The poor drudge is back in her old job mopping up the [Plamegate] mess in the men's rooms, stoically pretending she's not bitter that a stampede of right-wing rhinos just got done stomping her reputation and flattening her future.
It's like Brown is saying "I feel your pain. Here's some more."
She's not partisan, however; she'll lance any boil she finds. She's also got some exquisite and excruciating hugs for Martha Stewart, Judy Miller, and Mary Mapes (editor of Dan Rather's story about Bush and the National Guard). Check out her love for Maureen Dowd:
Dowd's new book, "Are Men Necessary?," is a fun rant about how women have dialed back their hard-won independence to become alpha geishas servicing the craven weenies of inadequate males, but the elephant in the room is the way Dowd's promotion for her book turns on an onerous, retrosexual pitch for what hot stuff the author is. The more her PR plays up the flame-haired temptress angle, the scarier and more desperate it feels. . . . Dowd's hunt for who or what to blame for her vaunted datelessness recalls Bush's correspondents' dinner routine about looking for Iraqi WMD under his Oval Office desk. The thought of Dowd's girls' nights with fellow Times sirens Alessandra Stanley and Michiko Kakutani sounds about as soft and yielding as Macbeth's three witches on a club crawl.Note to self: if you're gonna call a woman a witch, make sure you do it Shakespeare style.
(*P.S. No relation to Downtown Julie Brown.)