Tuesday, October 26, 2010

What's Next for This Creep?

Charlie Sheen was rushed to a NYC hospital in the wee hours of Tuesday morning after a major, drunken freak-out at a hotel.
The prostitute who was with Sheen at the time said he was screaming and throwing furniture all over the hotel, causing at least $7,000 worth of damage. She told police she "feared for her life."
Sheen was in NYC with his ex-wife Denise Richards and their daughters, who were staying in a separate room from Sheen. They had gone to the theatre and to dinner earlier that night.
Sheen has one month left on his probation for spousal abuse in Colorado, and consuming alcohol is definitely a term of his probation.
His attorney claimed Sheen "...had experienced an averse reaction to a prescribed medication he was taking."
Is this a bad joke?
The guy is a drug addicted, alcoholic woman beater who's been in and out of rehab more than anyone in Hollywood. He defines a Teflon personality.
His show's producer said production of his show, "Two and a Half Men" would resume as soon as Sheen returned to California.
If ordinary people are expected to obey the law, not beat-up anyone, not pull knives on people when they're dead drunk, not to keep repeating and treating rehab like it's a silly joke, not to drive their $100,000 cars off the same cliff twice, and not to be assholes in general, can someone please tell me how Sheen keeps getting away with all of it?
Why would any television network continue to tolerate this criminal as one of their VIP stars? If they had even an ounce of integrity, they would put principle above profits and make an example of this slime ball.
Are you as outraged as I?
Tell us about it.

Friday, October 22, 2010

I Miss You, Lyndon.

My big brother Billy lives about 90 miles north of me, and when I drive up to visit him the highway I take goes the route to the LBJ ranch and crosses his beloved Pedernales River.
I am forever reminded what a great president he was, and I need to explain why I think so.
After John F. Kennedy was assassinated, he left several major, controversial projects on his desk in the Oval Office.
Johnson, who most people outside of Texas considered an oafish, redneck clown, went all-in and forced the passage of Medicare and civil rights legislation that forever changed the fates of elderly people and minorities for the better.
And by "forced the passage," I mean he literally approached defiant Senators and threatened to ruin them and their careers if they didn't vote his way. And by God, LBJ had the clout to do it.
As an example of LBJ's style, have you ever heard of Pat Nugent? No? Here's why. Pat Nugent had the nerve to marry LBJ's youngest daughter, Luci Baines, and he was promptly given a well-paid management job with KLBJ, the radio station Lady Bird owned. Once Nugent had done Lucy Baines wrong and they divorced, LBJ fired him and he was banished from any seeking any gainful employment in the United States from then on. He's now self-publishing some little two-bit, obscure directory in Austin.

LBJ's courage in forcing through civil rights and Medicare cost him and his beloved Texas dearly.
Moderate and conservative Texas Democrats with racist tendencies defected to the Republican party and turned Texas from a blue state to a red state, and it's remained red ever since.
Besides civil rights and Medicare legislation, Johnson also had the pressing matter of the Vietnam war weighing heavily on him.
People like me took to the streets to protest the war by the tens of thousands, and we hated Johnson for his hawkish stance.
In fact, when it was time to run for re-election, a weary, long haired LBJ politely declined the opportunity and stepped away from politics forever.
In his heart, I believe Johnson wanted to end the war. But he had thrown his helmet over the fence and he had no choice but to retrieve it.
Oh, how I wish we had Johnson in office today.
The Republican bullies and teabaggers of today would have been tamed like Pit Bull puppies by Johnson, through diplomacy, threats or whatever means required to shut them the fuck up.
Johnson was a mean, calculated bastard when it came to getting his way.
But outside of his unpopular stance on the Vietnam war, his way was often the right way for the American people who deserved a strong advocate in the White House.
Unlike Obama, Johnson would never have dreamed of entering office with an aim to Kumbaya the Republicans. He hated Republicans because they stood for the same kind of shit they stand for now.
If LBJ was president now, crooks like Tom DeLay would be dancing with the convicts. Bill Frist would be working as a volunteer at some free clinic in the boondocks. Newt Gingrich would be a castrati singing in a boy's choir. As for Sarah Palin, first Johnson would have fucked her on the Oval Office desk, then exiled her to Wasilla for life.
For all his backwoods oafishness, Lyndon Johnson was a brilliant politician who knew exactly how the game was played, and how to work the odds to his favor.
As a Democrat, I am adamant in saying we need another strong Democratic bastard or bitch in the White House, who wants to serve the people and not the Republicans, the military industrial complex or the corporate suits whose greed is insatiable.
I think the closest thing we have to an LBJ type today is Hillary Clinton.
I wanted her to be our next president in 2008 because I sensed her hawkishness was a necessary ploy to appeal to the bloodthirsty among us. As a woman, she had to amplify her willingness to wage war, and anyone who doesn't get that is naive.
Hillary has backbone. Hillary is feared. Hillary, simply put, has the same sized balls as LBJ, and we need that right now.
I think LBJ would have liked Hillary. I think they would have been kindred spirits.
And if we can't have LBJ, we can and should have Hillary as our next Commander in Chief.
She's been a loyal soldier to Obama. But she's not Secretary of State to serve him, she's there to serve us. And she would serve us well as our next president.

Thursday, October 21, 2010

I'm Christine O'Donnell and I Am You.
a paid political ad

Hello. My name is Christine O'Donnell and I'm running for the senator of Delaware.
I'm not a witch, I am you, and you're not a witch, now are you?
Like you, I'm a Virgo, but also too like you, I think astrology is the devil's datebook.
A lot has been said about my stance against masturbation, but like you, I don't do it, never have done it and never will do it, because like you I think it's the devil's jazz hands looking for cheap thrills, and it's just wrong with a capital R.
Like you, I am a Roman Catholic from a large, Irish family. We are just like the Kennedys, except we are not adulterers, murderers, sex fiends or Democrats.
In fact, we are so wholesome, my father used to fill in for Bozo the Clown when we lived in Philadelphia, which is your hometown just like mine.
Like you, I love Philly cheese steaks, only without the green peppers because you and I get gassy when we eat them.
Like you, I am 41-years-old and have never married. I enjoy celibacy, just like you do. There's nothing I hold dearer than holding my Holy Bible to my heaving bosom and calling Jesus Christ's name out loud as I feel the rapture. Sound familiar? I thought so.
Like you, I probably graduated from an ivy league college with honors. And of course you and I did graduate work at Columbias University, where we may have majored in English literature or public relations.
Like you, I don't think Darwin's theory is nothing more than one crazy man's opinion, because we believe that God created the Earth in 7 days just like it says in the Bible. Or maybe it was six days and then a day off for church, but God did it and you and I know it.
If we were descended from monkeys, why aren't monkeys still turning into humans and evoluting like the left-wing atheists say they did? When a lady gets married and has a baby, if evoluting exists then why doesn't she give birth to a baby monkey who changes into a human at age 2 or 3? See? Just like you, I don't buy into these insulting theories when God's Good Book explains about how Adam and Eve turned into human beings so they could learn to love Jesus like you and I do.
Like you, I bailed on a mortgage and was almost evicted until my then-attorney/ boyfriend bought the house. And like you, when we were together we did not have sex because we did not marry.
Also too like you, the IRS filed an $11,000 lien against me this year for failure to pay back taxes. Like you, I was singled out for being different and not giving in to the IRS agent's perverted sexual demands.
I am you. We both oppose abortion, even in cases of rape or incest. But if the mother's life is in jeopardy, then her husband should get to decide who dies.
I am Christine O'Donnell and I am you.
Jesus wants me to be the senator from Delaware and so are you.
So, thank you, and may the saints be with you before the devil even knows that you're dead.
Why I Have No Objections to Straight Men

Thanks to Nailing Jello to the Wall for allowing me to steal this without permission

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Virginia and Uncle Tom Thomas

I could probably build up a huge head of steam and write a diatribe about the gall Virginia Thomas had in calling Anita Hill with a demand for an apology for "what she did to her husband" during his Supreme Court confirmation hearings.
She called it, "extending an olive branch." What fucking gall.
By now, everyone knows I think "Justice" Thomas is a filthy scumbag grifter and pervert, but I have two simple words for his idiotic wife:
Fuck you.

Monday, October 18, 2010

A Word About Macarons

French macarons have to be among the world's most beautiful cookies, and I'm sure they are a hassle to make.
Before I got to Paris, I was jonesing to try one and it's one of the first things I did when I arrived. I bought three big ones to share, in raspberry, chocolate and orange.
They were very odd but delicious--a firm meringue filled with jammy stuff or flavored cream, but one was enough to hold us. They are expensive as hell--one Euro per cookie, which amounts to about $1.28.
Then when I went to dinner at a friend's house later in the week, they served a huge pile of them for dessert. They were the smaller variety so I ate about three of them, in coffee flavor, pistachio and one other flavor I forget.
I have to wonder why they have yet to catch on in the United States.
It's like trying to find a cupcake in Paris--very rare.
Macarons sort of symbolize Paris-- very odd but delicious.
Have you tried one? What flavor? Did you like it?

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Zipdrive Rates the Real Housewives

There currently are five Real Housewives franchises on Bravo TV: The Real Housewives of Orange County, The Real Housewives of New York City, The Real Housewives of Atlanta, The Real Housewives of New Jersey and the newest version, The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.

Here are my ratings, from best to worst.

1. The Real Housewives of Atlanta.
They are hilarious, bitchy, quick witted and likable. They also are more camp than a cruise liner filled with gay men. And singer/housewife Kandi Burris is amazingly talented, for real and funny. Black women are often natural comedians, and these bitches really bring it. Housewife Kim Zolziac recorded a song called, "Don't Be Tardy for the Party," with the help of Kandi Burris and a shitload of Autotune. Now she's a gay-boy icon, but her natural singing voice is tres Olive Oyl.
2. The Real Housewives of New York City.
Hey, I happen to love New York Jews, and this show brings a couple of doozies. Though not as campy as Atlanta, with NYC as a backdrop it's enough like Sex & the City to make it worth watching. Housewife Kelly Bensimon is certifiably insane, which adds to the show's elan. And the so-called Countess Luann DeLesepps recorded a particularly obnoxious song called, "Elegance Is Learned." I'd love to punch her in the neck.
3. The Real Housewives of New Jersey.
While the Jersey housewives and their families vehemently deny any Mafia connections, there's a lot of fishy stuff going on. Plus they have some ridiculous wives on this show--like Danielle Staub, the craziest, meanest bitch ever to draw a Bravo paycheck. She's been fired for being so horrible, but there's still Theresa, her mobbed-up husband Joe and their bratty, sequined and bedazzled daughters.
When I watch this show, my TV starts to smell like oregano. I love it.
4. The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.
With just one show in the can, it's hard to tell how this one will turn out, but the bitches are all filthy rich and have a lot of B and C List Hollywood connections. So far I haven't spotted a housewife with whom I feel any attachment, but it's too soon to tell.
5. The Real Housewives of Washington, DC.
The Mean girls pick on (justifyably or not) Michaila, the publicity whore and her putz of a husband Tariq, whose major claim to fame was crashing the first White House State Dinner. None of the wives seem like anyone you'd want to have a drink with, except for maybe the lone African American woman and her cool husband, who seem pretty real. Cat, the British housewife, is meaner than a drunk London fishwife, and seems not to understand when to hold her acid tongue. I like her, but first I'd like to slap her just to get things off on a even keel.
5. The Real Housewives of Orange County.
If you like vapid women filled with silicone, spray tans and outrageous materialism, this is the show for you. None of the characters, the men in their lives, or their children have any appeal whatsoever. If I had to spend time with any of them I believe I'd have to slash my wrists. After viewing it for one season, I had to stop watching it. It makes me wish for an Orange County earthquake, and that's not good.
Do you watch any of these? Which is your favorite?

Friday, October 15, 2010

Loved the Pissy Little Cars in Paris

We have Smart cars in the United States, but somehow the sight of so many of them in Paris made me laugh out loud whenever I saw one.
Of course parking is at a premium in such a highly populated city, but their parking style was totally hilarious.
Most people know how to parallel park. You pull your car even with the car in front of your desired spot, then you cut your wheel to the right, slide in and then adjust your car so it's equidistant to the front and back cars you parked between.
Not in Paris.
In Paris, you back into the spot until you firmly hit the car behind you. Then you pull forward until you hit the car in front of you just as firmly. Then you put the car into reverse and hit the car in back again, then pull forward until you hit the car in front good and hard. Mission accomplished.
Every single car in Paris is dented front and back. From Smart cars to Mercedes to Ferraris, all have dented front and back fenders.
Nobody cares, it's simply the way it's done.
There also are about 40 million motorcycles and scooters in Paris. With petrol about $6 a gallon, it's no wonder.
But the coolest thing I saw were huge lines of green bicycles for rent every few blocks. You simply swipe a card, grab a bike and off you go. You get each bike for 30 minutes, then you have to drop it off at another bike line and grab another one.
The sight of a Paris fashion model-type jumping on one of those bikes with her tight pencil skirt and long legs pedaling fast in the middle of car and motorcycle traffic was tres magnifique. Even people in their 70s and 80s rode those green rental bikes. It was very cool to watch, and one more reason why Parisians tend not to be big, fat slobs.
Where Else Can You Do This?

Yet another fond memory of Paris--touring Rodin's beautiful museum, set in a hotel he used to frequent.
It was filled to the brim with so many of his exquisite sculptures, making it almost impossible not to want to reach out and caress the marble or bronze he used as a medium.
The grounds were manicured to perfection and the weather was glorious, and there we discovered a lovely little cafe where we stopped for lunch. Somehow the idea of eating a sandwich in the shadows of The Thinker, whose ass faces the street for all to see, is particularly alluring.
Paris is a panorama of sights to behold. I thought Tokyo was a shrine to aesthetics but compared to Paris, Tokyo may as well be Beaumont, Texas.
Paris is like a tattoo you didn't realize you were getting until you got home. Almost once an hour Paris enters my mind like a great love affair that lasted way too brief a time.
If anyone doubts that George W. Bush and the right-wing are imbeciles, look no further than their aversion to all things French.
And even though they substitute butter for mayo on their sandwiches, they are forgiven.
On this Friday night, I'd love to be drinking a great bottle of wine at some Parisian outdoor cafe with people I love.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

...another Thing About Paris

At the time I was there I missed knowing what was going on in America. We had a little TV in our flat, but the only thing we could get was a non-stop Paris show about fashion models and Jay Leno, only without commercials.

Now that I'm back I'm reminded how we are circling the drain financially, culturally and intellectually in America, and there's not much of a god-damned thing any of us can do about it.

It was fun to walk around in Paris not knowing the historic significance of much beyond the big stuff like the Arc de Triomph, the Eiffel Tower and the Mona Lisa being at the Louvre. For instance, I have no idea anymore what this photo represents, but I'm sure it must have had something to do with a battle, a victory or something the French said or did better than their competitors.

It was nice going to a nearby newsstand and asking in my horrible French if they had any magazines or newspapers written in English, only to have the arrogant clerk proclaim proudly,"Non!"
See, I think the French may like us individually, as long as we don't invade their country or cities with our fanny packs filled with tour guides and acting like rude, demanding assholes who demand everything be Americanized for our convenience.

If I knew at age 14 I'd end up liking Paris as much as I did, I would have started learning French back then, so I could actually earn enough money to live there as a writer, painter or even as a chef. I could see myself living in a tiny, free rent closet atop the Shakespeare bookshop and trying to write something publishable.

The trouble with discovering a new place to love is when you're there you long for home and when you get home you always remember more things about the other place you didn't have time to see.

There are some things I do not miss about Paris.

For one, those omnipresent skinny baguettes would rip up my palate and damn near scare the porcelain crowns right off my teeth. They reminded me of eating artichokes: too much work for too little reward.
For another, they have these heavy, annoying 1 and 2 Euro coins they just love to fob off on customers. But if you try to pay for, say, a 20 Euro dinner with 20 Euros worth of coins, they look at you like you're some broke-ass chump who had to raid her cookie jar just to scrape together enough pennies to eat.
And while I liked the antiquity of cobblestone streets and sidewalks, those little bitches are hard to walk on after about 20 minutes.

I realize that in not knowing enough French to understand what was going on around me in Paris, I was freed from the excess political and celebrity curiosity I have in America. Though I missed not knowing what was going on in the States, at least my brain had time to rest, my feathers had time to unruffle, and so did my typing fingers.

Monday, October 11, 2010


Tonight on Dancing With the Stars I watched Britney ooops Bristol Palin dance the rumba.
She was trying to dance sexy, but she's like that woman we've all slept with (well, many of us) who's a dead fish in bed.
Even though her parents, the Panderin' Palins were in the audience, the judges yelled at her and basically told her she was talentless, which she is. She scored a 32 out of a possible 60, if that tells you anything.
I wish we could pay to vote people out instead of call to vote people to stay.
I'd spend a C note to send that ditz back to Wasilla.

Saturday, October 09, 2010

Who Says Lawyers are Sleazy?

I had a great laugh at this ad. I already think a lot of defense attorneys are shady, but this broad takes the cake.
Oh wait, I may have been mistaken.
I think perhaps THIS lawyer takes the cake:

Fancy Pants Paris Chips

When we spotted this bag of chips in a nearby bodega, we had to try them out.
Bolognaise flavor, really?
Turns out they were pretty good, sort of like BBQ chips without the smoke flavorings.
Which brings me to my point.
Bolognaise is an Italian sauce, not a French sauce.
But in Paris, almost every restaurant offered some kind of pasta dish because pasta is cheap and people like it. Parisian restaurateurs are wising up.
Poor Paris, for centuries they've had one style of cooking. You cook some kind of protein in a pan, deglaze the pan with butter, cream or wine, then pour that sauce over the cooked protein.
But with so many immigrants opening ethnic restaurants to rave reviews, it's no wonder products like Lays Bolognaise chips have invaded.

For example, I had this at a Japanese restaurant in the 4th district. Skewers of beef, chicken, chicken meatballs, cheese and mushrooms. Deeelicious, and it wasn't French at all.
Times are changing for culinary France.
Nouvelle French cuisine grills and roasts more proteins, creates sauces from fruits or vegetables instead of just pan scrapings, and they go a lot lighter on the cream and butter.
But they still think salad comes after the appetizer and entree, just before dessert.

Monday, October 04, 2010

Dancing With the Scars
Oh, no.
I've been a little late to the party in terms of viewing the new season of Dancing With the Stars, but I made it a point to watch it tonight because my lurid curiosity about Bristol Palin could no longer be quelled.
Yeah, yeah, we all know she's a shy teen/unwed mother from Wasilla, Alaska who should not be judged too harshly because she's not a professional entertainer and...aww, bullshit!
It's called "Dancing With the Stars," not "Boot Scootin' With the Trailer Trash."
There's no reason why the American TV audience should have to be subjected to this hog on ice whose only claims to fame are a greedy mother with borderline personality disorder and a slacker baby-daddy who was and is way too hot for the likes of this sister wife-lookin' chick.
In a sense, Bristol Palin is even more obnoxious than former contestants like Tom DeLay, Kate Gosslein or Wayne Newton because at least those hams tried to put on a show.
Bristol Palin just sort of stands there and forces her dance partner Mark Ballas to drag her from point A to point B. And it's not a light haul for him, either.
While I'm the first to admit my body is hardly that of a dancer's, I'm not on stage anywhere subjecting anyone to my total absence of dancing ability and my zaftigity.
Her baby is a one-year-old.
The baby weight should be gone by now. God knows her mama can afford to hire a personal trainer for her so she could work off some of that mucktuck she's got around her belly, ass and thighs before she hit the stage of DWtS.
To me, her lack of talent and apparent lack of interest in the show (other than financial) is insulting. For her to show up so out of shape and so lackluster proves to me she's a lot like her mother--she'll do anything for money.
Fortunately, the judges don't seem to give a damn about teabaggers calling in death threats, because they are calling her dancing as they see it and blasting her for it.
If the first two contestants voted off were those creeps David Hasslehoff and Michael Bolton, it makes me think the judges are boldly thinning out the herd early.
If that's the case, Bristol won't last long.
I mean come on, The Situation also is a contestant, but at least he showed up in great shape.

Sunday, October 03, 2010

Oh No, No, No.

It makes me sick that the U.S. State Department is warning American tourists, students and business people to be extremely careful while visiting Europe.
It seems Osama bin Laden and his gang of godless idiots are hatching plans to go after metros, trains and places where tourists congregate, like the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, etc. etc.
Having just visited the tower, I can vouch for their security. It was almost comforting to see so many clusters of heavily armed SWAT soldiers standing at the ready. I seriously doubt any terrorists can get close enough to the tower to mess with it.
While we were inside the Louvre, there were three danger alerts. Metal curtains closed over all the windows and people were asked to leave the building. However, museum employees seemed pretty blase about the whole thing and told us we could just ignore the alarms and directives to leave the building. Perhaps they should rethink their laxity.
It's the trains and metros that worry me. During rush hour those things are so stacked with people it's a wonder all the different colognes don't create a toxic, combustible cloud.
By day six of our visit we blew off the metro and started taking taxis everywhere. They weren't that expensive when split three ways, and they were a lot cleaner and less jostling than the metro, not to mention those endless stairways I hated so much.
When 9/11 occurred, it seemed to me NYC and the WTC were natural targets for those terrorist bastards. The world embraced NYC as their own and we all felt the sorrow and rage.
Now I'm worried that cities like Paris, Rome, London, Amsterdam, Berlin, Madrid and so on will have to endure similar assaults. Terrorists don't give a damn about history or art treasures or human lives--they just like to create maximum havoc, and for what? Do any of us know for sure what they are after?
The State Department's warning is set to last until January 11. The randomness of the date makes me think the spy chatter that triggered these warnings must be pretty damn specific.
It's worrisome.
What advice do you have for Americans traveling to Europe?