sabbatical, unless you count the five-minute-until-midnight drills when lawmakers straighten their grins to pass an Encyclopedia-sized spending bill to keep the government open. The civic carnival, as Harry Belafonte sang, don’t stop.

By high-July, the sottises hit their summit. Fourth of July kabooms have sizzled out. All that’s left to look forward to is a long, cicada-humming stretch until Labor Day. This year feels more acedious than normal. The sun boils the Potomac River, sending drafts of mirey pestilence awaft through Washington. Canadian wildfire smokeoff chokes the country in an ochre haze. The Reflecting Pool is strangely bare; supposedly civil engineers drained it, though the lingering heat dome may have evaporated its fathoms. A fanning excrementitious virus has made an already morassful metro uninhabitable.

What’s a dutiful columnist to do to fill his inches? The only option when the thermostat tops triple digits: squint my baby browns against the lasering glare, and find what, if anything, piques concern in the most unconcerned time of the year.

War roils the Middle East; pump prices notch higher; elections deciding control of Congress are four months away. The President should exhibit some smidge of concern for his party’s faltering approvals, right? WRONGGGG. With only window wipers and office vacuumers still left in the arid town, the commander-in-chief commandeered the prime-time lineup to reveal electoral chicanery…from 2020. When he was president and foreign shenanigans were under his executive purview. Engineered by those shifty Chicoms. That failed to sway the outcome either way.

Feely feminists may be right: men really will do anything but go to therapy for long-held grievances.

Alphabetical legacy networks like NBC and ABC gauged American-interest capacity correctly and opted to run “Law & Order: SVU” and “Seinfeld” reruns instead. Trump groused mightily about “fake news” and coverups, but his furious air was cooler than the lingering equatorial miasma emanating from “the Swamp.”

The reshuffling Maine Democratic primary proved almost noteworthy, after the party of antifa and #metoo drummed its vergewaltigungfuhrer out of the race. Nearly a dozen candidates vied for nomination in a hastily scheduled “debate” that was more P.T.A. grandstand than philosophical discussion. The borax affair was as thrilling as a schoolmarm conference could be, with the exception of a lone undercard hopeful, a man in a mumu calling himself “Ashley,” whose large, unblinking eyes bore the indelible impression of “America’s Most Wanted.” When asked his qualifications for seeking a Senate term, “Ashley,” née James, cited being a “songwriter” and writing “my own books.” He also claims to regularly go through the female cycle via his sternside. Being an actual author, and unreliant on L.L.M.s or a contract-ghostwriter, does, in fact, make Webb the most qualified statesman in a bunch of cookie-cutter donothings. Alas, no Mainers were willing to caucus for a real creative soul. Still, Webb’s outré earnestness provided a brief viral moment to an otherwise platitudinous congress.

The doldrummous drag was nearly interrupted when Fox News, casting for something shiny to boost ratings, hosted Gustavo Gordillo, co-chair of New York City’s Democratic Socialists of America chapter. At last, a heavyweight bout! The conservatiest station in America brings its full broadcasting weight to bear on a man-bunned tankie with a name straight out of one of Timothy Dalton’s Bond cinescapades. Socialist candidates have been knocking off Democratic incumbents in the Northeast Corridor as of late. Perhaps this freshfaced bolshie could shed light on why laptop classwarriors are flocking like gulls to hardleft upstarts. Maybe MAGA Boomers could even learn something about the dispossessive economy they’ve bequeathed.

What does Gordillo do when he has the most-watched news camera pinned to his youthful mien? He takes a very unsocialistic tact: bluntly calling for the abolition of this or that “oppression,” like he was choosing sides for Arby’s 5 for $5 meal. The U.S. Senate? An “undemocratic institution” that empowers Wyoming hicks over urbanites. Humble bodegeans struggling to compete against government-backed grocers? Guess Mom & Pop Lorezeno shouldn’t charge so much for Cheetos. Double-digit profit margins? Where in the Constitution—which is also illegitimate—is making any profit assured?

Exacerbated anchor Martha MacCallum tried plucking something positive from Gordillo’s destructive wake, asking why his family fled the “communist guerillas” of Peru for the United States. The question was a feint. Its underlying inquiry was: “Why escape murderous leftists only to push for the same head-lopping, property-seizing distributionism in a capitalist country?”

Bless young Gustav, that dissective query went over his head like a misaimed AKM round. He softly stammered: “The economic situation in South America and Peru was in a really bad place… much of what we could say was responsible for that actually was the imposition of capitalism and American imperialism.” Ah, dreaded imperialism rears its rapacious head! Gordillo widens the hardship to all imperiled emigrants, asserting that the machinations of McDonald’s and Lockheed Martin “[bring] immigrants to the U.S. coming out of Latin America.”

So, migrants flee American caloric colonialism for…America. Toss logical consistency into the long train of cisheteronormative crimes against humanity. The Smithsonian already does.

All McCallum can offer is “that doesn’t make much sense.” Which is about how most political happenings go in the midsummer malaise. Socialists run amok while the bourgeoisie bronze themselves at the shore; Buffalo Bill makes an abortive bid for Congress; the President grinds a vengeful axe while an uncooperative regime squeezes the world oil market.

One month to go before the silliness finally burns off and it’s back to our normal level of inanity.