Most me are born mediocre, some men achieve mediocrity, and some men have mediocrity thrust upon them. With Major Major it had been all three. - Joseph Heller, Catch-22
Well, well, well...
It seems Charles Johnson has really pissed off the wrong person. If Roger L. Simon (Da Raj) found his batshit crazy nemesis in me, it seems Charles has found his in journalist Robert Stacy McCain. What is even more delightful, at least to yours truly, is that McCain appears to be willing to take this blog war all the way... Which is just the way I like it.
Let's face facts: If there isn't blood on the floor by the end of a blog war, somebody isn't doing their job.
And as far as I'm concerned, it couldn't be happening to a nicer guy. As most of those of you who have paid attention already know, I really didn't have enough regard for Charles Johnson to spend much time cleaning his clock back in 2005. As Da Raj was the mouthpiece for Pajamas Media, Charles didn't, in and of himself, present nearly the target Raj did. In addition, I didn't go after Charles was simply because it was clear to me that Raj was the one calling the shots, and one of those shots was the decision to screw me. Had I thought Charles the instigator of my Pajamas Media double-cross, things would have been different.
Now it seems Charles Johnson has gone a bit loopy. He's cut ties with just about all his old friends, embraced several old enemies and fallen into the habit of conducting massive purges at Little Green Footballs. It's to the point that several of his old friends are worried about his mental health, thinking that perhaps Charles is on the verge of blowing his brains out. Of course, it is entirely possible that Charles has lost his mind, and it is entirely possible that he might try to blow his brains out tomorrow, but I say don't worry...
Charles would have to be an incredibly good shot to be in any real danger.
What is more likely the cause of Charles Johnson's trip to la-la land is the combination of good, old-fashioned middle-aged male angst and a profound misunderstanding of how the political blogosphere actually works.
When I met Charles, back in 2004, he was fiftyish and driving a somewhat battered Hyundai. According to Raj, he'd been cleaned out in recent divorce and didn't have much more than that Hyundai, his computer and his bike. That's got to be a tough thing to take at fifty. It is probably fair to say that Little Green Footballs and the blogosphere were about the only things Charles had going for him. Which is, quite frankly, somewhat sad.
Sad, and dangerous.
Dangerous because it gave Charles Johnson, middle-aged mediocrity, the out he needed when it came to dealing with the fact that he was just another average guy. It's something that the vast majority of us have to deal with at some point in our lives. We spend our first forty or so years believing that we are indeed special, that we can indeed do anything we want to (if only we work hard for it). It's what's been drilled into us since birth. And then, one day, we wake up and realize that we aren't special. We cannot do whatever we put minds to. We discover we are mediocre. We are average.
What's important to note about this, at least as it applies to Charles Johnson, is that the notoriety gained from the Rather Affair, combined with popularity of Little Green Footballs has allowed Charles the opportunity to avoid, up until about a year ago, the day he had to reckon with his own mediocrity. He could look past his personal and professional setbacks and gaze upon the glory that was blogospheric prominence. If nothing else, he could now claim to being an influencer... Someone of importance... A leader.
And herein lies the seeds of Charles Johnson's self-destruction: He is not a leader. He's an average guy.
I'd be the last person to claim I know Charles Johnson well. I spent parts of two days around the man back in 2004. But, brief as it was, my contact with him allowed me to size him up in certain respects. What those two days told me, more than anything, was that Charles Johnson was not a leader of men. His bearing did not catch the eye or command respect. Had he been more than average, he might have been able to leverage his Rathergate and LGF success. But as it turned out, cable TV gave him some time and found him wanting. Pajamas Media provided another opportunity, which, if my sources are to be believed, he wasted by playing the disenchanted loner (rather than being a leader).
More important than anything Charles did or did not do, though, was the fact that between 2004 and 2007 we collectively came to understand both the power and the limitations of the political blogosphere. In the heady days of 2003-2004, it was assumed that site traffic conferred, in and of itself, real power to the blogger. That has now been disproved. What we've learned is that it is what the blogger does that confers power. Charles Johnson gained famed not because of his inherent worth as an individual, but because - for one moment in time (Rathergate) - he managed to produce a set of facts that had a material impact on political events. Once Charles stopped producing those sort of facts, his fame (and influence) receeded.
That Charles Johnson doesn't understand this is what makes he present circumstance so sad. He's stuck in a 2004 mindset. He looks at his site traffic and cannot understand why people like Pam Geller and Robert Spencer do not defer to him (and his opinions). After all, he has the traffic they don't. I suspect the root cause of Johnson's resentment towards his old pals is based on his firm belief that he should be leading them. Or, more accurately, that they should have understood that he was Charles Johnson and quietly stepped in behind him.
His former friends seem to be equating Charles' continuing 2004 mindset with madness. I think that's a stretch at best and a mistake at the worst. I would suggest he's a confused middle-aged man who is watching his last shot at being something slip away. And, as he is confused as to the what and why, his response is to lash out at those he feels have betrayed him by refusing to toe the Charles Johnson line.
