Your Weekly Dose of Gubbins

We're guessing that she's had even more problems with Blogger than us... No photos! But as always, worth reading ev'ry damn day.


Happy new year, Gubbins!

Going Away for to Leave You (Etc.)

You'll hear very little from us today. However...


The Catholic League is unhappy with the South Park boys, this time on account of an episode called "Bloody Mary."


We needn't go into details.


"It is particularly troubling to me as a Roman Catholic that the segment has run on the eve and day of the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, a holy day for Roman Catholics," and so forth.


Comedy Central, newly-minted spineless weasels that they are, has essentially killed the episode.


But, because we love you, and because we, just like the White House, prize loyalty above all else, it's the consensus here that Shandy readers ought to (if they so choose) ring in the New Year by watching what Parker and Stone hath wrought.


Enjoy. *


* You'll need either Real Player or BitTorrent.

What's Good for the Goose is Good for the Slander...

Josh Marshall:


"Can't I make a big deal about meaningless statistical blips too?"

Parting Shot

Baby we're amazizzled that this post about Pamela Geller Oshry (or, as the crazos know her, "Atlas"), continues to get hits... Whateva' the reason, keep 'em coming, darlings!


Anyway, Shandy operatives -- as they are wont to do when not tied to the radiator -- were monitoring Geller/Oshry/Atlas's movements when a question arose:


What should we get Pam for her birthday?


Admittedly, we were, at first, befuddled and vigorously shrugged our shoulders. "How the fuck should we know, maggots?" we snarled. After all, sez us, what to you get a girl who believes that Walter Cronkite is one of the "top ten worst Americans" [with Deep Throat getting the obligatory "honorable mention"]?


"Ah," said ever-wise Fasha the Wonder Dog, "Take a look at this, fellas," and passed us a shiny blue link to Amazon.


With that in mind, here's Pam's Amazon Wishlist... We refuse to buy her a thing, but, hey, if you want to shell out $990 for this shit, be our guest...


Watch out for those thumbs!

Things We Thought But Had Not Said

Scott Foundas:


Admittedly, Paul Haggis' directorial debut wasn't one of those so-bad-it's-mesmerizing debacles, like Town & Country or The Bonfire of the Vanities, that Tony so lovingly remembered a few weeks back in the Times—if it had been, it wouldn't have made my blood boil nearly as much. No, Crash is an Important Film About the Times in Which We Live, which is another way of saying that it's one of those self-congratulatory liberal jerk-off movies that rolls around every once in a while to remind us of how white people suffer too, how nobody is without his prejudices, and how, when the going gets tough, even the white supremacist cop who gets his kicks from sexually harassing innocent black motorists is capable of rising to the occasion. How touching.

"Hugh, I Believe the Dems Ought to Get Down on Their Knees and Look for Some Part-time Employment, if You Get My Drift..."

That's basically the InstaTesticle's advice:


Some of the lefty blogs have really grown in traffic, but it's mostly pretty angry traffic. It's Sith traffic. It's dark side traffic. There's a lot of anger there. And while I've been encouraged to see a few relatively moderate and sensible comments from the likes of Markos Zuniga of the Daily Kos, overall, I think that the lefty blogosphere has been sort of an anger focusing echo chamber that's probably bad for the Democrats, if they want to win.


You'll have to excuse us if we take this with, oh, an assload of skepticism.


Listen, Tutsis cockroaches, if you want us to stop killing you, perhaps you ought to put down your guns...


UPDATE: Welcome, C&L readers! A happy New Year to all.


And a big, fat TS fuck you to Malkin, Hughie and La Shawn. If Jesus loves you, perhaps He ought to raise the bar, no?

Flip, Causey, Flip!

Eichenwald:


At a top-level Enron management meeting in September 2001, a red-faced Richard A. Causey, the chief accounting officer, pounded the table after hearing his colleagues label the company's accounting practices as "aggressive." According to executives in the room, Mr. Causey fumed that he considered such criticism a personal affront, adding that he would stake his career on the propriety of Enron's accounting.


That bastard's going to roll so fast, Lay'll be up for the lead in Chained Heat: The Enron Years before he even realizes he's been indicted...

"How the hell do I know why there were Nazis? I don't know how the can opener works!"

Indeed, we saw the great Hannah and Her Sisters last night, which happily fills a significant cultural gap. Now we just have to read Moby Dick and that goddamn Jane Austen! Anyway, the experience was, on a very deep level, depressing as a motherfucker: it's awfully difficult to shuck the feeling that Woody used to have such a gift for filmmaking -- witness the meal with the three sisters, which, although it's a series of shots, feels like one extraordinary take -- but now his films have become "as deep as the average male bellybutton, and its contents are about as appealing."


We believe it was Roger Ebert who said that one of the marks of a well-written character is, Could he or she exist off-screen? For Hershey, Wiest and Farrow -- not to mention Allen himself -- the answer is absofuckinglutely.


So what's happened in the intervening years? Why have his characters become little more than mouthpieces for -- and we hate to say this, because it makes us sound like, well, Roger Simon -- Upper West Side wisdom?


Naturally, we look to Paul Tatara, who, when he wrote for CNN, was our favorite film critic -- if there's any justice, historians will note that he was one prescient SOB.


Here's what Tatara had to say in 1998, which was well before most critics realized how far Allen's stock had dropped:


Allen's movies are all rather small in scope, so they're consistently cheap to make; the biggest stars in the world clamor to work with him for next to no money; and the end product (if everyone gets lucky) usually grosses about 10 or 15 million bucks at the box office. It's not exactly "Titanic," but, for once, nobody really cares. Playing the game with Woody Allen means you're an artist. And once a self-lauding concept like that gets established in the film industry, it doesn't just go away.


This has been happening for so long now, Allen has started to take the situation for granted, with the result being some embarrassingly lazy screenplays. Gone are the intricate verbal exchanges of "Annie Hall" and "Manhattan"'s near-sociological dissections of friends and lovers. Even the somewhat more obvious interplay of "Hannah and Her Sisters" is a distant memory.


Now, all we seem to get are the blatherings of a very bitter man who doesn't know what to do with himself but point a camera at some actors and have them unload his anger and self-loathing at a captive audience. ...


Allen joked in 1980's "Stardust Memories" that people always want to praise his "early, funny movies" in lieu of his more dramatic, character-oriented work. Well, I, for one, used to be obsessed with all of his work. By now, though, I'd be willing to praise him for simply piecing together something that actually holds together as a film, funny or not. Both "Celebrity" and "Deconstructing Harry" play like unfinished ideas for four or five different scripts cobbled together into one, largely indecisive whole.


The point is, if you have something to say, then you should make a movie. And God bless you if you've actually managed to finagle a situation where you get slapped on the back no matter what you do. That part's really a miracle. If you don't have anything to say, though, how about actually waiting for inspiration to hit? It beats a vaguely formed essay about the difficulties that even alluring, coddled-types can have when they're trying to get properly laid.


Where have you gone, Paul Tatara? This blog turns its lonely eyes to you...

Shorter Max Boot

It would be in the best interest of treasonous Hollywood to exhume Frank Capra, prop the fucker up, and hand him a camera.


ALSO: Fuck you, Blogger. This took us fucking forever to put up...


AND ANOTHER ALSO: WTF, Gubbins! Where the hell are you?

Signs the Apocalypse is Upon Us #1

This'll make your hair curl: It appears that La Shawn and our reluctant mentor, Mr. TBogg, are on the same wavelength... with the photo selection, of course, but not much else.


["Ebony and Ivory/Live together in perfect harmony..."]


Perhaps this will spur the great Wingnut/Reality-based Community detente of 2006?

Not Much Posting Today But...

...read this, posted on Romenesko:


Cynthia Salerno:


I am trying to track down the news crew that saved my life the day after Katrina in New Orleans. After three months of calling stations and networks, a reporter suggested I write to you because your site is used by most media professionals.


If it hadn't been for that news crew I would have been one of those many unidentified bodies at St. Gabriel's, my family never certain what happened to me. I am here in my new city beginning my new life because they acted when others did not. I’d appreciate it if you could post my letter. Maybe they will recognize themselves and give me the chance to thank them for giving me another chance at living.


My fiance and I conned our way out of the Superdome Monday afternoon and walked home to our little artist neighborhood in the Upper Ninth Ward near the river. Around noon the next day, Tuesday, August 30th, we had a neighborhood organizational meeting where I was assigned the task of finding a working phone. Riding my bike around the neighborhood, I ended up at a grocery store on St. Claude. When I got there, there was water in the street where there hadn't been water the day before. Throngs of people were wading down the street from the Lower Nine. Hoards of other people were looting the store. Learning of the levy break I decided I had better wait in line for the phone anyway because it may be my last chance for a while.


That's when I was attacked by the guy behind me in line. The man grabbed me and started choking me and slamming me around while some people cheered and others went the other way. Thrown into the flood water, I cut my calf wide open down to the bone with muscles hanging out and blood gushing every where. I tried to get up, but couldn't use my leg and somehow couldn't figure out how to crawl. Long story goes here, but suffice it to say that with of scores of people around, including police and fire, only three private citizens came to my aid. They slowed my bleeding and forced a van to stop by lying across the road and refusing to move. To the protests of the driver, they threw me in his van and one of them jumped in with me.


By now I am very weak and things are blurry. I remember the driver stopping at every police car and fire station and all of them refusing to help. I remember the driver stopping on Canal St. and refusing to go further. I remember my helper grabbing me under my arms and pulling me out of the van. I looked across Canal. It is still daylight, but it must be late afternoon. A reporter was standing in front of a camera in the neutral ground and a couple of police cars were parked across the street in front of the Sheraton. Which means we are in the 500 block. I remember being dragged between the photographer and the reporter and I think I hear the reporter say something like "and they continue to bring in the wounded." The next thing I remember is my helper, a young man with long brown hair, and a woman pleading with a police officer to help me. The cop was saying I got that far, I could get to the Superdome on my own and the woman was telling the cop she was a nurse and I would die if I didn't get immediate medical assistance. The cop threatened to arrest everyone if we didn't leave right then. I remember thinking I was going to die. In the United States of America, surrounded by thousands of people, I was going to bleed to death on the street.


Suddenly there was a camera pointed at the cop and me. I lost focus, but I heard a male voice saying he knew his rights, it was a public street and he wanted video of a police officer refusing to help a seriously injured woman. The voice exchanged heated words with the cop's voice for what seemed like forever, but I don't remember the words. Whatever the reporter or photographer said, it worked, because the cop put me in his car and took me toward medical aid. Another long story goes here, but the end result was I got the medical help I needed in the nick of time. I am here and I am alive.


If it hadn't been for that reporter and photographer I would have died that day on Canal St. I'd like to thank them for my life, but I don't know how to find them. I don't know who they worked for; I don't know what they looked like. Heck, I don't even know if one of them was a man or woman. But I do know they made something happen when no one else would or could. I may not be able to find them, but if they know I am looking for them, maybe they can find me.


If you helped a small, sunburned, brownish/blonde haired middle aged woman with glasses dressed in jean shorts, t shirt, and tennis shoes and a very nasty gash on her leg that was covered with a roll of paper towels and a diaper in front of the Sheraton Hotel at 500 Canal St in the mid to late afternoon on Tuesday, August 30th in New Orleans, please find me.


After life saving medical treatment and a 12 hour harrowing trip to Baton Rouge General Mid City, I was operated on by an excellent surgeon who said I would at best need a brace to walk because of the extensive nerve and tissue damage. Three days later my fiancé, who has no idea what happened to me, gives up hope of finding me in the mayhem and makes an even more harrowing escape to, as fortune would have it, Baton Rouge, where he finally learns I am "safe." Three months later I am walking unassisted, though slowly, and am now expected to make a full recovery with just a few months of physical therapy. Which I will start if FEMA ever finishes processing my paperwork. Life goes on. Thanks to the news crew.

In Which We Diagnose Roger L. Simon

It's been well-documented that Ol' Roger has lashed out at David Corn -- you know, that poor fellow who, despite having a plum gig at The Nation, was compelled to cast aside the welcoming (and sexy) arms of Katrina vanden Heuvel and embrace the sweaty Roger and Charlie gangbang.


And what -- aside from a probable case of the clap -- did he get for his efforts? A public thrashing from his boss!


The latest victim of Simon's petulance -- under the portentous heading "Some people change, others don't" -- is Robert Kuttner, co-editor of The American Prospect and, according to Simon, his one-time debate team partner. [Incidentally, Our Haberdashed Friend must be awfully proud of this quirk, since he's bragged to Powertools about it...]


What sort of libelous nonsense did poor Kuttner spew to incur The Wrath of Simon?


Here's the thing: we've read and reread his post, as well as the Globe piece, and, honest Injun, we're still not sure. There's something about Bob being a "tried and true member of the liberal church" and another something about how he "hasn't changed much at all in forty years."


But that's it. [Cheap shot: Hey, Rog... at least Kuttner's got a real job!]


Simon ends the post on a wistful note, or, if you wish, an incredible bit of autofellatio: "I wonder what he thinks about what has happened to me."


We suspect he doesn't think of you at all, you gelatinous sack of shit. Let's look at the latest numbers, shall we?


It would seem that Mr. Simon's losing readers on his own blog almost as fast as he and Chas are blowing the VC money.


Could this account for his irrational behavior?

For BU Alums Only

Only two months after Boston University's faculty council revealed that the salary gap between male and female full professors on campus was twice the national average for private research universities, BU president Bob Brown said the university has already made major progress toward bringing the school in line with comparable universities. After this fall's round of merit raises, female full professors are making 86 percent as much as their male counterparts, compared with 83 percent last year. Female assistant professors now make 92 percent as much as males, compared with 87 percent last year. Associate professors remain steady at 91 percent. ''I'm committed to compensation that is merit-based, gender- and race-blind, and market-driven," Brown said during a recent lunch with the Globe's editorial board. ''I think it's doable in one year." Brown also said he's talking with members of the BU community about what the university's core missions should be. But even as he tries to focus on the future, he said people often come to him with old grievances that, whatever their merits, he can't redress. Brown calls these gripes ''dead cats." ''They come to me and say, 'I have this cat that died,' " he said. ''It occurred in the previous administration. I say, 'I'll grieve with you, and then we'll go bury it, because otherwise it will smell. But I can't bring it back to life.' " Asked whether this was an oblique way of talking about problems he inherited from former president John Silber, Brown said no, any administration would have its dead cats and that a lot of Massachusetts Institute of Technology professors are bringing ''cats I killed" to new provost Rafael Reif, who replaced Brown at MIT. But Brown said the metaphor helps people focus on what is realistic for a new leader to do. Now, when he goes to meetings and people complain about old issues, he said, they often say, ''I know, I know, it's a dead cat."


Q: At what point does our diploma become worthless?

We Always Said That Spielberg Had Broad Appeal

It's some sort of crazy accomplishment to piss off both a Palestinian terrorist and Leon Wieseltier.

We're Really Quite Perturbed

Every now and again, we like to check the "entry pages" [i.e. how you got here] of Shandy visitors. These are available via our counter, found at the bottom of the page.


Occasionally, our page is found without being referred by, say, Crooks and Liars.


A Google search, por exemplo.


With that in mind, here's how a recent visitor found us.


Which is weird, btw, since we don't, as a rule, even like Adrien Brody.

"Hello, This is Scout Finch... How Can I Be of Service?"

We read with interest this piece on India's burgeoning call center (or "business process outsourcing") culture. In a country where -- according to the Post -- the averaging weekly income is about $13, the the younger generation has gravitated towards the good money.


Best graf:


In his first call-center job, Khaneja had gone by the name "Steven Mallory," plucked from his favorite book, "The Fountainhead," by Ayn Rand. His supervisor thought "Howard Roark" -- the name of the novel's protagonist -- would be too obvious.


At least Miss Magic Thumbs will get a kick out of the reference...

Good Morning! We Sez

Yes, it's going to be a sloooooow day round these parts... We've just about recovered from the weekend -- what with our excursion into the bowels of Bed Bath and Beyond and our never-ending search for a decent beard trim.


Anyway, you'll be hearing from us in due course...


And TG, a belated Merry Christmas to you.


RELATED: "[A] shower of snow rained down from the stage; when caught in the green laser, it looked like metal confetti."

Friday Pelican Blogging (Long Weekend Edition

Shells of brown pelican (Pelecanus occidentalis) eggs collected in South Carolina from 1969 through 1973 were significantly thinner than shells of those collected before 1947. Residues of 10 organochlorine pollutants and 10 heavy metals were found in these eggs. Total organochlorine residues were apparently magnified 23 times from fish to pelican eggs, but interpretation of biomagnification was complicated by the migratory habits of both the pelicans and their chief prey fish. Residues of organochlorine pollutants and heavy metals were also found in tissues of brown pelicans. Dieldrin was probably involved in the death of a pelican that exhibited myocardial necrosis. Other pelicans died from gunshot wounds, various diseases, or unknown causes. From 1969 through 1973, there was a significant decline in residues of p-p'-DDE, p-p'-TDE, p-p'DDT, and dieldrin in eggs of the brown pelican in South Carolina, but the rate of decline was different for each pollutant. PCB's peaked in 1972 and then declined in 1973 to the lowest level in 5 years. In 1973, the first time in many years, South Carolina brown pelicans reproduced very well. The excellent reproductivity seemed related to lowered organochlorine residues and favorable tides, weather, and food supply.

That'll Leave a Mark...

"I suppose "Rumor Has It" could be worse, though at the moment I'm at a loss to say just how."

Well, It Had Some Good Parts!

According to an Amazon.com reviewer, Fox salivating moron John Gibson got a little "friendly" with a 14 year old.


No surprise, frankly.


What is a little disturbing, though, is that the reviewer still gave the book two stars.


Was it the hair?

Warner's Got Cajones

The Post has a (predictably) heartbreaking story about Phillip L. Thurman, released from prison after 20 years, via a pardon from Gov. Warner. He'd been convicted for an attempted strangulation and rape of a woman.


He was completely innocent.


According to the Post, Thurman once wrote to the judge: "As for the victim herself, she has all my condolences as to what happened to her, but I was not the gentleman who brought that affliction upon her mind and body."


Read, as they say, the whole damn thing.

P.Z. Myers' Melon Test

[Via S,N!] P.Z. Myers:


Christians can practice methodological materialism all they want without damning themselves to hell. Even non-scientists do this all the time, when, for instance, they thump a melon at the grocery store to see if it's ripe, rather than praying to god to send them a sign.

Rosett to Roger: "I'm Just Not That Into You!"

Or at least that's what it looks like...


The top story on PJs -- at least as of 3:47 p.m. EST -- is that some shnook is "putting together a nonprofit Center for Citizen Media" in order to "study, encourage and help enable the emergent grassroots media sphere, with a major focus on citizen journalism."


Sounds promising, no?


[You! In the back of the class! "Ugh, no?" Correctomundo!]


Anyway, over at NRO, Rosett -- who we like to imagine as a sort of Piper Laurie to Roger's Sissy Spacek -- reports on actual news [even it is just red meat for the conservoblogger chuckleheads...] which -- aggregate this, our haberdashered friend! -- isn't even noted on the Mother Ship where, canny operator that she is, Rosett collects a paycheck.


Give it up, Rog. She's obvs just using your sorry Hollywood ass to get to Buckley...

Nobody Asked Us, Either

We don't never get tagged -- it's not in our blood to play nice on the playground! -- but we saw this over at Roy's and feel compelled to do likewise, gents:


Four jobs you've had in your life: Blockbuster Video bitch, Borders Books "information desk" clerk, newspaper columnist, Liz Claiborne intern -- really!


Four movies you could watch over and over: Home for the Holidays, Time Indefinite, McCabe & Mrs. Miller, Booty Call. Merely thinking the words sea donkey cracks us up.


Four places you've lived: Queens, Brooklyn, Boston, Southwest Connecticut.


Four TV shows you love to watch: Married... With Children, Arrested Development, Taxi, first season of Monk. The episodes with the Sharona replacement are awful.


Four places you've been on vacation: London, Acadia, Sarasota, Texas.


Four websites you visit daily: Mr. TBogg, Hewitt, InstaTesticle, The New Republic.


Four of your favorite foods: Spaghetti, onions, orange juice with lots o' pulp, Gubbins' biscotti.


Four places you'd rather be: Taipei, that little village near Chandigarh, Mexicali Blues in Arlington, VA, Philadelphia.

"[T]he new name is borderline illiterate..."

Yep, just another day in the life of Gubbins... [Alas, she hasn't tormented a flack in sooooo long. What gives?]

What if You Masturbate in Public, K-Lo?

Sayeth The Beast:


"I've long thought that people who read the NYTimes in public are doing it for self-esteem issue reasons."


Perhaps. But, aside from Rick Santorum's ex-girlfriends, who even reads National Review?

The Purpose-Driven Life?

The Washington Post has a lovely story about Scott McClellan.


There are no bombshells, of course, but there a many delicious pebbles. Among them, Mark Leibovich reveals that Scotty's slogging through that Rick Warren, megachurch-friendly, juggernaut, The Purpose-Driven Life.


Say it with us: It. All. Makes. Sense.


"It's not all about you," the book famously begins, a sentiment that Mr. Jowly Butterball has all but taken to heart.


The justification for McClellan's continued existence on this earth -- aside from his tertiary vocation as David Gregory's chew toy, of course! -- is in the second graf:


The purpose of your life is far greater than your own personal fulfillment, your peace of mind, or even your happiness. It's far greater than your family, your career, and even your wildest dreams and ambitions. If you want to know why you were placed on this planet, you must begin with God. You were born by his purpose and for his purpose.


We're certain that "God" is a typo, but the rest, it seems to us, is letter-of-the-law accurate.


Mary Matalin -- who, along with Harriet Miers, gives eyeliner a bad rep -- says it well enough...


"The fate of a press secretary is always tied to events. ... They're not good or bad on their own."


... but Shakespeare, no surprise, said it better:


"The empty vessel makes the greatest sound."


As another empty vessel -- or "Libertarian," if you want to be a dick about it -- might say:


Indeed.

UPDATE: It's a Mikestalanche [which is, of course, when readers -- the non-retarded types who don't harbor messianic feelings towards Michelle Malkin -- get sent to our humble site]! Yessir, welcome C&L readers... And a happy holidays to all.


Except for La Shawn and Hugh, cuz they suck ass.

Is This the Scariest Thing, Like, Ever?

We think so.


Merry fucking Christmas!

Just Because Gail Collins Has Fangs Doesn't Make Her a Vampire

Our Girl:


Mr. Toussaint should not have the ability to hold the city hostage. That he can do so says little about the leadership on the other side of the table.


If we ran the city, we'd send in Collins to negotiate with Toussaint...

Amen.

The Observer:


As usual, the union bosses and their sheep-like members have it exactly wrong. This illegal strike will stir no feelings of brotherhood or solidarity among the rest of New York’s work force. It didn’t happen in 1980, and it certainly won’t happen now. Instead, a strike such as this, at the height of the holiday season, is precisely the sort of thing which can reverse a recovering economy and plunge the city into a fiscal crisis. The city’s businesses, retail stores and tourist attractions will lose millions of dollars, endangering a still-fragile economic foundation, and all New Yorkers will suffer the long-term consequences.

The Crush Continues...

The second photo... [lip-smacking sounds]


Can you imagine? Us, Cho and Gail Gollins...

Parting Words

"Things are fucked up at the North Pole. Mrs. Claus caught me fucking her sister, now I'm out on my ass."


Ah, the holidays...

Shandy to Transit Workers: Drop Dead!

We used to think that the transit workers were on the side of angels. We felt for them, agreed that there ought to be at least someone in the booth at all times and even on the train, etc. -- despite the fact that (let's be honest) such measures aren't really necessary.


We even, in our quieter moments, thought that The Taking of Pelham One Two Three ought to be required viewing for our fellow citizens -- as it depicted the subway conductor as rather noble, if a tad simpering.


Well, guys, you've blown years of good will. And you ain't gettin' it back.


Thus: Fuck you. Every motherfucking last one you.


We're not the only ones, either. If this dispatch is anything to go by, our fellow ass-fucking, Sardi's loving, Zabars eating libs have turned against the transit dopes, too:


''I think they all should get fired,'' said Eddie Goncalves, a doorman trying to get home after his overnight shift. He said he expected to spend an extra $30 per day in cab and train fares.


Commuters lined up for cabs and gathered in clusters on designated spots throughout the city for company vans and buses to shuttle them to their offices.


''It doesn't seem right to tie up the cultural and investment center of the world,'' said Larry Scarinzi, 72, a retired engineer from Whippany, N.J., waiting for a cab outside Penn Station. ''They're breaking the law. They're tearing the heart out of the nation's economy.''


Yup.

What's a Fetus?

We thought we knew.


Seems that three thin-skinned fatties quit the gym in enlightened Lawrence, KS (we've been there, and there ain't much to recommend it) on accounta a "fetus Christmas tree."


"Wow! It's so cool that Damien Hirst is now doing X-mas trees," we thought.


Yokels are predictably pissed. They're also, if we read the article correctly, misinformed:


The tree had about a dozen blue and pink stockings, each stuffed with a plastic figure and attached card that labeled the dolls as being "between 11 and 12 weeks old."


Elsewhere in the article the figures are described as "babies."


We thusly believe that the little buggers are meant to represent human beings -- 11 and 12 weeks after birth -- in which case they are not fetuses. Merely creepy.

Apparently, There is a God

HARRISBURG, Pa. (AP) -- ''Intelligent design'' cannot be mentioned in biology classes in a Pennsylvania public school district, a federal judge said Tuesday, ruling in one of the biggest courtroom clashes on evolution since the 1925 Scopes trial.


Take that, neo-creos...

5,197 Band-Aids, According to the GOP

Fred Barnes:


The media have no excuse for ignoring heroism. "There's no dearth of opportunity there," says Di Rita. In Iraq and Afghanistan, American Marines alone have been awarded 8 Navy Crosses, 35 Silver Stars, 617 Bronze Stars with "V," 1,126 Bronze Stars, and 5,197 Purple Hearts.


Ah, how the tune has changed. We were under the impression that purple hearts were for pussies! At least if you believe delegates to the Republican National Convention...

If True Comedic Greatness Lies in the Ability to Keep a Straight Face in the Midst of Absurdity, Then the WSJ Editorial Page is Buster Fucking Keaton

WSJ:


What we really have here is a perfect illustration of why America's Founders gave the executive branch the largest measure of Constitutional authority on national security.

The Return of the One-Eye

The Editors:


It’s worth noting that the pressure is now on the Republicans to remove the President’s cock from their mouths, and try to determine, as best they can, whose name is in the top box of the US government’s organizational chart. Again, while this issue is not specifically addressed in the Constitution, I believe that the division of labor is equally clear: every man or woman of voting age is responsible for ensuring that, if having the President’s cock in their mouth is preventing them from understanding what sorts of things rely on the ability of the President to execute policy (President-type things) and what sorts of things rely on the ability of unspecified members of powerless political parties to broadcast the emotion of unhappiness to the second balcony (the Tony Awards), they either A) remove the President’s cock from their mouths until they have straightened this issue out, or B) removing themselves from voting and political advocacy completely. I recall that, until quite recently, Republicans were diligent to a fault when it came to ensuring that the President’s cock remained outside of his supporters’ mouths for the duration of his Presidency; and, indeed, for a solid decade before his inauguration. I hope that, in expressing my sincere disappointment that Republicans have abandoned this (real or imagined) principle in their headlong rush to suck on the President’s cock until their oxygen-starved brains are incapable of understanding even the broadest outlines of how American democracy functions, I do not give the appearance of delighting in this latest example of President’s cock-sucking. For I assure you: I delight in it not at all.


(Also, I apologize for the frequent mentions of the President’s cock being in people’s mouths throughout the course of this post. I appreciate that some readers may be offended by such strong language, and that some readers may be tempted to disregard the point I am trying to get across (that the President of the United States is the President of the United States) because of the frank and graphic depictions of Presidential cock-sucking throughout. I am completely sympathetic to these concerns; however, please understand that I have tried to balance the seriousness of these issues of Presidential authority with the importance of taking the President’s cock out of your mouth every now and again. While I would not be so immodest as to suggest that I have struck this balance perfectly, I believe that history will judge that I have walked this fine line with at least as much care as the Starr Report, and at far less cost to the American taxpayer.)

Well, You Knew This Was Coming...

If the Times publishes a trend piece and Jack Shafer doesn't give it a colonoscopy -- does it actually exist?

This is Some Nastified Shit

Isn't this just the sort of product that Zoolander spoofed? A Derelicte for the soft drink set, if you will...

Christ, Look at That Mouth...

Seriously.


"I'm not really a Hoover, but I play one on TV..."


Let's have a contest...


Once the lights go off, who does Cruise pretend he's with?


E-mail your nominations to tristramshandygentleman@gmail.com or, if you prefer, leave 'em in comments. Here's a few to get the ball(s) rolling:

• Matt Drudge
• Matt Damon
• David Brock
• Ian McKellen
• Cary Grant

Vote early, vote often!

There's Historical Precedent for This Sort of Squabble

Roger L. Simon:


I feel sorry for people like David Corn who have put themselves in such a box that they de facto are rooting for failure in Iraq, no matter how much they deny that.


Christopher Marlowe (1592):


I feel sorry for William Shakespeare who, due to a laughably limited world view, insists on littering his "Henry" plays with scurrilous portrayals of the French and a positively libelous depiction of Joan of Arc. Really, I feel terrible for him, and no doubt history will note and celebrate my generosity of spirit.


UPDATE: It's a fine day indeed when Mr. TBogg links to us. Suck our collective cocks, InstaTesticle!


Also, TBogg's anonymous commentator is correct: "I don't think bee-yotch quite covers it. Bukkake love slave is more like it."

We Laughed, We Cried, We Choked

In a world where appearance is power, two men risk it all to slake an unquenchable desire.


REACHAROUND RIDGE


Where lust has no political affiliation.

What Happened to Roth?

Leon Wieseltier's bitch slap of Munich has been getting an unusual bit of attention. Christ, even this weekend's Times ran an excerpt!... Which reminded us that, shortly after the publication of Roth's Plot Against America, the word on the street was that Leon would review it. TNR being what it is, t'was assumed that the piece would a) run after all the other reviews were in and b) it would be a hatchet job -- a la Wood's masterful (and deserved) take-down of The Corrections.


The piece never ran -- and even by TNR's patient standards, it's past the point where they could mark the occasion of the paperback's release.


Anyone care to guess why the piece got spiked? Our guess: Leon actually liked the thing...

Wikipedia Defense

Bryan Keefer:


The very nature of the Internet -- the ability to link to sources readers can evaluate for themselves, the ability to quickly read multiple sources of information about the same subject -- tends to make online readers much more critical consumers of information (witness the proliferation of blogs, like this one, devoted entirely to evaluating the news media).


Thus, the damage wrought by any single untruth temporarily floating around in the vast ocean of Wikipedia isn't likely to last long. Certainly, the Seigenthaler episode is a reminder that such information can be inaccurate, and he's right to complain about other sites scraping up Wikipedia content and presenting it as their own. But the general trend is away from the proliferation of such rumors.


More than that, however, what's been obscured in much of the coverage is that the Wikipedia model actually works. The English-language Wikipedia boasts over 800,000 articles, all generated for free, and freely available to anyone with Internet access. That's a tremendous amount of information being made far more accessible to far more people than print or broadcast can reach.

Give That Man Some Jammies!

The delightfully named Marc Shmuger of Universal talks to Sharon Waxman about Kong's wishy-washy opening numbers:


"We're learning as we're going," said Marc Shmuger, vice chairman of Universal, who ahead of the opening had predicted that the film - which has an Oscar-caliber cast in Naomi Watts and Adrien Brody and eye-popping special effects - would "change the way people see movies."


Hmm. Who does that sound like?


Yes!


And we know how that's worked out...

And One More Thing...

We were tickled to discover that we'd been name-checked on Byzantium's Shores. As noted a while back, Mr. Sedinger is a man whose accomplishments are at least twofold:


1) He continues to hold onto his title in the "I Make This Look Good (Overalls Edition)" category. Competition in this field is indeed fierce, but the smart money remains on Sedinger.


2) He's the proverbial last man standing. Is there another blog on these here Netz so without malice? We thinks not...

Home Again, Home Again

Once Blogger lets us post photos of our Asian excursion, we will. Until then we note that Mr. Ed isn't too happy with Time's choices for people of the year. [Because we don't necessary agree with the selection of Bono, we'll address only the criticisms pertaining to the Gates's]:


If TIme wanted to salute Good Samaritans, the real newsmakers in that field would have been the millions of people who opened up their pocketbooks and gave directly to the charities doing the most good after a series of natural disasters this year.


But this is precisely what Gates has done:


Since 2000, the Gates foundation has spent six billion dollars to address health issues in the Third World--more than nearly every contributing nation, and far more than any other charity. This time, Gates arrived in Geneva with a check for two hundred and fifty million dollars, to help pay for the foundation's most ambitious venture yet: the Grand Challenges, a series of fourteen fundamental obstacles to scientific progress which, if solved, would lead to dramatic improvements in the health of the world. The challenges, which include goals like developing vaccines that require no needles or refrigeration, were first issued in 2003 (along with a two-hundred-million dollar grant), and a thousand scientists from seventy-five countries responded with proposals.


Apparently, in the the Captain's view, malaria is not a "national disaster." We respectfully disagree. It seems that unless conservobloggers haven't donated to the cause, the cause doesn't really exist.


A shitty barometer, no?


We wondered: who would Mr. Ed have nominated? He suggests "George Bush, Abu Musab al-Zarqawi, Condoleezza Rice, Paul Volcker..."


We think the inclusion of Paul Volcker -- Paul Volcker! -- discredits him, even more so than the Rice choice.


Unless TIME has a "Fuck-up of the Year" award we don't know about.

A Moscow Story

Whilst waiting to catch the Delta to New York, we struck up a conversation with a bearded fellow who kept dropping hints about "working in Washington."


Hmm?


He revealed that he worked for the Department of Defense.


Oh?


"They won't even let us fly business class anymore," he said.


Why?


"It used to be that we could get blanket approval for our flights. Now the head of DoD's signature is on every flight request form. Every form!"


Donald Rumsfeld?


"Yes."


As he took off for the plane we asked, "If he's signing every form, how does he still find the time to fuck up so often?"


"He doesn't!" said our bearded friend.


We don't know whether or not he meant a) that Rumsfeld wasn't fucking things up or b) that the signature was a stamp.

India's So Accelerated It Makes Manhattan Seem Like Arkansas

We're in the Delhi airport awaiting our flight to Moscow. There's much to be said -- and not nearly enough space to do the place justice -- but some years back Old Man Steinbeck captured the beauty and contradictions of a locale.


...a stink, a grating noise, a quality of light, a tone, a habit, a nostalgia, a dream. ... is the gathered and scattered, tin and iron and rust and splintered wood, chipped pavement and weedy lots and junk heaps, sardine canneries of corr