Buckley Versus Bush

I'm privileged to be able to call William F. Buckley a friend. Once he even invited me to one of his fortnightly dinner parties for National Review staffers and friends. (I made an ass of myself, spilling Scotch on one of his heirloom rugs.)

Today he gets something off his chest: thanks to the war in Iraq, there are "grounds for wondering whether
the Republican party will survive."

I'll have to shoot him an email to tell him that when he realizes Reagan was the beginning of the end, he'll have finally achieved mature wisdom.