The Real Tucker Carlson

There Is Always An Epic, Unseen Battle, Between A Real Journalist's Soul And The Profession Itself, Always Trying To Kill It

I listened to this while on a long drive last night. I found it so revealing and inspiring. Television’s effect is to render its anchors hyper-real. You can’t figure out who they are.

Tucker Carlson is more or less—us all. He reflects and refracts an apoplexy that we recognize. Let’s call it: “Ordinary Americans.” Or is “normal” a better word. Not abnormal. That’s not the same as bland or uneventful.

When I hear people, usually of left to former left roots, say they used to “despise” Tucker Carlson, I don’t get it. I recall my father once said of Tucker: “He grabs hold of a pant leg like a small dog and doesn’t let go.”

I love the way he sort of speaks freely of never thinking he would amount to anything and how nobody else did either. And I love how he mocks his own Episcopalian-ness. “I’m literally an Episcopalian!” He’s very funny and a powerful reminder that low self esteem is underestimated as a mineral.

I didn’t know he was Swedish! It’s genetic, then. He’s opened a Telegram Channel. That ought to be interesting. He’s like a real person who just popped out of the television set. I personally was exhausted from the drip, drip, drip attacks on Tucker, from haters of normalcy.
Normalcy is good stuff.

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