The hyped-up wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton is a diversion. The histrionics over President Obama’s place of birth is a distraction. Oather-mania is harmless, and yeah, kind of charming. Birther-blather is malevolent. Cynical. Corrosive. The hubbub about the royal wedding is rooted not just in romance, but in an affinity for history. The huffing and puffing about Obama the “foreigner” reflects the worst of the politics of the present. So, if my oather friends wake up Friday when the clock strikes Ungodly, to watch a wedding seven times zones away, so what? It’s no skin off of the nose I haughtily hold aloft. You celebrate the event in your way. I’ll shrug it off in my way. Just let me sleep in, and all is right with the world. But, ah, the birthers. Can’t fathom them, either. So I’ve tried to ignore them, much as I’m trying to tune out the oathers this week/Kevin Richert, Idaho Statesman. More here.

Question: Would you rather deal with a 'Birther' of an 'Oather'?