I am beginning to think a royal family might come in handy.
True, the endless, action-deprived run-up to the birth of George, Prince of Cambridge, might have reminded the dispassionate observer of the wait for the arrival of a new baby panda. (What do you think they’ll name him? Do you want to buy a souvenir T-shirt?) But while Britain was waiting for the newest Windsor to pop, here in New York, we were waiting for the other shoe of the Anthony Weiner sexting scandal to drop. The British got a way better deal.
“I said there were more things out there,” the fallen congressman turned mayoral candidate told reporters rather petulantly, when word got out that he had been having Internet sex long after his alleged rehabilitation was supposed to have begun. The basic message was that since Weiner had never specifically denied the possibility of more scandals, this one didn’t count. (“It doesn’t represent all that much that is new.”)
The revelation did have its moments of perverse fascination. Weiner’s nom de porn was Carlos Danger. We have never had a mayor with an official alter ego. Would it need a separate office? Maybe this is something other mayors would want to consider.
Michael Bloomberg would probably want to be something like Horatio Health.
Also, it appears that Weiner’s long speeches in Congress about the single-payer plan might also have been a kind of mating call. “Your health care rants were a huge turn-on," wrote the woman who reputedly talked dirty with him online.
You have to wonder whether there’s a right-wing equivalent currently texting some House Republican about how she gets hot and bothered every time he votes to cut entitlements.
Still, there is a point in political scandals when bad behavior stops being a joke and just becomes sad and depressing. We have reached that point with Anthony Weiner. Who decided to run for mayor while knowing this was the almost inevitable outcome: new humiliation, public uproar, tragic wife. All because he cannot imagine life outside the limelight.