You're Just Not That Interesting!

I never gave up hope...

2009-02-20T18:04:00.002-06:00

Monkey! I knew that I would hear from you again. Our bond is strong. Even across oceans, I believe we have that magic still. Something noone can deny.

Yet, what am I saying, words cannot express my happiness at having found you again. Your face may have changed, but my feelings... never.

Here is a song that expresses how I feel...

Welcome back, ASM!

Livin' in the KKTC

2009-01-24T11:46:00.008-06:00

Lefkoşa, KKTC

Jew? Where are you? What's happened to your side of things? Did you give up on me?

I don't know if it's even a good idea to talk about this. I mean... what's happened to me.... and what happened to Heidi...
You will notice that I am a much changed man, Jew. Let's just say, after running afoul of the Austrian milch mafia, my dapper and statesmanlike mien had become a liability. Fortunately, Petey knew a reall good plastic surgeon here in Northern Cyprus. Jenny and I were able to hoe the barque down the Danube to Turnu Severin, where friends of Irina accepted 50 euros from each of us to drive us down to Thessaloniki in their mititei delivery van.

At Thessalonki, Irina's friends helped us stow away on a cruise ship headed for Antalya. Boy, that was an unpleasant trip. I came down with trichinousisf rom snakcing on the raw mititei in the Zalinescu's van, but Jenny never let go of my hand, even as I shed 18 pounds -- moost of those gained from a surabundanceo f Vienneses Sachertorte... which I guess doesn't make it that bad -- while consuming a strict liquid diet of the airplane bottles of Ouzo whcih Jenny was somewhow able to obtain from the ship's bartender, Isaak. Any was, once we got to Lefkosa, Dr. Avci was able to eliminate the infection while completing the reconstruction of my face.

From Antalya, we bought a couple of bus tickets to Mersin, eating only hard-boiled eggs and black olives while watching some kind of movie about vampires fighting werewovles, but dubbed into Turkish. It was all very strange, but in a somewhat poignant sort of way. Mersin, anotherr 200 euros got us place on a fishing boat bound for Girne. Jenny and I lay aboard under the full moon surrounded by nets full of mezit and levrek.

We whispered of alife of stopping running, of fishing tranquilly along the coast of Bilbao, of preparing our favorite recipes for each other, one day schnitzel, another day bouillabaisse. Sitting on the terrasse of a dusty T1 of T2, quizzing each other on whether we were "the mother" or "the mistress" according to the latest issue of Elle's criteria. I talked a bit about you, LIJ. Of houw I wanted Jenny to meet you one day -- that is, if we could every clear our names. I'm sure you'd get along great!

We arrived at Girne as the sun was just poking above the horizon, Jenny's hand warm and moist in my grasp. The flies had begun to amass and their bites stirred me from the sweet loukoum dreams of yesterday. Once I had shaken the stiffness out of my legs, I helped our hosts build an improvised brazier on the quai of the fishing port. We improvised a copious breakfast of grilled mezit, tomatoes, and a modling block of kasar peynir that had begun to stink more than the boat -- hell, what am I saying, more than I, myself, di.

Thus sated, Jenny and I began to make our way on foot across the countryside, relying on the renowned hosptiality of the Turkish Cypriots. As we approached Lefkosa, I unfolded one more time the crumpled SPAR receipt on which Pete had scrawled the address of Dr. Avci. It's been almost 6 months since I first stepped into his office. I first saw my face without the bandages shortly after I heard the news of the election. Jenny and I made custard for our hosts in order to celebrate.

Yes, I am staying in safety with certain people whose names I cannot mention for obvious reasons. Again, Irina has been very helpful in connecting us with some of her more esotreric networks who, for whatever reason, understand more than you or I about how to make as if some people don't exist. Some days, Jenny and I will go out into Lefkosa, or take a road trip to Gazimagusa, just to pretend that we're leading normal lives. Right now, I'm in a cybercafe in the capital. I don't want to say anymore for fear of compromising my hosts. As you may be able to tell from the picture, I am putting on some weight, perhaps not so much the bountiful generosity of our hosts as the constraints on our activity occassioned by our fugitive status.

In fact, the only reason I am able to say anything right now -- I just got a telegram from Pete. The capture of Laurent Nkunda has actually gotten him out of the sticky mess he's been in, due to the massive debt he had run up with certain elements of the Viennese underworld trafficking in Belgian chocolates and sachertorte on behalf of the Congolese rebels. They say that Nkunda might talk. That might be a good thing for Pete -- Heck, maybe even for Jenny and me -- but only time will tell...

G_d forgive us all!

Wasilla = Tikrit?

2008-09-14T07:48:00.003-06:00

Reading about Sarah Palin, in today's New York Times, I couldn't help but get the feeling that this could be the story of any ruling clan in an Arab Petro-dictatorship. Really, the home-town cabal, sham integrity, and personal ruthlessness are Baath-rific, but without the secularism...

Certainly, that would give more context to SP's bizarre "That's the beauty of Democracy, Charlie" response on ABC... It was the winking rumination upon popular rule typical of the charismatic, strongman who regularly has to sit down with journalists and put on some window dressing.

Have Message, Will Win

2008-09-11T04:23:00.002-06:00

I didn't want a "Fighter" back in the primaries, why would I want one now?
Few hysterical Democrats have recognized in Barack Obama's strategy to counter the McCain campaign's Gothic distractions the sage composure of another of America's favorite, vaguely foreign gurus:

Did you notice how they're dancing in the end? That could be the American people...

People who love me today

2008-07-29T15:16:00.005-06:00

Grape Nuts cereal.

The new Website promoting Grape Nuts is one of the most fascinating and enjoyable interactive installation pieces I have experienced in my brief existence. The young man who insists that he lives in the Website has a poignant quality about him, and yet there is also something transcendent about his ability to deliver an oral history of the genesis of Grape Nuts. This is more than an ad campaign; it is a philosophy.

Importantly, you will finally get the answer to the age old question: "Why are their neither grapes nor nuts in Grape Nuts cereal?"

Still, those of you trying to figure out how to avoid confusing your Swheat Scoop kitty litter with your cereal (Again!) will find the site wanting.

My Mother.

Bryan Adams, stop the Love Train or someone will get hurt!

2008-07-28T09:14:00.003-06:00

For those who really have done everything for you.

Really, you're just not that interesting

2008-07-27T19:11:00.011-06:00

"PW daily called it a “memoir,” a word that makes my skin crawl and which apparently makes everyone else’s skin crawl, too. What is a 26 year old who hasn’t overcome an addiction or been a child soldier doing writing a MEMOIR? But it’s hard to figure out what else to call a book of autobiographical stories, I guess. That is a few too many words to fit onto a computer screen, apparently."

Monkey and I used to hold down office jobs.

As you can see, that has left Monkey an angry, brain-addled and rambling wayfarer and, as for me, I am just bitter and cling to elemental hatreds.

It has come to our attention recently, that the French National Assembly voted to effectively gut the 35-hour work week that figured among the crowning achievements of the incomparable Jospin government. Further, French employees have seen their work year take on added days. From where I sit, the prospect of more mandated office hours can only result in an explosion of time-wasting never before witnessed.

This wasted time will undoubtedly come in the perverse form of needless e-mails.

Somewhere along the way, e-mail became a substitute for work. At one point, I was paid to do things that involved, for example, knowing something about what was going on in the world. (Thank G_d that I can do it for free, now.) In fact, one of the offices I occupied -- occasionally zoning out just to make sure my screensaver still worked -- actually had a compilation of news stories with links relevant to our stock-in-trade that were sent out daily and arrived surely and conveniently in all our mailboxes. Often, we would have people with glorified titles like Something Assistant or Intern compile or summarize news stories from regional press sources so that we could have an overview with what was going on in our particular corner of the world. But, of course, being specialists in some sense of the word, we also kept abreast of our regions and sources ourselves -- after all, why work in a gray matter field if one is to remain uninterested and remain at a distance from the subject of one's predilection.

Inevitably, though, there was the brave soul who would work at home starting somewhere around 5:00 AM. This usually consisted in sending links to the office or to a particular division of important or must-read stories. Sometimes, one is tempted to indicate that one subscribes to the Washington Post -- but the spirit of cooperation precludes such earnestness. I believe it dawned on me at some point that it was perfectly acceptable and an oft practiced work habit to arrive at the office not having read the paper -- which naturally explained, I suppose, the usefulness of having someone to point out to you what you should be reading as opposed to what you want to read. What a revelation, though, to learn that it was entirely ethical to use the first couple of hours of the day to drink coffee and read the news online. How different and unscandalously divine. And -- on those days where you wanted to hit the breakfast buffet at Reeves -- why not just e-mail a couple of articles to your colleagues before 7, and then, you can step into the office guilt free at 10 or 10:30 having already finished some work for the day.

I can't say, though, that it didn't induce a cringe on those days when a helpful colleague would shoot me an e-mail linking to a story specifically about my own sub-region or whatever it was that I was doing. As if to say, "See, I could be doing your job and mine all at the same time." Although the message would always innocently query, "Did you see this?" Seriously, I should think that I can keep up on my own little patch of gray. That is, after all, why I am so paid.

But that, thankfully, is all in the past.

No frustrations with office e-mail though could have ever prepared me for the nightmare that now confronts me -- here in the ivory tower -- in the form of Listservs.

It's not like I haven't confronted Listservs before. I believe my first experience of having a stable e-mail address -- sometime shortly before the turn of the century -- was almost immediately followed by the action of subscribing to some kind of Turkistan digest. Before I knew it, I was in the midst of internecine conflicts between Turkmen and Uzbek, an overflow of flaming, retaliatory e-mails in rambling Turkish touching on the American genocide of "Turkish Redskins" in the New World -- and occasionally, the thunder clouds would break, and a glimmer of information about the Azeri opposition or an oil contract in Kazakhstan would shine through with the hypnotic iradescence of an opal. In spite of these rare gems, it did not take long to understand that a Listserv is more burden than blessing... but inertia prevents a prompt unsubscribe. Instead, I eventually dropped that e-mail address and the Turkistan digest surely kept chugging along in its infinite querelousness.

Now, in the world of "Big Grad" one is required not only to enlist in Facebook, but also to participate in various Listservs. Nothing could be more depressing. Not only that, but through some stupid notion that I'd be engaged in some sort of productive dialogue, I actually subscribed to an additional THREE Obama-based Listservs (on a digest-basis, of course; I'm not that dumb.) The result is a useless bombardment everyday reminding me of the superfluousness of Web communications.

Amidst this continuous tintinabullation the screech of my departmental Listserv stands out in terms of odiousness and self-absorption. Perhaps I would be fine if there were just a constant drone of calls-for-papers for which I am woefully un-prepared. Perhaps, the course announcements for seminars which sound tempting but could not possibly fit my schedule would settle comfortably in my knotted innards. But does anything justify the constant ringing of small-minded voices saying, essentially, "I am here."

First, there's a reason I don't subscribe to the Nation. I do not consider it to be a source that informs my particular viewpoint. But let's ignore that for now and focus on the true abuses...

FOR G_D'S SAKE!!!!!!! CAN YOU NOT CONGRATULATE SOMEONE INDIVIDUALLY. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING REPLYING TO SOMEONE'S JOB SEARCH BEARING FRUIT BY PROVING TO THE ENTIRE FRICKIN' DEPARTMENT THAT YOU ARE HAPPY FOR THEM. THIS IS THE MOST VAIN AND USELESS ABUSE OF LISTSERV HUMANLY POSSIBLE. IF YOU ARE TOOOO BUSY WITH YOUR RESEARCH TO VOLUNTEER, THEN SURELY YOU ARE TOO BUSY TO FRICKIN' TAKE THE TIME OUT OF YOUR DAY TO TELL EVERYONE HOW HAPPY YOU ARE TO SUPPORT YOUR COLLEAGUES. YOU MAKE ME SICK!!!!!

I apologize. That message was intended for the person who has, since April (I inadvertently deleted all evidence dated January to March) who has sent such useless comments to the departmental listerv as:

"Congratulations, Dr. _______ indeed!!"

"thank you for sharing this article"

"great issue, ______ staff!!"

"a tasteful tribute site as well."

"Congratulations, dr. [stupid nickname]! the university of [look at how awful and stupid I am] is lucky to have you."

And he has also found the time to forward FOUR articles from the New York Times.

Seriously, every time I see his name on a Listserv e-mail I become apoplectic. And, the thing is, not ONE (OK, maybe TWO) other grad student actually abuses the Listserv in this inane, narcissistic manner. Nobody cares if you want to congratulate Abner! You know, if I knew Abner, I would probably send him a PERSONAL message or CALL HIM to offer congratulations. But you -- you insist on having the world witness your magnanimity. This serial Listserv piggy-backing ruins the usefulness of such a tool for EVERYONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You make me barf.

The American American Americans have been Americanized for so that they can America America America America

2008-07-24T14:49:00.005-06:00

I watched Obama's speech in Berlin today. Three things kind of stood out in my mind.

First, I cringed at the knowledge that the McCain campaign and Republican media would use this speech to prey upon the worst demons of our citizenry, among them rampant and unashamed xenophobia. The Corner provides an excellent example of this: In response to the address, "People of Berlin, People of the World," K-Lo, as more savant bloggers apparently call her writes:

"Apparently this is a moment that Obama doesn't really need Americans for."

One has to be alarmed when the United States is transported to a separate planet by right-wing pundits.

But, on a more positive note, I couldn't help but delight in the rhetoric of uplift that appeared to strike a chord with the diverse assembly gathered in Berlin. Acutely sensitive to the political and social arrangements that stereotype, marginalize and physically threaten people of color, immigrants, and Muslims in Europe, Obama was able to connect with the struggles of these communities in his speech while also reminding his US audience of the road we ourselves must travel:

"The walls between races and tribes; natives and immigrants; Christian and Muslim and Jew cannot stand. These now are the walls we must tear down."

For some reason, MSNBC's Chuck Todd commented that the content of the speech would be something with which McCain would be equally comfortable -- and yet, it doesn't seem to me that McCain can look at foreign countries and see them for their populations as opposed to for their targets.

Finally, I couldn't help but thinking, not just upon seeing the 200,000 people assembled for the speech but seeing them waving American flags, that we really can't afford not to elect Obama. To fritter away that goodwill and return to the days when the only time we see American flags burnished overseas is when they are being burned would pretty much signal our decline into irrelevance and the victory of the deepest misanthropy that a nation of free citizens can express.

13 hours, 5 tins of anchovies, 2 pints of Ben and Jerry's, a bottle of red wine and a hunk of cheese

2008-07-24T10:19:00.011-06:00

It took a while to sink in...

It had never crossed my mind that quality television programming could exist on networks other than the CW and Lifetime...

Yet, this past Sunday, I had a jarring -- perhaps transformative -- revelation as I lounged before my boob tube to take in the Mad Men marathon on AMC. Okay, so I needed an extra nudge from an occasional reader to discover for myself what all the buzz was about. The important thing is that I swallowed up my willful ignorance and indulged in the television equivalent of a marzipan orchestra.

Thirteen hours later, as I nurtured my bed sores, I was overtaken by a sensation of woozy euphoria tinged with a modicum of rueful anger over the fact that other television programming existed (with the exception, naturally, of Gossip Girl and Lifetime original programming).

Perhaps it was the savory dialogue, perhaps it was beautiful Jewess Rachel Menken, perhaps the way each shot was perfectly, colorfully framed as if it were itself a maquette drawn up by Sterling Cooper's Art Director Salvatore Romano.

What makes the series for me, however, are the strength and complexity of the exquisite anti-hero Don Draper as well as the tension generated by feminine aspirations in this male-dominated world, all set against the individualistic ethos propagated by Ayn Rand and adopted by the movers and shakers of the Mad Men microcosmos. In essence, then, Mad Men achieves for me the transposition of the oeuvre of that greatest American writer of the 20th Century, Mickey Spillane, (Okay, maybe Nathanael West gets points in this category, too) onto the cutthroat world of advertising. Certain scenes appear to uncannily capture in pictures the lights and darks of urban society that Spillane expressed in the bare bones poetry of his descriptions.

But whereas Spillane's Mike Hammer series seems to vaunt the triumph of individual morality over the blurred lines of an evolving society, Mad Men clearly mocks this effort as hubris.

Don Draper, himself, exemplifies this startling reversal. We are led to understand, early on, the Draper has a life scinded in two by wartime service; his pained handling of his purple heart hints at pained memories of brave service brushed under the carpet of his current achievements. This dynamic is reminiscent of Spillane's masterpiece, The Long Wait. There, Johnny McBride, amnesiac seeks to clear his name of smears which he can't recall, his life split between his actions and a forgotten past. However, just as McBride recovers through the novel a continuum of valor that justifies his current identity, we eventually discover the calculated cowardice and flight from identity that enabled Draper's ascension. This delightful ambiguity doesn't so much reveal a weakness in Spillane's narrative as it demonstrates Mad Men's ability to adapt its account of the transitional 60s to our society's self-perception in this 21st century.

Similarly, while strong women abound in the Mike Hammer adventures, their presence generates fear, distrust and anxiety. At first seduced, Hammer must conclude by reestablishing order. Thus the classic closing lines of I, the Jury:

"How c-could you?" she gasped.
I only had a moment before talking to a corpse, but I got it in.
"It was easy," I said.

Navigating the emerging social mobility of women in Mad Men, however, hardly comes easy to the aforementioned mad men. Betty Draper, Peggy Olson and Rachel Menken each expresses her desire for self-realization, and Don Draper's relationship with these women becomes a wrestling match with the status quo, the burden of passion, and marketplace calculations. The resulting consequences of belittlement, enabling and surrender mark the stark contrasts borne of these tensions in the private and public sphere. One would be hard pressed to find another program on television that traces as sophisticated a portrait of the power dynamics between the sexes.

Another one of the shining achievements of Mad Men is that, while so many programs strive for critical acclaim and authenticity through the illustration of brutal violence, the maturity of Mad Men is to portray a world where our demons and our valor express themselves in the muted betrayals and victories of personal ambition -- where the drama is generated not on the criminal margins of society but at its consensual core.

Finally, after countless hours spent watching television over the course of several years, one is once again reminded of the poverty of American fiction and the need to confront the truth that our country's greatest storytelling talents have apparently migrated to film and TV.

With Great Power...

2008-07-23T20:35:00.003-06:00

What better way to close the parentheses on our absence, than with the below meditation on what may have happened had Bryan Adams chosen to use his powers not for good -- but for evil...

Peregrinations and Retrouvailles

2008-07-23T19:30:00.003-06:00

Well, that was embarrassing...

While it may have appeared to my readers that I was malingering for over three weeks, I had actually completely forgotten about my participation in the Annual Young Werther Symposium on Exacerbated Self-Pity and Drang. Or, as we like to call our little get together -- appropriating the turn of phrase from Gerard de Nerval -- "Werther without pistols."

Naturally, in keeping with the theme of the symposium, we maintain late 18th century unity of time and place by isolating ourselves in remote hamlets without access to modern communication technologies. On principle, then, our annual event shares much with both the Society for Creative Anachronism as well as more conventional Revolutionary War Reenactments.

Of course, the distinction of our special event is the opportunity to engage in intense wallowing for three straight weeks. I was especially honored to attend this year, because, after having submitted my initial billet four years ago, I finally was accorded the role of Lotte in the Ceremonial Concluding Mummery. (Yes, for whatever reason, the event draws only male participants.)

So, without further ado, and with the above offered explanation, I have the great pleasure to announce that I am much refreshed, and look forward to catching up on what appears to be a monumental backlog of events to be scrutinized -- Including the mysterious fate of ASM...

Newsflash!

2008-07-01T04:31:00.002-06:00

This just in from the Atlanta Journal and Constitution:
Law students taking summer internships at big law firms in attempt to position themselves for future employment!

Next week, an exciting front page expose:
Rising high school seniors complete community service projects to enhance their college applications!

Do I look like Naveen Andrews?

2008-06-30T14:36:00.008-06:00

Interesting article about Iraq the other day in the Washington Post. Of note is the slideshow that demonstrates that Iraqis definitely do not look like Naveen Andrews. I have hammered this nail before, and we will continue to provide evidence that it is an insult to the proud Iraqi people to assume that we resemble South Asians in some way.

For further demonstration of the differences between Iraqis and South Asians I give you Figure 1: a portrait of Caliph and famous Baghdadi, Harun al-Rashid.

As you see, he looks almost exactly like the Iraqis pictured in the slideshow.

Figure 2 shows the famous Indian prince Rama from the famed story called Rendezvous with Rama.

If you are having trouble identifying Rama in the illustration above, just look for the blue guy. Yes, he is shown twice. Soooo confusing.

There you go. I don't think the dramatic difference of appearance between Mesopotamians and Hindustanis could possibly be made clearer. But apparently, J.J. Abrams never bothered to figure out what an Iraqi actually looked like.

Again, this is the most insensitive piece of casting since Robert Rodriguez tried to pass off Antonio Banderas, a Spaniard, for a Mexican in Desperado.

"I'm NOT Mexican"

And by the way, it was pretty insulting to have Salma Hayek, whose parents are both Lebanese, portray Mexican painter Frida Kahlo.

"I'm NOT Lebanese"

I hope that Hollywood will come to its senses and factor in the appropriate sub-continent/blood lineage as it goes forward. If not, does anyone have George Clooney's phone number?

Lightning Strikes Twice

2008-06-25T14:49:00.004-06:00

Turkey makes it exciting, but the Germans, as usual, exploit the Turks' efforts and impose limits on their aspirations.
The skies unleash their fury on Basel, reminding us that if Julie Foudy and Tommy Smith were playing, we probably would be doing something else.
All in all, the Milli Takimi plays with Heart, and can dream sweet tavuk gogusu dreams for 2010.

Quick, Abi, before I cry, pour me a raki...

In the Mood for Victory

2008-06-25T12:42:00.002-06:00

To get you in the mood for this historic Turkiye - Germany confrontation, here's a little ditty from the hipsters who straddle the German/Turkish divide... and who brought us the notorious Almanci Yabanci:

Reminder: A Day without Scarves

2008-06-20T17:14:00.005-06:00

Tomorrow, June 21 is the day we have declared action against the Oppressive Dunkin Donuts Regime (ODDR). Here's how you can make your voice heard:

DO NOT wear a scarf, no matter how tempted you are to accessorize.
Go to the nearest Dunkin Donuts.
Order a "Deici Frapped Mochislamofascichino."
When asked to repeat your order, ask for one dozen maple frosted donuts (may be replaced by French crullers and/or chocolate honey-dipped.
Pay in cash.
Include with your payment, a 3X5 yellow index card with the words "Free Rachael Ray's paisley scarf!" written on either side.
Once you have your Donuts and change, leave the store.
Eat the Donuts.
DO NOT put a scarf on even after leaving the store and returning home.
Repeat steps 1-9 as necessary.

Thank you for your cooperation. Together, we can defeat the forces of xenophobia and racism in our midst (unless they happen to be the Italian national team, in which case we will be forced to tolerate them for 90 incredibly boring and frustratingly sad minutes.)

And another thing...

2008-06-20T16:53:00.002-06:00

I would like to devote this celebratory video to Monkey, who I believe I caught sight of when the TV camera panned over the stands -- although all guys look the same with their shirts off and Turkiye written across their stomachs in red grease paint.

Monkey, come home!

Time to convert?

2008-06-20T16:21:00.004-06:00

Is secularism's subtle rollback in Turkey the cause of the miraculous way in which the Turkish National Team is winning every game in Deus Ex Machina fashion? I, for one, am getting religion!

The Turks just made the Croats relive the battle of Krbava Field all over again! Will they succeed in extending their empire over the rest of Europe? All I know is, come Wednesday, the Germans are going to look like the wrong end of a Fassbinder flick, if the Milli Takimi keeps this up!

Ne mutlu....

The Persistence of Metternich

2008-06-20T13:43:00.005-06:00

When are cliches not just bad color commentary?

So Tommy thought he was complimenting Tuncay when, during the first half of today's Turkey-Croatia quarterfinal match in Euro 2008 competition, he declared "He played with all the persistence of an Istanbul carpet seller!"

What was this remark truly, but yet another European belittling of how progressive and unencumbered by morbid European nostalgia Turkey is today? Maybe to this haggis-eating lout, Turkey today is just another rustic Old World tourist destination teeming with swarthy, Euro-grubbing merchants.

But perhaps more tactful praise might have been directed at Tuncay, giving Ataturk's children their due and providing those watching at home with some sense of the complexity of contemporary Turkey. I don't know -- something along the lines of:

He played with all the persistence of a populist pro-Islamic politician.

...with all the persistence of the headscarf ban.

...with all the persistence of Armenian genocide denial.

I'm just sayin'...

Cosi Fan Frutti

2008-06-17T13:40:00.002-06:00

I generally refrain from using the word "Gay" unless I am talking about my 2nd favorite movie, Zorro the Gay Blade. Many people (some of my best friends) tell me that the G-Word can be a hurtful slur, especially when used to describe things that are actually homosexual -- like batteries, celibate fish, and marriage -- and even moreso when used pejoratively.

But, as anybody who tried to communicate with me during the Euro 2000 France-Italy final knows, I think the Azzurri are totally gay! They ruin the game. And I hate them.

3 - 2

2008-06-15T15:27:00.003-06:00

I notice that the Czechs are pretty tall. That kind of makes Turkey's victory all the more impressive.

That was kind of weird when Demirel got sent off in extra time, huh? What a weird and glorious match.

Places to Go, People to See

2008-06-07T12:27:00.002-06:00

I am headed to the Palmetto State to see some people. Please return to visit our blog on Sunday, June 8, when I am sure we will have something nice to say about Cokie Roberts.

In the meantime, to help you get into the spirit of Summer, please enjoy this clip from a movie that, if Bryan Adams made movies, would surely be his chef d'oeuvre:

Truth in Advertising: You can predict the future

2008-06-04T22:17:00.002-06:00

Please help me determine where these two awesome hip hop free-eating kids will be ten years from now:

A) Dead of e-coli infection
B) Dead of botulism
C) Dead of the plague
D) Brain-addled by Creutzfelt-Jakob disease

10 Things I hate about you

2008-06-04T09:42:00.003-06:00

Like many young Americans who are trying to enjoy History today, I am finding there is something stuck in my craw. And it is making odd scratching noises as I get all choked up and teary eyed, singing Wind Beneath My Wings while thinking about Barack Obama.

Ah, yes... it must be the fact that Hillary Clinton has already begun the 2012 campaign.

Now, there are times when it is important to leave well enough alone. But that time is not now. As an avid reader of advice columns, I recognize that now, more than ever, it is time to stage an intervention. In fact, the bunker relationship of Clinton and her supporters, bears all the signs of emotional abuse. Indeed, her supporters are clearly victims of narcissism.

In the advice columns, one finds the evidence of this particularly poisonous relationship in the Best Friend Conundrum or the In-Law Standoff. It generally goes something like:

I've been friends with Chuck and Blair since we all met in college a few years ago. Since that time, Chuck and Blair began going out together, but things recently deteriorated and they went through a messy breakup. I value my friendships with both of them, but in my recent meetings with Blair, she has told me some awful things about how Chuck treated her and specifically requested that, if I want to keep my friendship with her, I will cut off contact with Chuck. I want to be supportive of Blair, but I have also heard different versions of the break-up from some of Blair's other friends. What should I do?

Or:

I am very close to my family and live a few hours away. As a result, I usually devote about one weekend per month to visiting them. I have recently become engaged to a guy who is all that. The initial meet-and-greet with my parents went over well, however, following the previous two monthly visits at my parents house, my fiance spent the entire drive back talking about how disrespectful my parents behaved toward him. To be honest, this takes me by surprise, since I didn't notice anything off about how they treated him, but he insists that I am too close to them to notice the slights he has picked up on and then proceeds to review with me in detail. It is now a few days before our next planned visit, and he has become increasingly irritable as the date approaches and has asked if we can call the trip off. I have offered to make excuses for him and go by myself, but he protests that this would send the wrong message to my parents and has said that if I really loved him, I would stand up to them about the way they treat him. I'd like to defend him, but I really have no idea how to when I honestly cannot see what they have done wrong. What do I do?

For a while, I have wondered why the Clinton supporters were so angry and how they managed to maintain their furor despite the lack of empirical support for Clinton's claims of wrongdoing on the part of the Obama campaign and the media. Only last night's speech and its specific location -- sealed off from cell-phone, Internet, and televisual communication -- revealed to me the truth: Clinton is manipulating and abusing her supporters in order to keep them from leaving her for Barack Obama.

As most advice columnists will point out, whether the abuse or manipulation is conscious or not is irrelevant. A narcissist genuinely believes that he or she is constantly being persecuted either by a real or constructed rival for the constant attention and validation he or she seeks, or due to his or her grandiose status, of which the rest of humanity is intolerant or envious.

A narcissistic abuser, as advice columnists will point out, will try to cut off his or her victim from information, construct false narratives of victimization (e.g. "Your father told me that I wouldn't make enough money as a professional blogger to support your lifestyle"; "The media has kept me down because I'm a woman.") and apply rules arbitrarily such that they are to their advantage (e.g. "Blair made Chuck systematically go through his photo albums and e-mail account to delete any photo, message or reference involving his exes, but she still regularly meets with several of her ex-boyfriends"; or "You owe it to me to give me all the delegates from the primary we agreed not to contest in Michigan, but you shouldn't have any, because they didn't vote for you.").

As with any abusive relationship, the victims cannot leave, because the combination of control of narrative, arbitrary application of rules, and the control of information create a vicious cycle of misperception and anger, where anyone who seeks to criticize the relationship or the abuser only further justifies the abuser's false narrative of persecution: "See, the media and Obama supporters say that I cannot win the nomination because by all empirical measures I cannot: They must really hate me and love Obama!" This feeds the bunker mentality of an abusive relationship, where the victim cannot leave, because the abuser has convinced him or her that he or she cannot trust anybody external to the relationship as they are only motivated by hatred for the specialness of what they have together, and further, that the victim would have no life worth living without the abuser.

It is this detachment from reality, the spectacle of seeing a small fraction of those 17 million voters (since it is only a small fraction who have been emotionally fragilized by the process) continue to be ensnared in Clinton's abusive manipulations, that has angered Obama supporters and generated the inflammatory rhetoric and counter-accusations that comes across online. Wat can we do to solve this?

First, as any advice columnist will tell you, validating Clinton in any way shape or form would be the worst possible reaction. That will only further perpetuate the adherence of her troubled victims to the "Clinton-BocaRaton Co-dependency syndrome" by legitimizing her delusions of grandeur and providing another false narrative to her supporters. But, then, so will our continued anger and incomprehension of how someone can survive by fueling so much hatred.

No, as most advice columnists will suggest and as clinicians will agree, we need to engage Clinton's victims in a slow, methodic phase of questioning the different principles upon which their relationship is founded. Ask pertinent questions. Provide them small snippets of information when you think they are ready. Allow them to hope for positive outcomes that might not be dependent on their relationship with Clinton. More than anything else, though, you must give them time. Time to cope. Time to heal.

But, be patient. Even if we start today, it may take up to five months.

Yes We Can!

2008-06-04T09:39:00.001-06:00

Through the Looking Glass meets Toxic Avenger

2008-06-03T20:01:00.008-06:00

Na na na na na we're not listening!

How can a speech be resilient? That's what Chris Matthews just said. Was it that despite mangling the truth, words still managed to come out of Clinton's mouth? Or is "resilient" just the only acceptable word now to describe anything Clinton does that is destructive and irrational.

Howard Fineman mentioned that Hillary's camp is demanding that Obama not offer the VP spot to another woman. I had my doubts for a while, but I have now come to realize that -- far from being a movement defined by obtaining power to fight for equal rights and equal status -- feminism really is just Hillary Clinton's one-woman cult of personality. My only question, then, is why not choose someone with a better personality?

Tom Brokaw mentioned that Obama's speech moved from "Yes We Can" to "Here's How." He says that that's what we've been waiting for all this time.

Actually, Tom. No. We haven't been waiting, because we've actually been listening to Barack Obama. While I feel good about Obama's chances for winning in November, something tells me that even by January 20 2009, we'll still be hearing from the Russerts and Brokaws of the world: "Gee, he sure can talk about hope, but Obama is still a cipher in terms of the policies he plans to enact..."

Can we drop the Klinton Krazies and still win in November? Yes we can!
My assumption is that the Appalachian voters who voted for Clinton did not actually and would not actually vote Democratic in most of the last election cycles. They do not belong, then, to the vote total of reality-challenged Clinton supporters who plan to defect in November. No, these are more likely to be of the sort who, as the Clintons themselves pointed out: "Don't need a president, they need a feeling."

By a crude estimate, then, my sense is that these voters will have the most effect on Obama's margin in Arizona, California, New York, New Jersey, and Florida. While Arizona is probably safely in McCain's hands already, the only states where defections may make a difference are New Jersey and Florida. With the political climate as it is, though -- and, by the way, Thank G_d for Bob Barr! -- it seems fair to give Obama the benefit of the doubt in the Mountain West and Virginia such that an unfavorable turn in the two pivotal "angry states" would be offset. I am, in fact, predicting here and now, a Reagan-esque landslide in the Fall.

But even if some tell-tale combination of racists and the Klinton Krazies (these are distinct constituencies, right Geraldine Ferraro?) does signal an Obama defeat in the November, I believe that it is far more important to rebuild the soul of the Democratic Party around the assumption that we can assemble a majority progressive coalition and re-mold the political rhetoric of foreign policy and national security to the Democrats' advantage, than to cater to the demagogues and power brokers within the party who would insist on turning virulent Bush-hatred and the bitter memory of the Clinton impeachment into the only coherent and sound form of Democratic discourse for the foreseeable future.

Finally, is it okay to refer to Clinton's now defunct campaign for the nomination as the Ronaldo candidacy? It seems that many women thought they were voting for the first woman to ever run for president. Oddly enough though, the Clinton campaign conveyed the message that a woman would only be fit for the job if she knew how to act like a man, thus increasing the degree of difficulty for any future women politician seeking the office. If anyone has run a sexist campaign, then, it has been the Clintons. It is they and their surrogates who have persistently challenged Obama's masculinity and, thus, fitness for the job, and suggested to her voters that... um... at least anatomically speaking... Clinton is a man. (And a Latino one, at that.)

Disaster: The story of a primary gone wrong

2008-06-03T18:27:00.004-06:00

As the final primaries take place even now, I will try to offer assorted reflections on the months that were...

First, given that the nomination of Barack Obama spells certain apocalyptic destruction here on earth, there is a vital question that I need your help answering.

Is the certain disaster represented by the Barack Obama candidacy more like the looming asteroid of Armageddon or more like the unstoppable comet of Deep Impact? And, in a related question, is Hillary Clinton then, the awesome, ballsy Bruce Willis character who will obliterate Obama? Or is she the bold Morgan Freeman-esque national leader who decides the fate of the select few survivors?

(In the interest of full disclosure, I haven't seen either movie, but I bet they're both awesome!)

Rachael Ray's scarf denied prestigious Fulbright grant... or First they came for my Venti Mochaccino

2008-05-30T22:57:00.007-06:00

The path to cheap latte and a French Cruller is paved with virulent xenophobia. As my loyal readers know, I have used this space previously to voice my disgust with the shameless xenophobia of recent Dunkin' Donuts ads. At the time, I had been unaware of the flexible immigration policies practiced by Dunkin Donuts, nor had I visited the local Dunkin Donuts franchise which was run -- shockingly enough -- by a South Asian family (again taking jobs from merit-worthy Appalachian voters!).

I suppose, bowing to the pressure I had leveled on the D-squared breakfast juggernaut, they decided to show a more cosmopolitan face in their new ads -- and what could be more cosmopolitan than Rachael Ray, in a scarf!

However, some shrewd guardians of the American lifestyle, those who had lectured us on the slippery slope of introducing Fritalian into our coffee lexicon, noticed something menacingly awry in Rachael Ray's sartorial preferences (yeah, blame the stylist -- we're not listening!) in the new spot. What's next? -- they challenged us -- Would you like your global jihad in Deici or Venti?

Yes, they noticed that behind that innocent paisley pattern, lay the sweaty, swarthy hands of the Persian Puppetmaster:

"The pattern is still widely popular in Iran. It is woven using gold or silver threads on silk or other high quality textiles for gifts, for weddings and special occasions. In Iran its use goes beyond clothing - paintings, jewelry, frescoes, curtains, tablecloths, quilts, carpets, garden landscaping, and pottery also sport the buta design."

Some, though, have suggested that the black-and-white scarf pattern is not paisley at all, but rather... a Kaffiyeh...

This insidious piece of cloth, also known as the "Palestinian newsboy," as we all know, can mean anything from, "I am a Palestinian (or other Arab nationality) male" to "I am a naive and self-indulgent French teenager trying to figure out why I'm the only one of my friends who hasn't gotten laid yet." And so it was that, under pressure from alert US citizens who have led an admirable crusade against both French and Arabs alike over the past several years, Dunkin Donuts finally returned to its old ways of bashing on all things that appear foreign -- with the exception, of course, of its own latte.

Not content, however, to see Rachael Ray's accoutrement silenced, the US Department of State, amalgamating the black-and-white paisley patterned foulard with the Palestinian kaffiyeh, chose to deny the Fulbright Grant it had previously offered the scarf to complete graduate work in the United States. Although the State Department refused to shed light on any specific threat posed by the kaffiyeh-like item of apparel, they pointed to Israeli model Moran Atias' choice to exile all scarves from her own wardrobe as a model for their decision. While Ray's scarf has maintained its silence on this lost opportunity, an Israeli lawmaker has commented on the decision:

This could be interpreted as collective punishment[...] This policy is not in keeping with international standards or with the moral standards of Jews, who have been subjected to the deprivation of higher education in the past. Even in war, there are rules.

This is why, in addition to maintaining my call for a boycott of You Don't Mess with the Zohan for re-invigorating the "suspect Arab" discourse within American cinema, I would like to declare June 21 "A Day Without Scarves" as a reminder that by punishing scarves for the actions of a few extremists, we just end up punishing ourselves.

What upsets me most, though, about the dual decisions of the State Department and Dunkin' Donuts, however, is their crass violation of the golden rule: Fifty million Frenchmen can't be wrong!

Now, everybody knows, when it comes to hating Arabs, the French are in a whole other league! While, here in the U.S., we have been hating Arabs off-and-on for a maximum of maybe 60 years, the French have finely tuned Arab hatred over nearly 200 years. Seriously, these guys were interning and torturing Arabs long before your average American could begin confusing Guantanamo with Guantanamera!

So why is it that the kaffiyeh is as popular among French trendsetters and youths as Cheap Trick in Japan? Based on my own unscientific and informal field surveys, more French (of non-Arab origin) youths in the all important 18-24 demo wear kaffiyehs than Palestinians. But don't trust me, see for yourself:

This is a country that tells Arab women what they can wear to school, and yet the only subject for debate among the French over wearing the kaffiyeh is whether its current standing as a fashion accessory dilutes its powerful symbolism of solidarity with the Palestinian cause.

One can only come to the conclusion that wearing the kaffiyeh is 100% compatible with defeating Islamofascism! 'Nuff said.

Lactose Intolerant

2008-05-30T21:30:00.005-06:00

Monkey, after reading your last post, I thought you should see this comic strip.

You're last post confused me quite a bit, and seemed to contain at best a 1:5 ratio of information to words. In fact, I think you might be keeping poor company, after all. For your story held for me a rambling incoherence not dissimilar from this Babyshambles song:

In any case, I finally have been able to take a breather from Cooties Camp. Not only have I missed blogging, but I had to digest your last two posts all at once. Of course, this is only a momentary respite, as we have quite big weekend plans for the boys. Tomorrow we're heading up to the 'burbs to take them to the Kohl Children's Museum, where they will be challenged to not touch anything despite whatever encouragements they might receive from museum staff.

Then, the real test will come on Sunday, when we take them to the Shedd Aquarium,where, not only will they have to avoid touching starfish, but we will provide them with repeated tales that dissuade them from any draw the sea or its various creatures may have upon their impressionable young minds.

To wrap up our camp, we have planned out an evening full of surprises for our adepts of "the Cootie-free life"

I'll let you know how things go once it's all wrapped up.

Meanwhile, the faculty lounge has provided some interesting conversations. I just learned that one of my fellow faculty mentors was holding a workshop on "Unlearning Grey's Anatomy" At the end of a busy day, when we all gathered round to bang the drum a little bit, I asked one of his pupils what he learned in that workshop. All he could do was keep repeating "Isaiah Washington was right." My colleague later explained to me, "These boys' mothers watch a lot of Grey's. Sometimes I worry, that if they don't keep repeating it, these kids may start to grow breasts."

I'm like, "Dude! Haven't you heard of the SciFi Network?"

No Milch Today

2008-05-30T13:06:00.009-06:00

Verdammten Schnitzel!!!!!!! Can I not even hier excape that bastard, Chris Noth!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Like Pete's Katie, teh so-called Mr. Big follows me through every frickin' press juncket in the Hapsburg Empire -- and he's not even on the efrickin' Continent!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!L It's worese now, bescasuse aeverybody is fawining all over his "life-partner" and little 5-month-old spawn!

And now, it's all I can do to keep my schnitzel together, what with not having slept but 6 hours over teh past five days!!!! Everything is like in a dream. Even my dreams are like dreams. LIke I'mm dreaming my dreams and not living them, like it s all verwirrungt, you know what I mean?

I have been talking more frequently with Jenny, recently. We have talked about having to learn what to do when you're dreams crash upon the shores. She tels me that before ending up doling out pickles and Grey Goose in the Schatz im Freud, she was a pirate. I thought about how you would repsone in a similar situation, and I asked her fi she was acutally like an "Old School" pirate, or one of the kind of pirates that sink French yachts. She tells me neither, that she used to film US blockbusters and package them for illegal sale in wet streets behind butchershops spattered with sawdusts and under bridges outside tawdry Hungarian spas.

"What mad eyou change your lief?" I asked her.

She told me there wasn't no change, but that she had bmet a guy, who had dreams of his own and led her here to Vienna, and that she guessed we all follow our dreams sometime, until they come crashing down agaisnt the rocky shores of the New Europeean reality, where one day, every movie will be a Dogma film, and pickles wil cost an extrra 10 kronigs with your drikns. I told her, "but, Jenny, there isn't such a thing as a Kronig" and she tells me, "That's what I mean, Monkey, and soon we'll all be pirates, won't we."

And I had the impression that she had said something very deep right then. I didn't know what about it was so deep, but its obvious conclusiveness gave me the impressions that I should have leaned in and kissed her right then, and maybe I would have, if it hadn't been for teh fact that she was Pete's girl now, and then there was Heidi.

Yes, there was Heidi. But where was Heidi, now? I thought. Jenny and I sulkily strolled among the Kokoschkas at the Albertina, reflecting upon our own confused identities, the careful and remarkable precision of the contours of our alienation, our own exiles from our feelings, from our dreams, and the vast borderless landscape in which we were swimming like the gold flakes in a bottle of Goldschlager.

Meanwhile, Heidi was getting made up by Irina (returned from her shoot) to attend the FM4 opening gala for the 8 Festival for Fashion and Photography. Irina had come back, wheich was a good thing, since Jenny was too knew to be indulgent, and Pete needed a helping hand to hold in case Kate would be on the town somewhere with all the hubbub over the festival. Heidi also needed Irina -- I guess, in that sense, we all needed Irina -- in order to know how to conduct hereself and hobnob with the various designers and artists whose eye she hope dto catch, in order to have the promise of something greateer than the rolling hills of Kitzbuhel and the drip of milk from a cow's udder. Perhaps I couldn't promise her that more. Perhaps that's why you've never sought to console or gain pardon from Dagmar -- bugt I'm not trying toi ciriticize you, now, Jew. That is n ot my purpose. The task at hand, now, is to telll my story:

Jenny went off to work as did I, and it must have been 4 in the morning, still dark at least and my head only vaguely weary, that Pete and Irina and Heidi stumbled past the desk toward the elevator bay. Pete jerked still of a sudden, which resulted of Irina and Heidi tumbling to either side of them, so had he been their balance. He turned aroudn and approached me.

"Almost forgot this, Mate," he told me, as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out something brown and sticky, rolled several times in plastic wrap until its form had become unrecognizable. "Saved you a spot of Sachertorte -- he said. Thought you could yoose it, y'know, pick you up a bit, i'n'it?"

"Thanks Pete," I said, lifting up the mushy chocolate treeat as if I were toasting him, like men do amongst themselves, as if hiding their feelings behind mannish rituals -- but who were we, Pete and I to hide our feelinngs. I almost felt like we were mates. "G'night now"

My words followed him as he reached out his arms and conducted Heidi and Irina to the elevators.

I unrolled the Sachertorte adn didn't even notice how messy and sticky my fingers became as I filled my mouth with it morsel by creamhy morsel.

The call came a couple of hours later, as a pale violet glow illuminated the pavement out front.

"Konig von Ungarn, Gruss Gott!"

It was Dagmar. "Monkey, is that you? What are you doing?"

I told her I was the NIght Porter, for whatever that would mean to her. Anyway, she urgenlty needed to speak with Heidi, she told me.

I tried the room. Pete answered on the fifth ring, but not altogether out of it.

"Yeah, Monkey that you?" Cough Cough, then I heard the gagging. It must have lasted several seconds before someone else grabbed the phone. No luck, it was Irina this time.

"Can you get Heidi on? Her sister needs to talk with her and quickly!" There was a brief pause, the sound of Irina's palm covering the receiver. She was laconic upoon returning to the phone.
"Yeah," she said. The phone dropped and echoed against the Biedermeier mahogany surface of the six-drawer dresser of the Konig von Ungarn.

For some moments, all I heard were petulant cries that filled the luxurious air. "Get away from me... I can 'andle it meself..." It continued, but then a breeze swilred against the receiver and Heidi picked up. I told her it was Dagmar, and patched her through to her sister.

Some time later, I was polishing off my chocolate fingerprints fromthe phone at the front desk, and Klaus came to relieve me of my duties. I hadn't exactly remained awake the rest of the shift, but my mind recognized a certain low level of concern over the reason for Dagmar's unexpected call at the crack of dawn. That left me inquisitive and worried engouh to keep my eyes heavy but open.

The stench of puke greeted me as I got off on our floor. I could tell whey as I prgressed along the hallway. In front of Pete's suite someone had set out a room service trey with four flutes of champagne (I recognized them from the night before) a couple of empy platters, and the silver ice bucket full of thin, gruelly vomit, whose faint chocolate aroma was overwhelmed with the overbeering nastiness of bile. Goddamm Pete and his Sachertorte I though momentarily, my own stomahc heaving, but, I suppose my muscles were too weary to stir a more violent reaction to the grotesque still life. I paced further down the hall to collect my thoughts, then returned past the doorway, and finally reached the courtesy phohne by the elevator.

"Klaus," I said, "send someone up to clean the Doherty suite, bitte."

It was nearing noon, that Pete, Die Presse in hand, slipped into the koffeehaus where I had stationed myself, wearily poring over the faux marble surface of the table and sipping black tea loaded with kandizucker and cream to keep from sinking into sleep. As he order strudels, he caught me out of the corner of his eye.

Pete grabbed the strudels when they were all in the bag, and pushed his 100 euro note to the baker -- "You keep it, luv," was his charming admonition. His gaunt form held me in its shadow for a moment, then he leant down and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. "Monkey! Wotcha doin' 'ere?" Then it stopped, he pulled back and took a strudel out of the bag and placed it on the table in front of the teapot.

I restrained myself from shoving the strudel right back into his pasty face. Instead, I asked calmly, "What was that about, the call earlier?"

"Dunno, mate," Pete said, "you'll 'ave to asker yoursewf."

I settled up for the tea and followed Pete out the door. When we got back to the suite, the tray was gone, and the stench had subsided. Walking through the doorway, though, was like a journey once more into the night. the shades were drawn and little light penetrated beyond the three inches of carpet underneath the luxurious, cream satin curtains of the Konig von Ungarn. Heidi, when I found her, was rolled up in Pete's Union Jack with Irina's head nuzzled into her armpit. Her other arm lay at a right angle with spread fingers snug among the rich, silky threads of the thick carpetting of the Konig von Ungarn.

I knelt down and raised her chin slightly, caressing her golden locks with my free hand. I must've sat over her for at least a quarter hour before her breath became more pronounced and her lips parted with a muted cough.

Later... over a strudel and some viennese coffe taht I had Klaus send up, Heidi explained to me what was happening.

"There's a Milk Boycott on throughout Europe! Dagmar doesn't know what to do with out me. Sunday's World Milk Day, and she wante sto know whehter we deliver or not. I have to be there for her. Monkey, I have to go back tot Kitzbuhel, tomorrow!"

Pete was sitting in the lotus position watching CNN-Europe while Irina was still putting on her face in the bathroom.

"Pete," I said, "Let me see your paper."

Heidi and I spread out Die Presse on the table and there we saw the confirmation of what Dagmar had said.

So... it was a MILK WAR!

You've got your Kokoschka in my Wittgenstein! No, you've got your Wittgenstein in my Kokoschka!

2008-05-29T12:52:00.004-06:00

Wir sooooo tired... all of us! What kann ich say, Jew, but that we'ver bin all micsed up with everything's that's gone on in the past few days... I'm sooo tired. It's like everything's suddenly turned schnitzel!

And, now I log in to give ou an update, and I find that you're away at some kind of Cootie symposium... Whos'e going to hear my complaints about how tragic life is without you areound?

But, I will proceed, because I have to get this all off my chest. But I must be quick about it, because I start work in two hours. I haven't slept in days. Yes, I finally came throug with that job as Night Porter at the Konig Von Ungarn. I think everything started going schnitzel when we wpke up in Petee's suite on Sunday morning after our huge Sachertorte binge and watching Carl Barat get mutilatted at the Hans of Austrian thugs. I don't know what ahppend but the four of us -- Heidi, Pete, Jenny (the waitress from the Schatz im Freud), and Yours Truly -- were all lying there naked, pased out, covered up by Pete's Union Jack! The wurst part of it is, I have no recollection of that night afetr Room Service brought up the two Magnums of Perrier Jouet, green apple mentos, and a plate of roast pig.

I wiped the sleepfrom my eeys and dashed to the bathroom -- suddenly the urge overcame me to dry heave into the bidet. Fortunately the thick towel s at the Konig von Ungarn helped me to wipe up the clear bile creeping down the wall sof the procelaine, like rivulets of tokaj down the sides of a wineglass. I stood at the meear, balefully looking at my drawn face -- barely recognizing the soullessness of my gaze, when Pete slams into me, knocking me bback in to the doorknob -- I hadn't shut the door behind me, so great was the urge to puke uout what remained of my guts. I took the seafoam ceramic knob full on in the kidney and doubled over in pain. Mwanwhile, Pete dumped his face in the toilet and his body convulsed violently as he emptied the night's dark memories into the renovated plumbing of the luxurious Konig von Ungarn. I regained my composure enough to reach out a fresh white towel to him, which he promptly wrapped around his dripping pasty head. Then, without saying a word, he stumbled over me and out into the room. I tried to santd up and follow him out, but the blood rushed from my head, and I passed uout.

ich later woke up undeer the placid blue gaze of Heidi, whose hand was stroking my stubbled chin. Her lips bore the marks os worry, chaffed sink peeling back like birch bark and the dried, yellowed leaves of a long neglected volume of Morike. The peace vanishe d abruptly, intruded upon by the cacophony of broken glass and the atonal thud of antiquated ornaments dropping on the luxurious plush carpeting of the Konig von Ungarn. I made my way back on my feet with the assistance of Heidi, and saw throught the fog of returnign consciousness, first Jenny cowerred in a corner, hands over her face and blong tressess spilling over her spread fingers. Then a blur of movement first revealed to me the origins of the noise: Pete had lifted one of the bed lamps from its credenza and was swinging it wildly, as if blingeded by some animal rage.

It appeared, if I udderstood correctly the story that Heid i related to me after we had subdued Pete with a mouthful of Sachertorte, that Pete had gone out to ick up some strudels for our breakfast and get his copy of Die Presse from teh newstand (as is the irrigtaging habit of these luxury European hotels like the Konig von Ungarn and Intercontinental blah blah ablah, to only offer copies of teh Herald-Tribune in the lobby) when he saw the cover of the Kurier's Freizeit supplement.... Kate Moss, and practically in her Geburtstag suit!!!!!!!Ll!!!!!!!!!!

He seriously threw an apoplectic schnitzel fit wehn he saw that! He couldn't stand seeing her, just a year ago, a warm, disintegrating presence in his arms, his muse, gracing now the cover of a popular Austrian newsweekly and in the full flush of Albion good health. I mean, how was he supposed to make his daily visit to the newsstand anymore when she would be there, reminding him of every fcuk-up he had ever made since fame had preyed up on his talent?

"Bloody 'ell," he later told us, as I swept up the shards of his tantrum, and Heidi held him tight against her bosom to calm him, "she were like my Sachertorte, y'understand wot I'm sayin? Blimey, per'aps I loved her be'er than my Sachertorte, din't I?"

And I said to him, "Buck up, Petey! Yu remember what happend to Carl, last night? Seriously it could be worse."

Somehow, he wasn't comforted by my tought love. So, at that point, I ddecided to do what every right-thinkinng man does in those circumstances. I walked him down to the sauna. And tehre we were, sharing the sight of our bare chests, our dignity maintained only by the thick, cream-colored towels, monogrammed with the letters KvU for Konig von Ungarn that were wrapped around our wastes. We sat against the hard woodd in silence, feeling the toxins evacuating our bodies through every one of our pores.

When we got back to the suite, some sense of order had been restored. The earthy instincts of womeanhood had regained the upperhand and Jenny and Heidi moved blithely the lenght of the kitchenette, like two kids discovering the joys of the movign walkways in the airport, crossing paths, going opposite directions. They were preparing the ultimatein comfort foods: Palatschinken filled with pork butter. They had filled the ice box with Zipfers, and I tossed one to Pete and popped one open for myselt, the beer went down cool and repalced all the liquid we had sweated out in the sauna.

As the Palatschinken sizzled in the pans, the phone rand. I answered.

"Herr Doherty?"

"No, this is Herr Monkey, would you like to speak to Herr Doherty?"

"Ach so," the voice continued, "You're the one I was looking for, Herr Monkey. This is Klaus from the executivatsburo, I wanted to let you know that you hat the job. Kann you start tomorow?"

I looked anxiously over at Heidi, but without consulting her, I decided to go ahead. It's what Pete needed from us, after all, a little bit of support.

"OK, be there at midnight promptely!"

I didn't know how hard that would happend to have to work out with our plans...

Ten minutes later, we wree literally snorting down teh palatschinken, and Jenny had opened up one of those magazines for women. Maybe it wasn't the best subject to be talking about aftyer wheat hasd happended earlier, and maybe tjust talking about it in front of Pete could only lead to trouble.

"Hmm..." Jenny started and turned the magazine around so we could see the announcment, "Fashion and Photography? Anybody interested?"

I guess that's when I should've known that things were gonna turn schnitzel... and how!

But for now, I gotta get my uniform on and maybe shave... you know, work.

Bryan Adams keeps his promises

2008-05-26T23:43:00.002-06:00

As with anytime when I anticipate an absence, I like to leave you with some thoughts from our greatest living Troubador. My knees are like jello; I hope you feel the same.

Travel Plans

2008-05-26T23:25:00.003-06:00

I am leaving in some hours for Chicago, where I will take part in the week-long, "Annual Cootie Camp for Gifted Boys." If you're unfamiliar with the camp, it is a really special opportunity for gifted, inner city kids to learn how to avoid cooties. I will be there in my capacity of "faculty mentor." I will be guiding the kids through a workshop entitled "The Right Kind of Weird." Using my tested methodologies, the children participating in the workshop will learn techniques to avoid cooties such as endless dandruff, back-pimple picking in class, what to bring to lunch, and which type of marker to use when drawing on hands and arms.

I've been doing this with my summers going on several years, now, and I have to say, sometimes I feel like they're the teachers and I'm the student.

But with service comes sacrifice: I am not sure how much time I will be able to devote to the blog each day. Hopefully, Monkey will pick up some of the slack with more of his fascinating updates from Vienna.

Perplexing Information

2008-05-26T23:03:00.004-06:00

Eugene Robinson delivers some startling news with his latest Washington Post column:

Clinton has poured more than $11 million of her own money into the campaign, with no guarantee of ever getting it back. She has changed slogans and themes the way Obama changes his ties. She has been the first major-party presidential candidate in memory to tout her appeal to white voters. She has abandoned any pretense of consistency, inventing new rationales for continuing her candidacy and new yardsticks for measuring its success whenever the old rationales and yardsticks begin to favor Obama. [Emphasis added]

I am a bit at a loss here. I did not realize that Senator Obama changed his ties with such frequency. First of all, I thought that Obama did not wear neckties. As a "wear the tie until I spill my ramen on it" kind of guy, I am a bit troubled to learn that Obama does not stick with only one necktie until it becomes stained. For the first time since this campaign started, I am wondering if that thing about the Kool-Aid might be true...

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

2008-05-25T11:08:00.004-06:00

For those of you who are inclined to spend your Sunday watching television while pretending to read the Sunday New York Times, I've got good news for you... Apparently to make up for screening White Oleander, last night (I guess they figured all their viewers would be watching KG stencil S-P-A-L-D-I-N-G on Lindsey Hunter's head) my second favorite network is now having a special Fatal Sunday movie marathon. Apparently, the theme is intended to honor the decision of Hillary Clinton to continue her candidacy until Phyllis Shlafly gets an honorary doctorate (who knew?) and despite her pathology for consistently repeating statements that are not only patently false but easily disproven. I'm looking forward to watching the characters in this exciting series of movies use open-ended qualifiers and modalities such as "I find it curious" or "As far as I know" or "I don't know why" or "I'm just saying" or "Saturday Night Live/the AP said" in order to distance themselves from and avoid responsibility for lies, innuendos and vaguely inflammatory turns of phrases, generated by a narcissist's paranoia.

The lineup of excellent movies includes:

The Good Teacher: Fatal Lessons

Just when Samantha gets a grip on her battle with paranoia, she's plagued by prank phone calls, strange family illnesses and a home invasion. Could her daughter's "perfect" new teacher who she befriends be to blame for this hellish nightmare? Or has she just gone mad again with suspicions? Tune in to find out!

Fatal Reunion

Stay-at-home mom Jessica has no clue what to do when she suspects her husband is cheating. Rather than confront him, she turns to an old crush to soothe her jealous soul. But when Jessica tries ending this affair with her man on the side, he becomes a crazed stalker. Now whether she'll be able to save her marriage or her life is anybody's guess!

Her Fatal Flaw

If you think your dating life is hard, check out what happens to poor Laney! Talk about a love hangover: The nice guy this prominent attorney spent last night with winds up being the main suspect in the brutal murder of a Chicago city councilman. If that isn't bad enough, his only alibi is his one-night-stand with Laney. Watch what happens when this talented lawyer puts her career - and her heart - on the line.

Fatal Desire

When a divorced ex-cop meets a sexy, young, married woman in an online chat room, they begin a torrid love affair. As his new girlfriend convinces him that she is trapped in a dangerous and physically abusive marriage, he goes to great lengths to protect her from her violent husband. After he commits murder, he is shocked to learn that the woman of his dreams is not at all who she seems to be.

Fatal Trust

After the death of her husband, Kate moves in with her sister in a small rural community. She soon realizes that the doctor for whom she works is actually a psychotic killer who kills his elderly patients with snake venom. As she begins to unravel his secrets, she finds herself in as much danger as his patients.

From what I've read, only Fatal Desire is based on actual events, although all are plausible and speak pertinently to the dangers that lurk under what we consider rather banal, quotidian decisions. The crazy thing is, the last lawyer with whom I had a one-night stand actually did end up clearing me of a murder charge. It was her goddam daughter's Montessori teacher who killed the guy -- apparently using snake venom.

Speaking of one night stands with single mothers, for those of you who missed it last night, the Style network, which I didn't even know existed, is having an encore presentation of About a Boy today. Which, I find, withstands repetition miraculously. In fact, even if you did see it last night, I highly recommend watching it again, today. And tomorrow... and the day after tomorrow...

Interesting Facts for my Monkey

2008-05-25T08:53:00.003-06:00

Yeah, ASM, I guess I've been a bit absent this weekend. For one thing, I'm trying to work on a couple of proposals for a conference, and then I guess I kind of got caught up reading upwards of 65,000 comments on blog postings about Hillary's infamous RFK reference. "I find it curious," but judging from what I've read, it seems Hitler has had a lasting influence on the modern Democratic Party, and that the specific social and political context of Weimar Germany is actually much broader than I had previously believed, such that various phenomena related to the rise of the Third Reich (enthusiastic college kids, for example) are actually quite applicable to today's political dynamics. Now, I knew that Jonah Goldberg was on that train, but I was surprised to find quite a number of blog readers riding shotgun.

While, I was at first concerned about the poll showing that over 25% of Democratic voters wouldn't support Obama in November, I realized from my readings that 90% of that 25% would spontaneously combust between June 3rd and the convention.

It's funny that you ran into Carl Barat, though. I was just thinking how one of the Dirty Pretty Things' songs would be appropriate as the new Clinton campaign theme:

A night at the Schatz im Freud

2008-05-25T04:01:00.005-06:00

Wow.
That's all I kan say. Wow.
Last night, Pete, heidi and I all went out to theis new club in the Pflugzeit quarter (maybe I misheard that when the concierge was giving me direections). It's calle d Schatz im Freud, which I'm told means something like "Darling in Freud" I doon't know who made that up, but it's kind of a weird name for a nightclub. Anyway, we walk in the door and all these old men with moustaches are dancing with ugly women and Pete turns to me and is like, "Wot's all this then, Monkey, you ta'in me to a gay club or sum'ing?"

And I'm like, "No, there's gotta be a reaoson awhy all these men are dancing with ugly women." and like Heidi seaz to me, "I'm not going to dance if only ugly women are dancing." I don't know why she said that 'cus the music was tight. They were bouncing out some Kraftwerk, some Gorillaz, some Gus Gus... you know, all that good stuff. And, it had theis really cool ambiance with like these blown up photos of Dr. Freud (did you know he was Austrian?) on the walls in like that pointillated newspaper photo kind of pop art look, and it was all lit by blacklight.

Anwyay, we got settled in to a plush corner booth and called over to the waitress, who was actually quite stunning, one of those stacked blondes, you know with like flowing goldern tresses -- she looked actually a lot like Heidi, but with less of an earth mother thing going on, if you know what I mean -- you remember? So it weren't five minutes had paassed she brought us over our plate of pickles and a magnum of Perrier-Jouet, like grand brut. Only the good stuff when you're with Pete, you know what I mean?

The pickles were so good, that we ordered more -- some of the mixed, with large chunks of cauliflower and sliced tomatoes. And I was scarfing down pickles and sipping the bubbly when this guy shows up from like out of the blue (except he was out of thee blacklight, get it?) and he putts hi s mitt on Heidi shoulder, like his fingers giving her a little squeeze -- which I thought was inappropriate. And he's like -- in English -- "How 'bout a dance, luv"

And I didn't think she was going to dance with him, because she already said she wouldn't dance if only ugley women were dancing, but then I guess a few more classic Viennese beauties had filed in wheile we were busy eating pickles -- you know that kind of rosy complexioned, gold-plated type women, with like patchwork dresses and dark flowing manes. It was hard to tell they were there at first, 'cus they really like blended into the backgroun.

Anyway, Heidi didn't get to tell this JAG Officer either way, 'cus all ova sudden, Pete looks up and is like, "Blimey, don' tell me you're here, Carl!"

Amd the guy with the greasy hair and indiscrete paws, that was Carl Barat of all people. And Carl's like "Forget it, Pete! YOu bloody aren't bloody here! I'm not seeing you. I'm goin' close my eyes and you shan't be 'ere when I open 'em, right?"

And, Pete was like, "You bloody bastard, I don' wanna see you anymore than you [I couldn't here the rest of what he said, 'cus it was like half-mumbled or I was out of it on a vinegar high]"

Anyway, Carl was like, "So wot you doin' 'ere in Vienna, you waster, you 'ere for the Sachertorte, eh?"

And Pete, he wasn't having any of theat, and he's like, "So wot if I am, Carl, what's it to you, I'm still sellin' more records with Babyshambles than you'll e'er sell with your bunch of wasters!"

Ans so , Carl is like, "You're done, Pete, you can't keep off the Sachertorte, noone's goin' be listening to you 'cus you'll be dead of a coronary!"

All of a sudden, there was like this major hush descended on the night club -- there was th tune "Fire Fire" pulsating in the background and then it was like not there. Dead silience.

Then some moustachioed guy with big eyes and a marichiono cherry sticking to his chin, like he had been slobbering Shirley Temples just a second ago, he calls out something in German that sounded like "KhuuuKhuuuTseiKhuuuTseiFeernuuvenleider" In essence, I ddin't quite catch it.

I turn to Heidi, and I say, "Baby what'd he say?" And she puts her ehand on my face with a look of profound understanding and tellls me, "Monkey, he said that he's never heard more shameful words spoken' and that Carl should getout of the club."

Then, some fello from the edge of the dance floor who had been freak dancing with a bony redhead just a second ago threw a banana at Carl. It didn't reach all the way, but I could tell taht Carl was upset that he'd had a banana thrown at him and he was like, "No, blimey, you Krauts don' understand... Pete's my mate."

And this burly fello with hot coals in the place of eyes and a gleaming skull belt buckle the size of a can of creamed spinach seemed to emerge practically from nowehere, but I suppose he was always lurking there in the netherwold of the black light he looks at CArl with eyes full of bile and sayz to him, something in German taht sounds like, "Neeandsprakhevonmordertodbleichemutter"

And I look at heidi again, who by now is becming quite exasperated with me like thinking, "where's all the german I taught you" but I'm like thinkgin "I can't think straight after plateful of pickles and all that cahmpagne." but she tells me something like the guy was upset about someone evoking death in the nightclub.

Anyway, next thing I knew, Carl was on the floor having like a wiggly worm, with a mob of unruly austrians kicking the crap out of him. At first, Pete's eyes were wide with horror, he's like, "Waiyt a minute, Monkey, that's my mate... wot do I do?"

And I'm like, "Pete, you know, there' s nothing to do. Best not to get involved."

I don't know, Jew, you may think ill of me, maybe, but I have to say that standing by and watching Carl Barat get teh crap beaten out of him after the way he put his mitts on my lady, it was like deep inside of me somewhere, the blood was moving anew and my heart was smiling. Nothing that I could admit to -- except to you of course, and to Heidi afterwards when we were, you know, talking about the weather... but it was really special experience. He deserved it that asshole.

Anwyay, we decided collectively -- Pete settled up with the waitress -- to split at that moment. I can't tell you how beautiful the boulevards of Vienna aer at night. We eneded up circling the Ringnstrasse a few times... It was good to get the fresh air, until the dogs started nipping at our heels. So we ducked into a cozy koffeehaus for some late night -- it must have been at least 2AM -- Sachertorte.

And then, of a sudden, I noticed something unusual. The waitress from the club was sitting next to Pete, her hand jealously clinging to his thigh. And I was like, "Pete, how'd she get here?"

And Pete's like "Mate, didn't ya notice, she been wit' us since the club?"

And I'm like "No."

The lamps of the koffeehaus danced wildly for a moment until they increased in intensity and the flames rose up from their glass houses so tall that they cast long shadows against the walls. I tried to peer through the shadows and out the windows, where I could hear the dogs barking but everything was blurred by condensation. The firelight intensified for a second. And then it all spun into darkness.

I woke up -- I don't know when -- in Heidi's soft embraced; I was slick with perspiration and curled up in a ball like I was her child and not her lover.

I don't know, I hope you're out there, Jew. I haven't heard from you... maybe you've been on some kind of raki bender to celebrate the ESS victory... maybe you've been like me, curled up in fear and sweat.

Eagles have landed

2008-05-22T16:12:00.003-06:00

L'ESS has crushed those Moroccan losers from Dar Baida!!!
April 5: 0-1
April 22: 1-0
Twice Arab League champions in two successive years!
Highlights once available...

That's nice, Monkey

2008-05-22T10:53:00.002-06:00

Thanks for the update, ASM. Glad to hear that you're having a good time over there. Don't get sick.

Gossip Girl: Erase/Rewind

2008-05-22T08:48:00.006-06:00

That's right Upper East Siders, Constance Billard is out for the summer... and, what a year it's been! We've had a strike, offscreen romance, onscreen romance, more onscreen romance and at least 96 tears.

The season finale of Gossip Girl remained true to exquisite form. In one episode, the writers brought everything full circle. For any loyal readers out there -- those who may have read my first Gossip Girl post -- this more or less proves the solidity of my underlying analysis of what makes the show tick, and what makes it glorious entertainment:

The genius of Gossip Girl is not that it's about anticipating what's not going to happen, but rather hoping that things stay the same. The suspense of Gossip Girl rests on the ability of the characters to stay the same.

This "conundrum of stasis" and the underlying existential view of character that generates it, played out brilliantly in the season finale. Each character stretched the limits of what they believed themselves capable of, but, in the end, returned to their state of nature.

Dan experimented with lying to and manipulating Georgina. Nate punched his father again. Lilly slept with Rufus (at least, that's what we're led to believe based on their waking up in the same bed together -- the same, in fact, did not hold true for Dan and Georgina). Rufus learned how to put a bracelet on a woman's wrist. Serena cried at her mother's fifth wedding. Blair and Chuck flirted with the notion of a monogamous relationship. Vanessa was almost not annoying for the entire episode. Eric and Jenny were irrelevant.

But then, Dan decides he wants no more of the twisted, two-faced world of Sonia Rykiel Secrets, Roberto Cavalli revenge and Taste tit-for-tats. Nate takes some time to brood alone, attractively, again. Lilly says "Goodbye to all that jazz/alt-rock" and marries her a Bart Bass. Rufus smiles impotently as his dream of love rekindled falls flat like the sales of a Lincoln Hawk reissue. Serena cries when Dan breaks up with her. Blair intends to join the mile-high club (is that supposed to be capitalized?) with some george-hamilton-wannabe, while Chuck gets it on with yet another gullible and insipid, anorexic interior designer. Vanessa disappears, until she reappears. Eric remains jauntily irrelevant... Jenny -- hmm, what's going on with Jenny?

And so, at the end of the season, the old order is restored. Serena and Nate make nice on their vacay -- hinting at the possibility of one of the most boring onscreen romances ever. Blair and Chuck decide to embrace their character faults and desire for instant gratification, rather than to grow up. Dan and Vanessa restore their friendship within the confines of an "art school reject" bonhomie. Rufus is a rocker, revived, and takes his band on tour as -- of all clever references, the opening act for the Breeders. The Haves stick with the Haves, and the television Have-Nots stick with the Have-Nots. The writers push Reset, setting the viewers up for another go round of glossy envelope-pushing and lurid self-indulgent experimentation.

I can't wait until next season...

When I can only hope to see some resolution of the following issues:

Dan is rapidly becoming the most unbearable male protagonist on a television series. What is up with that? He tells Serena, "I didn't sleep with Georgina, but I might as well have" only seconds before her mother's wedding? Come on, kid, show some class. Dan demonstrates yet again how, for the under-20 set, Honesty is the lamest of all character flaws -- and the most sadistic.

Jenny is quickly becoming the most intriguing character on the show. What with her new fashion school contract (or whatever it was that they snuck in in the last minute of the show) with Blair's designing mom, she looks the most poised to attain substantive social ascension through the ranks of Constance Billard, but this time based upon image, not ability. In the way that her character plays on both image-based status and merit-based status, consistently represented through sartorial metaphors -- the stolen dress, the confusion of designer labels, the sewing machine -- Jenny plays upon the deep themes of the 19th century German romantic anti-hero.

The vanishing token asian: There she is in the upper right hand corner, almost hidden behind Jenny...

But that was from the pre-strike episodes. Then, token asian disappeared completely, until Desperately Seeking Serena, when the writers brought in a new token asian, the infamous Nelly Yuki, naturally musically adept and with a gift for standardized tests. Her one weakness? Obviously social awkwardness and "boy trouble." However, Nelly's reign as token Asian lasted only two episodes, through All About my Brother, and then she, too, was gone.

Here's my idea to remedy this issue for next season: Why not draw in a maturing tween viewership, who will have outgrown Suite Life of Zack and Cody by next Fall? Bring in Brenda Song's character, London Tipton, as a new girl at Constance Billard. In fact, spoiled hotel heiress, London Tipton would fit in quite well with the CB crowd, and could be a potential love interest for spoiled hotel heir, Chuck Bass. Makes you go hmm, doesn't it?

Finally, I have an issue with some of the commercials.
I was very alarmed by the message of the Clearasil ads that suggested that young women with clear complexions should go around aggressively and inappropriately touching people. I know that young women today are getting messages that often confuse pathological behavior with empowerment, but the message that rubbing your face up against every man you meet is confidence -- well, it's just deeply disturbing.

Also, the erratic behavior of the woman in the Secret ads who disrupted traffic and almost turned herself in to the police for a crime she didn't commit would have some of our easily influenced teenagers checked in to the behavioral health ward. Again, do we really want to promote this kind of self-destructive behavior for young women?
It's bad enough for the boys growing up under the influence of Axe ads...

Until then, anyone have recommendations for some good summer reading?

XOXO

Fly Eagles, Fly

2008-05-22T08:18:00.003-06:00

That's right! Tonight -- or a few hours from now, l'Entente Setif will face off against Widad Casablanca in Blida for the Final of the Arab Champions League. We're expecting a second straight coronation for our Black Eagles.

If you don't remember the first leg of the final, hosted by the Widad, highlights are below:

Do it again, l'Entente!

Vienna Calling

2008-05-22T04:58:00.006-06:00

Gruss Gott, LIJ!!!! Wie gehts?

Things are going awesome here in Wien (that's what the folks here call it). I'm learning so much about this place, things in general and myself.
Did you know that there are about 2 million people in Vienna? They speak German, but they call themselves "Austrians." Who knew?

Anyway, Heidi, Pete and I (Irinia had to be on the runway in Belgrade) thought we'd clear our heads a little, and get a taste of the countryside in the city -- which Heidi says she misses a little: It's like her Sachertorte; she needs a dose every so often. So yesterday, we went to the petting zoo. That was so fun. I was surprised though, because there were so many pigs. I took this picture:

It's a bit small, but thats because they're baby pigs.

When we got back to the hotel, guess what we did... That's right, we enjoyed some creamy coffee and Sachertorte!

As they say here in Wien, "es war ausgezeichnett!"
Anyway, hope that I don't get sick in the next few daze, because all the doctors are going on strike! Obviously, they haven't figured out how to make these people responsible to market forces yet!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1

By the way, Jew, I was reading your post about winning over hard-working voters. didn't they already try that in Uganda? Don't know if that's really a good model for your guy, Obama.

Just sayin'...

Can't stop the music

2008-05-21T14:44:00.002-06:00

There's this campaign ad that's been making the rounds of the popular blogs... and I had meant to post it up here, because I just love the catchy music they play in the background. So here it is:

The Appalachian Trail: Blame it on Apu

2008-05-20T16:51:00.008-06:00

Some folks have been floating the idea of Bobby Jindal for McCain's Veep candidate. I say, bring it ON!

So, I was watching the boob tube the other night, and there was one of those typical, caviar-eating, latte-sipping, fey movie stars making fun of hard-working Americans by putting on the usual dumb hick accent. And it dawned on me: No wonder those folks are so bitter.
You can no longer make racist jokes on national television -- except during the Superbowl -- and yet, as far as backwoods whites are concerned, we're all still living the Simple Life. So a bunch of people who used to be able to openly indulge in racist jokes (That means you, barber in Prescott Valley), now find themselves the butt of crass stereotypes voiced in front of millions by some hoity, toity, holier-than-thou gay doctor types and millionaire heiresses. Meanwhile, even Arab Americans have their own show...

In fact, the only other ethnic group which is still fair play for public, light-hearted, inoffensive merriment are South-Asian Americans. I mean, just look at the lovable, hilarious Simpsons character Apu! As former colleagues have so aptly and often demonstrated to me, just say something in one of those melodic, Indian guy accents and I am rolling on the floor laughing. Use the same accent and say something about computers, and the milkshake will be bubbling out of my nose.

This realization gave me an idea for how Barack Obama could finally win over the coveted Hard-Working American demographic that's been so elusive -- G_d knows why -- during the primary campaign. Indeed, I believe that the only way that Senator Obama can channel white-working-class resentment into votes is by bashing South-Asian Americans.

First of all, everybody knows that Obama has an image of not being white, which is compounded by his being an elitist smarty pants. But just like the only way to win the war against the Iraqis is to fight the war against the even bigger assholes in Iran, all Obama needs to do to shake off his image problem is to bash the biggest non-white, elitist smarty pants in the country: Fareed Zakaria. It certainly helps that, in his writings, he has taken a clear stand against both Democracy and America. But who reads books anyway...

In addition, a lot of these hard-working Americans somehow lost all those jobs that the Clintons gave them during the 90s. Where did those jobs go? South-Asian Americans. Not only have I seen South-Asian Americans in every textile mill in South Carolina, but they are also stealing jobs in medicine, literature and right-wing punditry, that used to belong to hard-working white people. I mean, they're even smoking their pot and stealing their women. By pointing out this fact, Obama also opens up an opportunity to win back Latino voters by relieving them of the role of universal scapegoats.

This argument also ties in nicely with Democratic talking points about companies shipping jobs overseas. The proliferation of out-sourcing of call center jobs and, increasingly, white collar jobs to the Indian sub-continent reinforces the argument against Corporate America selling out US workers for lower wages. But, highlighting the South-Asian role in this perfidy touches on a visceral note that, I believe, will ring true with a certain universality. I envision a moment, where Obama takes the podium in Rustville, Ohio, and says:

"You know, I was trying to send an e-mail to my supporters the other day, and my Mac [BHO is totally not a PC guy] kept shutting down. So, Ohio, I got on the phone and called Mac support. This guy answered the phone with a funny accent. He was like 'Good day sir, I like cricket and Aishwarya Rai, my name is Craig, what can I help you with today?' And I think to myself, 'this is the same old game of calling yourself Craig, when your name is probably Rajesh.' This is the game John McCain plays when he calls tax cuts for the wealthy an economic recovery plan. America is tired of these games. Let's bring these jobs back to the real, hard-working Craigs of our heartland!"

OMFG, I can totally see Obama doing a perfect Indian accent (what else did he spend all that time in Indonesia for?) that will have the crowd just teary-eyed laughing in rueful recognition. And, I mean, we can all pretty much universally connect with having the tech support guy condescending to us with his technical advice. I mean who else besides me has just wanted to burst out like "I've already tried Ctrl+Alt+Delete like two times, and can you stop talking down to me just because Naveen Andrews plays an Iraqi on TV instead of a real Iraqi-American actor!"

Finally, Obama can do this with very little cost in popular vote totals. According to Census figures and growth projections, there are roughly 2 million South-Asian Americans. Their largest populations are concentrated in California, New York, New Jersey, Texas and Illinois. Four out of five of these states are already a lock to vote Democratic in November. Among the states with the fastest growth rate among South Asians -- Nevada, Georgia, Colorado, Washington, and Oregon -- what are 20,000 votes here and there? Hardly likely to be game-changing, right?

If Obama is shrewd, he can in fact play Indian Americans against Pakistani Americans, of whom 56 percent voted for Bush in 2000. He can talk about Hindu values corrupting heartland values, and assimilate Indian Americans with East Coast elites. If he wins back Pakistani voters, he can offset losses of Indian voters in Georgia, Texas and Washington, make gains in Minnesota and North Carolina, and get the Hard-Working American voters needed to win West Virginia, Kentucky, Ohio and Pennsylvania.

Of course, some of Obama's low level aides began hinting at this strategy in the early days of the campaign, when they called Hillary Clinton the Democratic Senator from Punjab. Still, Mr. "Holier than thou" reprimanded his aides and trashed the strategy. Well, Senator, I think it's time to reconsider...

Naturally, there are immediate consequences for the campaign that would be hard to tolerate. For example, Obama could potentially lose the endorsement of one of his most attractive and intelligent celebrity supporters. But, frankly, I only have room for one man-crush per campaign. And, in that case, I'd rather reserve it for the top of the ticket.

Others might say that this strategy risks forging a long-term, broad-based coalition for a governing progressive majority, that it sacrifices a rapidly growing segment of an increasingly multicultural society, all for the sake of pandering to a declining proportion of voters whose adherence to the Democratic Party's core values and progressive message is suspect. If this primary season has taught us anything, though, it is that it is far nobler to go down to defeat with the overwhelming support of white racists than to win elections and build a stronger party.

Dumbfounded

2008-05-20T16:48:00.001-06:00

ASM, woa... I saw your post this morning, and I'm still reeling from information overload. I still don't think I can manage to compose a response -- so, instead, I'm going to try to communicate how I feel through song:

Monkey, come home...

Postcard from Vienna

2008-05-20T01:14:00.005-06:00

Gruss Gott! Hey, LIJ, di dya miss me?
You'll never believe whats going on here! You see, Heidi and I -- yuups, she and Dagmar had a bit of a tiff recently -- decided to go to Vienna for the summer, you know, just get away from the countryside. She has also been looking for maybe some secretarial work or maybe a modeling gig. I don't knwo. I thiink she can do something. I have utmost confidence in her abilities.

Anyway, It's just amazing to be here. I might have a job a s a nIght porter. I just had an interveiew where we're staying at the Konig von Ungarn. It's a really nice historic hotel -- lots of character... we're crashing there for a while -- but that's not what you'll really go crazy about. Let me tell you, I bumped into Pete Doherty in the men's room of the Arena the other night -- about a week ago -- there waws this raucous group playing that calls themselves the Schwein Toten... I guess it's kind of like Toten Hosen, but in reverse and with pigs. My German's improved a lot, you know, with Heidi and all -- she just grows more beautiful every day. Something about her is very earthy and fertile, almost nurturing, but more sensual than like -- you know -- my mother. Anyway, the big news is that Pete and I were, like, washing our hands side-by-side and talking about how so few people really wash there hands after peeing.

Anyway, we found out that, other than impeccable hygiene, we've got a lot in common. So we hung through the rest of the concert, and I introduced him to Heidi, and he introduced me to Irina -- no, they're not back together, but just kind of comfortable -- you know how it is. Anyway, after we got out at I don't know, like 3:00 AM. Pete was like, "Y'knowwot mates, I coul' bloody well do me with some Sachertorte, right abouts now!" And, I'm like, "Funk soul brother, you said it!" Wow, that guy can really put away the Sachertorte... He is like a total Sachertorte fiend!!!!

Anyway, so we've been totally like crashing at his suite at the Konig von Ungarn. I'ts been really amazing... Or, as they say, here "Wunderbarr!" Anyway, Pete's really cool, like cooler than even in his songs -- I wish you could meet him.

Even when he's like really busy lining up gigs and such, he always stops his day for like he says "a spot of Sachertorte" in the afternoon, and invites me and Heidi. You won't recognize me for all the wate I've gained!!!!

Oh, that reminds me, it's not like Heidi and I are totally leeching, or anything. I mentioned the job prospect. Well, you know, Heidi really can sing, and, as you know, I've always been a bit of an organist myself. So we've made some good money on the streets recently, with the few polkas I know -- until the guys come around with the German shepherds to disperse us.

And I don't want to brag or anything. But the Euro is totally stronger than the dollar right now.

Anyway, I'll be checking in from time to time with news about how things are going with Pete and all them. If you still have Dagmar's number, you really should call here. I think that might change things. I know there's nothing you have to say -- like we al know it's over between you 2, but I think she needs someone familiar to talk with about her issues.

Yeah, so sorry for leaving you in the lurch for so long. I've seen you'be really been posting quite a bit without me. (I hope you didn't vomit the other night when you were drinking all that raki ;))

Okay, gotta go... Tchuss!

What I learned from watching Gossip Girl

2008-05-19T16:03:00.006-06:00

The season finale is on in a couple of hours, and I have a fistful of notes from last week's episode as yet unpublished:

First off, is it just me, or was that the quickest resolution to a problem that begins: "I killed someone."

Did anyone else who watched the show think, OMG, Lisa Loeb has clearly not yet gotten a gig to dish in one of those VH1 Countdown shows? It's pretty sad when you're the opening act to a non-existent rock ensemble.

To stay on the subject of music, I learned that there is an absolutely needless cover of Cities in Dust making the rounds.

So, I think it became apparent, based upon Chuck's flippancy and Dan's self-centered dramatics, that girls mature more quickly than boyz. I've been told that before, but hadn't had concrete proof until this past week.

The corollary to that is that crying can get you anywhere with a boy. OMFG, did Georgina not have Dan wrapped around her little pinky finger by the end of the show!?!

Much of the drama could have been avoided if it hadn't been for the now apparent Van der Woodsen secretive nature. These ladies (and Eric) seem congenitally incapable of just sayin' what's up.

I have to admit to having some concerns about the naive turn that Penn Badgely's character has taken in the last couple of weeks. If you've got a character coming from the wrong side of the tracks, he's usually supposed to be a canny kid who will only sell out his values from necessity and not out of kindness. The kid from the wrong side of the tracks is supposed to be a tough, who can detect phoniness. And indeed, second-generation rocker Dan began his trail through the glitzy world of the Upper East Side and into Serena's heart by talking truth to the smart set. However, perhaps to contrast his grit with Vanessa's authenticity, he has become increasingly the ingenu, beseiged by a world that is beyond him. The final kiss with Georgina seemed, in this context, utterly gratuitous, and strayed from the fundamental essence of Dan...
Whatever the case, if I'm Serena, I ain't takin' him back. Let him wait until he gets to Dartmouth for his next serious girlfriend.

Anyway, I think this weakness oddly enough reinforces the fundamental nature and, thus, the success of the show, that it is driven by an essentialist understanding of human nature and character rather than an existential one. The characters are in a constant struggle to maintain their identity, and find themselves constantly re-asserting themselves in an effort to achieve an equilibrium within their actions.

I must admit though to a strange, pimentoed nostalgia upon watching the past few episodes. There were times where the dialogue among Rufus and his brood came very close... but never close enough to replicating the brilliant repartee of Rory and Lorelai... and I thought, "The Gilmore Girls, now that was a show!"

Ah, I see it's time to get the popcorn a poppin' for the big finale! BRB...

Until then, I leave you with the exciting behind-the-scenes revelation of the week.

XOXO

Test for Clinton's Phemynsyt Voters

2008-05-19T15:56:00.003-06:00

Just wondering how many of those ladies who cry "sexist" at every criticism of Hillary take their granddaughters to WNBA games.

Things I hate today (High School 'tude edition)

2008-05-18T17:01:00.012-06:00

Anonymous... and anyone else who dares to use my comment section to accuse Bryan Adams of being a "Stupid Nerd!"

I don't mind repeating myself, but my readers might mind me repeating myself. Still, by provoking me on the subject of Maltese-Canadian Superstar Bryan Adams, you force me to repost the most utterly manly rock 'n' roll video ever made:

Anyone who plays with a knife and an apple while contemplating a sweet dame, just minutes before their eyes meet suggestively pretty much has staked out his claim on Planet Virile for eternity!

Wave that flag, Bryan. Wave it high!

The hollow concept of Stupid Nerds...

I use the term to indicate a person who acts "weird" in a nerdy way even though he isn't actually unusually smart or intellectual.

Thanks dumbass. In other words, a "Stupid Nerd" is anyone upon whom you looked down in high school, because he reminded you of yourself but got lower grades.

To momentarily join this quibble over definition, I would suggest that by definition, nerd does not actually imply intelligence... rather that a nerd is by definition, stupid, otherwise he or she would not have allowed him or herself to be boxed into the image of a nerd. I mean, isn't the whole point of Real Genius, the definitive work on this subject, that real geniuses don't act like nerds?

Further, the essence of being a nerd is narrow-minded devotion to studies and "book smarts" while in high school, thus describing much more a work ethic (vorwonklichheit) rather than natural talent or ability. This is harder to find nowadays, perhaps because of the excess pressure on kids to become "well-rounded" as part of the college admissions sweepstakes. In other words, yesterday's nerds are now today's humane society helper, food bank manager and liaison to the Wilmington-Huangzhou sister-city project.

Of course, since Somin and Taylor (I got more nauseous wading through Taylor's blog than I did when I saw the most recent Taco Bell commercial) could never quite extract their noses out of their yellowed copies of Atlas Shrugged while in high school, they appear to have missed out on the new philosophical wave that has transformed how we see our students today. It is sad, in fact, that they now find themselves having to revisit their traumatic experiences of high school in order to retroactively define an underclass that they have somehow managed to rise above today. In that sense, to still be talking about "jocks" and "nerds" reveals a certain atrophy, common among Objectivists, of all sense of social aptitude and whatever mysterious gland -- as Bill Richardson would say, "I'm not a scientist!" -- that allows the teenager to mature into adulthood.

Certainly, Multiple Intelligences theory is anathema to the ludicrous disciples of Rand, but, having taught high schoolers, it is a refreshing approach to understanding your students. Obviously, not everyone could be very bright, but almost without fail, those students who obtained the best grades were also popular and talented and often athletically capable. Those students who didn't do all that great were often wildly entertaining conversationalists, talented musicians or phenomenal athletes. While I was not much hung up on my disastrous high school years before teaching, the experience itself has reconciled me, at least in spirit, with many of the folks who I considered dreadful enemies and poseurs at the time.

The high school Objectivist attitude, however, as well as Murray and Co's crusade against Multiple Intelligences theory is founded on the belief that only one indicator of ability is valid, and that consists of some alchemic formula that combines SAT scores with GPA (Let's not enter the IQ debate here). Not only that, but also -- and this is the key to why Rand's disciples are so repugnant -- when this formula results in an equivalence among two people, the person for whom this score is the only thing going for him or her, gets the nod as the true genius, because it is by suffering persecution and marginalization that one truly demonstrates the promise of one's future achievement. The concept of "Nerd" which Somin and Taylor embrace is only valid, after all, as a revenge fantasy against people who have a lot more going for them. Hence, the rich asshole as the pinnacle of success in the "Stupid Nerd" world view.

Delving back into history, however, our friend John Galt is but an imperfect version of the Objectivist Uber-mensch. If Ayn Rand was so deeply in love with Mickey Spillaine it is because she realized, in the end, that Mike Hammer was the ultimate Ayn Rand hero. Which bodes ill for the "Nerds" of this world, because if Mike Hammer sees some sallow high court clerk in spats hanging on to a couple of extra bucks that he could've tipped Thelma at the breakfast buffet at Reeves, he's gonna pistol whip that little worm back into the '50s.

Ilya Somin
I mean, come on... Anybody can be the object of constant ridicule in high school, but it takes a certain degree of ineptitude to be a loser in college. Especially a college full of former high school "nerds"! I mean sure, I got my share of chocolate swirlies in college -- but that's just the natural order of things when you're sharing a bathroom with the rugby team. This kid, though -- its like he had to make up "over 200 footnotes" just to keep him company in his lair.
And the fact that he has clearly attained a degree of success in his chosen career path but still needs to fabricate "Stupid Nerds" to feel better about himself is pathetic.
If anyone out there knows Ilya now, please let me know if he still recites the list of his test scores and all the colleges, grad schools, etcetera that have admitted him upon your first meeting. Thanx!

Trust Fund Scumbags and...
the feelings of inadequacy generated by more successful bloggers reminding me how much younger they are...
I sometimes have the impression that there was a kind of massive savviness shift that came about in the five years after I left college, for which the propagation of the Internet is largely responsible. Whatever it is, I notice that there's a huge network of professional bloggers all in their mid-twenties who seem to just naturally be able to handle the vast amount of information made available by the Web, and who, of course, generally made the decision to take low-paying journalism jobs coming out of college to begin with.
My first regular access to the Internet began in 2000, and I sometimes wonder about the difference in attitude shaped by regular use of the Web in high school and in college.
If one values being read above all else, and, suddenly, the mode of access to readership radically changes only after one's most formative years, the result and required adaptation can overwhelm at times.
In light of this, one of the wonderful aspects of teaching high school is the ability to relive one's past bad decisions through one's students, and to detect in their lives -- and through one's investment in their development -- the great promise that the future holds.

To return to the bloggers themselves, though, this generation gap finally explains to me why there appears to be a consensus in the wonk community that Jay-Z is the greatest rapper of all time.

Lebron James
It has dawned on me over the course of the NBA Playoffs that Lebron James has become unbearable. First there was the whole "I'm Jay-Z, Deshawn's Soulja Boy" flap. Then there's the gripes about every foul, and the expectation that he should be getting a Jordan call every time the ball leaves his hands. Then, there's his ridiculous rip-off of KG's awesome chalk ritual at the start of every game to show that he's just another pumped superstar. Not to mention, of course, his noxious disrespect for his mother.

For one, this suggests that Lebron takes himself waaaaaaaaaaaay too seriously. (I'm sorry, but when you're blessed with Gilbert and his wackiness, Lebron's attitude just seems totally out of place.) But the greater problem I have, is that it seems that Lebron is the first NBA superstar with no authentic bone in his body.

You will tell me, "Wait a minute, that was Kobe "bruised ribs" Bryant!" But, the thing is, Kobe at least is transparent in his attempt to model his game entirely upon Jordan's.

Lebron, just seems to have taken every solemn, Waltonesque cliche about "what makes an NBA superstar" and applied it to himself in the third person. I think the moment when I realized this was when, after dishing to Deltone "Does my face have a third dimension?" West for the game winning three in Game 4 against the Wizards, Lebron went on in his post-game interview to talk about (to paraphrase) "This is really Delonte's moment. He should have a lot of confidence that I trusted him to make the shot." There was, in his bizarre elaboration on how Delonte should feel great that Lebron trusts him, the element of Lebron writing the media's story for it. It was as if, not sure whether the media would pick up on the specific, "Lebron makes his teammates better storyline" he felt the need to underscore the point.

In any case, this moment has stuck with me and now defines my view of Lebron.

I Thought You'd Never Say the Words...

2008-05-17T15:07:00.004-06:00

After some serious talk of relationships, I always like a little Bryan Adams to clear the head and remind us of what true love is really all about.

LIJ's Relationship Advice for Guys: Playing the Numbers Game

2008-05-17T13:14:00.001-06:00

Now, ordinarily, I like to focus my advice on those QJs -- Quirky Jerky guys like me -- who just love staying single... like NO relations with the ladies. We're complicated enough as it is, why make them even more complicated, right?

But then, last week, I was making my usual rounds of the advice columns -- just a little research, capiche? -- and I saw this item from Tell Me About It about having the "Numbers Conversation" in your couple:
My boyfriend wanted to have the Numbers Conversation. I already know what you think about this generally. I was perfectly comfortable trading our numbers, but he has pushed the issue further, wanting to know more about the specific circumstances of each person on the list.
Some key points Carolyn makes:

But I know objectification when I see it. Your boyfriend is more concerned about mining your sexual details than he is about you as a whole. Otherwise he wouldn't be digging for such private, useless dirt.

He wouldn't be pushing, either; he'd not only respect your resistance, but you'd also resist less. In fact, if you and he had a trusting relationship, you'd both be giving up half of this stuff on your own in the course of routine conversation.

Now, maybe this is just "sexual bean-counting" for Ms. Carolyn "I-get-paid-to-do-this" Hax, but guys all know how important it is to establish where your ladyfriend falls on the Madonna-Whore continuum. Important life decisions -- and this is now backed up by research -- such as how long to plan on being with this lady, whether she can be the mother of your children, how much she should tolerate your infidelities, all hinge upon this knowledge.

Further, Ms. Carolyn "my-sage-advice-grows-like-sage-in-Provence" Hax fails to allow for what Supreme Court Justice Anthony Kennedy calls the "mystery of human life" -- in essence, "Different Strokes for Different Folks." In other words, what may seem like controlling and abusive behavior to some, may just be another's idea of kinky role play...

So, in a few words, then, I guess what I'm saying is that I pity this guy more than I fear him. Why? Well, he is obviously lacking the sound relationship vice of Yours Truly.

There are many ways to play the Numbers Game without coming across as pushy or controlling. By following my simple advice, you'll find the key to making the Numbers Game fun for both of you. Essentially, what we have here is a classic case of the famous "I want you to want to wash the dishes!" so aptly relayed in the Anniston-Vaughn vehicle, The Break-Up. Except, here we can rephrase the problem as being, "I want you to want to divulge seamy details of your past sexual history!"

Well, if you follow my advice, my friend, she will.

The first thing to keep in mind is that "Context is key."
The problem we educators face is that even our brightest students will lack enthusiasm for learning if lesson plans and information is presented without context. Your challenge is to make the conversation meaningful by situating it in a meaningful context for your lady.

How often does she have to tell you "Pick up your dirty socks, asshole!"
How many times have you avoided the conversation about "where we're going" merely because she told you "We need to have a talk."

Now, what if we reframed these incidents?
For example, what if the moment you dropped your sock on the floor, she whupped your ass, and then said, "Pick up your dirty sock, asshole!" You'd only have to have that conversation once, am I right? It works with house pets; it works with you, too.

And what if, driving along the Interstate to Gary, you saw a six-car pileup blocking traffic heading up to Cicero and as the ambulance sirens wailed, she uttered, ruefully, "Sometimes I feel that's what our relationship is like." Wouldn't you want to have that talk, then?

Well, getting the goods on your mate's past paramours follows pretty much the same rules.

Some sample scenarios:

1. Admission by mimesis:

Queue up 1 or 2 good movies from Netflix, maybe with Jeremy Irons, or one of those arty Peter Greenaway flicks. Every time you see something that either titillates or would provoke a surge of uncontrollable jealousy, say something like, "Wow, did you ever do that with Claude?" Caught up in a moment of fine cinema, misty-eyed by nostalgia for Claude, it is unlikely that she would be able to resist your interrogation.

2. Admission by false reciprocity:

Use a moment of intimacy to admit to something you've never done: "Wow, when I was with Claudine, we would always [insert lewd behavior that you would castigate in your mate here]." If she becomes appalled, then you know you have a keeper. If, however, this spurs her to up the ante with an admission of your own, then at least you have confirmed your worst doubts.

3. The word problem approach:

On a grocery run with your lady, she asks you to pick up some eggs. You say, "How many?" When she says, "Get a dozen", you can take the lead with words to the effect of "Oh, is that more or less than the men you slept with before meeting me?" If she says "Less", you can start accidentally dropping eggs on the ground until you finally arrive at the right number. If she says "More", Hell, buddy, you better just slam that whole egg carton on the ground and turn tail!

4. Corollary to the word problem approach:

You can also find out important details about your mate's past relations through eggs, by asking if she would like you to get "Brown" or "White" eggs, "Cage free", "Organic",
"Omega-3 added" "Plastic" or "Pulp" cartons, etcetera.

The same smooth maneuvers can be practiced with fruit and pretty much anything else in the grocery store... just like in math class!

5. Public displays of extortion:

This final sample scenario follows from the trip to the grocery store. While many men might wrong-headedly think that the boudoir or the breakfast bar are the only places where one can discuss such matters, staging a scene in public can be a surprisingly effective way to get your lady talking the truth to you. Believe me, not 2 minutes into having you scream "I have a right to know what you did with Claude!" while standing in line for Chardonnay during the intermission of Il Barbiere di Siviglia, and you'll be getting confessions out of her like a Cathar from Carcassonne.
Hint: This approach increases in effectiveness in proportion to your ability to recruit nearby onlookers to your cause. Remember, there's strength in numbers.

A few final words of advice:
Rember, despite the proven effectiveness of all of the above approaches, technique without feeling is like swimming without water. You'll never get anywhere without these simple words: "I only want to know because I love you."
On the other hand, as much as it honors you and behooves you to remind her of the feelings from which your inquiry springs, never, NEVER, NEVER use the following words when playing the Numbers Game: "If you loved me, you would tell me."
Because, in the end, she doesn't love you. How could she, you jerk?

And that is why the wisest among us choose to remain Quirky Jerky.

Note about the video: Our opinion is that the use of this song was fundamental to the message of the post. Unfortunately, the video is crap and makes no sense, but it's the only one I could find on YouTube. One day, I'll learn how to put together my own videos, at which point I will replace the above with a less disturbing montage.

More movie news...

2008-05-16T23:03:00.003-06:00

Just found out upon seeing the reprinting that they've adapted Brick Lane into a movie!!!!
Still, it's beyond me how it could take over six months for them to release it in the US...

Anyway, it's nice to see good writers get success.

Boycott the Zohan

2008-05-16T21:23:00.005-06:00

You Don't Mess with the Zohan is a morally repugnant movie. I have always wondered how Jewish teens and tweens got away with wearing militaristic Zionist T-shirts to school. It seemed, growing up in American Jewry that part of our socialization passed through a ritual worship of the IDF and Mossad. The below is a copy of a T-shirt print from my sister's high school wardrobe.

This perception of a technically superior Israeli military and intelligence apparatus that can teach us Americans how to wipe out terrorism once and for all has only gained greater force in the aftermath of September 11th. This is despite many bungled and damaging covert operations over the last ten years and increasing reports of sinking troop morale.

Spielberg's Munich most recently broached the problem of the persisting mythos of the Israeli superspy, albeit in an awful, heavy-handed movie, whose only saving grace -- that it was filmed in beautiful Malta -- was undermined by the more appalling fact that Spielberg apparently forgot that there were Jewish actors in Hollywood who could have filled some of those roles.

So, it is all the more surprising that Adam Sandler would choose to coast in for his latest effort on this outdated tall tale of Israeli counter-terrorist perfection in the cuddly story of a former Mossad agent who retires to New York, only to find his services needed in the dismantlement of a home-grown terrorist threat led by some Arab taxi driver (presumption of plot based on trailer) and his pals. It is more sad though than surprising that we have come to simply accept in our culture that Zionist militarism is an invariable positive, and that any Arab national sentiment is suspect and, at best, a potential negative.

So, in addition to calling for a Zohan boycott, I would also like to propose the following idea for an Adam Sandler movie (Any resemblances to Happy Gilmore or Waterboy are purely coincidental) to Hollywood: Don't Tread on Ayyub!

Ayyub is a Palestinian who makes it to Washington, DC, where his patience developed through waiting at checkpoints becomes a valuable commodity for lobbyists. Soon, he becomes the most sought after line-stander on the Hill. However, one day while standing in line, he overhears word of a secret plot by the AYPAK lobby, representing the interest of wealthy Zinconians in the US, to kidnap the Secretary of State and replace her with an AYPAK clone. The only way to stop them is to join the K Street softball league, where the stone-throwing skills of his youth would allow him to take down the powerful plotters within AYPAK. But, can Ayyub save US foreign policy and still win the love of the charming Senate staffer whose boss is fiercely pro-Zinconian? Why not? After all, this is America!

The story of my 100 hour obsession with Mila Kunis

2008-05-16T01:09:00.001-06:00

For a while now, I have been nurturing a serious gripe about the silver screen. The movies once were dominated by glamorous, enigmatic and captivating dames. And, then, somewhere along the way... something happened. Perhaps it was Julia Roberts... Perhaps it was Michael Bay... Perhaps it was Thelma and Louise... Somewhere along the way, less and less was asked of leading ladies, while the male leads somehow became man-crush-inducing charismatic.

Indeed, we are in an age where there is a mind-boggling proliferation of Cary Grants and Steve McQueens. We are in an age where the heady cocktail of machismo, presence, smolder and talent no longer sits on a dusty shelf by the Galliano in a bottle labelled Dirk Bogarde 1965.

No, in fact, it has been reported recently that 672 women got pregnant (including 16 over the age of 40) just as a result of seeing Shoot 'Em Up. Add that to the upwards of 20,000 men who came out to their wives or grown children after seeing Croupier, and you understand that we are dealing today with an unprecedented imbalance of masculine starpower on the silver screen.
Not since the Renaissance has an art medium been this heavily lopsided towards the portrayal of masculine over feminine beauty.

In addition to Clive Owen, there is the versatile, adrogynous and finally earning a paycheck:

The "I don't care if it's about professional wrestling, as long as he's in it":

The man voted most likely to never have broken a sweat:

The guy you'd like to have as your best friend, but only if you didn't care about ever having a girlfriend ever again:

And the other guy you'd like to have as your best friend, but only if you didn't care about ever having a girlfriend ever again:

We are, by the way, deliriously happy to have seen the trailer for Pineapple Express and to realize -- not only that Paper Planes is ubiquitous in a good and much deserved way -- but also that James Franco has finally gotten a big screen role that exploits his strength as a comedic actor.

Now, it used to be that one could go to the movies and be much moved by the actresses -- what am I saying -- the icons!!! But now, quite frankly, the major actresses working in film today are interchangeable and innocuous. Can someone tell me the difference between Nicole Kidman, Naomi Watts, and Emily Watson? What about between Michelle Monaghan and Liv Tyler?

Not only that, interesting roles merely don't exist. As such, compared with male actors, very few women in Hollywood or in overseas studios are asked -- as Bertolucci famously required of the aforementioned Liv Tyler in Stealing Beauty -- to act through their "intelligent skin." This school of acting, of which -- among today's thespians -- Clive Owen is quite clearly the master, begot many fine performances from Isabelle Adjani in the 70s and 80s.

In Nosferatu, the combination of Kinski and Adjani formed perhaps the most beautiful pairing of human beings in the history of the twentieth century.

But where is today's Isabelle Adjani?

I realize that Adjani is still making movies, but that doesn't count. The "Gerard Depardieu rule" (La regle Gerard Depardieu) holds that once a French cinema icon makes his or her 25th film, every succeeding performance is self-caricature and thus, doesn't count as acting.

For a while, it seems some industry people were trying to have Monica Bellucci fill her stylish pumps, but then they realized that she's not actually an actress...

Cate Blanchett is clearly an exception, given that she has taken and stretched countless roles in many superb movies, including a particularly fascinating character as Bathsheba Hart in the 2006 film Notes on a Scandal (which I have not yet seen, but the Zoe Heller novel was one of the best of 2003). I have always had a soft spot for her among contemporary actresses, all the more since she does not have, to my knowledge, the annoying propensity of her contemporaries for taking off their clothes in front of Harvey Keitel...

While it would not be fair to say that she squandered her talent on the gimmicky I'm Not There and the overwrought Elizabeth the Golden Age... since after all, the greatest icons are also, a la Klaus Kinski, the most profligate with their talent... one has to admit that the quality of her performances, the sheer and obvious substance of her talent, dulls that certain whiff of ether that characterizes our Adjani at her finest.

(Also, she's no longer getting cast in sexy roles. I bet if she was French or even -- as Charlotte Rampling -- living in France, she'd be totally getting hot, sultry roles... )

Sofia Coppolla, Michel Gondry, and Francois Ozon have all challenged the paucity of complex roles for women in today's movies, but rather than developing a symbiotic working relationship with an actress like Sautet with Beart and Chabrol with Huppert, the strength of their visions rather transcends acting.

Kerry Washington peeled the onion of a meager part in Last King of Scotland and then peeled the grape with a spot-on performance in the charming, Eric Rohmer tribute I Think I Love my Wife, and it appears she will continue to show more range and -- umm -- intelligence in her upcoming roles.

Alice Braga, who gets something like tenth billing opposite Chiwetel Ejiofor in Redbelt, was one of the many convincing reasons to see City of God. Then, she quite perspicaciously proved her acting chops in Lower City, which, like the perfect City of God, was a righteous vision of realism and social disorder. Still, she has yet to break through.

Of course, I can't bring up Marion Cotillard here, because I would fear being labelled un-American...

And so it was that, resigned to have my movie-going become a purely homosocial activity replete with wistful man-crushes, that -- just the other day -- I went to see Forgetting Sarah Marshall. This was a perfect movie: the best comedy about love since Le Genou de Claire by Eric Rohmer.

Really, great things have long been expected of Jason Segel, whose Nick Andopolis is one of the most touching, painful, ridiculous and heroic characters ever to grace the small screen. And, finally, he delivers: with a brilliant screenplay about, essentially, Nick Andopolis all grown up.

As a whole, every element in the movie worked perfectly to depict the process of decristallisation that was the hallmark of Gerard de Nerval more lucid tales, taking the analysis of Stendhal before him and describing that process by which the illusions with which each gesture, each trait of the beloved becomes a premise for new transports crumble away and leave us with the recognition of ourselves, in a state of dereliction. Rohmer later worked magic with both Stendhalien and Nervalien dynamics. And now, Nick Andopolis reveals himself a modern day Pierrot, his lanky clown chasing illusions with sublime pomp and self-loathing. His Sarah Marshall is a masterpiece in watching the psychology of love dismantled and re-centered.

That dying love is rebuilt into a beautiful Chateau in Virginia Waters, with a parallel tale of nascent love and self-actualization underscores the sleek harmoniousness of Sarah Marshall's construction. The new beloved, unnamed in the title, and yet relentless in her ascent through the narrative, takes the form of the most beguiling female romantic lead since Catherine Deneuve in the Umbrellas of Cherbourg.

Wide-eyed... dark... wispy... umm... tough-minded and funny in a way that was much more real than the sort of screwball or flaky model heroines we have been spoon fed for quite some time now...

So, I never really watched That 70s Show... During its run, I was either overseas or obsessed with 7th Heaven. So, thankfully, Mila Kunis was never on my radar until quite recently... and it appears that her next movie will be one of those ubiquitous video game adaptations that don't really make much sense. But then, even Angelina Jolie and Daniel Craig had their Tomb Raider moment... and besides, she's Jewish! (She and James Franco -- so I can no longer complain that Hollywood is bad for the Jews.)

It will be good to follow the choices she makes with her career and how filmmakers use her admirable talent in the future. Until then, though, I will have to wait until Forgetting Sarah Marshall comes out on DVD. It will be just like that time, many years back now, when, far from Claudine... she had told me that Jodie Foster was her favorite actress. So I would watch Maverick and Little Man Tate, pausing and advancing the tape in slow-mo, just to collect from Ms. Foster's apparition on the screen, that essence that drew Claudine's admiration, to capture from the actress, the woman who loved her.

And so shall it be from now: A patient, subdued appreciation for the woman who may save the American movie.

Finally, the MSM gets it right

2008-05-15T23:20:00.001-06:00

Best subject for a special issue I've ever seen...

I'll write more about it tomorrow. Thanks, Slate!

Georgia on my mind

2008-05-13T19:14:00.003-06:00

Wow, this really does raise some serious concerns about Obama's candidacy... I can't even think of any primary races where he has run up the kind of margin we're seeing Hillary tally today!

Who hates Florida and Michigan voters NOW?!?

2008-05-13T19:08:00.002-06:00

If Hillary really cared about Florida and Michigan voters, would she really announce her imminent delivery of "the greatest speech ever" opposite the extremely close fourth quarter of game five between Orlando and Detroit?

In any case, you gotta give it to Senator Clinton, her sound economic policy arguments clearly got through to the good, hard-working folk of West Virginia...

16 tons

2008-05-13T16:38:00.003-06:00

You know, I'd be happy to concede these votes, too...

Meanwhile, all this time and so much to blog... we (or I, rather, since G_d only knows what ASM has been up to) haven't been neglecting our duties. Instead, we have been working -- rather contra-medium -- on a couple of long-form entries which should be ready for your perusal in the next couple of days. So stay tune for:

LIJs relationship advice for guys: How to drive her crazy!

Why Forgetting Sarah Marshall will ensure the sustainability of the heterosexual lifestyle!

Gossip Girl updates and more...

A Fighter to Fight for YOU and Never Quit to Fight to Win FOR YOU

2008-05-10T21:18:00.003-06:00

Senator Clinton unveiled her new strategy today via a YouTube video and Press Release:

They see in Hillary Clinton a candidate who understands the pressures they face. As they watch her tough it out against all odds, refusing to quit and continuing to compete against whatever the media and her opponents throw her way, they see a woman as tough and resilient as they are. They clearly want her to win. Her victory, I believe, is their victory.

Some people may think all that is crap. But such people have obviously never worked a day in their stinkin' (ecru or darker) lives!!!!!!

And I used to respect Emily's List, too...

Make that a double raki... no ice

2008-05-10T19:29:00.003-06:00

I am having serious trouble coping with the idea of a Lifetime Original Movie without either
A) Someone getting killed
B) A psychopath
C) Both

Damn Mother's Day!

Break out the raki... I'm about to have a good cry

2008-05-10T18:35:00.004-06:00

Meanwhile, the real victim, our foreign policy, and Obama's sterling vision thereof keeps sacrificing itself upon the altar of ludicrous campaign-induced litmus tests.

First, there was super-wonk and human rights community icon, Samantha Power...

Now, Algeria expert and brilliant analyst of the Peace Process, Rob Malley gets thrown overboard by Team Obama apparently due to having spoken with people in occupied Palestine.

It would be nice to, as usual, blame everything on the Jews and the extent to which the US Zionist lobby is the most asinine, self-in-foot-shooting organization that ever existed... but, for reasons that will be explained later, I am indefinitely forswearing any self-hating chic. But it just seems that there is some kind of establishment thinking in DC that requires that people who make foreign policy not talk to anybody who may be affected by our policies, and, more to the point, that they waste everybody's time engaging in blustery national security pissing matches.

Now, Samantha Power and Rob Malley are both pretty unique voices who seem to presage the awesome renewal in Obama's vision... this latest just reveals how painful the process changing the status quo can be. Having met RM, this feels -- of course -- even worse. The thrill of thinking that I was just one degree removed from Obama's foreign policy shop -- gone, baby, gone. Someone, get me some raki, stat!

... and I approved this message (Part 2)

2008-05-10T18:18:00.004-06:00

Hillary Clinton just released this ad to persuade primary voters in Oregon:

Yes, People who love themselves love Hillary.

Isn't it fantastic that the only couple that may have gained more mileage through an orchestrated public relations effort to sustain the mythology of their victimhood is now out there campaigning for the Clintons?

Entitled, blessed with wealth, blonde, longstanding DC insiders, what don't they have? This just proves that the Natalie Holloway effect can also play out for the Washington press corps.

... and I approved this message

2008-05-10T18:09:00.002-06:00

Hillary Clinton just released this ad, trying to persuade the superdelegates that she's more electable:

I hear that there's another one out there with Steelworkers instead of Firefighters, but I couldn't track it down. Still, same idea, I guess...

Now, can I just say something parenthetically for a moment?

(Okay, so when I see something like this, it makes me feel like a lot of people out there must hate me... ME personally -- okay, and probably also several of my close friends and acquaintances, not to mention former and future colleagues. It really hurts.)

Prison break

2008-05-10T17:50:00.004-06:00

I made it out a coupla days ago... You wouldn't believe how many vanity plates you can make in just one week. My ego was so worn out by the end, that I have been spending all the time since getting my freedom back either at the movies or sleeping.

Meanwhile, I see that ASM has definitely given up blogging for the highlife in Kitzbuhel. At least he won't want for vitamin D...

Busted by the Dream Police

2008-05-04T19:19:00.003-06:00

So, I got arrested by the Dream Police a couple days ago. That's what ya get for believin' in the Wizards/Hawks/Suns' playoff hopes...

You don't wanna know what I had to do just to get 5 mins at an online workstation so that I could put up this update. Warden sez that if I keep up the good behavior, they might let me out of the cling by Wednesday...

Things I will get to later

2008-04-29T05:04:00.004-06:00

Gossip Girl: As Young Joc would say... It's goin' down!

The ongoing Lebron versus Wiz versus Jay-Z versus lame-ass-frat-boy-Jew-wonk-playahaters- who-think-Jay-Z-invented-rap-and-hate-Allen-Iverson feud!

Hidayet! Hidayet! MIP! MIP!

Hannah Monatana versus Annie Leibomanischevitz!

Lame-ass American expatriates in Paris!

All that and more! After... um... I finish this thing I have to work on...

In the meantime, here's something for you to think about:

Who is Nelly Yukee?

2008-04-28T18:20:00.003-06:00

And why wouldn't it be possible for more than one student to get into Yale from what is supposedly a prestigious Manhattan feeder school?

OMFG, Georgina!

2008-04-28T18:09:00.003-06:00

S's nemesis arrives. Chuck shows off orange. (Confident in his sexuality or hmm... gay?)
Meanwhile, while the Token Asian Girl hasn't reappeared, B does mention some Asian student... who's apparently pretty good at the SAT's. Go figure!

WWBAD?

2008-04-22T22:28:00.001-06:00

It's times like these, when we all need to channel our inner Bryan Adams...

Things I hate today

2008-04-22T20:03:00.005-06:00

Grape nut flakes
Flakes
People who try to con--

What?

The Suns are on? Oh...
BRB

About that Dirk thing...

2008-04-22T19:59:00.003-06:00

Just to clarify that point I made earlier...
Dirk hates losing

Hillary hates playas

Es tut mir leid, Dirk, I just had to... it ain't personal...
Hillary will never have your ausgezeichnet J.

Experience versus Leadership

2008-04-22T19:40:00.003-06:00

What, did you not hear that the Hornets blew out the Mavs for the second game in a row?
Wait... I thought the Mavs awesome playoff experience and J-Kidd steering was supposed to dominate in this series... Come to think of it, Dirk does look a lot like Hillary...

Chris Paul victorious!
New Orleans rises again!

Things I think about while watching MSNBC

2008-04-22T19:35:00.003-06:00

Rachel Maddow: "What does that say about Clinton's electability when her campaign's completely broke?" (or words to that effect...)
Damn straight!

Too much Pat Buchanan (he's a raving lunatic who's just blathering from his face) and not enough Eugene Robinson (Let him speak, goddammit Pat, let him speak -- at least he really does know what he's talking about!)...

Nothing new about Pez dispensers from Chris Matthews, but some other things he's saying don't make a lot of sense.

Oh... And David Gregory finally gets the Rocky analogy right!
It takes people 6 weeks to figure out the plot of a Sly Stallone movie? Maybe he is a genius!

Things I hate today

2008-04-21T19:28:00.008-06:00

Pirates

Last week, it's French luxury yachts... Now, its Spanish tuna fishers (who, according to one commenter, are of course the "real pirates" -- which makes pirates just that much worse)... Whatever happened to the "Old School" pirates... Pirates these days are all "bitch" this... "ho" that... and I'm like, "Matey, do you kiss your scullery maid with that beard?"

old school pirate

Too much Ginger Ale and not enough Cel-Ray!
If people even overcame the idea "Celery Soda?" and tasted it, I am sure that the world (and designated drivers) would be drinking Cel-Ray and not Coca-Cola. Why doesn't the International Zionist Conspiracy stay on top of these things!

Too much Miley Cyrus and not enough Emily Osment! Hey Hannah, why not giving Lilly one of those both worlds that you're always bragging about!

Zack, for always shitting on Cody and leaving him holding the bag...

...unless I've got that the other way around.

OMFG That's Pathetic!

2008-04-21T18:54:00.005-06:00

I can't tell who's more pathetic:
The Wizards or Jenny
I mean the Cavs were gonna let the Wizards back in, and instead, they emptied out their garbage all over Quicken Loans arena... Now they're getting played like Nate Archibald (and I don't mean TINY) got played by Dan's li'l sis'...

So far, no one's come out (my bet is on the above-pictured Jenny due to her just giving up any chance of ever getting nasty with Nate) on Gossip Girl, but they have announced the new Evil Serena Doppelganger figure to be played by Michelle Trachtenburgh, but known to us only by the evocative letter "G"...
At least someone knows how to create suspense!

Finally, Ca Commence....

2008-04-21T18:09:00.005-06:00

Early signs of upping the more cerebral aspects of Gossip Girl since the hiatus:
Scene opens on a Balthus meets Brassai dream sequence...
Return of new episodes ushers in some clever intertextuality, as Serena refers to a friend making it into Brody Jenner's cellphone...
Further eeriness is delivered as Penelope's new crew is shown all lined up with spoons, eating yogurt... again a surreal tableau...

In the department of disturbing developments:
Token Asian girl has disappeared, leaving token black girl to carry the CW's minority audience all by herself...
Girls all eating yogurt, but it doesn't look like Activa brand -- what a faux pas!

Job opening at TNT?

2008-04-21T17:56:00.003-06:00

Marv Albert just tells Reggie: "Now, Reggie, of course me trying to talk about rap music is like the Tsar (sp?) trying to talk about French literature!"

So, does that mean NBA on TNT is looking for someone to talk about French literature doing game commentary? I'm your man, people. Call me!

By the way, does Marv talk about French literature? Why didn't he just compare his talking about rap like his talking about French literature... or has he been keeping that secret to maintain his cred? Of course, I don't want to start a discussion here about Marv's cred... that could turn ugly, quick.

B versus Chuck: XOXO

2008-04-21T17:43:00.002-06:00

Enough talk. Now it's time to throw down!
Gossip Girl fans across the nation are getting revved up for the continuation of Gossipdom...
We don't have to care anymore about the Chace-Carrie breakup; the Penn-Blake rumors; the Chace-Jessica rumors; the Chace queer rumors; the Penn-Chace homosocial vacation-going; the endless string of club sightings.

Now, we can blissfully let truth recede and fiction hold sway once again...
XOXO

Wizards-Cavs Update

2008-04-21T17:41:00.002-06:00

End of Quarter 1: Lebron again gets a fingernail stuck between his front teeth. What's up with that? If it's always so painful, he might want to quit biting his nails...

Wizards look crisp and tough, except when letting Lebron into the lane and when they miss a bunch of free throws to let the Cavs open up a five point lead at the end of the quarter.

NBA Playoff Turk-Watch: Memo gegen Hedo, Rd 1

2008-04-20T14:46:00.007-06:00

Mehmet Okur and Hidayet Turkoglu are now each at the Uludag of their games. Their teams are fighting for playoff respect. On the road to a sampiyonsip, one question must be answered: Which Turkish baller would make Ataturk most proud...
So far,
Memo has 4 points on 2 for 8 shooting with 8 rebounds, 3 assists and 2 turnovers in 32 minutes during the Jazz's game 1 win.

Meanwhile, in the Magic's In-grown Toronto-nailing, Hedo scored 21 points on 9 for 15 shooting, adding 6 dimes and 6 boards in his 38 minutes.

Round 1: Hedo

Things I hate about This Week

2008-04-20T09:33:00.002-06:00

Umm... How did it happen that the falsehood that if you raise capital gains taxes it lowers revenues gain common currency -- with absolutely NO examination in the media?

Umm... How convenient is it that -- post 21st debate outrage -- G-Steph gets to surround himself with the biggest softball, dumb-as-dirt panel: Sam & Cokie and G-Will? What about regular Katrina VandenHovel, who was deeply from her Nation podium? I mean, by skirting any real confrontation about their debate, how does ABC re-establish its bonafides?

By the way, remind me how such relentlessly stupid people are allowed to opine on television?

Umm... I have spent the last several weeks being appalled by Hillary Clinton. After listening to McCain today, I am super-appalled by McCain. The winning strategy for Obama, I think, is to challenge him sufficiently in debates on the issues about which McCain is clearly just blowing snot out of his ass... until McCain gets so pissed off that he scares away all voters -- or gets an aneurysm (whichever comes first).

By the way, Cokie is currently arguing for the continuation of "business as usual in Washington" on the grounds that she seems to believe Obama is proposing constitutional revisions that eliminate "checks and balances." Too bad that's already been done...

Curtis' take on Reverend Wright controversy

2008-04-20T07:22:00.006-06:00

Ray Billingsley offers this savvy take on Jeremiah Wright:

Basically, you hear what you want to hear, until you don't. And when you don't, you call the pastor "Crackers."

Meanwhile, Dagwood doesn't wait even one whole day before breaking Passover.

And, I'd like to ask all my readers who work in the national security milieu to verify whether Defense Department lunches are always like this:

P.S. ASM, dude, I'm working you out of a job here. You're little Menage-a-Lederhosen better be worth it...

Patriotism = Death

2008-04-20T07:18:00.003-06:00

The Atlanta Journal-Constitution's resident-Robert-Novak interprets Obama's discourse on patriotism as "bribing veterans":

It is ultimately not about presidents and generals performing roles. It’s about the sons and daughters of America and of our national honor and ultimately, of course, about national security and the world our children will inherit.

Patriotism in a president is not about calling ordinary soldiers heroes. It is not about giving them things of material value. Nor is it about putting them on an exit plane while the people they betrayed watch in horror at the emptiness of our promises. It’s about making it possible for those who answered their country’s call to duty to look themselves in the mirror for the rest of their lives.

Yeah... under current circumstances, that's not a lot of time to look in that mirror.

Thanks, but a card will suffice

2008-04-20T07:15:00.003-06:00

Atlanta's monument to Andrew Young: at least the arms are practical!

Please, don't honor me like this...

Worst week ever

2008-04-19T16:33:00.010-06:00

What is hell? My own personal definition has always somehow incorporated Chris Noth... whether it is spending an eternity in the same room with the man, or an eternity watching him on television in one of those Crime Scene Investigation shows.
I believe, though, that some more Christian-leaning folks may see hell as the opposite of, say, heaven; and some Christians accede to heaven by resisting temptation on earth. They stand to benefit, one assumes, by reaping a reward in the afterlife. In this case, wouldn't hell be a place of eternal temptation where everything in which you wished to indulge was laid out before you but... just... out... of... reach?

Well, that's kind of what this week is for me. In its infinite wisdom, the University of Georgia has somehow decided to make the multiple-final-project-inducing final week of spring semester coincide with all of the following:

The start of the NBA Playoffs
The return of Gossip Girl with new episodes

Around-the-clock coverage of the Pennsylvania primary

The opening in theaters of Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo

Oh Lord, how did it come to this?
Which reminds me -- Pesach? All this and Pesach too?

Yup, AI pretty much sums up my attitude toward this week.

3-20

2008-04-19T13:20:00.001-06:00

That's what the Wizards shot from the floor in the 4th quarter. Hmm... What would Denny Green say?

Feeling numb?

2008-04-19T12:56:00.002-06:00

After that last, game-tying trey, I am given to speculate as to whether or not Deshawn Stevenson can feel his face...

The reason Lebron bites...

2008-04-19T11:52:00.001-06:00

... his nails: No cure yet found for Steven A. Smith and Bill Walton.

U-G-L-Y

2008-04-19T11:45:00.004-06:00

End of 1st half --
Cavs get David Stern bonus points to even out the score...
Cleveland highlights leagues UGLIEST players: Delonte West and Zydrunas Ilgauskas.

Mathematics

2008-04-19T11:13:00.003-06:00

Agent Zero gives the Cavs a lesson in mathematics, as he reviews his exponential tables: drains 3 3s in a row....

Playoffs, Baby, Playoffs!

2008-04-19T11:08:00.003-06:00

One quarter down: Agent Zero drains an impossible 3 as time runs down.
Lebron gets one of his fingernails caught between his teeth; cries for a foul; gets a timeout instead...

Bryan Adams is a G

2008-04-17T23:11:00.002-06:00

So... um... someone pointed out that I will run out of Bryan Adams videos to post very soon. So, to put a little water in our wine we (at least I hope ASM is with me on this)... we are now posting great works by heroes who seem to capture the spirit of his art -- if not his tousled, rugged Canadian-Maltese virile manself.

Please, this one's on me. Start your day out right, buddy...

Awesomeness's Awesomest Advent

2008-04-14T10:25:00.004-06:00

As many of you have understood, it has been my long held principle to make this forum something other than your usual, ubiquitous boring political blog. After all, I don't really have anything interesting to say about politics and am far too lazy to come up with something to say on the subject on a daily basis.

But, what with ASM AWOL, off still basking under the luminous golden tresses of Heidi and Dagmar in Kitzbuhel -- to return G_d know when, I have been lacking my straight man foil for several weeks, now, and instead, just find myself relegated to sitting at home, gnawing on matzoh bones, occupied at some or the other odd research project and indulging in idle, sophistic musings that end up crushed under foot like so many matzoh bones.

In this context, it is with even greater impact, then, that I have witnessed the flap of the pre-PA-primary season: "Bitter-gate." Now, it has been a source of great civic pride for me to have had the opportunity to attend in person two Obama speeches -- once in 2005 and again just about six months ago -- and, more than the of the brilliant oratory and bright concepts, one is aware of this quite unique characteristic of Senator Obama: He has complete trust in his audience's ability to judge him on his merits.

Now, it would be nice to dismiss this apparent fearlessness or self-confidence as merely a handy political skill. But it seems ever clearer, the more this campaign progresses, that he genuinely does not distinguish between the people whose voices he wishes to represent and his own voice. I have not, in any speech, debate or other venue, seen him condescend to the crowd or try to appeal to a pre-formulated, targeted set of talking points in order to generate some false sense of solidarity. It's not so much that he "says what's on his mind" as much as he appears to be negotiating the space between where he stands and where he thinks you stand. The result is an openness that, in my view, fosters a mutual respect that tends to validate both parties. And it is really this willingness to sincerely and openly negotiate that space that makes Obama an entirely unique, once in a lifetime candidate. (Of course, those of us Illinoisan cannot help but see, in these traits, an incarnation of the Paul Simon ethos but sans bow tie -- thus a twice in a lifetime candidate for the Land of Lincoln.) In any case, all this just to preface showing yet another brilliant parry to the "Bitter-gate" flap:

Arrogant? Perhaps. But of the kind that is bestowed and not assumed -- the prerogative of a leader.

Bitter? No, I'm just waiting for someone to fight for me!

2008-04-11T20:52:00.002-06:00

Unfortunately, I have volunteered (on behalf of a select community of academics) to lock myself in a room with Ben Smith for the entire weekend -- no, don't worry, only the hypertext marked-up version... So, my blogging may be a bit weak in the next few days -- but, afterwards, what technique I'll have learned!

Anyway, in anticipation of tomorrow's excellent Lifetime Original Movie (LOM) The Memory of My Daughter's Keeper, I couldn't help but bring some tidings on the campaign from the Lifetime front. Ahh, CW you may have my MIND, but Lifetime will always have my heart!!!!!!!

In which Dear Prudence explains Hillary's Demo

2008-04-10T09:38:00.002-06:00

You thought I was the only one who can dole out advice, relationship or otherwise. Well, actually, Slate's Prudence does an awful good job of it herself. Today's column reveals the truth behind Hillary Clinton's demographic:

I'm associated with a group of corporate ladies, all of us in our 60s. We are giving a 65^th birthday tea for one of our friends, using her guest list. It's a mixed group of women, and most people don't know one another. So the other hostesses have insisted on name tags. I hate the idea. This is not a corporate affair; it's a private party. I think it's insulting to the guests (there are only 20 of us) and indirectly a reminder of our age and our memory capacity. I'm in the minority and going along with the group (although my name tag will disappear like chewing gum under the seat sometime during the tea). But, for future reference, so I can come armed with an objective opinion the next time this occurs: What is modern etiquette on name tags? Has the corporate world so permeated our private lives that we actually think this is proper? By the way, I remember a Hillary Clinton fundraiser years ago, where a very savvy Washingtonian removed her name tag before having her picture taken with Hillary—it made her look more like a friend. Stupidly, I kept mine on.

Just one note, here. Lady, don't crumple your name tag and leave it under the table!!!! That's such a pain for the service to pick up. Put it in your purse lady... Maybe you'll bury it there with your Clinton vote.

Memphis wins!

2008-04-08T05:35:00.003-06:00

Have you asked yourself: "Who really won last night?"
Well, according to my data, there is no way that Kansas actually won an NCAA title last night. Memphis was actually leading in all major categories that count. Also, think of the psychological pain that it will cause to these kids -- FOREVER -- to know that they were on the path to certain victory, and they lost because of something called missed free throws! Do words mean anything anymore? They're called FREE throws for Chrissakes! You might as well call 'em AUTOMATIC points!

Do you really want this guy to go through the rest of his life like Chris Webber, the bitterness of having won before losing it hanging around his neck, weighing down his talent, until all the sweetness slips out of his sick game like a rotted plum... and he will ever be, the rest of his life, this close to a championship...

sigh

And if that ain't enough

2008-04-08T05:18:00.003-06:00

For more in the annals of Profunditry, stay tuned to the Daily Show tonite. Special guest: COKIE ROBERTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Will she create a rhetorical moebius strip by repeating everything everyone else has said but in her unique, flattening dialect of Stupidian? Will she pretend that she has her finger on the pulse of the average joe, when she actually has her finger dipped in warm water and SHE'S SLEEPING?

XTRA XTRA!

2008-04-08T05:13:00.004-06:00

HOLY CRAP

The greatest public intellectual since H L Mencken, proves once again his relevance. Richard Cohen tells us today that past speeches weren't enough: Obama must talk some more to white people or risk becoming Michael Dukakis!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I Feel for You...

2008-04-07T20:12:00.002-06:00

...I think I loooooove you.

Sasha Kaun Sasha Kaun Let me rock you Sasha Kaun

Chris Noth's ass getting xeroxed

2008-04-07T20:01:00.002-06:00

ASM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Where I been? Where you been, man?
I'm so happy to know you're alive!
I'm afraid I can't take you up on your offer to join you in Kitzbuhel, though. You may have heard about -- like -- all my final project work that's up in three weeks... Send my Grusse to Dagmar and Heidi!
Anyway, I thought you might like to get a load of this.