It’s taken as a given that the press leans much more to the left politically than the public in general. So it isn’t surprising that they generally seem much harder on Republicans than on Democrats. But since President Obama first ran for office, some of them have gone from simply being biased to basically being advocates for him. This is pretty apparent when one compares how they treat his gaffes with how they treated those of his immediate predecessor. Not only do they not repeat his mistakes ad nauseam, in some cases they actively try to cover them up.
While appearing on Leno, the President said the following:
If we don’t deepen our ports all along the Gulf – places like Charleston, S.C., or Savannah, Ga., or Jacksonville, Fla. – if we don’t do that, these ships are going to go someplace else and we’ll lose jobs.
Ok, so none of those ports are actually on the Gulf. As gaffes go it’s not really that big of a deal. He just got his list of Gulf ports confused with the east coast port list.
But this is the way the AP reported the comment (emphasis mine):
If we don’t deepen our ports all along the Gulf – (and in) places like Charleston, S.C., or Savannah, Ga., or Jacksonville, Fla. – if we don’t do that, these ships are going to go someplace else and we’ll lose jobs.
This goes well beyond a sin of omission. The writer was actively trying to cover up the President’s mistake. The AP did eventually issue a corrected version of the article but only after the folks at Twitchy and elsewhere made a big deal about it. It might not seem like that big of a deal, since it was just one remark on a late night show. But it’s also one more bit of evidence that some in the media would rather be government guard dogs than watch dogs.
To capture an object in words is a difficult chore, but when it’s done exceptionally well, as in this poem by A. E. Stallings, I’d rather read the description than see the object itself. A. E. Stallings is an American poet living in Greece.
The Pull Toy
You squeezed its leash in your fist,
It followed where you led:
Tick, tock, tick, tock,
Nodding its wooden head.
Wagging a tail on a spring,
Its wheels gearing lackety-clack,
Dogging your heels the length of the house,
Though you seldom glanced back.
It didn’t mind being dragged
When it toppled on its side
Scraping its coat of primary colors:
Love has no pride.
But now that you run and climb
And leap, it has no hope
Of keeping up, so it sits, hunched
At the end of its short rope
And dreams of a rummage sale
Where it’s snapped up for a song,
And of somebody—somebody just like you—
Stringing it along.