In 1992, Bill Clinton made history as the first Presidential candidate to appear on MTV, play the sax and answer questions about his underwear. Some political observers think it’s been downhill ever since.
But that will seem like ancient history next month when the Democrats have the first YouTube debate ever on CNN, with viewer videos replacing reporters to ask questions and, more than likely, offer visual montages for candidates’ responses.
What we can expect may be foreshadowed by some of the YouTube golden oldies--the “1984” portrayal of Hillary Clinton as Big Sister, the “I Feel Pretty” accompaniment to John Edwards’ hair styling and, just this week, the “I Got a Crush on Obama” music video.
Forgive an old killjoy for asking: We may get a lot of youthful self-expression, but what the hell will any of it have to do with picking someone to run the country?
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Chalabi: Our Iraqi Cockroach
Donald Rumsfeld is out of office, Paul Wolfowitz is in disgrace and Scooter Libby is on his way to jail. But the criminal who played them like a banjo to con the U. S. out of millions of dollars and into a calamitous war is still over there sabatoging efforts to get peace in Iraq and American troops out.
In a report on Iraqi failure to make progress toward sectarian peace, the New York Times yesterday singled out the Reconciliation and Accountability Law that would undo some of the damage of de-Bathification:
“Sunnis supported the overhaul, and Shiites and Kurds were expected to fall in line...But the law was stymied by Ahmad Chalabi, the former Pentagon protégé...Having just renovated a spacious office in the Green Zone, he has strongly opposed any effort to weaken his position or the country’s policy on former Baathists.”
Once promoted by Neo-Cons as the “George Washington of Iraq,” heading the de-Bathification Commission is Chalabi’s last remaining role in the government after being driven out over charges of fraud, theft and counterfeiting, and he is using it to rally Shiites against reconciliation.
Before the invasion, Chalabi, a fugitive from Jordan after being convicted of bank fraud, was providing the Pentagon with intelligence on Saddam Hussein’s weapons of mass destruction and ties to Al Qaeda for which we paid $33 million over four years. None of it turned out to be true.
Nonetheless, he stayed on the U.S. payroll until 2004 when, in an interview, he gloated about misleading us into Iraq: “We are heroes in error. As far as we're concerned we've been entirely successful. That tyrant Saddam is gone and the Americans are in Baghdad. What was said before is not important."
Soon after the money stopped and very likely before that, we learned that Chalabi was providing information to Iran, letting them know that one of our valuable sources of Iranian intelligence was a broken code used by their spy services.
All in all, our busy-as-a-bee Iraqi helper has turned out to be as useful and hardy as a cockroach.
In a report on Iraqi failure to make progress toward sectarian peace, the New York Times yesterday singled out the Reconciliation and Accountability Law that would undo some of the damage of de-Bathification:
“Sunnis supported the overhaul, and Shiites and Kurds were expected to fall in line...But the law was stymied by Ahmad Chalabi, the former Pentagon protégé...Having just renovated a spacious office in the Green Zone, he has strongly opposed any effort to weaken his position or the country’s policy on former Baathists.”
Once promoted by Neo-Cons as the “George Washington of Iraq,” heading the de-Bathification Commission is Chalabi’s last remaining role in the government after being driven out over charges of fraud, theft and counterfeiting, and he is using it to rally Shiites against reconciliation.
Before the invasion, Chalabi, a fugitive from Jordan after being convicted of bank fraud, was providing the Pentagon with intelligence on Saddam Hussein’s weapons of mass destruction and ties to Al Qaeda for which we paid $33 million over four years. None of it turned out to be true.
Nonetheless, he stayed on the U.S. payroll until 2004 when, in an interview, he gloated about misleading us into Iraq: “We are heroes in error. As far as we're concerned we've been entirely successful. That tyrant Saddam is gone and the Americans are in Baghdad. What was said before is not important."
Soon after the money stopped and very likely before that, we learned that Chalabi was providing information to Iran, letting them know that one of our valuable sources of Iranian intelligence was a broken code used by their spy services.
All in all, our busy-as-a-bee Iraqi helper has turned out to be as useful and hardy as a cockroach.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Cancel the California Primary
Steven Spielberg has spoken. The Hillary Clinton campaign announced today that he “has chosen to endorse Clinton because of her experience and strength.”
Earlier this year, Spielberg flirted with Barack Obama as his Dreamworks partners, David Geffen and Jeffrey Katzenberg, raised funds for him and Geffen raised the roof by calling the Clintons world-class liars.
But Spielberg’s long friendship with the Clintons has kept him in the fold. His emphasis on Hillary’s “strength” comes from someone whose first assignment as a fledgling director was to work with the toughest diva of them all, Joan Crawford, with whom he became lifelong friends.
Anybody who could charm “Mommie Dearest” knows a strong woman when he sees one.
Earlier this year, Spielberg flirted with Barack Obama as his Dreamworks partners, David Geffen and Jeffrey Katzenberg, raised funds for him and Geffen raised the roof by calling the Clintons world-class liars.
But Spielberg’s long friendship with the Clintons has kept him in the fold. His emphasis on Hillary’s “strength” comes from someone whose first assignment as a fledgling director was to work with the toughest diva of them all, Joan Crawford, with whom he became lifelong friends.
Anybody who could charm “Mommie Dearest” knows a strong woman when he sees one.
Sound of High-Heeled Shoes Dropping
Gallant as always, the Bushies have apparently thrown a couple of women to Congressional investigators by letting subpoenas be served on Harriet Meirs and Karl Rove's assistant, Sara Taylor.
But the bloodhounds won't be thrown off the scent until they get to Rove himself in the trail of the U. S. Attorney firings. Now that they have sniffed their way inside the White House, there won't be much space left for hiding.
The Master Strategist may want to mull over how much it helped Alberto Gonzales when they pushed his assistants in front of the oncoming train. Gonzales and Rove may continue to serve at the pleasure of the President until he leaves the White House, but if evidence of criminal activity comes out, there may be other places in which to serve after January 2009.
But the bloodhounds won't be thrown off the scent until they get to Rove himself in the trail of the U. S. Attorney firings. Now that they have sniffed their way inside the White House, there won't be much space left for hiding.
The Master Strategist may want to mull over how much it helped Alberto Gonzales when they pushed his assistants in front of the oncoming train. Gonzales and Rove may continue to serve at the pleasure of the President until he leaves the White House, but if evidence of criminal activity comes out, there may be other places in which to serve after January 2009.
The Silly Season Is Early This Year
In my prehistoric newspaper days, the “silly season” was late summer when the real world was on vacation, and editors filled space with offbeat stuff that would otherwise never qualify as news.
This week’s Washington Post has one that would be a classic in any era--about a D.C. judge who is suing his neighborhood dry cleaner for $65 million over a pair of disputed pants. The courtroom scene, which is pure Marx Brothers, recalls Groucho’s reminiscences about his father, a tailor who didn’t believe in taking measurements and therefore had to go into hiding from all his old customers.
If the D.C. judge had run across him, he would asking for a $1 billion in damages.
This week’s Washington Post has one that would be a classic in any era--about a D.C. judge who is suing his neighborhood dry cleaner for $65 million over a pair of disputed pants. The courtroom scene, which is pure Marx Brothers, recalls Groucho’s reminiscences about his father, a tailor who didn’t believe in taking measurements and therefore had to go into hiding from all his old customers.
If the D.C. judge had run across him, he would asking for a $1 billion in damages.
Dr. Reagan and Mr. Cheney
After rehearsing with Jay Leno last night, Fred Thompson is ready for his Fourth of July closeup, Mr. DeMille.
As an actor Thompson has always played himself, a folksy politician in a rumpled suit. Now he is taking on a reverse Jekyll-Hyde role in the ’08 picture to persuade Republican fire-breathers in the primaries before he gives his Reagan impersonation for the White House Oscar in November.
The supporting cast and props are in place starting with the Bush I reliables: the aging ingénue Mary Matalin, economic sage Lawrence Lindsey and Robert Novak, the devoted old media manservant, among the familiar faces for 20th century flashbacks.
But as the cast grows, the important players are coming from the Bush-Cheney troupe, the latest three certified as “hawkish” by the Weekly Standard: Mark Esper, an aerospace executive who was Bill Frist’s foreign policy guru; Joel Shin, who coordinated advisers for Bush’s 2000 campaign; and Dick Cheney’s older daughter, Liz, a Middle East expert with credentials that suggest an apple falling not far from the tree.
Thompson’s role as a Scooter Libby advocate and his mumblings about taking on Iran round out the picture of an Administration that would not offer a sharp break with the world view of the one we have now.
But none of that will be the focus of Thompson’s campaign. Instead there will be the image of (believe it or not) a Washington outsider who never wanted to be President but feels duty-bound to save us from the mess he clearly is getting ready to perpetuate.
Is this a great country or what?
As an actor Thompson has always played himself, a folksy politician in a rumpled suit. Now he is taking on a reverse Jekyll-Hyde role in the ’08 picture to persuade Republican fire-breathers in the primaries before he gives his Reagan impersonation for the White House Oscar in November.
The supporting cast and props are in place starting with the Bush I reliables: the aging ingénue Mary Matalin, economic sage Lawrence Lindsey and Robert Novak, the devoted old media manservant, among the familiar faces for 20th century flashbacks.
But as the cast grows, the important players are coming from the Bush-Cheney troupe, the latest three certified as “hawkish” by the Weekly Standard: Mark Esper, an aerospace executive who was Bill Frist’s foreign policy guru; Joel Shin, who coordinated advisers for Bush’s 2000 campaign; and Dick Cheney’s older daughter, Liz, a Middle East expert with credentials that suggest an apple falling not far from the tree.
Thompson’s role as a Scooter Libby advocate and his mumblings about taking on Iran round out the picture of an Administration that would not offer a sharp break with the world view of the one we have now.
But none of that will be the focus of Thompson’s campaign. Instead there will be the image of (believe it or not) a Washington outsider who never wanted to be President but feels duty-bound to save us from the mess he clearly is getting ready to perpetuate.
Is this a great country or what?
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Vicious Political Vaudeville
If there is still a line somewhere between journalism and vitriolic jawboning, Dennis Miller doesn’t know where it is. As a Fox News “political commentator,” he is half as funny as he thought he was on “Saturday Night Live” and twice as objectionable.
His diatribe on Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid, no idol of mine, which is now tickling so many conservative bloggers, makes Keith Olbermann look like Edward R. Murrow. It seems to have escaped Miller’s attention that Olbermann’s commentaries about George Bush are based on facts, not snide gags about his looks and demeanor.
As the current owners of the Wall Street Journal consider selling it to Rupert Murdoch, they may want to take a look at what he considers within the bounds of journalism.
His diatribe on Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid, no idol of mine, which is now tickling so many conservative bloggers, makes Keith Olbermann look like Edward R. Murrow. It seems to have escaped Miller’s attention that Olbermann’s commentaries about George Bush are based on facts, not snide gags about his looks and demeanor.
As the current owners of the Wall Street Journal consider selling it to Rupert Murdoch, they may want to take a look at what he considers within the bounds of journalism.
Role Reversal in Iraq
Today’s New York Times reports a “closed-door meeting” that its reporter was allowed to put on the record:
“In a Sunday afternoon discussion that mixed gentle coaxing with a sober appraisal of politics in Baghdad and Washington, the commander, Adm. William J. Fallon, told Prime Minister Nuri Kamal al-Maliki that the Iraqi government should aim to complete a law on the division of oil proceeds by next month.
“Iraq’s Shiite dominated-government, Admiral Fallon added in the meeting, has consolidated power and should have the confidence to reach out to its opponents. ‘You have the power,’ Admiral Fallon said. ‘You should take the initiative.’”
Ryan C. Crocker, the American Ambassador to Iraq, was also present, but while the Admiral, our top Commander in the Middle East, was offering political counsel, there is no indication that the Ambassador was advising al-Maliki on military matters.
The Iraqis must be getting a weird impression of how democracy, American style, is supposed to work.
“In a Sunday afternoon discussion that mixed gentle coaxing with a sober appraisal of politics in Baghdad and Washington, the commander, Adm. William J. Fallon, told Prime Minister Nuri Kamal al-Maliki that the Iraqi government should aim to complete a law on the division of oil proceeds by next month.
“Iraq’s Shiite dominated-government, Admiral Fallon added in the meeting, has consolidated power and should have the confidence to reach out to its opponents. ‘You have the power,’ Admiral Fallon said. ‘You should take the initiative.’”
Ryan C. Crocker, the American Ambassador to Iraq, was also present, but while the Admiral, our top Commander in the Middle East, was offering political counsel, there is no indication that the Ambassador was advising al-Maliki on military matters.
The Iraqis must be getting a weird impression of how democracy, American style, is supposed to work.
Rather's Remedial Journalism for Couric
Rapidly depleting the good-will balance in his Journalism Hall of Fame account, Dan Rather had a few words yesterday for Katie Couric, who succeeded him as anchor of the CBS Evening News.
Discussing broadcast news with Joe Scarborough, the pole-dancing expert, on Imus’ old show, Rather observed Couric was “dumbing it down” and “tarting it up,” stopping just short of describing her as nappy-headed.
Rather’s decline into an intemperate scold is saddening for those who remember and admire him as a feisty reporter who stood up to Nixon, helped expose Watergate and succeeded Walter Cronkite as a fabled network anchor.
His condemnation of CBS News’ current approach could be debated, but its form and manner come with ill grace from a man whose illustrious career imploded during the George Bush era.
On Bill Moyers’ recent “Buying the War,” Rather, clearly racked by guilt, confessed there was no excuse for “my performance and the performance of the press in general in the rollup to the war,” citing only the trauma of 9/11 in mitigation.
Even worse, by inexcusable sloppiness that ended his CBS career, Rather helped reelect Bush in 2004. In failing to verify documents, he allowed the Bush smear machine to make his reporting the issue rather the subject of it, Bush’s avoidance of serving in Vietnam.
Armchair psychology might suggest that Rather’s new role as a scourge may stem, in some part, from guilt and anger over his own failings. But that does not give him license to, in effect, call Katie Couric the journalistic equivalent of a nappy-headed ho.
Discussing broadcast news with Joe Scarborough, the pole-dancing expert, on Imus’ old show, Rather observed Couric was “dumbing it down” and “tarting it up,” stopping just short of describing her as nappy-headed.
Rather’s decline into an intemperate scold is saddening for those who remember and admire him as a feisty reporter who stood up to Nixon, helped expose Watergate and succeeded Walter Cronkite as a fabled network anchor.
His condemnation of CBS News’ current approach could be debated, but its form and manner come with ill grace from a man whose illustrious career imploded during the George Bush era.
On Bill Moyers’ recent “Buying the War,” Rather, clearly racked by guilt, confessed there was no excuse for “my performance and the performance of the press in general in the rollup to the war,” citing only the trauma of 9/11 in mitigation.
Even worse, by inexcusable sloppiness that ended his CBS career, Rather helped reelect Bush in 2004. In failing to verify documents, he allowed the Bush smear machine to make his reporting the issue rather the subject of it, Bush’s avoidance of serving in Vietnam.
Armchair psychology might suggest that Rather’s new role as a scourge may stem, in some part, from guilt and anger over his own failings. But that does not give him license to, in effect, call Katie Couric the journalistic equivalent of a nappy-headed ho.
Sopranos' End? Start Here...
Among the pleasures of “The Sopranos” has been the feeling you get when the world discovers someone or something you’ve appreciated for a long time.
David Chase’s writing has been giving me pleasure since the 1970s when he did the scripts for and later produced more than a score of episodes for “The Rockford Files” with James Garner.
Many of the attitudes and themes of “The Sopranos” are there inchoately--fascination with the Mafia, insecurities and ineptness behind the bravado, dicey family relationships. But the furor over the series’ finale keeps bringing back echoes of one Rockford script that had nothing to do with the Mob.
It was called “Irving the Explainer,” with an over-the-top plot about Hollywood history, Nazis, a missing painting, French police, unsolved murders and so much more that Rockford has to hire a logician to try to untangle it all.
At the end, when he finally thinks he has it nailed, along comes one of the characters with yet another dying confession to bollix up all his theories.
All the deep thinking about last Sunday’s final chapter of “The Sopranos” keeps reminding me of Chase’s playfulness about rational explanations for everything and of something else he said some time ago:
"Network television is all talk. I think there should be visuals on a show, some sense of mystery to it, connections that don't add up. I think there should be dreams and music and dead air and stuff that goes nowhere. There should be, God forgive me, a little bit of poetry."
Chase has given us all that and more--no forgiveness needed.
David Chase’s writing has been giving me pleasure since the 1970s when he did the scripts for and later produced more than a score of episodes for “The Rockford Files” with James Garner.
Many of the attitudes and themes of “The Sopranos” are there inchoately--fascination with the Mafia, insecurities and ineptness behind the bravado, dicey family relationships. But the furor over the series’ finale keeps bringing back echoes of one Rockford script that had nothing to do with the Mob.
It was called “Irving the Explainer,” with an over-the-top plot about Hollywood history, Nazis, a missing painting, French police, unsolved murders and so much more that Rockford has to hire a logician to try to untangle it all.
At the end, when he finally thinks he has it nailed, along comes one of the characters with yet another dying confession to bollix up all his theories.
All the deep thinking about last Sunday’s final chapter of “The Sopranos” keeps reminding me of Chase’s playfulness about rational explanations for everything and of something else he said some time ago:
"Network television is all talk. I think there should be visuals on a show, some sense of mystery to it, connections that don't add up. I think there should be dreams and music and dead air and stuff that goes nowhere. There should be, God forgive me, a little bit of poetry."
Chase has given us all that and more--no forgiveness needed.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Democratic Disarray
It takes a certain kind of brilliance for Senate Democrats to make a big effort to get a non-binding vote on the popularity of Alberto Gonzales, lose it and get plausibly accused of playing partisan politics by the likes of Trent Lott and Mitch McConnell.
If competence is going to be a major issue in ’08, no one will point to today as a shining example for those who want to rescue us from the Bush era. Three of the Senate Democrats running for President did not even bother to show up.
Buried deep in the New York Times account of the fiasco is the real issue involved:
“The Senate-led effort to compel the testimony of Karl Rove, the senior White House adviser, and Harriet Miers, the former White House counsel, about their role in the dismissals has been stalled by disagreements between White House and the Senate judiciary panel. So far, the committee has authorized but has not issued subpoenas to force their appearance.”
Harry Reid, Chuck Schumer and their compatriots had better stop taking victory laps for their election win last fall and get to the real business of stopping the war, exposing corruption instead of playing games over it and, if they have any time left over, passing a little legislation. The '08 clock is ticking for them, too.
If competence is going to be a major issue in ’08, no one will point to today as a shining example for those who want to rescue us from the Bush era. Three of the Senate Democrats running for President did not even bother to show up.
Buried deep in the New York Times account of the fiasco is the real issue involved:
“The Senate-led effort to compel the testimony of Karl Rove, the senior White House adviser, and Harriet Miers, the former White House counsel, about their role in the dismissals has been stalled by disagreements between White House and the Senate judiciary panel. So far, the committee has authorized but has not issued subpoenas to force their appearance.”
Harry Reid, Chuck Schumer and their compatriots had better stop taking victory laps for their election win last fall and get to the real business of stopping the war, exposing corruption instead of playing games over it and, if they have any time left over, passing a little legislation. The '08 clock is ticking for them, too.
Novak's Lost Faith in Bush
Disillusion is always saddening and, in the case of Robert Novak, it’s positively heart-breaking.
His column in today’s Washington Post is filled with wounded rue. Hiding his feelings behind such entities as the Republican “base” and “insiders,” Novak reports,” The White House is not a happy place for the people working there.”
Chief among the complaints is Bush’s failure to consider a pardon for faithful Scooter while standing by Alberto, “an embarrassment to the party.”
What Novak seems to be missing is that “embarrassment” may be a happier option for the President than the alternative--letting him go and having him recover his memory (and maybe even e-mails) about Karl Rove’s role in firing the U.S. Attorneys.
Novak is sounding more and more like a left-leaning blogger these days, but he seems to be holding on to a glimmer of hope that Fred Thompson can make all the pain go away.
His column in today’s Washington Post is filled with wounded rue. Hiding his feelings behind such entities as the Republican “base” and “insiders,” Novak reports,” The White House is not a happy place for the people working there.”
Chief among the complaints is Bush’s failure to consider a pardon for faithful Scooter while standing by Alberto, “an embarrassment to the party.”
What Novak seems to be missing is that “embarrassment” may be a happier option for the President than the alternative--letting him go and having him recover his memory (and maybe even e-mails) about Karl Rove’s role in firing the U.S. Attorneys.
Novak is sounding more and more like a left-leaning blogger these days, but he seems to be holding on to a glimmer of hope that Fred Thompson can make all the pain go away.
Beyond Paris Hilton and Tony Soprano
She’s in jail, he’s gone, the weekend’s over, but the war in Iraq goes on and people keep dying.
In dry, actuarial terms, this week’s Time tells it all:
“According to figures compiled by the Brookings Institution at the end of May, the number of sectarian murders, carried out mainly by Shi'ite death squads against Sunnis, has risen noticeably in recent weeks after a drop-off that began in the latter part of February. Sectarian deaths are often described as ‘extra-judicial killings’ (EJKs) and involve the abduction, torture and murder of the victim, with the body usually left on the street.
“In May...there were roughly 700 EJKs across Baghdad. While still lower than the pre-surge figure of 800 in February, that's a substantial increase from the estimated 500 in each of March and April, the first two months of the surge.
“So far in June, about 20 bodies have appeared on the streets of Baghdad a day; at that rate, at least 600 murder victims will surface in Baghdad by the end of June. Meanwhile, the number of bombings targeting civilians in Baghdad, the chief tactic of Sunni extremists out to kill masses of Shi'ites, has remained roughly the same since the surge began, at about 50 per month.”
Our own people keep dying at a slower rate, but we are past 3500 now and counting. While those talking heads in Washington give us more words, that will be the reality.
Paris Hilton had what for breakfast?
In dry, actuarial terms, this week’s Time tells it all:
“According to figures compiled by the Brookings Institution at the end of May, the number of sectarian murders, carried out mainly by Shi'ite death squads against Sunnis, has risen noticeably in recent weeks after a drop-off that began in the latter part of February. Sectarian deaths are often described as ‘extra-judicial killings’ (EJKs) and involve the abduction, torture and murder of the victim, with the body usually left on the street.
“In May...there were roughly 700 EJKs across Baghdad. While still lower than the pre-surge figure of 800 in February, that's a substantial increase from the estimated 500 in each of March and April, the first two months of the surge.
“So far in June, about 20 bodies have appeared on the streets of Baghdad a day; at that rate, at least 600 murder victims will surface in Baghdad by the end of June. Meanwhile, the number of bombings targeting civilians in Baghdad, the chief tactic of Sunni extremists out to kill masses of Shi'ites, has remained roughly the same since the surge began, at about 50 per month.”
Our own people keep dying at a slower rate, but we are past 3500 now and counting. While those talking heads in Washington give us more words, that will be the reality.
Paris Hilton had what for breakfast?
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Arrivederci, Sopranos
With neither a bang nor a whimper, David Chase just pulls the plug.
OK, as in other season enders, the family is having dinner, this time in a diner, Meadow is having trouble parking the car, there is talk of a turncoat going over to the Feds, a shifty character goes to the men’s room and...Silence and darkness. It’s over.
Traditionally, gang bosses end up in pools of their own blood.
In 1931’s “Little Caesar,” a bullet-ridden Edward G. Robinson breathed, “Mother of Mercy, is this the end of Rico?”
In 1949, James Cagney, a mother-loving psychopath in ”White Heat,” went out atop a burning oil refinery, screaming, “Made it, Ma! Top of the world.”
In 1983’s “Scarface,” Tony Montana walked into a storm of bullets with a machine gun, yelling “Say hello to my little friend!”
Not our Tony. Is his creator (small “c”) telling us that “The Sopranos” level of art does not call for melodrama? Is Uncle Junior’s Alzheimer the metaphor for real life swallowing eight years of our involvement with these people? Do we turn off the set and fuggedaboutit?
Arrivederci, Sopranos. It was great while it lasted, even though a little weird how it ended.
OK, as in other season enders, the family is having dinner, this time in a diner, Meadow is having trouble parking the car, there is talk of a turncoat going over to the Feds, a shifty character goes to the men’s room and...Silence and darkness. It’s over.
Traditionally, gang bosses end up in pools of their own blood.
In 1931’s “Little Caesar,” a bullet-ridden Edward G. Robinson breathed, “Mother of Mercy, is this the end of Rico?”
In 1949, James Cagney, a mother-loving psychopath in ”White Heat,” went out atop a burning oil refinery, screaming, “Made it, Ma! Top of the world.”
In 1983’s “Scarface,” Tony Montana walked into a storm of bullets with a machine gun, yelling “Say hello to my little friend!”
Not our Tony. Is his creator (small “c”) telling us that “The Sopranos” level of art does not call for melodrama? Is Uncle Junior’s Alzheimer the metaphor for real life swallowing eight years of our involvement with these people? Do we turn off the set and fuggedaboutit?
Arrivederci, Sopranos. It was great while it lasted, even though a little weird how it ended.
Political Punks
A useful word that has fallen into disfavor, “punk” should be revived for the current political discourse over Iran.
The loose-lipped Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad certainly fits the primary definition of an inexperienced, combative young thug.
Over here, we have his aging American counterpart Sen. Joe Lieberman, who has never seen a Middle East confrontation he didn’t like, today spouting off on CBS’ Face the Nation that “we've got to be prepared to take aggressive military action against the Iranians to stop them from killing Americans in Iraq."
Although prudently ruling out a “massive ground invasion” now, Jolting Joe insists, "We cannot let them get away with it. If we do, they'll take that as a sign of weakness on our part and we will pay for it in Iraq and throughout the region and ultimately right here at home."
Secondary definitions of punk include “dry, decayed wood” and “poor, of worthless quality.” It’s a very useful word.
The loose-lipped Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad certainly fits the primary definition of an inexperienced, combative young thug.
Over here, we have his aging American counterpart Sen. Joe Lieberman, who has never seen a Middle East confrontation he didn’t like, today spouting off on CBS’ Face the Nation that “we've got to be prepared to take aggressive military action against the Iranians to stop them from killing Americans in Iraq."
Although prudently ruling out a “massive ground invasion” now, Jolting Joe insists, "We cannot let them get away with it. If we do, they'll take that as a sign of weakness on our part and we will pay for it in Iraq and throughout the region and ultimately right here at home."
Secondary definitions of punk include “dry, decayed wood” and “poor, of worthless quality.” It’s a very useful word.
Make Love, Not War
The “gay bomb” would never have worked. Al Quaeda and the Shiite militias would have countered with “don’t ask, don’t tell,” and the end result would have been a new generation of better-dressed terrorists.
If the Pentagon is really serious about sexual warfare, they should be working on a straight bomb that could be used against civilian populations. Instead of Los Alamos, they could try it out over Washington, D.C. after removing all Congressional pages to a secure area.
Better yet, combine the two and turn the Capital into a new Woodstock with everybody in tie-dyed clothes passing a timetable for getting out of Iraq and chanting “Make Love, Not War.”
If the Pentagon is really serious about sexual warfare, they should be working on a straight bomb that could be used against civilian populations. Instead of Los Alamos, they could try it out over Washington, D.C. after removing all Congressional pages to a secure area.
Better yet, combine the two and turn the Capital into a new Woodstock with everybody in tie-dyed clothes passing a timetable for getting out of Iraq and chanting “Make Love, Not War.”
Pope, Bush Bond
Despite stiff-necked media harrumphing about the President at the Vatican this weekend, it can reliably be reported that His Holiness, Benedict XVI, was totally taken with Bush’s warmth and informality.
Far from being offended at being called “sir,” the Pope was charmed by reminders of his days as a college professor when German frat boys nicknamed him “Ratzy.”
Vatican bureaucrats anonymously quoted about the President’s “invincible ignorance” were not within earshot when His Holiness responded jocularly, “Call me Ben or XVI, and I’ll call you W or II.”
The President promised the Pope to bring Vladimir along on his next visit so the three of them could share some laughs over non-alcoholic brewski.
Far from being offended at being called “sir,” the Pope was charmed by reminders of his days as a college professor when German frat boys nicknamed him “Ratzy.”
Vatican bureaucrats anonymously quoted about the President’s “invincible ignorance” were not within earshot when His Holiness responded jocularly, “Call me Ben or XVI, and I’ll call you W or II.”
The President promised the Pope to bring Vladimir along on his next visit so the three of them could share some laughs over non-alcoholic brewski.
Presidential Poles
Joe Scarborough, a clean-cut former Republican Congressman turned broadcaster, took a lot of flak last week for an allegedly salacious remark about the wife of Presidential Candidate-to-Be, Fred Thompson “working the pole.”
How soon they forget. In the late 1990s, Scarborough signed Newt Gingrich’s Contract with America, earned a 95 percent lifetime rating from the American Conservative Union and led the charge to impeach Bill Clinton for being too preoccupied with matters sexual.
When a straight arrow like Scarborough explains that he was thinking of exercise, not strippers, why would anyone doubt him? The man was talking about a cultural trend.
Scoffers should take a look at the latest manifestation of aerobic pole-working featured in a new luxury hotel in San Diego, “America’s Finest City.” The Ivy Hotel’s $3,000-a-night suite has king-size bunk beds, a group shower and, yes, a fireman's pole.
This is no sleazy retreat for Democratic peasants--it is being marketed to solidly respectable, fitness-conscious Republican convention-goers.
“The Ivy, which opened last month,” says the Los Angeles Times, “markets itself as class...decorated with floor-to-ceiling photos of legs clad in fishnet stockings and women in lingerie. Instead of curtains, red chain mail hangs from the ceiling. Couches are upholstered in red patent leather with black fringe. And in the restaurant...there is seating for six at a chef's bed.”
Relax, America. Six years of a teetotaling President have made us all uptight.
How soon they forget. In the late 1990s, Scarborough signed Newt Gingrich’s Contract with America, earned a 95 percent lifetime rating from the American Conservative Union and led the charge to impeach Bill Clinton for being too preoccupied with matters sexual.
When a straight arrow like Scarborough explains that he was thinking of exercise, not strippers, why would anyone doubt him? The man was talking about a cultural trend.
Scoffers should take a look at the latest manifestation of aerobic pole-working featured in a new luxury hotel in San Diego, “America’s Finest City.” The Ivy Hotel’s $3,000-a-night suite has king-size bunk beds, a group shower and, yes, a fireman's pole.
This is no sleazy retreat for Democratic peasants--it is being marketed to solidly respectable, fitness-conscious Republican convention-goers.
“The Ivy, which opened last month,” says the Los Angeles Times, “markets itself as class...decorated with floor-to-ceiling photos of legs clad in fishnet stockings and women in lingerie. Instead of curtains, red chain mail hangs from the ceiling. Couches are upholstered in red patent leather with black fringe. And in the restaurant...there is seating for six at a chef's bed.”
Relax, America. Six years of a teetotaling President have made us all uptight.
Saturday, June 09, 2007
White House Summer Movie
At the pitch meeting, it must have looked foolproof: Remake “Wag the Dog” with “Westworld” action set in Graustark with singing and dancing extras wearing lederhosen.
George Bush, a tired tourist, would have a shootout with an animatronic Vladmir Putin, a schmaltzy farewell with Tony Blair and then end up in Albania to wildly cheering crowds who had never heard of Iraq.
It was going well enough, even though the Putin robot went haywire for a while and looked like he was using live ammo, but the technicians brought in a missile shield in time to avoid bloodshed.
There was a little snafu with Blair’s scene when Bush took sick after sipping no-buzz beer. It must have been outdated. After all, how many calls do they get for non-alcoholic brew at a German resort?
They love us in Albania, so there should be a socko finish tomorrow unless someone reminds them they were the patsies in the original “Wag the Dog.”
George Bush, a tired tourist, would have a shootout with an animatronic Vladmir Putin, a schmaltzy farewell with Tony Blair and then end up in Albania to wildly cheering crowds who had never heard of Iraq.
It was going well enough, even though the Putin robot went haywire for a while and looked like he was using live ammo, but the technicians brought in a missile shield in time to avoid bloodshed.
There was a little snafu with Blair’s scene when Bush took sick after sipping no-buzz beer. It must have been outdated. After all, how many calls do they get for non-alcoholic brew at a German resort?
They love us in Albania, so there should be a socko finish tomorrow unless someone reminds them they were the patsies in the original “Wag the Dog.”
The Sopranos and the Bushes
Two families have kept us in suspense since this century started. We won’t have all the answers about the Bushes until the end of next year, but tomorrow night will tell us how it all comes out with the Sopranos.
Both clans produced strong-minded men who came to power in the wake of their fathers and went on to outdo them in lawless violence. But there, as I pointed out earlier this year, is where the resemblance ends:
Art and life diverge. The fictional Mafia boss is racked by conflict and ambivalence to the point of having panic attacks. The real-life Decider is never in doubt.
Tony Soprano seeks help from a therapist, but George Bush takes advice from no one.
In “The Sopranos,” Federal authorities are closing in on the Mob. In Washington, the White House fires Federal prosecutors who don’t toe their line.
Both men have blood on their hands, but the imaginary thug feels some guilt while the actual Commander-in-Chief sends young men and women to their deaths feeling smugly secure in the approval of a Higher Power.
The Sopranos’ final season was obsessed with aging and waning powers. In the wintry White House, Bush and his capos have been in a bunker of denial, still insisting against all evidence that they are in absolute control of events.
In the end, the difference is that there has always been some poetry in Tony Soprano and none in George Bush, and no script writers could change that.
Tomorrow night we find out how it all ends with the Sopranos. When it comes to the Bushes, there is not that much suspense.
Both clans produced strong-minded men who came to power in the wake of their fathers and went on to outdo them in lawless violence. But there, as I pointed out earlier this year, is where the resemblance ends:
Art and life diverge. The fictional Mafia boss is racked by conflict and ambivalence to the point of having panic attacks. The real-life Decider is never in doubt.
Tony Soprano seeks help from a therapist, but George Bush takes advice from no one.
In “The Sopranos,” Federal authorities are closing in on the Mob. In Washington, the White House fires Federal prosecutors who don’t toe their line.
Both men have blood on their hands, but the imaginary thug feels some guilt while the actual Commander-in-Chief sends young men and women to their deaths feeling smugly secure in the approval of a Higher Power.
The Sopranos’ final season was obsessed with aging and waning powers. In the wintry White House, Bush and his capos have been in a bunker of denial, still insisting against all evidence that they are in absolute control of events.
In the end, the difference is that there has always been some poetry in Tony Soprano and none in George Bush, and no script writers could change that.
Tomorrow night we find out how it all ends with the Sopranos. When it comes to the Bushes, there is not that much suspense.
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