Wednesday, February 15, 2006

The most interesting thing about the Cheney shooting business,

to me, anyway: say what you will about Americans' attention deficit problem, when it comes to cases like this, boy, we're all over it. Not just that it's a juicy scandal, one that potentially affords schadenfreude, either.
I mean: give us a concrete, whodunit or at least whendunit or whydunit crime story, and suddenly everyone turns into Hercule Poirot. Congraulations, Dick: you're now entering the Lewinsky zone. And if the guy croaks, you'll be joining the fine ranks of OJ Simpson and Scott Peterson in our Hall of National Obsessions.

As it is, you can find this sort of animated discussion happening all over the place:

To what degree angle could a hunter reasonably be expected to swing the gun? How many entry wounds, exactly? What can we expect Cheney's blood alcohol content to have been if he truly only had one beer at lunch? If the quail flushed out *toward* Cheney, and the incident happened at 5:30, and this administration has two and a half more years in office, how many blue dresses would it take to soak up the mess? And what time does the train get into the station, and when do we see the light at the end of the tunnel?