Zed's Dead, Baby
We all have our ‘things’. Noah has Canadian drama. Daniel has Armenian poetry. Reihan has minxy hipster chicks and zombies (who doesn’t?). I have a thing for Abraham Lincoln. It has only in part been aggravated by my recent exchange with Brad DeLong — who, as someone who remembers Lincoln’s birthday, actually escapes the full criticism that waits at the end of this post for you to click on. But I also have things for Philip Rieff, Benjamin Constant, and Pulp Fiction metaphors, and think that all these things have to do with Abraham Lincoln as the Gimp of the American political creed: locked up except for special occasions upon which he is the subject of the parody of pious worship.
