Firsts

I went to lunch today in Pret a Manger, where I read the article in this week’s New Yorker about Cory Booker, which actually made me cry.  This would be the first time that I have cried (a) while reading the New Yorker (although there is always a wash of sadness and disappointment I feel upon consulting the table of contents on those alternating weeks when it’s David Denby’s turn to do the movie reviews); or, (b) while in a Pret a Manger (although I feel like I’m in a Frank McCourt book on those days when they’re not serving the tomato and basil soup). 

For some inexplicable reason, the article is not available online, or else I’d link it.  If you do happen to read it, you’ll know exactly where I’m talking about–it sort of sneaks up on you. 

Ugh, I’m a pussy. 

Umm…Oh yeah — fuck Hillary. 

Pecan pie

Hey look, a Hitch column you don’t even have to feel equivocal about liking!

What? Well, maybe a little bit.  

Assumption

Through work, I got a cheap New York Sports Club Passport membership, which is actually pretty cool–lets me work out in any NYSC throughout the city (and apparently Jersey too, if I’m ever so inclined).  I gleefully began at the Cobble Hill location last week, just a short G train ride away.  Since I haven’t been to a gym and pushed and pulled heavy things back and forth for about six months, I was pretty sore when I got home, and mentioned to C that I was thinking about going to the store for some Ben Gay.

She replied, in a tone of disbelief, “For your ass?”

I don’t think she knew what Ben Gay was precisely, but she made what seems on that basis to be a semi-reasonable inference, given the name of the product.  But even so, I have no idea why she thought that I needed ass cream.

We’re figuring all of this out in counseling, guys.  

Beard

This is my beard, regarding which I almost drowned in the bathos here.      

Being of limited masculinity, I can’t grow a very full, bushy beard (like Pavarotti), and the color of what I can muster is very light, reminding me more of the filling of a McDonalds apple pie than tree bark.  Nevertheless, I’m still very proud of it, as it is my first.  I’m calling it Graydon.        

Speaking of famous beards, apparently one of Osama Bin Laden’s sons, Omar, was on the Today Show this morning (you know it’s hard-hitting news when they’ve got Matt Lauer on the case).  Aside from the bizarreness of the interview, I’d just like to point out that he is wearing a black leather jacket.  Which, of course, does invite the question: Who, precisely, is he rebelling against?

We are the authorities on improving conditions. Criminon.

While it’s still fresh, check out this take on Tom Cruise’s creepy Scientology interview here.  I especially like how well he captures Tom Cruise’s vehement inarticulateness.  

Enough with the Portmanteaus!

I’m sounding the alarm, citizens.  Enough with the Portmanteaus!  Just like you don’t get to make a distinction you are drawing funny simply by tacking “not so much” on to the end, nor can you any longer attain cleverness simply by mashing two words together and then giggling nervously at your own display of economy.  Seriously, it’s so 2006.  Sure, this trend started out harmless enough as a shorthand for celebrity couples (”Bennifer”, “Brangelina”, “Vaughniston” or, with resurrected relevance, “Billary”), and “brunch” and “spork” are here to stay.  But now it’s gotten out of hand.  Please, I beg of you — don’t let this continue.        

Post Not-So-Secret

The visual is:

Me, having dined alone trying to kill time before an improv show, staring into the mirror in the bathroom of a Thai restaurant on Ninth Avenue at my own face, guarded now by the beard that I have grown  – my first real one — at age 28.  And I am thinking to myself, “I will keep this beard for at least five years, so that when I shave it off I will look at myself and see how much I’ve aged.  And there will no longer be anything more than a comical resemblance to what I look like in my eighth grade photo at that point.” 

And the text is:

The older I get, the less special I feel.    

Some more political crap (or, this blog is getting way too filthy)

On the chance that Hillary Clinton’s campaign strategists read this blog, and even though I totally knew Obama back when he was still Jenny from the block, I offer, for free, the following two slogans that they might want to consider for purposes of deterring people from the dangerous possibility of an Obama presidency:

• Should we allow an Obamanable Snowman* in the Oval Office?  (alludes to prior cocaine use; builds upon fears of terrorism with reference to horrifying chimerical being)
• Will America be safe if there is a huge black cock that close to the nuclear launch button?** (alludes to stereotype about size of male genitalia by race; resets context to pre-Clinton Cold War era)

* I’m guessing that the Daily Show, which I haven’t watched regularly in years, used this as a headline long ago, but I have no idea. 
 ** As a white guy with a baby-carrot-sized member, I have no business making this joke.  But picture Paul Mooney delivering that line and riffing on it further, and maybe you’ll feel better.    

Cha-cha-cha-changes: the way I see it (Or, more words I may eat–I’m hedging)

The way I see it, Nixon lost because of television and Mayor Richard J. Daley.  Nixon won because Vietnam tainted the party, because of the supposed excesses of the counterculture and racist backlash.  Carter won because of Watergate.  Reagan won because of the hostages.  Clinton won because of “read my lips,” the economy and Ross Perot.  Bush won because of the Supreme Court and ennui.  Kerry should have won because of Iraq in 2004, but enough of our countrymen were too slow on the uptake — although they’re poised to get it right this time.  And yet the party, at this late date, when it has been proven that there are severable desirable, and at least one viable, alternative, is still considering nominating Hillary?  Hillary, whose own larger-than-life campaign mascot essentially referred to the groundswell of righteous indignation which first fueled the Dean phenomenon and has expanded to burn in the conscience of a wide majority of the populace as a “fairy tale”?  Who could be so clumsy with her words when trying to make a case — even giving her own convictions the benefit of the doubt– that she would let loose the suggestion that LBJ’s place in history was greater than that of MLK, with respect to the passing of the Civil Rights Act?  This is the supposed Democratic frontrunner?  Still?!?  I want to know something–this is perhaps the one thing that would enable Hillary to regain a great measure of respect from me at this point:  Has she ever been posed, and if so has she ever given a meaningful, non-victimized answer to the following question: What were the greatest failures of the Bill Clinton presidency for the American people and the world?  What should the president have done differently that he did not, and in what way are we now reaping the distress of those shortcomings in the context of the main issues in this election?  I think what bothers me in a visceral way about Hillary is that I can’t picture her even countenancing the premise of the question — she’s obviously as smart as shit and as capable of the actual job duties as any other recent candidate, but it’s the fact that, as smart as she is, on some level she buys into his BS through-and-through, loyal to the end, that worries me.  All Democrats love Bill while on a certain level not really trusting him and doubting his sincerity — except her.  I find this worrisome, don’t you? 

There will be spoilers (more bulletpoints!)

I saw There Will Be Blood last night with one Will Smallman.  As I keep sputtering to everyone who I can trap in this conversation, I liked No Country for Old Men better. Daniel Day-Lewis is a badass, but he kinda sounded like Larry David for most of the movie.  But I do like the way that the title of There Will Be Blood shows how a film’s name can be a helpful shortcut to understanding what ends up happening.  Think of the movies that could have been a little more scrutable if this had been the case:

• Napoleon Dynamite — There Will Be A Game Of Tetherball
• Showgirls — There Will Be Soulless, Monotone Recitation of Lines
• Annie Hall — There Will Be Kvetching
• Rushmore — There Will Be Interludes Of The Kinks Played At A High Volume
• Dumb and Dumber — They Will Not Get On The Bus With The Bikini Team.
• The Crying Game — There Will Be A Cock, On That Lady
• Saving Private Ryan — There Will Be Blood

  This joke seems so dumb and obvious that it probably appears in some Yahoo featured “wacky” story.  I apologize if so; but it did occur to me quite independently.