Continuing to watch our country’s descent into madness, I was greeted with the delightful news this morning that Sean Spicer — a man almost unique in his ability to unite America in a common dislike — has been hired to be a contestant/dancing bear/side-show on Dancing with the Stars( Normally, I give Twitter about as much thought as I give to Brazilian monetary policy (possibly less, since I’m intrigued at the thought of visiting Brazil, whereas all I want for Twitter is a stake through its heart, decapitation, and burial with garlic in its mouth), except there have been wide-spread accusations that this is normalizing Nazis (and, given the President’s recent, very disturbing remarks about Jewish Americans, there is no good argument that he is — at a minimum — deeply sympathetic to Nazis)(

As is ever the case, I have to take issue with that. “Normalising” extremist viewpoints would be giving Sean his own television channel, cult following, and tax-exempt status, which we did for Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson (BTW, HBO’s “The Righteous Gemstones” is starting to feel more like a docudrama than a scripted comedy). Or giving Sean a cushy K Street lobbying position. Or a book deal. Or a run at Congress or governorship — or all of the usual trappings of a high-profile position in a presidential administration. Now, he’s working for Simon Cowell. If he weren’t unarguably Sean Spicer, I’d sympathize with his inability to find a decent boss, but working for loathesome people in exchange for bales of money seems to be Sean’s ecological niche.

This is not normalization; this is American media and Americans learning that this administration is a gang of KGB-sponsored criminals, and, as such, treating them with the contempt and distaste they have worked hard to earn. Remember, Sean turned down a job offer from them in 2017 saying he had an “overwhelming number of commitments in the fall” (my source TMZ, so, it might less-than-absolutely accurate)( I guess those “commitments” didn’t pay as well as Sean hoped, or his basic inability to interact with humans sent him scuttling for work. Either way, he’s now dancing for Tom Bergeron; who, I’m betting, you’d never heard of prior to this morning — that is the level of fame and access we’ve banished Sean to; sharing a dressing room with James van der Beek. This is not “normalisation,” this is, “The end of the line.”

Well, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” and all that. It does seem delightfully karmic that an administration that rode into power on the fame and stardom of reality-adjacent TV would, eventually, go there to die.

I will eagerly follow this story as it unfolds, but only for one reason: I want to know if he’ll steal van der Beek’s mini-fridge. And then what subsequent public tongue-lashing will he endure from the hosts.

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Science journalist, cancer survivor, biomedical consultant, the “Wednesday Addams of travel writers.”

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