There is an excellent article at the Washington Post about the isolation of our current placeholder president. Here is my favorite bit:

Burdened by an unrelenting war, challenged by an opposition Congress, defeated just last week on immigration, his last major domestic priority, Bush remains largely locked inside the fortress of 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. in the seventh year of a presidency turned sour. He still travels, making speeches to friendly audiences and attending summit meetings, such as this weekend’s Kennebunkport talks with President Vladimir Putin of Russia. But he rarely goes out to dinner, and he no longer plays golf, except occasionally chipping at Camp David, where, as at his Texas ranch, he can find refuge.

AWWWWWW. He can’t get out to the links anymore? We’ll let me, on behalf of everyone in the country, express my deepest condolences. Looks like being president is no fun anymore. And while I’m sorry that he’s finding it so difficult to get in his 12 hours of sleep, having to lie in the bed of lies and deceit he’s made for himself and all, I’m sure everyone can forgive me if I find it difficult to spare George W. Bush much sympathy. Discovering that your actions have real, unmitigatable consequences can be hard, and it looks like George W. Bush is learning that lesson for the first time. There is no spinning his record. There is no recovery from his defeat. There is no repairing his legacy. There is nothing left for him to do but swipe a few bath towels marked with the presidential seal, try not to make the damage any worse, and wait out the clock. I find it comforting to know that after 6 years of my counting down the minutes until Bush becomes legal incapable of being president, that now Bush himself is counting down with me.