NY Times Op-Ed contributor Gail Collins has a sense of humor. She thinks we’re mad, changeably so, like the Mad Hatter. She pokes gentle fun at the March “hate” she says has replaced January’s “hope”.

[We're] Angry. So very, very angry. Unable to speak due to mega-anger washing over every pore and fiber of my being. Anger is in. (Hope’s so … January.)

Mr. Obama campaigned for two years on a message of audacious hope. But Mr. Bush left him with a mountain of trash, took the keys to the garbage trucks and fired all the union street cleaners. He even left a White House communications system so antique it was more likely to keep the RNC, dressed as Mata Hari, informed than Mr. Obama.

To manage an impossible workload, Mr. Obama has resorted to playing the same hand as Mr. Bush. He’s temporarily kept his cards for torture, domestic spying and secrecy, when we wanted him to draw three new ones. He’s kept at the table card sharks from among Mr. Bush’s US Attorneys, like the pair in Alabama, Alice Martin and Leura Canary. Never mind. For Ms. Collins, it’s more fun to normalize, like a soccer mom managing unruly teens who’ve lost their last game.

I hate everybody in the world of finance. Also accountants, since it’s tax time.

And I’m totally angry at everybody in Congress for trying to pretend that they’re angrier than I am. Like Senator Chuck Grassley saying the A.I.G. execs should follow the Japanese model and “resign or go commit suicide.” Took him about three seconds to backtrack. “Inteligent journalist can’t recgnize rhetoric,” Grassley twittered.

Yes, Ms. Collins, Main Street Americans are peeved. We sometimes feel like prisoners behind barbed wire, while the Allied soldiers from inside the Beltway dither over whether to release us because they fear it will stop their onward march. The AIG debacle and Obama’s adoption of Bush’s secrecy and spying powers make it seem like we survived eight years in the Bush desert only to find that our first responders are giving all their attention to the sunburned guys at the pool in Palm Springs.

Public dissatisfaction is how Main Street makes its will known to those hermetically sealed inside the Beltway. It’s the public equivalent of K Street’s champagne, caviar and a lap dance. Don’t begrudge us our bowl of gruel and then give us snark when we ask for more.

Rather than say, “Lord, what fools these mortals be,” pitch in and help, Gail. Stop playing journalistic soccer mom. Be a journalist and tell your readers what the public might legitimately be unhappy about. Then use the Times’ power to help fix it. And, yes, making it funny would be welcome.