The new column, in which I reveal a secret and somewhat taboo fantasy. Don't judge me.
In other political gossip, I did get a nice email from Bill Whittle, the guy who wrote the National Review Online article I blogged about last week. Someone told him I'd written about his piece, and we had a pleasant exchange about it. It's safe to say he and I don't agree about the overall health care issue. He says that having free health care would makes us slaves. I think that Mr. Whittle has no idea how difficult it is to make even one person a really good slave, let alone a nation of them. Sure, we'd all be in chat rooms and on personals sites, saying we were slaves, but in reality we'd be whining, demanding, manipulative do-me queens, who expected our government overlords to fall out of bed every morning in full fetish attire and spank our butts before they even had a cup of coffee. Trust me on this, Mr. Whittle - in six months our liberal Masters and Mistresses would be running for the exits. It's not for wimps, this slave-making business.
But he disagreed with something I said in that post. I represented him as having his mind firmly made up on the matter, but he says that's not so. Mr. Whittle says, "I will be the first person to admit when I am wrong, if I can be convinced I was wrong by a sound argument supported by facts and logic. To say I changed my mind is a badge of honor for me."
Well, all right then, I stand corrected. Let the record show his statement. Let the record also show that he complimented the picture of me in the white dress. Always nice to find some points of agreement with everyone you meet...