Fredo

This man actually dishonors the name of Fredo:

Fredo Speaks

Alberto Gonzales has decided to insert himself, on New Year’s Eve, no less, into the running for most tone-deaf political statement of 2008: “I consider myself a casualty, one of the many casualties of the war on terror." Gonzales, or “Fredo,” as he was known to President Bush, gives The Wall Street Journal his most extensive interview since he stepped down as attorney general in September 2007. "What is it that I did that is so fundamentally wrong, that deserves this kind of response to my service?" he asks. "For some reason, I am portrayed as the one who is evil in formulating policies that people disagree with.” Gonzales said he is writing a memoir "for my sons, so at least they know the story." He does not yet have a publisher. 

From the Wall Street Journal

The Case Against Philadelphia

I will be looking for examples to support the contention that among the great shitpiles of the earth, Philly rests at the top of it all...this arises from my friend Button's horror story of her day in the Philly airport...

the latest is that this "gentleman" shot a guy for talking in a movie theatre. Evidently, there were deep nuggets of wisdom in the dialogue of Benjamin Button the man needed to absorb, and a father talking to his son on a christmas movie excursion was getting in the way of that knowledge. Here is the face of Vile-adelphia:

 

Slumdog

Just saw Slumdog Millionaire...still processing it, which in itself is a rarity re: most films I see these days. I told Dani toward the end that this may well be one of the best films I've seen in years. Just a wonderful fantasy picture--full of horrible realities--and is terrific in every detail. It is one of the reasons we go to films--escapist plot, engaging characters, clever storytelling...Mark sez check it out! 

Bush League II

From The London Times...

The London Times’ Charles Bremner has identified one positive aspect of President Bush’s foreign policy legacy:

With Russian tanks only 30 miles from Tbilisi on August 12, Mr. Sarkozy told Mr. Putin that the world would not accept the overthrow of Georgia’s Government. According to [Sarkozy’s chief diplomatic adviser, Jean-David] Levitte, the Russian seemed unconcerned by international reaction. “I am going to hang Saakashvili by the balls,” Mr. Putin declared.

Mr. Sarkozy thought he had misheard. “Hang him?” — he asked. “Why not?” Mr. Putin replied. “The Americans hanged Saddam Hussein.”

Mr. Sarkozy, using the familiar tu, tried to reason with him: “Yes but do you want to end up like [President] Bush?” Mr. Putin was briefly lost for words, then said: “Ah — you have scored a point there.”

Nice...

Bush League I

I have no way of proving this to you, but I predicted at least 4 years ago that when George Bush leaves office, he will sell his Crawford ranch and move to Dallas. And it was just announced that he was going to do that very thing.

The ranch was a prop that he bought in 1999,  in the successful attempt (obviously) to glom on some of the Reagan ranch thing. The difference is Reagan lived in his ranch before he was President, retired there, and died there. It was his home. Bush bought his own ranch just before announcing for President, so he could look like a rugged western rancher, and not the Dallas city boy he always was. He even stole the photo op setup from the Reagan years, in which he was seen wearing rugged western gear, and chopping cedar--just a cowboy gettin' away from all them city folk and doing what he'd rather be doing--fixin' up the ole homestead, takin' care of the ole honeydo list.

I don't know why it pisses me off, but it does. The man is utterly inauthentic. Rather like his dad. A carpetbagger. An empty windbreaker. Shallow--stand him sideways and you can't see him. Counting down the days, hours and minutes till he's gone.

hilarious!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Twivg7GkYts

This is brilliant!

Whoville

Watching How The Grinch Stole Christmas this evening, I was struck by how obvious it was that the little village of Whoville, nestled in the valley of a far mountain range, was in reality a  fundamentalist Mormon enclave. Remote from the prying eyes of the federal authorities, these Whos feel safe inside their 6 house compound--safe enough to go by the same last name, without hiding behind the aliases other sects do. Notice how similar all the houses are--designed and built by the same hands, and decorated collectively by all the sister-wives of the Mayor of Whoville.

Need more evidence? All the Who children look alike--they are all related, of course. The whole town (read: family) eats together. The valley is appears to be in the remote mountain regions of Utah. They celebrate the Christian Christmas, but yet seem to share a peculiarly individual brand of religious worship. The Mayor (or should I say, Prophet) holds a powerful sway over the community.

The Grinch? Obviously shunned by the family for imperfect religious practices. Perhaps, in the Whos own brand of worship, dogs are considered unclean, and the Grinch refused to part with Max.  And so he brooded, high above the compound, close enough to hear them during family services, yet unable to extricate himself from the hell of ostracization.

So what does he do? He strikes back, during a sacred time. But his former immersion in the cult has been too deep. The rhythms of their lives together have vibrated too strongly inside him--he abandons his revenges, and rejoins the Whos. And Max? Well, the roast beast seemed a little too fresh, to my way of thinking--a sacrifice--the cult's price for the Grinch's rehabilitation.

Pardoning the Turkey

George Bush pardoned a turkey named "Pumpkin" today, which makes his record 8-152. The latter number is the total amount of executions that were carried out during his years as Texas Governor. He seems to have a soft spot for turkeys, however, which I suppose is something. There was no mention of the crimes the turkeys had committed. I presume they may well have been innocent, in which case, by Bush admnistration policy, they should have been dropped in a deep hole in Gitmo.

correction...

Apparently, I misspelled Kim name--it is Cattrall--2 t's (heh heh)...I know because she sent me a naked picture in protest...

A few News Items

I read in the NY Times where the Bush Administration has transfered Osama Bin Laden's driver from Gitmo to his native Yemen. They're still trying to act tough about it though--they've revoked his driver's license.

And anyway, what was going to be accomplished by detaining him in the first place. I can see the Bushies gloating in Cheney's office: " HA! We've got his driver! Now he won't be able to go anywhere!"

Another item was that Kim Catrall has, Lady Godiva-like, stripped naked to save a Renaissance painting from being shipped out of England. I'm not really clear how that was supposed to save the painting...and anyway, something tells me stripping is Kim Catrall's response to everything. 

" What? They've taken trout almondine off the menu at Le Circe? We'll just see about that!" and off comes the blouse!

" What? There's a genocide in Darfur?" Down go the pants!

I guess we all bring to bear our greatest talents. Though, in fairness, it should be pointed out that Kim Catrall is 53 now. Maybe the mere threat of removing her clothes would be enough to effect change.

Prufrock recording

http://www.box.net/shared/h5vb40vocv

This is my recording of TS Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

Rough Country

I am reading--ok, listening to a cd--of the Annie Proulx collection of short stories called Rough Country, and every story is achingly good. I know she's been dissed in the past for her "literary" style, but I don't find it that way at all. Her characters are unique, her images are startling, and her story construction is slow and idiosyncratic, but boy does she gets there, and in a most original way. I am surprised I missed her work somehow--I love the fact that she didn't publish her first novel until she was 58 (gives me hope). I highly recommend this collection to anyone who likes good short fiction.

Driving Miss Dani

Ok, she's going to kill me for saying this, but my wee wife, the cream in my coffee, the jam on my toast, the milk of my magnesia, is a terrible driver. She wrecked my truck last week, her sixth such adventure in the nearly 11 years of our marriage. Right around 1 wrecked car every 2 years. After each wreck, she is humble, contrite, self-flagellating, but gradually, as the 2 year clock starts ticking, something rises in her, an aggressiveness born, I suspect, from a lifetime of scanted regard --due to her size, no doubt--until, at the end of that 2 year cycle, she becomes 4'11", 95 pounds of pure "Fuck You" behind the wheel. Then--CRASH!-- and the contrition begins again.

This last one was a case of her pushing the envelope to get to work, riding the ass of the car ahead, until she rear-ended it. I arrived before the cop did, and I asked her what happened, and she said the woman in the car ahead was "playing games", tapping on her brake as if the furious little person in the big truck were following too closely. I looked at her for a moment. "You rear-ended her! YOU WERE FOLLOWING TOO CLOSELY!!"

This is a woman who calls me grandpa for my careful driving, who always pushes me to change lanes, pick up the pace, give the finger to the slowpoke up ahead of me. On more than one occasion, I have to say, " Can you name the DECADE in which I last had an accident?" 

Once, while driving the wrong way down a one-way brick street in German Village, she t-boned a meat truck--yes, I am aware of the pun--and got out of the car (again, mine!), stormed toward the bewildered trucker, who must have thought he was being attacked by a rogue member of the Lollipop Guild, and demanded just what the hell he thought he was doing. When he nervously reminded her she was driving the wrong way, she froze for a second, and burst into tears.

I love this woman to the bottom of my brackish soul, but I know she's going to kill me one day--either from a fiery crash with a school bus full of handicapped kids, or from a coronary the next time the roads are icy, and she's been gone a little longer than usual, and the phone rings. 

Hello, I must be going...

I keep threatening to start this thing, and now I making good on that threat. Dunno why I am adding all this noise to the ether, but, hey, it's gotta go somewhere. At least Dani won't have to suffer alone now. 

I suppose the shape of this blog will compose itself as I go along... mostly, I guess, it will be just my observations on what is laughingly called culture in this country, with side-trips to politics and history and whatever else gets caught in my baleen screen of a mind. OK, you've been warned...