Archive for Republicans scare me

Tryin’ To Make It Real Compared To What?! (Sunday A.M. Punk Rock Gospel)

Posted in I Heart My Love-Tribe, Music & Life & Sundays, politics, punk rock, Rock & Roll, Spirituality & Religion, Sunday AM Punk Rock Gospel, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 27, 2010 by alphabetfiend

Where’s that bee and where’s that honey? Where’s my God and where’s my money?

This was one “Sunday A.M. Punk Rock Gospel” that almost didn’t happen.  After the busiest of weeks and hours of off-line frustration in the Mississippi country-side, I said screw it all to hell and collapsed into bed with weary bones. Maybe it’ll be a Monday A.M. Punk Rock Gospel, I thought as I drifted into a deep air-conditioned slumber. Two hours later, at 4am, I awoke with a jolt to the spectres of Eddie Harris and Les McCaan. This is our Sunday, they insisted, so I reached with drowsy digits for my discarded laptop and whaddaya know?!  We suddenly (miraculously?) made contact. Now, fueled by caffeine & cigarettes, and a crazy lovely love for this song, I’m gonna knock this sucker out.

This week will be less wordy that usual, partly due to my fried-egg sunny-side up brain, but mostly because this song sings for itself.

How to introduce “Tryin’ To Make It Real Compared To What” ???

What can possibly be said about one of the greatest songs of all time?

All I can do is tell you what it means to me and urge you to form your own fibrous connection. And you will. You will. It’s that damn good.

When I was 15, my Dad and I took a long dusk-to-dark ride through the New Mexico mountains. Our headlights guided us around treacherous curves which my father — an expert driver and Motor City son — took smoothly, sweetly, safely. The moon was fat and the stars glittered like sugared candies. It was the kind of memory that sticks to your ribs; the kind of living that gives life texture, taste and deliciousness. It was the kind of  time that carves into your soul and (RE)MAKES you into a new configuration (concoction?) of your self. It was there, in that cushy comfy night, that I first heard “Tryin’ To Make It Real Compared To What.” It was also the second, third, fourth and fiftieth time. We played it over and over and over while reveling in the troubled beauty of the world.

Ten years later, my Dad was dead.

There would be no more moonlight rock-out rides; no more trading barbs over breakfast until he broke into a grin over my writerly wit; no more mounting our motorcycles at dawn and VVROOM-VVROOMing into the rising sun. 

There was no one to call when I needed to remember who it was that did that amazing fucking song. 

After all, that crazy beautiful fucker had turned me onto so many songs over the years and I figgered he’d always be around to help me keep ’em straight.

What was the song we used to play on the pontoon as we floated lazily down the Maumee River? Right. Take 5. Dave Brubeck. I remember now.

Who was it we were listening to that 3am by the fire? Ah! Buddy Holly. Duh.  

Who was it that did that kick-ass cool song that we couldn’t get enough of that night in your Lincoln, with the fat moon and her spilled candy?

Huh? Who? Hello? Dad? Where the hell you’d go? Hello?…hello…hey…hello? Daddy?

Damn that silence sucks.

Fortunately, there’s now such a thing as google. I typed in “tryin to make it real compared to what,” and was led to youtube, where Eddie Harris & Les McCaan broke my heart all over again. Then fixed it. Then broke it. It was awesome. I hit replay at least a dozen times. Oh. Such goodness. Such beauty. Such power.

My body flooded with rock & roll relief.

The song returned to me, like a gift, an act of cyber kindness, and now in the spirit of punk rock gospel, I am passing it on to you. I hope it breaks your heart and blows your mind. I hope it carves into you and sticks to your ribs. I hope it stays with you forever.

Is that too much to ask? No, I really don’t think so. Listen to it, see for yourself. Then go buy the record, download it onto your ipod, add the song to a playlist — spend some quality time with it. Let it add taste and texture to your memories… all the while striving to make it real while asking “Real?… Compared to what?”

Like a Buddhist koan, there’s really no answer but the question props your mind open.

TRYING TO MAKE IT REAL COMPARED TO WHAT

I love the lie and lie the love
A-Hangin’ on, with push and shove
Possession is the motivation
that is hangin’ up the God-damn nation
Looks like we always end up in a rut (everybody now!)
Tryin’ to make it real — compared to what? C’mon baby!

Slaughterhouse is killin’ hogs
Twisted children killin’ frogs
Poor dumb rednecks rollin’ logs
Tired old lady kissin’ dogs
I hate the human love of that stinking mutt (I can’t use it!)
Try to make it real — compared to what? C’mon baby now!

The President, he’s got his war
Folks don’t know just what it’s for
Nobody gives us rhyme or reason
Have one doubt, they call it treason
We’re chicken-feathers, all without one nut. God damn it!
Tryin’ to make it real — compared to what? (Sock it to me)

Church on Sunday, sleep and nod
Tryin’ to duck the wrath of God
Preacher’s fillin’ us with fright
They all tryin’ to teach us what they think is right
They really got to be some kind of nut (I can’t use it!)
Tryin’ to make it real — compared to what?

Where’s that bee and where’s that honey?
Where’s my God and where’s my money?
Unreal values, crass distortion
Unwed mothers need abortion
Kind of brings to mind ol’ young King Tut (He did it now)
Tried to make it real — compared to what?!

(Music break)

Tryin’ to make it real — compared to what?

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Vanity Fair Cover: Tina Fey As a Patriotic Pin-up

Posted in I Heart Funny Femmes, Star F*#ker with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 18, 2008 by alphabetfiend

“The collective consciousness has said, ‘Tina, dahling, where have you been? Where on earth have you been?”’ — Alec Baldwin

The article featured in The January Issue of Vanity Fair  was a great meeting of the minds. The geek’s vixen (Maureen Dowd) interviewed the smart alec’s sex-pot (Tina Fey.)

Maureen Dowd interviewing Tina Fey? Hell yea! Sexy bitch to sexy bitch. It was also long and juicy, touching on Fey’s career, marriage, childhood and motherhood. It discussed what many think of as Fey’s fairy tale ugly ducking to swan transformation (although not everyone buys into the “Yay! Fey lost 30 lbs!” thang.  Myself, for example, and Fey’s hubby think she was just damn fine yum before.) The article also revealed that Fey was the childhood victim of violence via a disfiguring attack by a stranger. The latter was one of  several new things I learned about Fey.

On the duh duh duh “She’s sure perty”  front, the magazine satisfies. Although I was hoping for more pin-up style photos inside. Fey looks lovely in her little black dress but I dig the over-the-top goofiness of the cover and always love a fun costumey celeb spread.

Tina Fey looks so sexy-licious on the cover of January’s Vanity Fair.

So seriously sassy that it makes me want to stand up and salute. 

I ask not what can Tina Fey can do for me but what I can do for Tina Fey.

cover-0901-ht

Determined to get in good with Tina — a charming ” prude/lewd split personality” — Maureen Down wooed the famous Fey with sweets.

Her true vice is cupcakes. I’ve brought her a box, one frosted with the face of Sarah Palin. She chooses that one.

Fey wasn’t shy about choosing the biggest one or about chowing down on Sarah Palin. Fey isn’t trying to be a 90210 beauty but she does confess to striving for a more 212 NYC area-code kinda fetching.

She wanted to be “PBS pretty”—pretty for a smart writer.

She shed 30 — acceptable in Chicago pounds — and I dunno, waxed some stuff. Put on some glasses or changed her glasses. Supposedly went from a Nottie to a Hottie. What-ev. I was kinda blah on that aspect of the article. I don’t think Fey got fantastic through sheer force of Natzi-esque will. I call bullshit! Surely she was something special all along. Steve Higgins, an S.N.L. producer, attests to the come-hither having come with her all the way from Chi-town.

When she got here she was kind of goofy-looking, but everyone had a crush on her because she was so funny and bitingly mean.

The make-over Fey gave herself was subtle…. fortunately for the gnads of nerds everywhere. Tina Fey went from Geek to Geek-Chic. That whole pencil skirt & pencil stuck in a messy up-do look. Michael Specter, a New Yorker writer,  is glad she kept her look whip-smart calling Fey

“the sex symbol for every man who reads without moving his lips.”

Fey’s husband and long-time love, Jeff Richmond, wistfully describes Fey in “her pre-glamour-puss days, back in Chicago.”

She was quite round in a lovely, turn-of-the-century kind of round—that beautiful, Rubenesque kind of beauty. She used to wear crazy boots. She would wear knee-length frumpy dresses with thrift-store sweaters. It still looked kind of cool on her.

Richmond thought he and Fey made a good couple and not just because they both gobbled sandwiches with great abandon or laughed at Gary Shandling but because they’re off-beat beauty was complementary. At 5 feet three and one-half inches, Richmond was retro.

I used to get all my suits in thrift stores, because I realized I was the size of little old men who were dying

Dowd writes of how the handsome couple “fell in love quickly, soon after a Sunday afternoon spent together at Chicago’s Museum of Science and Industry.”

Fey dead-panned, “We walked into a model of the human heart”

 Fey and Richmond seem to enjoy a “borderline-boring” marriage that thrives on communication, honesty and clear-cut rules.

“I know how she feels about some things, like, we never had to deal with any of this, but: adultery. Anything like that, messing around, is just such a complete ‘No’ to her. And she has her principles and she sticks to her principles more than anybody I’ve ever met in my life. Like that whole idea of, if you are in a relationship, there are deal breakers. There’s not a lot of gray area. “

They’ve never had to deal with adultery, in part I’m sure, because loyalty is they EXPECT from each other and there’s an expectation of serious consequences if they don’t do right. Fey expects Richmond to be a good guy because that’s what she WANTS in a man.

 “I don’t have that kind of ‘I love the bad guys’ thing. No, no thank you. I like nice people.”

Maureen Dowd was privy to a conversation — “woven with intimacy, the easy banter of a couple who knew each other long before fame hit” — between Fey and her “puckish” hubby.

“When we were first dating,” Richmond says, harking back to Chicago in 1994, “some of the guys at Second City said, ‘Hey, wouldn’t it be a hoot if we go over—”’

“‘—over to the Doll House,”’ Fey finishes. “‘We’ll go to this strip club ironically.’ I was like, ‘The fuck you will.”’

That had me chuckling cause: 

A) what a lucky lucky lad is Richmond to have Fey saying “The fuck you will” to him. Yum.

B) My abode, my home, has been known as “The Doll House” for years since back in the day when my roomies and I had a prank pretend punk band called “The Dollies” but now even brand new friends take to it quickly because, well, frankly I look like a doll. Not a stripper but an actual doll… think kewpie, not Barbie. After years of being called “Dollface” from every random someone — the butcher, the baker & the candlestick maker — I’ve finally embraced it (the right person started calling me DF I guess.) Sooooo my house has the same name as the strip club Fey’s man was forbidden (verboten) to enter? Well that’s just the best.

Fey likes to laugh at strippers not ogle them. She doesn’t wanna put dollars into their g-strings and she wants you to not want to either. She wants strippers to stop shaking their money makers and instead study art history in college. She wants them to put  down their sky-high lucite heels and pick up books, instruments (Fey played the flute) or easels. Why? Cause we’re better than that, she claims.

“I love to play strippers and to imitate them. I love using that idea for comedy, but the idea of actually going there? I feel like we all need to be better than that. That industry needs to die, by all of us being a little bit better than that.”

If Fey thinks we’re better than that then maybe we should try to be better. Maybe we should stand up and do right. There’s a lot of talk about Fey’s Germanic love of law & order (S.N.L. alum Colin Quinn calls Fey “Herman the German.”) Dowd can see why –” She’s a sprite with a Rommel battle plan.” Fey is a fan of Leni Riefanstahl’s auto-bio which at 669 pages is a thorough look into the Hitler-touched Natzi Propaganada filmmaker whose movies such as Triumph of the Will have been the river from which political propaganda feeds.

“If she hadn’t been so brilliant at what she did, she wouldn’t have been so evil, she was like, in the book, ‘He was the leader of the country. Who was I not to go?’ And it’s like, Note to self: Think through the invite from the leader of your country.”

As Mary Tyler Moore and Betty White were giving out the Emmy for outstanding comedy series, Fey found herself coveting the award or rather the actual physical statuette that would be passed from their hands to hers.

“I had this visceral thing of, like, I want them to gimme that! I want to get that from those ladies!”

Symbolism was not lost on the Emmy deities.

Within moments 30 Rockwas called and she went up onstage, glowing in a strapless eggplant mermaid David Meister gown, to take the Emmy from the two women who had provided the template for her own show. It was a dazzling Cinderella moment (except for Fey’s purse getting stolen while she was onstage). She got her own slipper, writing and willing herself into the role, and the shoe wasn’t glass. It was a silver Manolo Blahnik.

What kind of total a-hole would steal Tina Fey’s purse while she was accepting her well-deserved symbol-soaked Emmy?

 Although that a-hole aint nothin’ compared to the sicko psycho who slashed a child’s face.

Liz Lemon favors her right side. That’s because a faint scar runs across Tina Fey’s left cheek, the result of a violent cutting attack by a stranger when Fey was five. Her husband says, “It was in, like, the front yard of her house, and somebody who just came up, and she just thought somebody marked her with a pen.” You can hardly see the scar in person. But I agree with Richmond that it makes Fey more lovely, like a hint of Marlene Dietrich noir glamour in a Preston Sturges heroine.

“That scar was fascinating to me,” Richmond recalls. “This is somebody who, no matter what it was, has gone through something. And I think it really informs the way she thinks about her life. When you have that kind of thing happen to you, that makes you scared of certain things, that makes you frightened of different things, your comedy comes out in a different kind of way, and it also makes you feel for people.”

The violent attack Fey suffered at the hands of a sadistic stranger and the scars that still remain were by far the most riveting part of the article. It’s illuminating. On so many levels. I’m a much bigger fan of Fey’s than I was before and readers of this blog know how I loves me some Fey.

Marci Klein—the cool, tall, blonde executive producer of 30 Rock and producer of S.N.L., and the daughter of Calvin Klein—who was kidnapped for 10 hours when she was 11, remembers, “Tina said to me, ‘Well, you know, Marci, we had the Bad Thing happen to us. We know what it’s like.”’

I too am someone who had what Fey calls THE BAD THING happen. My heart broke for that child and her soft cheek and then my heart soared to see yet again how those traumas set people on a special path. Such an intense experience can have an almost shamanic quality, shaking a person up in such a way that they are transformed. There’s an alchemy that comes from healing, from making something like that into something new and better for yourself…experiencing it and then surviving it is a psychological vision quest that us “victims” are lucky to go on. Does it suck that it happened to her? YES. Is that part of Fey’s magic? No doubt.

That said, I can see why Fey “rarely mentions the episode” and continues to struggle with it, sometimes even when she’s not expecting it to resurface.

 “It’s impossible to talk about it without somehow seemingly exploiting it and glorifying it,” says Fey

She used therapy to cope with her extremely fearful reaction to the anthrax attack at 30 Rock shortly after 9/11—the first time her co-workers had seen her vulnerable. The therapist talked to her about 9/11 and the anthrax delivered to Tom Brokaw’s office, linking them to the crime against her when she was little. “It’s the attack out of nowhere,” Fey says. “Something comes out of nowhere, it’s horrifying.”

When asked how that little kid trauma has affected her now that she’s mama to her own kiddie, Fey seemed prepared for some potentially rough times.

“Supposedly, I will go crazy. My therapist says, ‘When Alice is the age that you were, you may go crazy.”’

But then again Fey may just be okay, having been willing to explore it through therapy as well as through art. She’s processed it — at least creatively.

Liz Lemon’s blustery Republican boss, Jack Donaghy, played with comic genius by Alec Baldwin, tells Lemon, “I don’t know what happened in your life that caused you to develop a sense of humor as a coping mechanism. Maybe it was some sort of brace or corrective boot you wore during childhood, but in any case I’m glad you’re on my team.”

Plus there’s the fact that Fey doesn’t have much patience for drama or crazy. Dowd asks her if she ever counsels Lindsay Lohan, Tracy Morgan or Alec Baldwin.

“I have no enabler bone in my body—not one. I’m sort of like, ‘Oh, are you going crazy? I’ll be back in an hour.'”

Janeane Garofalo, in a recent interview in Geek Monthly, talked about being a now lefty who came from a righty-whitey background. Tina Fey came from a similar situation.

“I grew up in a family of Republicans. And when I was 18 and registering to vote, my mom’s only instruction was “You just go in and pull the big Republican lever.” That’s my welcome to adulthood. She’s like, “No, don’t even read it. Just pull the Republican lever.”

Which makes me wonder what are those Repub’s feeding their daughters to make them so damn funny? A buncha bullshit, I s’pose. Both comediennes have come a long way from those right-wing roots and are nows forces to reckoned with in leftist or Democratic politics. Garofalo has “liberal” inked into her flesh — them’s fightin’ words! — like the new bad-ass biker tat. Fey announced she would be leaving the planet if McCain-Palin won the White House. Thanks, in part, to Fey’s masterful skewering of Palin, no one has to be shot into space. While Fey isn’t known for her impressions, it was clear the universe wanted her to ape Palin. It’s one of those mysterious ways in which the world works.  Said Master SNL  Impresario, Darrell Hammond:

“I’ve never seen a better impression. If they put those two on a sonar, they would match up electronically.”

Speaking of those mysterious ways, Adam McKay (who wrote some of the Fey as Palin S.N.L.sketches) pointed out the absurd perfection of the whole Fey as Palin thang.

“It is the most ridiculous, borderline-dangerous thing that the Republican vice-presidential nominee happened to look like the funniest woman working in America.” 

(***View video of Tina Fey’s photo shoot for this month’s Vanity Fair.)

Black Man In the White House! Finally.

Posted in politics with tags , , , , , , , , , , on November 5, 2008 by alphabetfiend

I’m bouncing around the room!

I’m tearing up every five minutes.

It feels so damn good to see those barriers blown to bits.

barack-obama-bw

This is how change happens.

This is the world doing the right thing. It’s a human rights issue and it’s huge and beautiful and glorious and about damn time.

Mccain’s Mean Streak

Posted in politics with tags , , , , on November 3, 2008 by alphabetfiend

I’ve been working on this post about McCain’s notorious temper for weeks, slogging through all the information on the subject. The problem being that there are so many stories but yet the issue has been under-reported. I guess reporters don’t know how to sit down at their desks and type up a story that involves a war hero calling his drug-addled wife a cunt. Even though there were supposedly reporters who witnessed the story first hand. I think this speaks to a larger older issue in our country. When it comes to domestic abuse, we’ve been taught to “stay out of it.” It’s as if a husband knocking his wife into a wall falls under some sort of marital privacy clause. The same is true for child abuse. We’ve been culturally conditioned to look the other way, to let families work out their issues within the family. But this man is running for president. If he’s temper-prone and anger-led that is likely to become our problem.

With so many of us goingto cast our vote tomorrow I have decided to publish this as-is. Though still a clunky draft, there is info in here that is worth seeing especially if you are still wavering.

John McCain called his wife Cindy a “cunt” in front of aides and reporters during a 1992 campaign stop. This event was witnessed by 3 reporters and two aides of John McCain, Doug Cole and Wes Gullett. The oft-whispered story is recounted in Cliff Schecter’s book The Real McCain: Why Conservatives Don’t Trust Him and Why Independents Shouldn’t:

Three reporters from Arizona, on the condition of anonymity, also let me in on another incident involving McCain’s intemperateness. In his 1992 Senate bid, McCain was joined on the campaign trail by his wife, Cindy, as well as campaign aide Doug Cole and consultant Wes Gullett. At one point, Cindy playfully twirled McCain’s hair and said, “You’re getting a little thin up there.” McCain’s face reddened, and he responded, “At least I don’t plaster on the makeup like a trollop, you cunt.” McCain’s excuse was that it had been a long day. If elected president of the United States, McCain would have many long days.

Marty Parrish, a baptist minister, was shook by the story of McCain’s unkindness towards his wife:

 “A guy who would call his wife a trollop and a c–t just because she had ruffled his hair in front of five guys is not only a jerk, but a dangerous hothead if he ever gets his finger on the button.”

So much so that he confronted John McCain during a townhall meeting:

“And since the mainstream media has decided to give McCain a free pass, I decided to stand up and, if they gave me an open mike, ask the question that the press refuses to touched. Our country is in a serious crisis after nearly eight years of Bush, and America appears to be oblivious to the danger this guy (McCain) poses to our country.

“There’s people here who don’t respect that kind of language, so I’ll move on to the next questioner in the back.”

This from the man whose called political foes a variety of names:

  1. “shitheads,”
  2. “assholes” 
  3. “a fucking jerk.”

Yet when he dismisses Parrish’s question for having inappropriate language, he is applauded by the “town hall.” It reminds me of going to the movies with my Grandpa. Gramps yanked us out of the theatre saying, “I don’t wanna hear no god-damned motherfuckin language like that, goddammit, on a nice fuckin Sunday afternoon with my goddamned little bastard grandkidsafter a nice sermon at church by that motherfucker cocksucker faggot of a pastor, he’s a butt-fucker, mark my words, and then you little heathens drag me to a movie with that kinda nasty nasty disgusting language. On a Sunday! Litte fuckers.” I tried to point out that the movie had only one f-you as compared to his foul tirade and I was a teenage bitch slut. That guy looks like he just stepped off a banana boat, yer fuckin him, I just know.  Awww. I get a little tear in my eye just remembering. (Despite his flaws, I still love my Grampa… but I wouldn’t vote for him for president! No matter how fun it might be to throw lavish parties at the White House.)

Kieth Dismore (Huffington Post) talked to Marty Parrish after he was escorted from McCain’s town hall meeting by Des Moines police and members of the Secret Service. He stood by his decision to question McCain’s “mental health.”

 We have a man whose temper can get the best of him. What I am worried about is his temper. Our country is in a serious crisis. This election is the most significant one since 1860. It appears America is asleep — so I stood up and asked the question.

I applaud Marty Parrish for having the courage to stand up and say “Hey! The Emperor is butt-ass naked!” We’ve all been discussing this issue of McCain’s mean-streak in hushed whispered tones as though it were town gossip and we’re naughty just for jabberin’. We see the emperor’s flaccid member and saggy butt cheeks and we shy away, embarrassed. But he’s the one who should be embarrassed. We’ve also given the man a free pass for all that he went through as a POW. If he’s nutty b/c of his military experience, I’m sorry and I feel for him but I don’t feel beholden to give him the keys to The White House. Many men lost limbs in Iraq but we didn’t give them Olympic medals. We gave the Olympic medals to the athletes who excelled at their respective sports.  McCain’s angry tirades and mean-spirited snarks go way back, long before he was a POW.

John McCain was nick-named “McNasty” by his fellow students in HIGHSCHOOL. While there was a category for “Most likely to become President” in their yearbook, McCain wasn’t even considered. He did place in the category of “Thinks He’s Hardest.”

“As a young man, I would respond aggressively and sometimes irresponsibly to anyone whom I perceived to have questioned my sense of honor and self-respect. Those responses often got me in a fair amount of trouble earlier in life.”

The Arizona senator acknowledged that some habits die hard — even if it’s been 50 years.

“In all candor, as an adult I’ve been known to forget occasionally the discretion expected of a person of my years and station when I believe I’ve been accorded a lack of respect I did not deserve,” McCain said.

(Nico Pitney as published in Huffington Post)

Ken Layne said on The Wonkette: “Even before he was a brain-damaged old psychopath, McCain was a mean, angry creep.”

In the Daily Beast, Michael Kinsley shares a worrisome story  about John McCain, as emailed to him by friend and colleague, Jeff Dearth (former publisher of the New Republic.) Apparently,  when Dearth and McCain attended a 2005 magazine industry conference at a casino hotel in Puerto Rico, Dearth was witness to McCain’s famous temper. Kinsley says of Dearth:

 “We went to junior high and high school together in Michigan. He would not make this up. Jeff Dearth is not an extreme partisan or an activist for either candidate. He supports Obama, in part because he is truly alarmed at the thought of the arrogant hothead he saw becoming president.” 

About that arrogant hothead: 

McCain’s game is craps. So is Jeff Dearth’s. Jeff was at the table when McCain showed up and happily made room for him. Apparently there is some kind of rule or tradition in craps that everyone’s hands are supposed to be above the table when the dice are about to be thrown. McCain—“very likely distracted by one of the many people who approached him that evening,” Jeff says charitably—apparently was violating this rule. A small middle-aged woman at the table, apparently a “regular,” reached out and pulled McCain’s arm away. I’ll let Jeff take over the story: “McCain immediately turned to the woman and said between clenched teeth: ‘DON’T TOUCH ME.’ The woman started to explain…McCain interrupted her: ‘DON’T TOUCH ME,’ he repeated viciously. The woman again tried to explain. ‘DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM? DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU’RE TALKING TO?’ McCain continued, his voice rising and his hands now raised in the ‘bring it on’ position. He was red-faced. By this time all the action at the table had stopped. I was completely shocked. McCain had totally lost it, and in the space of about ten seconds. ‘Sir, you must be courteous to the other players at the table,’ the pit boss said to McCain. “DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM? ASK ANYBODY AROUND HERE WHO I AM.”

This being Puerto Rico, the pit boss might not have known McCain. But the senator continued in full fury—“DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU’RE TALKING TO? DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?”—and crisis was avoided only when Jeff offered to change places and stand between McCain and the woman who had touched his arm.

Kinsley sums up his concern thusly:

What is bothersome about this story, if it’s true, is only partly the explosive anger. More, it’s the arrogance. At the craps table, who cares who he is? And there’s the recklessness of such a performance in a casino full of journalists (unless McCain absolutely couldn’t control himself, which is even scarier).

Scarier indeed. Not only does McCain have this “volcanic” temper we keep hearing about but he doesn’t much care who knows it. There’s that arrogance again. It’s as if McCain thinks that his military service/sacrifice ought to forgive any misbehavior. But McCain’s not the only one making excuses. 

  1. “is a fighter and has always been a fighter ” (McCain spokesman Dan Schnur, in 1999) Scott Thomsen
  2. “I’m not looking for someone who serves tea in white gloves. That’s not attractive in a president.” (State Superintendent Lisa Graham Keegan) Thomse

Knocking women into walls is not “positively passionate” or attractive in a president. Someone who can remain clear-headed and objective in times of crisis — that’s what we need.

Nick Juliano wrote (Raw Story)

So one can only imagine what would happen if McCain were to try to squeeze that temper into the tight confines of diplomacy.

 “Do I insult anybody or fly off the handle or anything like that? No, I don’t,” insisted McCain. There are many who beg to disagree.

I saw this is the comments section somewhere and I was glad to see it — finally someone else saying what I’ve been thinking. These behaviors are familiar to some of us and fit into a pattern that we recognize from our own families.

These disturbingreports about McCain’s temper makes me wonder if he has any domestic abuse in his history. Comingfrom an abusive family with terrible tempers I am extremely sensitive to people who behave this way and can not be around that level of anger without getting my stomach tied in knots. I guarantee that there is more to this story. It seems like many of the stories about his temper involve women. I’m surprised that nobody from his personal past has come forward. I love how calm and intelligent Obama is.

McCain said, ” If I lose my capacity for anger, then I shouldn’t be president of the United States.” Good. Then we are all in agreement.

McCain & Palin Hawk the GOP on QVC (SNL Nov 1)

Posted in politics, TV with tags , , , , , , , , , , on November 2, 2008 by alphabetfiend

McCain wasn’t half bad on SNL (unlike Palin who was completely useless.) It’s just so close to election day and I’m so ready for it to be over. I’m so ready for a little Chocolate-Change in the White House. I’m ready for Tina Fey to be Tina Fey. And for Sarah Palin to hurry up and go away.

Fey deserves the fanfare from her wicked Palin imitation.

Fey deserves the fanfare from her wicked Palin imitation.

I did wonder though what must’ve been going through McCain’s mind when — in the skit — Sarah Palin, played by Fey, snuck off to sell herself in secret. How wierd for him to see that truth and just have to laugh through it. For some laughs of your own, see the QVC skit for yourself.

VOTE FOR OBAMA!!!!

Oh and if Tina Fey asks you for favors, sexual or otherwise, PONY UP. It’s the least we could do for that smart sexy bitch. If she wants to put a saddle on your back and ride you around the room, get on all fours and bray like a buckin’ bronco.

Oliver Stone’s “W” — A Talent-fueled Let Down.

Posted in Cinema & Filmmaking, Fame & Celebrity, Movies & Movie Stars, politics, Republicans scare me with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on October 17, 2008 by alphabetfiend

Like poppy Bush, I too am “deeply disappointed.”

Oliver Stone’s Bush biopic “W” was not the scathing gut-buster that I’ve been looking forward to for months. It wasn’t bad but it wasn’t satisfying. I ordered jalopeno chocolate cake and got apple pie. Flaky crust, tasty filling, not what I wanted.

The film opens in theatres tonight.

I got to see an early viewing of Oliver Stone’s much anticipated film at Austin’s Paramount Theatre. The film kicked off the Austin Film Festival. Stone was supposed to present it and do a Q & A but the lefty James Cromwell (Bush Senior) came in his stead. Cromwell quoted Aristotle — “Know thyself. An unexamined life is not worth living.” — and then quickly left the stage.

I settled in for two hours of hilarious illumination, already excited to write my “oh hell yea” review. I fully expected to love this movie. Now here I am and, yea, I’m just not feeling it. The subject matter provided plenty of depth to plumb, the premise was timely, the previews were promising. Josh Brolin was brilliant. He had Dub’s voice down and moved with uncanny perfection. It can’t be easy to play someone who we see so frequently. He wasn’t playing the man who was once Prez, he was playing the man who is Prez. His portrayal was so convincing that Brolin was erased and replaced by Bush. Richard Dreyfuss was absorbed by Dick Cheney. Jeffery Wright ached as Colin Powell, the Jimminy Cricket of the Oval Office. Thandie Newton was creepy as a stilted subservient Condoleeza Rice.  Toby Jones was a wonderfully stinky Turd Blossom. (Rove.) Elizabeth Banks was magnetic as Laura. There was so much talent involved in this project and so many outstanding performances. Yet I was bored. Bored and bummed.

In the story-telling, there were some egregiously missed opportunities. They skipped over some juicy real-life stuff — Condoleeza referring to Dubby as her hubby, Bushie massaging the shoulders of the German chancellor. Coulda had a nice close-up of her cringing in repulsion as he obliviously kneads away at her flesh. A young Bush snorting coke and making an ass of himself. Then there’s some rumored strange that could’ve had us fascinated. But instead of exploring the reported oddities of the Bush clan, the film was a glowing portrait of an patriotic family. Ma & Pa Bush were quite charming despite their supposed flaws. Bush senior was cold and curmudgeonly; Barbara was a sassy old broad; Jeb was the defensive little bro. Black sheep Bush was a pale gray good guy. Banks’ Laura was lovely. But so adoring of Dub that it sometimes felt like a love story rather than a political bio-pick of a problematic, troubled president. By a director who is known for being bold & ballsy.

Stone’s “W” didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know and I’m no Bush aficionado. There was one thing, a scene that sums up Bush Junior’s success. In a fraternity hazing, when a paunchy pledge fumbles to recall the names of his potential frat bros, liquor is funneled into his throat. He chokes and sputters. Then comes Bushie (with Brolin’s hot bod) and he lists off first names, last names and nicknames. Superb memory + affable dumbass = Prez. Outside of nepotism, Bush’s genial social skills and memory for details are what made his presidency possible. W “makes nice” while a behind the scenes someone(s) feeds him intel. Dreyfuss’ Cheney is the clear villain. Brolin’s Bush is just a fumbling hobnobber with serious Daddy issues. 

The film is Bush-friendly. If it were a raunchy teen comedy, the Bush character would be the ditsy blond who despite here low IQ and shallow soul is somehow still a sweetie pie who tries to do right.

Afterwards, while the RobotBoy gooed and gaga-ed over pretty Elizabeth Banks, I struggled to find words for my dissatisfaction. Then the phone rang. Vince was anxious to know how it went.

So, how was it? Was it funny?

Um, yea, it was. Sometimes. But I’d already see all of the funny scenes on the trailer.

Ohhh. One of those.

And when it wasn’t funny it was sort of a human interest hallmark channel conservative fluff piece…. I dunno, maybe I’m just not in the mood to sit through the humanization of Dub-yoo right now. While we’re still in the thick of this mess, I guess I don’t much care how he hurts.

Yea? I saw something like that, somewhere, on someone’s blog, like ‘yea, really not so sure who this film is for.’

EXACTLY! I too am unsure. I only know that it’s not for me.

“This is just the beginning of a reconciliation of eight wretched years.” Oliver Stone

Michelle Obama’s Nutter Phonecall: An Obvious Hoax

Posted in politics with tags , , , , , , , , on October 15, 2008 by alphabetfiend

Despite its prominent place on the wordpress dash today, the story about Michelle Obama phoning API is a FAKE. It certainly sounded fishy with Michelle referring to un-named “evil” people who want to keep the black man down. Duh. It’s a right-wing hoax and they even signed it (repeatedly) with their favorite word. EVIL. Right-wingers love EVIL. They love to pepper their sentences with EVIL. Yes, I read it and it was that oft-used right wing word that tipped me off.

But just on the very bizarre off chance that Michelle Obama had become a nutter, I forwarded the post to the RobotBoy with the subject “Wierdness on WP dash this AM.” He is the political fiend in our pairing so I turn to him in times of wanton uncertainty. He wrote back: “Sounds like bullshit, haven’t seen any other mention of this story.” Later he forwarded me an article from Huffington Post (“Here’s the deal”) that said the fake phone call had the blogosphere (that’s us) fascinated. Arg. Fascinated? Shoot me now. Huff Post summed up the hoax thusly:

The article, from an organization calling itself “African Press International,” claims to have gotten a phone call from an irate Michelle Obama, in which she railed at the outlet for “spread[ing] rumours created by American bloggers and other racist media outlets in their efforts to damage a black man’s name,” and “evil people who are out to stop her husband from getting the presidency.” The fake Michelle Obama insists that her husband “loves his country” and promises the organization favorable treatment if they “write a good story about her husband.”

So no, Michelle Obama is not nutter. Byron York (The Corner) had to point that out to those rabid right-wingers because the word “evil” works them up into a vortex of lunacy. They foam at the mouth and spew crazy-talk. Logic holds no sway. Silly Rabbits! Trix are for kids! (or foxy tricksters.) Don’t they know that we aren’t as focused on EVIL as they are?

Naturally, a mere contemplation of the obvious should have short-circuited the belief that this interview was real, thus sparing York from having to point it out. The Obama campaign has been, throughout the season, notoriously disciplined and highly aloof from the press. Michelle Obama… wouldn’t be calling up random bloggers to yell at them. If she did, she’d be doing that all the damned time! Beyond that, there were obvious signs that the interview, and the organization, is fakety-fake McFake. For example: there are two “r’s” in “Farrakhan.” “Inauguration” is not spelled “innoguration.” And you’d think that a writer for “African Press International” would be clear on the concept of capitalizing one’s own publication’s name. Nevertheless, these obvious signs proved too elusive for some people, hence Byron York’s involvement.

Whew! Glad that’s over! Oh wait, they’re going to keep insisting and believing it’s real. You know they will!  Which is gonna be so so so annoying.

For a good laugh go see this great short read at a fellow bloggers page. So funny it hurts.

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