SC: The Devil They Know

I think I may have experienced a little bit of "irrational exuberance" at the uneven and oddball campaign of Mark Sanford, and forgot to take in the most important thing: the timeclock. While it is true that in a campaign of regulation-length, the wheels coming off shortly after being nominated by his party would have been troublesome; in a special election of relatively short duration, a person of Sanford's party and name-recognition (never you mind what all for) didn't need no damn wheels. The WaPo's Cillizza and Sullivan point out how what looked to, well, me, like a weird choice of targeting Nancy Pelosi was probably a smart decision--because the folks in Sanford's district know who she is--not so much Colbert Busch.

I still say, though, that there is something not quite over about the wild and wheel-less ride that is Mark Sanford. There's just enough sheer awkwardness,  not to mention eccentricity, surrounding the lovestruck lunk from the Appalachian Trail that I kind of feel like he's going to distinguish himself in some kind of way, in some kind of short order. And I even mean relative to an august deliberative body that has housed such irregularly-kinked Slinkies as, um, any of them. Consider my breath baited. Or something.