Yes Mr. President, No Mr. President

This bit in the NY Daily News is supposed to be sentimental:

Deaver says she recently shared the story of one of the ex-President's last walks, with a Secret Service agent in 1999. "He stopped in front of a house," Deaver writes. "Reagan reached over the gate. The agent [said], 'We can't go in there, Mr. President; it isn't our house.'"

What I get from that is the idea that, when I get Alzheimer's, I want everyone who goes for a walk with me to call me "Mr. President." Because Reagan can't remember if he was President or not, and neither will I.

Have you noticed that the flow of sentimental Reagan crap is reaching a crescendo? Several books were released in time for the holiday season -- and I love that Reagan Louie's book on Asian sex workers (there is a current exhibit at the SFMOMA) comes up on the search -- and there was that recent effort to get Reagan's head on the 10-cent coin. You know what it all spells? Death watch. Reagan is going to buy it any time now. He's had Alzheimer's since at least 1984, and nobody lasts 20 years.