david wogan | spiegelman: But, wait. A spark flashed...

spiegelman:

But, wait. A spark flashed somewhere deep in the dark ethereal waters of her consciousness. The entire pantheon of macroeconomic theory appeared before her in an instant, as if two angels debating at the speed of light rattled off the hypotheses and rebuttals and counterrebuttals of every economist and social philosopher since the Enlightenment. The years of surreptitious study, the countless, long Alaskan winter nights spent propped up in bed with tome after tome illuminated by a little clip-on book light, it all came together in one great apocryphal moment. And there, in the green room behind the main ballroom of the Gaylord Opryland Hotel, she concluded that the supply-siders had been right all along. All that’s needed are a few tweaks around the edges to curb the rampant greed of the wealthy and to make sure the money stays within American borders, and growth will surely come. Growth, tempered by humble restraint and the pride of patriotism. Prosperity will recover alongside the recovery of values.
A warm, peaceful lightness washed over her. She looked up from her coffee at Piper, playing innocently with a Zhu Zhu Pet. There was certainty now. Direction. Piper, could you hand mommy that pen? Thank you, sweetie. She looked down at the notes on her hand, crossed out the word “budget” and replaced it with “tax.” Applause floated into her space as Breitbart finished his introduction. She stood up, straightened her skirt, and walked out on stage.

Or she just went into a catatonic state.

But, wait. A spark flashed somewhere deep in the dark ethereal waters of her consciousness. The entire pantheon of macroeconomic theory appeared before her in an instant, as if two angels debating at the speed of light rattled off the hypotheses and rebuttals and counterrebuttals of every economist and social philosopher since the Enlightenment. The years of surreptitious study, the countless, long Alaskan winter nights spent propped up in bed with tome after tome illuminated by a little clip-on book light, it all came together in one great apocryphal moment. And there, in the green room behind the main ballroom of the Gaylord Opryland Hotel, she concluded that the supply-siders had been right all along. All that’s needed are a few tweaks around the edges to curb the rampant greed of the wealthy and to make sure the money stays within American borders, and growth will surely come. Growth, tempered by humble restraint and the pride of patriotism. Prosperity will recover alongside the recovery of values.

A warm, peaceful lightness washed over her. She looked up from her coffee at Piper, playing innocently with a Zhu Zhu Pet. There was certainty now. Direction. Piper, could you hand mommy that pen? Thank you, sweetie. She looked down at the notes on her hand, crossed out the word “budget” and replaced it with “tax.” Applause floated into her space as Breitbart finished his introduction. She stood up, straightened her skirt, and walked out on stage.

Or she just went into a catatonic state.