New York Times columnist Michelle Goldberg admits President Trump’s 2016 victory gave her insomnia, which she still suffers from nearly three years later.
In her Friday column for the far-left Times, “Dare We Dream of the End of the G.O.P.?” Goldberg didn’t have anything insightful or interesting to write about, so she decided to do some wishcasting by way of something someone else wrote about: a new book by Democrat pollster Stanley Greenberg, who predicts 2020 will be the end of Trump and shatter the Republican Party out of existence.
Goldberg writes that she finds Greenberg’s prediction darn near “messianic:”
It sounds almost messianic: the Republican Party, that foul agglomeration of bigotry and avarice that has turned American politics into a dystopian farce, not just defeated but destroyed. The inexorable force of demography bringing us a new, enlightened political dispensation. Greenberg foresees “the death of the Republican Party as we’ve known it,” and a Democratic Party “liberated from the nation’s suffocating polarization to use government to advance the public good.” I’d like to believe it, and maybe you would too. But should we?
So, as you can see, Mr. Greenberg’s brilliance has nothing to do with his ability to see into the future, a future more than a year and a thousand news cycles away. No, his brilliance comes from cashing in on shallow dupes like Goldberg by telling them what they so desperately want to hear. Yawn.
But, hey, Ms. Goldberg has to write an 800-word column every four days, and with that oh-so grueling schedule, we can’t expect her to compose a pearl every single time.
Anyway, here’s my favorite part: “[Greenberg’s] confidence will not be enough to lessen the insomnia that has plagued me since the cursed night when Trump was elected.”
We all know the Times has gone off the deep end, but when did it allow weak-sister neurotics like Michelle Goldberg to not only take up space on its opinion pages, but to admit to being a weak-sister neurotic?
These are our self-appointed Thought Leaders…?
Michelle Goldberg is the best the Times could do?
How exactly is anyone other than a fellow weak-sister neurotic — of which there are very few — supposed to relate to a woman who is so shallow, spoiled, and empty that she has the luxury to allow herself to suffer insomnia over something as dumb as who’s sitting in the Oval Office?
Think about how great Goldberg’s life must be… She lives in New York, has plenty of money, a Pulitzer Prize, 800 words due every four days, and instead of waiting on tables or teaching in an inner-city or digging coal, she gets to express DeepThinks for a living…
And that’s fine. Hey, live and let live — that’s my motto, even if it is as a shallow and narcissist life in a vacuum lined with velvet.
But what in God’s name do the Michelle Goldbergs of the world have to say to rest of us, and by us, I mean real Americans, everyday Americans… Those of us dealing with everyday problems, real problems… Those of us worried about life here outside the velvet bubble.
Are you kidding me with these people…?
Goldberg is not losing sleep over the mortgage, a leaky roof, a troubled child, an increasingly worse neighborhood, the hitch in the transmission of her 11-year-old car… She’s not losing sleep over things real Americans lose sleep over. Oh, no… The poor, widdle weak-sister neurotic is so empty inside and privileged on the outside, her biggest problem in life is … who the president is.
Can you imagine living a life so sweet and perfect, so out of touch with reality, so high in the ether that that’s what keeps you up at night?
There is nothing Michelle Goldberg has ever experienced that allows her to relate to the rest of us, and, therefore, she has nothing of use to say. What a waste of space.
I got neighbors with blue collars who work every day, including most weekends. They go to church, raised their kids, and live for those precious days with the grandkids. In 2008, they lost their house. It took 11 years, but they just got that house back.
They should be writing columns for the New York Times, not weak-sister neurotics.