Let's face it. Anthony Weiner is the comic relief we've been seeking: sexualized politics without a moral message. Salacious texting, a parody of sensual touching, doesn't depend on the meaning of "is" or "was." Vice in virtual reality is sexuality-lite, superficial fantasy, timorous titillation, shadows in the shallows of the Internet.
Bill Clinton's affair with Monica has become so yesteryear. The former president is an aging adulterer from an earlier time. He broke ground in getting a public pass on his behavior, but he doesn't want Huma and Anthony to sweep Hill and Bill into a satirical performance they can't direct. Bubba did his bit for Cupid, officiating at the Abedin/Weiner wedding, but the couple exceeded the amount on the blank check of his blessings. If Huma thought she could get away with standing by her man just like the first lady, she was deluded, too. Anthony Weiner is no "comeback kid," and though his wife looks stylish in Vogue, fashion statements don't create a political strategy.
The would-be mayor is a court clown wearing cap and bells next to the former president, now philanthropist with gravitas. Huma's "ups and downs" are roller coaster rides in an amusement park when compared to Hillary's steep mountainous climbs to be the first women carved on Mt. Rushmore.
Tina Brown, furious at the male mismanagement of the gender wars, writes how the high-tech, high-testosterone political powers in Washington threaten to mess up decades of carefully crafted gender negotiations, ironically giving men the edge with their genital exposure, humiliating Hillary's message of women's empowerment. Standing by your man is reduced to falling on your face. She asks in the Daily Beast whether we could imagine a prominent woman in Washington politics uploading "a crotch shot of herself on Instagram."
Electing Anthony Weiner's female opponent, Brown suggests, would at least keep us safe from "private parts" racing around the Internet -- one of the most bizarre feminist reasons yet for voting a woman into office.
The sexes are supposed to be equal, but when the middle-aged male libido enjoys renewed power, it turns out that his loud, lewd and sometimes laughable lust can also be forgivable. At least that's what Eliot Spitzer thinks. Five years after paying for a high-priced hooker in a Washington hotel room, he believes he's paid the piper of penance. New Yorkers, he says, should now let him manage cash payments of another kind as controller of New York City, and he feels secure enough to criticize Weiner as a bad choice for mayor without generating comparisons. (The polls support the former governor's assessment.)