Let Us All Praise Famous . . . Boehners?

Boy, it is hard to feel sanguine about being held hostage on some zealot's ideological suicide mission.

While some may hail the fall of capitalism, I'm not too keen on subsistence farming. I guess I need to get my hands on a copy of some sort of survivalist video. . . . maybe "Escape from New York"?

I foresee a run on rat belly futures.

I Hate to Go . . . But, I Hate to Stay: Mets Fandom 101

I admit to deriving a certain sense of moral superiority from being a Mets fan. There's no quid pro quo for Mets fans. We don't believe that if we support this team . . . if we buy tickets, and t-shirts, and caps, and hot dogs, and giant foamy 'We're #1' fingers, and . . . whatever else, then the you, the team, will win! We know, as a matter of empirical fact, that is not true. We're grown-ups.

There's no reflected glory for a Mets fan. Our support is unconditional (what choice do we have?) Still, just yesterday, I had packed it in. I was prepared to turn my back on the crusty, ghetto home run apple, the frankenmascot charms of Mr. Met, and all the rest of it. All this pragmatic routing is, truth be told, exhausting. But, I can't really bring myself to stay away. Today, I'm back. A little melancholy, to be sure, but still hanging in there. I'll be at Citi Field next year, with the rest of the suckers. We'll be hoping for the best, even though we all know that it probably won't work out that way, and that it really doesn't matter.

Don't Mess with Noida

Speaking of insane political leaders . . .

Apparently, the Labor Minister has now apologized after saying the laid off workers in Noida were justified in beating their bos to death with hockey sticks. But, I'd file that under A Day Late and A Dollar Short.

Rash and irrational outburst, followed by awkward and insincere change of course? Is that you Walnuts!?

Anatomy of a DICK MOVE!!

Here's the AP's background on Walnuts! pulling the plug on Friday's debate:

The Obama campaign said Obama had called McCain around 8:30 a.m. Wednesday to propose that they issue a joint statement in support of a package to help fix the economy as soon as possible. McCain called back six hours later and agreed to the idea of the statement, the Obama campaign said. McCain's statement was issued to the media a few minutes later.

Did I Mention I Was a POW?

Staying forever classy, Johnny Walnuts! claimed on 60 Minutes last night that, "Hanoi was the longest I lived any place, five and a half years." Just don't mention that to the good people of Arizona (or the FEC), my melanin challenged friend. You know, the people you've represented since they elected you to the U.S. House of Representatives 26 years ago!


I will give him this much, he is going all in this time around. The man wants to be president like a crackhead wants that rock. Do not doubt that he will do anything to make that happen. Anything, that is, but talk about his experience as a POW, since that's not something he's comfortable discussing--of course, he's not comfortable doing lots of stuff since he was shot down in Nam, which he doesn't like to talk about. He would never exploit the fact that he spent 5 and one half years as a POW for political purposes, because after spending 5 and one half years in captivity, he values nothing more than the integrity of our electoral process . . . unless that process results in someone else getting elected president. In which case . . . POW. Oh, and, POW.

He is the Gator of this year's presidential campaign.

"John, what happened to your vaunted character and integrity."

"I smoked 'em, Mama!"

Happy Friday!

I'm extremely hungover and, basically, praying for death. But, happiness and joy are restored by the wonderful folks at youtube. Someone dug up this clip from Anamaniacs . . . before today I had seen it once in 1995, but never forgot!

A coworker just told me that she remembers watching this when she was 8 or 9, i.e., the appropriate demographic for a children's cartoon. I was 20. But, then as now, I had the emotional maturity of an 8 year old.

If You Were Sarah Palin's 6th (or 5th) Baby . . .

What redneck, daytime soap opera name would you have?

Wonder no more, my friends. Wonder no more. Check it out here.

Yours in Aerial Wolf Hunting,

Crust Scramble Palin

For Your Fashion Day Dreams

My little coffers have been depleted by frantically made campaign donations, and the general economic spirit in our little burg is a bit . . . depressed. But, all the more reason to take a moment in appreciation of true beauty--to wit, the Halston Misa boot. Thigh high in luscious gray suede, because gray shoes are where it's at, babies. At a mere $2,000 they are coveted (and sold out, natch) all over the world. After all, a dollar ain't what it used to be.

Happy(ish) Friday

This doesn't exactly scream TGIF, but it's kind of overcast today and a little Bonnie is good for what ails you. So enjoy.

Just Because I'm Paranoid . . .

Doesn't mean I shouldn't be paranoid.

From the online version of today's Grey Lady:

At the end of the ramp, the two senators greeted a small receiving line; each took a rose — Mr. Obama, a pink one, and Mr. McCain, a yellow one — and laid the flower on a reflecting pool at the bottom of the site.

Get it? McCain the war hero knows that yellow roses signify remembrance while arugula chomping Obambi knows that pink . . . What? Brings out the bronze undertones in his eyes?

Really. Why is this sentence even there?

ENOUGH--Seriously

Let me say up front that I am a strong Obama supporter. I don't agree with McCain's positions on almost all foreign policy issues, I disagree with him on tax policy, on reproductive rights, on energy policy, health care, veterans issues, gay rights, education and . . . Everything. But, I swear, if the necessary complement of my fellow citizens vote to give this man 270 electoral votes based on THE ISSUES, I will accept that. Not happily. Still, if enough people honestly said, "I agree with this man on his substantive positions. He should be our next president." I would say, "So be it."

But, the idea that this person could be elected based on nothing but scurrilous attacks, base innuendo and rank lies--this idea sickens and saddens me beyond belief. The irony is that if this happens the very people who will suffer most under a McCain/Palin administration are the people this sort of "campaigning" is designed to reach. It will be their children fighting and dying in McCain's myriad hundred years wars. They will be the ones relying on the local emergency room doctor (assuming they have one) as their primary care physician. They will be disproportionately impacted by rising fuel and food costs.

If, instead of addressing his plans to address the needs of this country, McCain wants to disseminate offensive lies, he should at least have to PAY to do so. Write letters to your newspaper and television editors demanding that they cover issues, not regurgitate gossipy chatter dressed up as news. Demand that they do their jobs as journalists.

Please, if you care about this, and are as, frankly, terrified as I am--Use your voice. Volunteer. Give. Participate.

[descends from soapbox; exits blog left]

Comedy Gold

And just when I thought Peggy Noonan had overstayed her welcome on Earth . . . God bless

VICTORY!!

Actually, I'm referring to finally getting a pair of the Kova and T Oxy leggings.  Oh shizznap, y'all!  That's right!  That's what I'm talkin' about!  And it only took two months . . .  Apparently, the women who designs the clothes also runs the company, because creativity and business acumen so frequently go hand in hand.

Oh,  and the son of the steel-working hairstylist, endorsed the militant, elitist hopemonger for Preznit.

Holla.

Happy Friday!

But, it's not a happy day for the world's saddest little kitty.

Anyone Else Need a Shower?

Either Hillary Clinton is suffering from some sort of neurological disorder, or she really is as loathsome as I've been suspecting for some time. Keeping it classy, just yesterday she said, "Sen. Obama’s support among working, hard-working Americans, white Americans>, is weakening again." Because, these two concepts are not only synonymous, but entirely exclusive of any other concepts. I just would like to put her in a cement pantsuit and throw her in the East River.

Mommy's Got New Knockers

Because it's never too early to emotionally scar your child, here's a new picture book about plastic surgery aims to explain why mom is getting a flatter tummy and a 'prettier' nose. I really don't want to be all judgy-mental, but this really pisses me off on so many levels. And what does a new nose have do with the price of cotton? "Mommy really loves you, but she hates herself, and many of the genetic traits that you've inherited from her. I know it's confusing now . . . you can work it through with your therapist the first time you go to rehab."

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And So It Ends . . .

The world, that is. So, TMZ.com, themediatakeout.com, and my boyfriends on PTI were all talking about this today. Clearly, it's madness. Star was probably standing on top of the woman Wade was really out with. She's shameless that way.

Of course, this is his ex, so . . .
Yeah, I went there. Whatever.

Gay Boyfriend

Okay, here's the situation, I went to Deity NYC, a new bar/lounge in Boerum Hill. I hadn't been there before, and really didn't expect to have a good time. But, it's a new spot in downtown Brooklyn, so why not check it out, right? My initial sense of the place was, "some seriously bizarro forces must have conspired to bring these people into a room together?" Which is exactly what I love about Brooklyn! Good start. Plus there was an awesome DJ and faux-eurotrashy owners (Why would anyone fake this aesthetic? Only God and Criss Angel know for sure). It all conspired for a fairly fabulous effect. Anyway, I was getting my drunken slut dance on with a member of what I thought was the gay boy contingent, and the next thing I know we're making out. Completely confusing, because . . . I thought he was gay! A view which, witnesses confirm, I shared mid-make out. Classy.

But, here's the thing, I never would have gone all forbidden dance on him if I thought he was straight. On a scale of 1 to 10, how fucked up is that?

Tim McCarver v. Jose Reyes

Or, "Hey, you kids, get off my lawn!"

This is the second Mets' game McCarver has covered this season, and he just can't seem to deal with Jose Reyes' exuberant style.  I can't figure out why he thinks is so important that other teams like the Mets.  Will they get crappy presents when other teams draw their names in MLB Secret Santa?  Will other teams promise to "meet them there," only to never show up?  Will the Mets not have a date to the prom?  The Espys?  Really, who cares?  He actually seems to believe that teams not only play harder, but are actually more effective when they dislike their competitors.  Tell that to the Pistons, Tim.  Could he really believe that the Marlins would have given the Mets a pass at the end of last season if Lastings Milledge hadn't been a jackass?  

I'm thrilled that Carlos Beltran told Jose to go ahead and let his freak flag fly. It can only be a good thing for the Mets.  Everyone else can go deal with themselves.

HuffPost: Obama Outraises Clinton Among Small Town PA

Really, what's going on in Pennsylvania? I'm so baffled. Obama is actually outraising Clinton in rural PA districts--that's areas with fewer than 20,000 residents. Aren't these the same people who are supposed to be outraged by Bitter-Gate [shudder-God, I hate that term]? And, as the article points out, this doesn't capture donations under $200, where Obama, historically, outpaces Clinton. What does it all mean?! Cats and dogs sleeping together? I had promised myself that, in the interest of preserving my sanity, I was just going to take a breather from the madness until May. But, now, I know I'll end up watching that cackling moron (and I say that with love) Chris Matthews crazy talk his way through the returns next Tuesday. Devil in a blue dress!!

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Team-Building or Torture? Does This Sound Like Your Job?

"You saw how hard Chad fought for air right there. I want you to go back inside and fight that hard to make sales." Could. Not. Be. More. Awesome. I'm just waiting for "The Office" to do an episode based on Guantanamo inspired sales techniques.

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Adventures in Latex

I've been dealing with my current non-domiciled status by pursuing a rigorous course of retail therapy.  Completely irrational?  Yes.  But, also a pretty good excuse.  Lately, I've spotted a few fellow Brooklynites giving new life to black leggings by sporting latex versions.  The thought of pairing these with a crisp, thigh-high shirtdress has a very strong appeal.  It wasn't until I started doing some research that I realized was unwittingly just another sheep in the fashonista.  Not the first time I've experienced that revelation. The pair Olsen A is wearing in the picture are made by Kova and T.  They aren't really latex, which as a matter of hygiene seems like the way to go. The bad news is these are back-ordered all over the world.  What's a homeless shopaholic to do?

What I've Been Up To

So, I've been a bit distracted lately. The palace is presently in a state of . . . disrepair. Very sad. Only made worse by the special mixture of insanity and temerity that characterizes my, now (amen and hallelujah) former, tenants. Yes, they started the fire. But, where you or I might have quietly and unobtrusively returned to the property only to collect our charred and water-logged brick-a-brack, maybe muttering an apology before fading into the sunset, these tenants actually asked for their security deposit back!! These tenants threatened legal action when I patiently (truly) tried to explain why that wouldn't be possible. Anyway, the most important thing is that no one was hurt . . . at least, not yet.

Happy Friday!

This never gets old. Viva Ninja Kitty!

Ah, Rudy, They Hardly Knew Ye!

But, still they grew to revile you.  I guess it's not just familiarity that breeds contempt.  My fondest memory of the short-lived and bat-shit crazy campaign, of America's No. 1  9/11 Ferret Hater was his decision to campaign in south Florida with the Guardian Angels, because nothing, nothing makes elderly Jews feel more at home than retrofitted brownshirts.  The man is a genius, and can work silk charmeuse like nobody since Rue McClanahan.

BEWARE: Banal Musings and Burning Man References Ahead

Know that watching this video might make you want to throw up a little and/or stage a terrorist activity at the Park Slope Food Coop.  In these few short minutes, so much crazy faux-liberal madness is imparted and so, so many stereotypes of brownstone Brooklyn are reinforced.  Burning Man?!! Sweet baby Jesus

How Much Are Firms Really Changing?

I don't think any of these changes would have made me want to stay in firm practice--the firm a started with, basically, had this level of work-life balance going for it back in the late 90s.  The problem isn't just the quantity of work, but the quality as well.  That's the thing no one seems to touch on.  Sure, it's great if an associate can choose to be on the 1800 hrs/year track, instead of 2100 hrs/year, but what matters are Mr. and Ms. 1800 going to be staffed on?  If you're just looking for a paycheck, fine.  There's just no way there can be comparable skill or career development in a firm environment if there are tiered billable tracks.  Time billed is money earned.  The only way would be to eliminate the billable hours model completely.

For the Love of Cheese

I've been happily rocking out on biryani and lamb rogan josh for the past week.  That said, fondue is going to top my things-to-eat-when-I-get-home list.  Although, totally pro dipping things in hot cheese.  The article denigrates the proud kitsch heritage of fondue.  I can't really find fault with a food that evokes images of Rhoda and Mr. Grant kibitzing at one of Mary's legendarily disastrous parties.  My mother had one in iconic Harvest Gold.  I don't remember her ever using it, though.  It just took up space on a high display shelf in the kitchen, along with the equally ubiquitous ginormous carved woooden fork and spoon, a wire basket filled with plastic fruit, and various other dusting nightmares.  Now, I have two of my own.  One in stainless steel--the Harvest Gold of the 90s.  February is fondue month!  Tell a friend.

Anti-Semitic Misogynist Dies: Four Billion, Nine Hundred Ninety-Nine Million, Nine Hundred Ninety-Nine Thousand, Nine Hundred Ninety-Nine to Go

Dude Looks Like a Lady

Doncha love Fashion, with a capital Fabulous, as opposed to just, y'know, clothes? Forget the tutu, if you can, for just a minute, and focus on the fact that the pants, these MEN'S pants, don't even have a fly, for crying out loud! Who's the bitch now? I would like to know if any man buys even one garment from this outfit (including the sweater) who ever . . . even on a dare, has sex with women. If twinks had a uniform, this would pretty much be it. That said, why was Russell Crowe so unequivocally butch in a leather skirt? Oh right, because he wasn't wearing it over a pair of Holly Golightly's pedal pushers.

Gaslight

Alas, I've seen this show before. The problem with La Clintonista's robust protestations, on today's "Meet the Press," that the Obama camp has "distorted" her words, is that the most vocal critics are not Obama supporters. James Clyburn is the Majority Whip and Donna Brazile is about as down with the DLC as you can get. Also, it doesn't help to have her husband running around referring to a 46 year old U.S. Senator as "kid." Especially, when the hubby in question is a white southern male referring to a 46 year old U.S. Senator, who just happens to be black, as "kid." Seriously? Wow. You did it. You got called on it. Frankly, no one's surprised. Let's just move on.

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Unrequited Love

I wonder if there’s an agony aunt out there that can help me. Here's the problem--I’m in love with a country that doesn’t love me. My country never seems to miss an opportunity to tell me that I am a source of dissent, despair, shame and chagrin. To remind me that I am not only likely to die alone, but that my death will be the result of any number of diseases which I am more likely to contract than virtually anyone else in the developed world. To regularly, and with heartbreaking frequency, entertain discussions among its most learned classes about possible genetic factors contributing to the academic underperformance of my children. I love my country with, what can fairly be considered, an irrational devotion, but when I say, “I know you didn’t mean it . . . and, I’m so sorry to distract you from the business of amassing wealth and smiting foes but, sometimes . . . just sometimes, not always . . . sometimes, I get shot by law enforcement without cause, and sometimes my electoral rights are, you know, maybe not denied, exactly, just curtailed a little.” My country gets really angry, and wants to know why I can’t ever be satisfied. To be honest, I ask myself the same question almost every day. Am I asking too much of my country? I guess that’s really the reason I’m writing to you. Still, it would be kind of nice, to just once be made to feel beautiful without having crawl around like a whore, you know? Anyway, sometimes my country calls me these really horrible and demeaning names, but as soon as I use those same words to try to describe the impact they have on me, my country turns around, and is all, like, “Gothca!” Like, once a word passes my lips, I forever waive my right to protest. That really doesn’t seem fair, because, how are we supposed to work out our problems, if I’m not even allowed to talk about them honestly.

Also, without getting too specific, if you haven’t already figured it out, there’s a major disparity of wealth and power between my country and I. That’s been true from the beginning. Of course, things are a million times better between us now, but that history’s still there. And, yes, my country knows that things were really bad when we first got together, but feels like that was forever ago and, again, can’t I just get over it already? After all, my country has apologized . . . well, maybe not ‘apologized,’ exactly, but there was an acknowledgement that mistakes were made in the past. It's really not my country’s problem that I can’t move on. I know that. And it’s not like I’m so perfect, right? But, sometimes I feel like a character in that movie Gaslight, with Ingrid Bergman. I’m going crazy because my country keeps denying what I can see with my own eyes, hear with my own ears and, yes, feel in my own bones. Whenever I complain, though, my country sneers and turns its broad-shouldered back, but not before reminding me that if I would just stop complaining, all of our problems would go away.

Happy Friday!

I don't know who, where, or why this man is.  All that matters is that he is.  And also, ouch.

Crocodile Tears

I know this may truly be the cruelest thing ever, but . . . HAH!  I mean, c'mon.  Really?!  Tears?  Poor, becankled Hillary.   She's just so easy to mock.  So very difficult to like.  But, don't you know she only smears, derides, evades, undermines and distorts because she loves.  She does it for the children.  For the little, baby children.

So, What Happens on the Second Day?

I'm getting a bit tired of hearing prattle about "who will be the best president on Day One." Because, the thing is, it's not a one day gig. After that ever so important first day, there are stil 1459 days remaining in a four year term--which, I believe, primarily entails listening to Tom Brokaw remark for the 2,000th time that, before JFK, presidents used to wear hats to their inaugurations. That nugget never gets old. Who's going to be the best president for those days?

CAUCUS!

I am so geeked out right now, I'm actually sweating . . . of course, that could be the cup of Jacques Torres hot chocolate I just had (thanks, Teresa!) I don't, generally, take caffeine. It was delicious, by the way. But, I digress . . . This really is exciting. I don't know what I'll do if Obama wins. Plant a tree? Maybe. Have a celebratory cocktail? Natch. Give money to his campaign? Let's not get crazy. I jest. I jest I actually made my first donation a couple of weeks ago. So, Michelle, stop emailing me!