TRR: The Lighter Side of Rittenhouse |
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The Lighter Side of The Rittenhouse Review, with a slice of Philadelphia just for the heck of it. 
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August 13, 2002
My nomination for the best beach-reading book ever published: When She Was Bad: The Story of Bess, Hortense, Sukhreet and Nancy, by Shana Alexander. The book is aptly described by its publisher:
“In 1945 Bess Myerson made headlines as Miss America. In 1988 she made them again as the star in one of New York City’s seamiest political corruption trials, the ‘Bess Mess.’ The still-beautiful Bess was charged with conspiracy to influence Hortense Gabel . . . the judge in her lover’s divorce case. Bess’s lover, the much younger Andy Capasso, ended up in prison. Bess and the judge were acquitted. But not before Bess Myerson’s scandalous private life became front-page news.” Also featured prominently in this tale: the unforgettable and inimitable Sukhreet Gabel, the judge’s daughter, and Nancy Capasso, Andy’s wife. Originally published in hardcover by Random House in 1990, the book was reprinted as a mass-market paperback by Dell Publishing in 1991. Sadly, both volumes are out of print, though the paperback is held under lock-and-key in the library of The Rittenhouse Review. Your late-summer project: Visit the used bookstores in your favorite beach resort town or country-cottage village and find a copy of this book. There are plenty of used copies for sale on the web at sites including Amazon.com, BarnesandNoble.com, Buy.com, Half.com, Powell’s, and Alibris.
You will thank me. I’m certain of it. Rare is the beach book that will make you glad you skipped Saturday evening happy hour.
I just got mooned by my two-year-old nephew!? And it was a real, honest-to-God mooning, not a random event, not a cute happenstance. He asked for some candy and I said, sure, after he ate his pears he could have candy. Hearing that, he turned around and mooned me. August 12, 2002
There is a fine line between truly awful movies and truly great awful movies. Defining that line is more a matter of art than science, and, of course, is a very subjective form of analysis. However, before alerting you to the upcoming movie we think everyone with the right sensibility will enjoy, I’ll provide some examples of each genre. Truly Awful Movies: “Amadeus,” “Cocktail,” “Dances with Wolves,” “Dead Poets Society,” “Exit to Eden,” “Grease,” “Ishtar,” “Longtime Companion,” “Mystic Pizza,” “Spice World,” “The Rocky Horror Picture Show,” “The Thin Red Line,” “The Waterboy,” “The Wiz,” “Waterworld,” and “Xanadu.” (Just a sampling, I assure you.) Truly Great Awful Movies, a/k/a TGAMs: “Airplane,” “Airplane 2,” “Caligula,” “Dick Tracy,” “Homecoming,” “Mermaids,” “Mommie Dearest,” “Not Without My Daughter,” “Parenthood,” “Showgirls,” “The Exorcist,” “The Perfect Mother,” “The Poseiden Adventure,” “The Stepford Wives,” “Trog,” and “Valley of the Dolls.” (Again, just a sampling, I assure you.) I’m constantly searching for the latter, which are among my favorite guilty pleasures. These days the best places to find TGAMs with reliability are on basic cable, normally on the high end of “double-digit land.” Such networks as Lifetime, TBS, TNT, and USA Networks are treasure troves of the genre. Imagine then the eagerness with which I await “The Secret Life of Zoey,” premiering August 19 on Lifetime. Already the film appears to be a very promising candidate for joining the growing ranks of TGAMs. The synopsis of the film reads: “‘The Secret Life of Zoey’ explores a very real drug problem among today's teens: the abuse of prescription drugs. Marcia Carter (Mia Farrow) discovers that her ‘perfect’ daughter, Zoey (Julia Whelan), has been stealing prescription pills out of her medicine cabinet. Marcia, a time-strapped divorcée, must help her unhappy, troubled daughter overcome her growing addiction, and so she enlists the help of a psychiatric social worker (Andrew McCarthy). Can a guilt-ridden Marcia help her daughter with a tough-love approach? Is Zoey ready to kick her habit? This riveting drama gives viewers a glimpse of the long, uphill path to recovery for teen addicts and their parents.” Granted, the story line and the cast lack the “camp” value normally associated with the top ranks of TGAMs, but Lifetime more than redeems itself with the deliciously ironic promotional line employed in the commercials that have been running on the network for the past several weeks. Referring to Mia Farrow’s character, the voice-over announcer says: “She thought she knew everything about her daughter. Until she learned the deadly truth.”
Okay, “deadly” is a bit strong (“awful” would have worked better), but doesn’t this remark hit just a little too close to home for Miss Farrow’s comfort? Sadly, we have learned that Enos Slaughter passed away early this morning at a hospital in Durham, N.C.
The world has lost a great baseball player and the man whose given name was a godsend to crossword puzzle writers everywhere. August 11, 2002
Yes . . . I know. I’m probably the last person in America to have received the e-mail message republished below. Nonetheless, I thought it was interesting and since this is my site, I’ll do what I want to. And I’ll add my own comments as well! Did you know . . . ? Butterflies taste with their feet. [So? What’s to taste? Rotting leaves?] A duck’s quack doesn’t echo, and no one knows why. [I don’t know about this. That damned AFLAC duck’s quack is echoing through my brain as I write this.] In 10 minutes, a hurricane releases more energy than all of the world’s nuclear weapons combined. [Yes, but nuclear weapons aren’t aimed at trailer parks.] On average, 100 people choke to death on ballpoint pens every year. [Mr. Nader, call your office.] Ninety percent of New York City cab drivers are recently arrived immigrants. [Tell me about it!] Thirty-five percent of the people who use personal ads for dating are already married. [Tell me about it!] Elephants are the only animals that can’t jump. [Thank God.] Only one person in two billion will live to be 116 or older. [I hope I’m not one of them.] It’s possible to lead a cow upstairs . . . but not downstairs. [Reminds me of my Bulldog.] Women blink nearly twice as much as men. [All that crying, no doubt.] It’s physically impossible for you to lick your elbow. [Oh yeah? . . . Oh . . . yeah.] The Main Library at Indiana University sinks over an inch every year because when it built, engineers failed to take into account the weight of the books that would occupy the building. [Figures . . . Hoosiers.] A snail can sleep for three years. [Big deal. So can I.] No word in the English language rhymes with “month.” [Of interest only to tortured female adolescents writing bad poetry, much of which ends up in small Midwestern literary reviews because no one can tell a good poem from a bad poem anymore.] Or “orange.” [Ditto.] Our eyes are always the same size from birth, but our nose and ears never stop growing. [No kidding. Ever seen a photo of Abe Vigoda?] The electric chair was invented by a dentist. [Yes, and the dentist’s drill was invented by Dr. Mengele.] All polar bears are left-handed. [Not a single switch-hitter in the bunch, huh?] In ancient Egypt, priests plucked every hair from their bodies, including their eyebrows and eyelashes. [I guess they didn’t have to spend much time hearing confessions.] An ostrich’s eye is bigger than its brain. [Can’t the same be said of President Bush?] “Typewriter” is the longest word that can be made using the letters only on one row of the keyboard. [Cool, but that still doesn’t justify the stupid placement of all of the keys.] “Go,” is the shortest complete sentence in the English language. [And the name of one of the best movies I’ve ever seen.] If Barbie were life-size, her measurements would be 39-23-33. She would stand seven feet, two inches tall. [And I would still be intimidated by her.] A crocodile cannot stick its tongue out. [Does it really matter?] Americans on average eat 18 acres of pizza every day. [Each or collectively?]
Almost everyone who reads this will try to lick his elbow. [I don’t think so. Not my readers.] August 10, 2002
The best sentence from a very good article about the new suburbanites by David Brooks in the latest issue of the Weekly Standard, “Patio Man and the Sprawl People”:
“Patio Man notes somewhat uncomfortably that in America today the average square yardage of boys’ fashion grows and grows while the square inches in the girls’ outfits shrink and shrink, so that while the boys look like tent-wearing skateboarders, the girls look like preppy prostitutes.”
Why is it that every time I hear or read Stephanie Zimbalist’s name I feel compelled to add “Jr.” to the end of it? As in, Stephanie Zimbalist Jr. Jonathan Chait has a terrific piece in the latest issue of the New Republic, about the “First State,” also known as the “Diamond State,” also known as Delaware, and what should more appropriately be called the “Piece of Crap State.”
 Delaware
And I say that not only because my psychotic, selfish, self-centered ex went to some crummy college there (after pretty much getting kicked out of another school), but because the place really is an ugly dump from one end to the other. August 07, 2002
I’ve shared “The Stinkymeat Project” with at least a dozen friends and family members and not one of them has found it amusing. And yet every time I read it, I’m on the floor laughing out loud and gasping for air. Stop by a take a look. This guy’s hilarious. A genius, really. If you think it’s funny, or even if you don’t, drop me a line and let me know whether or not I’m insane. Here is scientist Mahlon Smith’s description of the Stinky Meat Project:
”Here’s what happened when I took 3 kinds of meat, 19 days, and 1,000,000 maggots, and stuck them in the yard of my unwitting neighbor. Of course, the neighbor eventually found the meat in his yard. Fortunately, I wasn't arrested -- so I am free to do it all over again. Stay tuned. Middle of August: The revenge of stinkymeat.”
 Photographic Record on Day 4 of the 19 Days of the Stinkymeat Project Bonnie Fuller’s “reign of terror” apparently continues unabated at US Weekly, the scrappy competitor of People, the most profitable magazine in the country. The masthead continues to drop names at a rate of three a week, according to yet another article about the magazine in today’s New York Post, and staffers are continuing to gripe about the late nights demanded by Fuller’s intense yet haphazard management style.
 US Weekly Editor Bonnie Fuller
I’m getting tired of this never-ending “misery at US Weekly” story. Buck up, folks. Fuller is getting the job done and things could be worse. I know dozens of people in the magazine business who are either unemployed, underemployed, or misemployed, and have been for a year or longer. Look at this weather forecast for Helsinki!
 Helsinki, Finland
I am definitely living in the wrong country. August 06, 2002
This just in from the daily e-mail blast distributed by the kind people at “Larry King Live”: “Joe Esposito -- ‘the King’s’ closest friend saw it all -- from the addictions, divorce and eventually his death. Tune in for intimate stories about the King of Graceland. “Join Larry tonight at 9 p.m. EST as Joe shares private memories and personal pictures as we remember the REAL Elvis.”
That’s Larry King for you. Always right there with the people you want to hear from the most. The congenitally criminal Bush administration is preparing for an undeclared war on Iraq and King’s spending an hour talking about perpetual loser Elvis Presley, his drug problems, his divorce (King is an expert on this topic), and his pathetic death.
Come on! The guy’s been dead longer than most of King’s wives have been alive. Can we move on please? Okay, so how pretentious is this crap?
 And we thought only lesbians threw clay. August 05, 2002
Look at this bunch of nobodies! All collected in one place!
Nigel Ashford I’m willing to cut slack for Jonathan Rauch, because I think he’s an excellent writer who actually does think for himself, and for Bruce Bawer, because even though I sometimes disagree with him, Bawer is the most genuine intellectual of the lot. But that’s as far as I’ll go with this sorry gang.
Just one question. Where is Tammy Bruce? Too independent or too embarrassing? August 04, 2002
Ashley Blazer Biden, 21-year-old daughter of Sen. Joseph Biden (D-Del.), was arrested on a misdemeanor charge of obstructing a police officer early yesterday. PART 3
If you want something done right, do it yourself. If you want something done wrong, take it to Philadelphia. August 02, 2002
Who thought this was a good idea?
 Ore-Ida Funky Fries. Note especially the Kool Blue version. PART 2
If you want something done right, do it yourself. If you want something done wrong, take it to Philadelphia. PART 1
If you want something done right, do it yourself. If you want something done wrong, take it to Philadelphia. July 30, 2002
I’m not in the habit of recommending software. In fact, I’m not in the habit of knowing anything about software.
But I highly recommend AdSubtract Pro. Look into it. Program: “The Golden Girls” The Scene: Blanche Devereaux (played by Rue McClanahan) is having difficulty writing her first novel. Blanche, having holed up in her bedroom for most of the day, greets her three roommates, including 80-something Sophia Petrillo (played by Estelle Getty), who are barbequing on the linai in the early evening. The Dialogue: Blanche: “Oh, girls! I have writer’s block! It’s the worst feeling in the world!” Sophia: “Try going ten days without a bowel movement some time.”
 Estelle Getty as Sophia Petrillo Blanche: “It’s the worst feeling in the world. You just sit there and sit there, and nothing comes.”
Sophia: “Tell me about it!” July 29, 2002
I was happy to learn today, probably several months after the fact, that Blair continues to be published -- albeit as irregularly in the past -- with Blair 7: The Fantasy Issue on line right now. The sporadic publication schedule is worth enduring for some of the best and most offbeat humor on the web. Years ago, Blair became famous in the gay community, and elsewhere of course, for two games still available in back issues: “Gay or Eurotrash?” and “Dyke or German Lady?”
Blair 7 includes an article that not only will make you laugh, but will answer all those questions about International Male that have been nagging at you for the last 10 or 20 years.
Why am I not surprised to learn Jonah Goldberg has a frequent-buyer card at the Android’s Dungeon? July 28, 2002
Who wouldn’t love Todd Oldham? He’s talented, smart, fun, funny, sweet, and cute, and he’s been missed . . . badly.
 Todd Oldham Although he has been working steadily on various projects over the years, Oldham’s profile, for a variety of reasons, has waned in recent years. But now, it looks like Todd Oldham is back in a big way, with his own line of household designs at Target stores and at Target online. The current collection is geared toward the “back-to-school” shopper. Much of it is bolder and brighter than that toward which I gravitate -- being a black-white-gray-navy-beige solids kind of guy -- but it’s original, inspired, and very cool. Take a look. And by the way, my mother is still crazy about Oldham’s signature perfume.
 Todd Oldham Fragrance I’m not an attorney but Ron Borges of the Boston Globe and NBC Sports seems to be veering pretty damn close to libel when he says Lance Armstrong isn’t an athlete.
 Lance Armstrong “Someone postulated on National Public Radio a week or so ago that Lance Armstrong was the greatest athlete in the world. Greatest athlete in the world? I wonder if he’s an athlete at all,” writes Borges. Is this some kind of joke? A desperate ploy for attention? Here’s just a small taste of Borges’s idiotic observations: "Athletes, for my money, must do more with their bodies than pump their legs up and down. If that’s all it took, the Radio City Rockettes would have to be considered the greatest athletes of all time."
Stop by the excellent weblog, Cooped-Up for a devastating critique of Borges and his spiteful and bilious views. And then follow the link to Borges if you think you can stand it. July 28, 2002 HOLIDAYS & CELEBRATIONS . . . Black Crom’s Sunday, a/k/a “Domnach Crom Dubh,” a Christianized pagan holiday commemorated by pilgrimages to Croagh Patrick in County Mayo. Celebrated in Ireland, primarily western Ireland. Ch’ilsok, commemorated by offering newly harvested rice and prayers for children at local shrines. Celebrated in Korea. Feast of St. Victor I, a controversial early Pope perhaps best known for condemning the heresy of Theodotus and martyred near the end of the second century. Celebrated in the Catholic Church.
 Pope St. Victor I Nag Panchami, the Festival of Cobras and Snakes. Celebrated by Hindus worldwide. Peruvian Independence Day. Commemorating the declaration of independence by Peru in 1821. Celebrated in Peru. IN HISTORY . . . King Henry VIII marries his fifth wife, Catherine Howard, in 1540.
 Catherine Howard The 14th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution is ratified, in 1868. World War I begins when Austria-Hungary declares war on Serbia, in 1914. BORN TODAY . . . Bill Bradley, basketball player, U.S. senator, and presidential candidate, in 1943. Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy Onassis, former First Lady as wife of President John F. Kennedy Jr., in 1929. Beatrix Potter, author, in 1866. Sally Struthers, actress, in 1948. DIED TODAY . . . Johannes Sebastian Bach, composer, in 1750. Joan Finney, first female governor of Kansas, in 2001.
 Joan Finney William James Mayo, founder of the Mayo Clinic, in 1939.
Antonio Vivaldi, composer and violinist, in 1741. July 27, 2002
July 27, 2002 Holidays and Celebrations . . . Asalha Puja, celebrating Buddha’s conception, first preaching, and renunciation. Celebrated in Thailand.  Buddha Feasts of Sts. Aurelius and Natalia, commemorating the martyrdom of St. Aurelius, who was secretly raised as a Christian during the Moorish occupation of Spain and later married a half-Moorish woman named Sabigotho, who changed her name to Natalia, and his wife, the same, now known as St. Natalia. Both were beheaded on this date in 852 for openly practicing Christianity. St. Aurelius is the patron saint of orphans, St. Natalia of converts and martyrs. Celebrated in the Catholic Church.
 St. Natalia Independence Day, in Belarus.
 Flag of Belarus Jose Barbosa Day, commemorating the birth in 1857 of the physician and patriot. Celebrated in Puerto Rico.
Procession of the Witches, in Beselara, Belgium. Today in history . . . The armistice ending the Korean War signed in 1953. Bugs Bunny debuted in “A Wild Hare” in 1940.
 Bugs Bunny in “A Wild Hare” Born today . . . Alexandre Dumas, in 1824. Peggy Fleming, in 1948.
 Peggy Fleming Maureen McGovern, in 1949. Died today . . . Shah Mohammed Reza Pahlavi of Iran, in 1980.
 Shah Reza Pahlavi William Wyler, in 1981.
Reggie Lewis, in 1993. July 26, 2002
How did I miss out on this guy over the years? As you all know by now, Rep. James A. “Jim” Traficant (D-Ohio) was expelled from the U.S. House of Representatives this week for ethics violations after he was convicted in April on charges of bribery, tax evasion, and racketeering.
 James A. Traficant The Washington Post has a collection of quotes from the former congressman the paper describes as “colorful.” Colorful? That’s an understatement. Here’s a lovely quote:
“If you don’t get those cameras out of my face, I’m gonna go 8.6 on the Richter scale with gastric emissions that’ll clear this room!”
That was Traficant berating photographers covering the ethics subcommittee hearing regarding his criminal record. Share that with your mother tonight. Enough already with the pleas for assistance from what appear to be Congolese thugs or kleptocrats or whatever. Geez, I accidentally opened one of these e-mails and now they’re coming in at a rate of at least a dozen a day. I can barely make sense out of them anyway:
“We would please need you to stand on our behalf as the beneficiary of this fund in Europe. This is because we are under restricted movement and watch and hence we want to be very carefull in other not to lose this fund which we have worked so hard for. Thus, if you are willing to assist us move this fund out of Congo, you can contact me through my email address, Tel/Fax nos. above with your telephone, fax number and personal information to enable us discuss the modalities and what will be your share (percentage) for assisting us.” Tempting, eh?
I’m sure there’s an article out there explaining this phenomenon, but I’m too irritated to look for it. Everybody’s a Comedian Madeleine Begun Kane, a/k/a Mad Kane, has posted the results of her “TIPS Acronym Contest,” a challenge to her readers to more accurately rename the Bush administration’s proposed “Terrorism Information and Prevention System,” or “TIPS” program. Modest though I am, I’m proud to say my entry -- “Totalitarian Incentives for Prying and Spying” -- was included among the top five entries as judged by the consistently witty and wise Kane. However, I’m quick to add that most of the entries that earned Honorable Mentions are, in my humble opinion, at least as amusing, albeit frightening, as mine.
So many funny people out there . . . I’ve got to start working on my act again. The funeral for Samantha Runnion, the five-year-old Orange County, Calif., girl who was kidnapped on July 16 and sexually assaulted and killed within 24 hours of her disappearance, was held on the night of Wednesday, July 24. The very next day, Thursday, July 25, Miss Runnion’s mother, Erin Runnion, appeared on “Larry King Live,” the CNN program hosted by the persistently annoying and repeatedly divorced Larry King. Here’s how the show was promoted by CNN: “9:00 p.m. Larry King Live: An emotional hour with Samantha Runnion’s mother Erin, speaking out on the kidnapping and murder of her only daughter.” Okay, so it’s been more than a week since Mrs. Runnion learned of her daughter’s death, but she’s already going on national television to talk about it? I don’t have children, so maybe my expectations are distorted, but I truly believe that if something like this happened to my child I would still be in bed, all but lifeless, staring at the ceiling, unable to speak, to eat, or to face another human being. An interview with the goonish and ghoulish Larry King would be the farthest thing from my mind.
Is this how Americans grieve today? Have we no sense of privacy or personal space? Can no one resist the lure of the camera? July 25, 2002
Be sure to stop by HorowitzWatch and enter the “Name That Punishment Contest.” The contest offers four great prizes for readers who submit the best hypothetical, yet appropriate punishments for the treason committed by hypersensitive current (right-wing) and former (left-wing) radical and self-confessed traitor David Horowitz in 1972.
Come join the fun. Today, July 25, is the day to celebrate: Republic Day, commemorating the end of the Tunisian monarchy and the establishment of a republic in 1957. Celebrated in Tunisia.
 Flag of Tunisia Guanacaste Day, commemorating the annexation of Guanacaste Bay. Celebrated in Costa Rica. Day of Papa Ogou. The feast of St. Jacques le Majeur. Goats and sheep are sacrificed. Celebrated in Haiti. Feast of St. James the Greater, brother of St. John the Apostle and possibly a cousin of Jesus, the first apostle to be martyred -- stabbed by King Herod Agrippa. The patron saint of Spain, Chile, Guatemala, arthritis patients, equestrians, furriers, pharmacists, and veterinarians. Celebrated in the Catholic Church.
Feast of St. Christopher, third-century Christian martyr. The patron saint of travelers, drivers, bachelors, sailors, and truckers. Celebrated in the Catholic Church. July 24, 2002
Today, July 24, is the day to celebrate: Simon Bolivar Day, on the date of his birth, in honor of the general who led his armies to victories over Spanish colonialists leading to the independence of Bolivia, Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, and Venezuela. Celebrated in much of northern South American, but particularly Ecuador and Venezuela. Pioneer Day, in recognition of the Mormon settlers’ establishment of Salt Lake City, Utah, in 1844. Celebrated in Utah, particularly among the Mormon population of the state. Feast of St. Christina of Bolsena, third-century Christian martyr who survived an attempted murder by her father and ultimately was killed by order of Diocletian. Celebrated in the Catholic Church.
 St. Christina July 23, 2002
A new site, SmarterAndrewSullivan, nabs Andrew Sullivan for an odd attack the bitter Brit recently launched upon former Democratic presidential candidate Gary Hart regarding the latter’s professed interest in reading Homer in the original Greek. Here’s Sullivan in his second visit to the same non-issue:
“ALL GREEK TO HART: Several of you emailed to let me know that Gary Hart is not only a poseur, he’s not even a reader of ‘classical Greek.’ Here’s the gist: Anyone who knows ancient Greek and its literature would not refer to Homer’s Greek as ‘classical’, which generally designates the normative Attic dialect of Athens circa the 4th Century B.C. . . .” So based upon this statement are we all supposed to believe or assume that “anyone who knows ancient Greek and its literature” includes Sullivan? I’m not buying it. SmarterAndrewSullivan had a dead-on response to the same passage: “Well, when exactly did Gary Hart say he can read classical Greek? The answer: Never.”
But that’s Sullivan . . . Knocking down straw men, guns blazing. Geez, it was hot here again today. I’ve really just about had it. I would be interested in hearing the experiences of Americans who may have, at one point or another, picked up and moved to a colder climate overseas. More specifically, I’m interested in stories from Americans who are living, or have lived, in Finland, Sweden, Norway, Denmark, or Iceland. And throw in the Netherlands just for fun. If you would like, send your thoughts to |||trr|||: trrtrr@earthlink.net
Your responses will be considered personal and not for publication unless otherwise specified. What’s with the shirt Tucker Carlson is wearing on “Crossfire” tonight? Tucker, this is a Life Lesson: There is a world beyond Brooks Brothers.
And can’t this guy get a haircut on a regular basis? Or at least comb it? July 22, 2002
Even if you don’t understand Dutch, swing by Radio Nederland some time and listen to “Het Laatste Nieuws” (“The Latest News”). The webcast runs about eight or ten minutes, depending upon the day’s news flow. The show is updated every half hour. The show begins with an introduction by the anchor, followed by the real kicker -- a brief message from the secondary announcer, which must be taped because it’s the same voice on each webcast. This guy is sort of like the Don Pardo of Amsterdam, I guess, but he sounds like something straight off “The Simpsons.”
Maybe it’s not that funny, but I laugh every time I listen to it. If you’re not reading the “Voice of the People” in the New York Daily News, you’re missing out on what is probably the best running commentary on the state of the nation. I call it my “Daily Dose of Insanity,” though I have to admit I’ve been published there two or three times, being a cranky New Yorker myself.
(Unfortunately, the URL changes every day, so it’s best to start at “Ideas & Opinions” and then jump to “Voice of the People.”) “New Yorkers Not Happy With Rebuilding Proposals.”
Alert the media. Vigilence or psychosis? You decide.
(Thanks to Eschaton for the, uh, heads up on this one.)
I only realized today that Katie Couric’s interview of Ann Coulter is available online. Eleven minutes! Note Coulter’s affection for the word astonishing in its various forms.
Damn. I also missed “Superstar,” the film about Karen Carpenter that used Barbie® dolls to portray the main characters. They shut that film down, too. In Finnish, “Minä tapaan sinut huomenna” means “I’ll see you tomorrow,” whereas “Minä tapan sinut huomenna” means “I’ll kill you tomorrow.” Oh...okay.
Yikes. Better not get that one wrong. Forget to extend just one syllable and you’re up on an assault charge. Picking up Ann Coulter? You mean picking up “picking up”?
I know, the mind reels, but at least someone has made a fun game out of this very absurd notion. July 21, 2002
Promises, Promises, and Stating the Obvious Promises, promises . . . “I’m gonna [sic] lay off the Times for a while.” Andrew Sullivan, “The Daily Dish,” July 20, 2002. Stating the obvious . . . “Enough’s enough.”
Sullivan, ibid. “With $20,000 of his own and $40,000 borrowed from friends, Steven Stolman opened a shop in Southampton in 1995 based more or less on the idea that well-to-do inhabitants of the East End of Long Island would want to leave their homes looking like their sofas.”
Turns out it was a great hunch. “Spain was attacked by force in a very sensitive part of its geography.”
Spain's Secretary of Defense Federico Trillo in the New York Times, discussing the recent ruckus over a small island between Spain and Morocco. July 20, 2002
Source: The Home Depot Rating: 8 Dialogue: Wife: “Honey, I think I broke the washing machine today.” Husband: “Oh? How’d you do that?”
Wife: “Sledgehammer.” “He had an ass like two Bulldogs in a bag.”
An unknown woman playing a stylist in “The Prosecutors,” starring Stockard Channing and Michelle Forbes, shown on Lifetime this afternoon. Jeff Danziger nails rhymes-with-witch Ann Coulter for kicking a rhymes-with-witch.
Thanks to conservative Republican Barbara Bush for the euphemism. Jeff McCrory of :.OTC.: brings back painful memories from my youth of time spent on the baseball field. McCrory writes: “Why couldn’t I just pass the time in right field, where I was relatively safe from that stupid, threaded orb?” Well, I did just that. Sort of.
My classmates created a new position for me: far right field, ironically enough. July 19, 2002
I gave some thought to deriving a humorous take on President George W. Bush’s proposed Terrorism Information and Prevention System, or TIPS, but the idea of “block committees” gave me such a bad case of the creeps that I couldn’t come up with anything that pleased me. Fortunately, high-quality weblog The Truth Laid Bear did . . . and the article is hilarious. I won’t give away the details, but suffice it to say that it involves a loyal citizen using a touch-tone phone to file a report of suspicious activity with the federal government.
Don’t miss it.
I don’t know much about bowling -- other than that I’m no good at it -- but this sounds pretty impressive to me: “Bowling a perfect game is tough, but how about doing it at 82 years old and just 17 days after a partial stroke?” Natalie Solent, whose weblog is a good read even when I disagree with her, has joined the effort to find a home for the English Bulldog (named Savannah) mentioned in the previous post. She does so with considerable wit and grace, which is what one would expect from a Brit.
Oh, and Natalie sews. But don't mock her for that. I think she might haul off and slug you. There is an English Bulldog at an animal shelter in Texas that needs a home. I would grab her in a second, but Texas is a bit far from here. She sounds like a great dog. She has been described to me as “a pretty brindle fat girl . . . sweet, housebroken, and seems to love everyone.” Much like my beloved Mildred, including the “fat” part, though we prefer the word “curvaceous.” (She is snoring, loudly, as I write this.) If you’re not familiar with the breed, I could sing praises on its behalf for an eternity. English Bulldogs are friendly, kind, loving, loyal, strong, tenacious, and comical -- sources of endless entertainment. The Bulldog isn’t really a dog. It’s a mixture of a vast variety of species: part dog, part cat, part rabbit, part pig, part hippo, part seal, part monkey, and part human. The Bulldog is everything you could ever want -- and then some. They are great city/apartment dogs. They normally are very quiet, rarely bark, and they don’t need (actually, they don’t want) much exercise. They are, however, terrible watch/guard dogs. Unless you want intruders to be given a friendly and sloppy greeting, the Bulldog is not for you. It’s true that they snore (though I find this very comforting somehow), burp, and fart a fair amount, but it’s a worthy trade-off. I have owned three Bulldogs over the years and believe the “conventional wisdom” that they are afflicted by more than their fair share of health problems to be somewhat mythological. If you have any interest in this dog, or know someone who might, please send an e-mail to me at trrtrr@earthlink.net. The adopter would need to travel to Texas to be interviewed and to pick up the dog.
Thanks. July 18, 2002
It’s time to let someone else be funny at |||trr|||. Someone who’s funnier than I am. Is that possible? Who is it? Kane, a/k/a Mad Kane, maintains a highly entertaining web site where she publishes Dubya’s Daily Diary, along with a weblog and terrific humor pieces, including Kane’s specialty: writing new lyrics, mostly with political themes, to be sung to the melodies of various well known tunes. A few snippets:
“On Wall Street” (To be sung to “On Broadway”) We particularly enjoyed Kane’s July 17 weblog entry about a portion of the speech President George W. Bush gave in Birmingham, Ala., two days earlier. It’s all just a small part of Madeleine . . . musician, attorney, writer, humorist.
Visit early and often. “The macabre HBO funeral home drama ‘Six Feet Under’ receives . . . 23 Emmy nominations.” I guess I would be more impressed with that count if I had heard of the show. How long has it been on? Is it any good? “Samyuktha Verma, described as the Julia Roberts of Malayalam-language movies, said she didn’t resent being questioned by police Tuesday after a fellow passenger said she and her companions were acting suspiciously on an American Trans Air flight from Chicago to New York.” [Emphasis added.]
We think that was intended as a compliment. Toby Young’s Exposé Riles VF Editor I know the next book I’m picking up: How to Lose Friends & Alienate People, by Toby Young, a former employee of Vanity Fair magazine under the direction of editor Graydon Carter. Young is in the latest issue of the New York Observer with an article, “Toby On Top,” which, while not an excerpt, is at the very least a delectable appetizer of the full-course meal that must constitute the book itself. Surprisingly, it turns out, according to Young at least, that the masthead of Vanity Fair isn’t populated by the kind of people with whom you might expect to spend a weekday night carousing through the hottest clubs in New York:
“I arrived in New York in 1995 with tales of the legendary bad behavior of Ben Hecht, Herman J. Mankiewicz and Dorothy Parker swimming in my head, expecting to find their modern-day equivalents in the offices of Vanity Fair. I imagined this zany, madcap community where no one stood on ceremony and everyone had a wisecrack at the ready. But that devil-may-care attitude, that sense of fun, was nowhere to be found. Instead, I was confronted with a regiment of pinched and hidebound careerists who never got drunk and were safely tucked up in bed by 10 p.m. In London, I’d seen chartered accountants behave with more abandon.” Only half of Young’s book, I hear, is devoted to his tenure at Vanity Fair, though I understand much of that half is devoted to a near-evisceration of Graydon Carter:
“[F]or all intents and purposes [Carter]’s now a fully fledged celebrity. He’s ferried to work every day in a chauffeur-driven Lincoln Navigator. He presides over the most exclusive party in Hollywood. The enormous effort he puts into cultivating his persona, and the huge gulf between the image and the reality, creates an irresistible opportunity for an ambitious young journalist. Indeed, if Graydon himself had ended up working for Tina Brown in 1986 instead of co-founding Spy, he might well have written a similar book about the editor in chief of Vanity Fair himself.” I know it’s going to be a good read because this is Young’s idea of how to kiss and make up with Carter:
“In spite of everything, I still have a soft spot for Graydon and I’m sorry he’s so angry about my book. Indeed, I’d like to take this opportunity to clear the air. Graydon, I have a message for you and it’s this: Hello! You practically invented this type of journalism. You’ve been dishing it out ever since you arrived in this city 24 years ago, and now it’s time to suck it up. If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.”
Geez, even I’m nicer than that. There is nothing light about this story, which comes from the mother ship, but I’m republishing it here to maximize the exposure of this horrible situation. If you love dogs as much as I do, and if you have a strong stomach and do not cry easily, stop by reading & writing for a story, two links, and a photograph that have left me clenching my teeth and wiping my eyes for the last 20 minutes. (R&W credits the bitter shack of resentment for raising the subject.) R&W and TBSR alerted me to Daisy, a Sharpei-mix puppy who was burned -- set on fire, actually -- by some low-life piece of crap in Texas who, fortunately, has been apprehended by local authorities. Some thoughts: If you can’t properly take care of your pet, take it to someone or someplace that can. Spay or neuter your pet, particularly strays and mixed breeds. Do not breed your pet unless you are willing to agree, in writing, to take back any progeny you have sold, no questions asked. If you see or suspect animal abuse or neglect, contact the proper authorities. Send a donation to the Humane Society or the ASPCA, now and regularly, or with Daisy in mind, to the North Texas Humane Society, the organization that is nursing Daisy back to health at considerable expense. Pray for Daisy. And pray for a better world.
And if you own a pet, give him or her some extra love and attention (and snacks) tonight. I think Daisy would like that. I know Mildred will. July 17, 2002
Does anyone else find Dutch Boy Paints’ latest TV commercial -- the ad with the three robotic women each carrying a different paint can and working the catwalk to the tune of “I Like It Like That” -- a little creepy?
July 16, 2002
This really happened to me. It occurred during a tough time during my life, after the magazine and its related web sites for which I had worked ceased publication. Gathering up years of spare change was neither the proudest nor the happiest moment of my life, particularly since I so recently had been viciously taken advantage of, but that’s another story. Anyway, you do what you have to. And I’ll tell you, when people say Manhattan is expensive, they mean it. Especially when you don’t have a job. (Unless of course you’re one of those people who by virtue of the city’s one-party rule have been granted something close to a divine right to live in Manhattan for the rest of your natural life -- and that of your children, and their children, etc. -- in a rent-controlled apartment for which you pay a mere fraction of market value, thereby taking advantage of what was intended to be a temporary, war-time, emergency measure that now dates back some 60 years.) But I digress. Anyway . . . back to the bank. Below is the post-facto transcript of a telephone conversation between a J.P. Morgan Chase & Co. customer service representative (CSR) and me. CSR: “Good morning, this is J.P. Morgan Chase, may I help you?” J.C.: “Good morning. What would a branch be able to do for me if I were to bring in a significant amount of coins?” CSR: “I’m not sure what you’re asking. Could you be more specific?” J.C.: “Would the teller be able to have it counted for me before depositing it into my account?” CSR: “Count it? No, we don’t count coins.” J.C.: “You don’t count coins. Then how would I deposit coins?” CSR: “If you’re just bringing in coins they have to be wrapped.” J.C.: “What if I wrap the coins and there are some left over?” CSR: “Well, you can deposit the excess along with the wrapped coins.” J.C.: “What if I wanted to deposit paper currency along with a few coins?” CSR: “You could do that.” J.C.: “How many coins are allowed?” CSR: “I’m not sure what you’re asking.” J.C.: “Is there an upper limit on the number of coins the average J.P. Morgan teller can count?” CSR: “I don’t think that matters. The tellers have a machine that counts coins.” J.C.: “A machine! Oh, so could I bring in all of my spare change, have the teller count it by running the coins through the machine, and deposit the money into my checking account?” CSR: “Oh no, you couldn’t do that. We don’t accept coins that haven’t been wrapped.” J.C.: “But you just said I could deposit coins along with paper money.” CSR: “Yes, as part of a deposit.” J.C.: “What if I wanted to deposit all of my spare change and just a one-dollar bill? Could the teller count the coins then?” CSR: “Sir, we don’t accept coins that haven’t been wrapped by the customer.” J.C.: “Why not? There’s a machine created for just this purpose.” CSR: “The teller can’t use it if you’re just bringing in a lot of spare change.” J.C.: “I understand that. I said I would be depositing a one-dollar bill and my spare change.” CSR: “Look, sir, you can’t just bring walk into a bank with all your loose change.” J.C.: “Why not?” CSR: “We just can’t handle that.” J.C.: “Logistically or emotionally?” CSR: “I’m sorry?” J.C.: “Nothing. Can I use the teller’s machine to count the coins myself?” CSR: “No.” J.C.: “Why not?” CSR: “It’s against our policy.” J.C.: “So what should I do?” CSR: “Stop by any J.P. Morgan branch and ask the teller for coin wrappers and then return them -- filled -- to the branch and then we will deposit the money into your checking account.” J.C.: “But how will you know if I counted the coins correctly?” CSR: “I’m not sure what you’re asking.” J.C.: “I might make mistakes when I wrap them up.” CSR: “Well, the teller will run the coins through the machine.” J.C.: “With the wrappers on?” CSR: “No, of course not.” J.C.: “So the teller will take the coins out of the wrappers and run them through the machine to make sure the value of the deposit is correct?” CSR: “Yes.” J.C.: “Then why can’t we just skip the wrapping part?” CSR: “Sir, it’s against our policy. You have to bring your coins in wrapped.” J.C.: “Well . . . okay.” CSR: “Is there anything else I can help you with today?” J.C.: “Yes, I’d like to open a $100,000 certificate of deposit.” CSR: “Okay. For that you’ll need to stop by a branch . . . “ J.C.: “Lady, I just told you I’m counting my spare change. Why would I be doing that if I had $100,000?” CSR: “Sir, I’m sure people with large CDs have change too.” J.C.: “Yeah, but I’ll bet they came up with the $100,000 first.” CSR: “Yes, they probably did.” J.C.: “What if I wanted to open a CD with my spare change?” CSR: “Sir . . . please.” J.C.: >>>Click!<<<
Note: This article originally appeared in a slightly different form in The Rittenhouse Review on May 26, 2002. The article has been reprinted here with the permission of The Rittenhouse Review. All rights reserved. This afternoon we received a collection of what are by far the best anagrams submitted to |||trr|||’s Slander, Ann Coulter anagram game. They come from a reader named Sammy, and they’re amazing. Here are the best of the best:
Annul darn electors!
Doll’s a recreant nun.
End-ran all recounts.
Enron calendar slut.
Lent unclean ardors.
Lost, unlearned narc.
Nerd leans ultra-con.
Rant, lean scoundrel!
Run to call Andersen!
Thanks, Sammy! Damn good work. And very much appreciated. Thank you for sending them along. Apparently there once was a woman, now deceased, who owned at least one hundred (100!) Barbara Cartland novels. (All in paperback, of course.) And now, this part of her estate is being sold at auction. The latest bid on eBay: $41.00.
I’m not sure which figure is more disturbing, the 100 books or the $41.00 bid. July 15, 2002
Bragging Rights to Sweat The New York Times today has published the kind of story that makes a Northerner cringe in disbelief. “In New Orleans, Sweatiness is All a Matter of Civic Pride,” by Rick Bragg, tells of the honor New Orleans residents take in their perspiration, their claim that they, more than Americans anywhere else, really sweat like pigs. “The makers of Old Spice, using a formula that averaged the high temperatures and high humidity of major cities in June, July and August, determined that San Antonio was the sweatiest city, followed by Dallas-Fort Worth, and, in a kissing-your-sister kind of consolation prize, New Orleans,” reports Bragg. “Many, many people are puzzled. San Antonio? Dallas? Compared with New Orleans, they are Aspen, they are Alaska,” the reporter continues. “‘My drawers feel like an old wet diaper,’ said Chris Maples, an ironworker who works high up in buildings but cannot escape the heat and humidity. ‘It’s suffocating, it's sticky. I’m soaking wet at 7 o’lock in the morning, top to bottom. They better do another study.’” If you’re interested in the top 10, the Times says New Orleans was followed by Houston; West Palm Beach, Fla.; Orlando, Fla.; Memphis, Tenn.; Tampa-St. Petersburg, Fla.; Phoenix; and Miami-Fort Lauderdale. Frankly, I have considerable difficulty figuring out how Southerners function during the summer and find completely unfathomable the notion that people chose to live in the region before the invention of air-conditioning.
I found New Orleans to be completely unbearable when I was there three years ago. (And for more reasons than just the heat, I might add.) It’s odd that while I live nowhere near New Orleans, or Texas, or any other area ranked on Old Spice’s sweatiest cities list, I’ve spent the last six weeks thinking about moving to Finland to escape the heat and humidity here. I'm a heat wuss, I guess. I’ve been spending far too much time cruising the upper digits of our cable TV system lately, lazily watching more bad movies than is necessary or healthy. In an effort to justify all of this wasted time, I’ve synthesized a few important tips for dealing with the dramatic crises that characterize so many of these films. How not to be hit by a car If a car, truck, or other vehicle is coming at you head-on at 50 mph or more, do not run straight ahead. Running straight ahead is, I’m afraid, an instinct that seems most commonly shared among women, particularly those “of a certain age” and at a certain, shall we say, declining, stage of their professional lives, such as Donna Mills, Michelle Lee, Joan van Ark, Joanna Kerns, Jaclyn Smith, and Judith Light. Men, however, are by no means immune to this impulse. Running straight ahead is a race you are guaranteed to lose. Instead, turn your body either to your right or to your left. By doing so, you will take yourself out of the vehicle’s direct path. If you have followed this advice, do not later negate your effort by doing something completely moronic. That means do not turn around and, more important, do not stand still staring at the vehicle, waiting to see whether it turns around to make another straight-on run at you. Keep moving! Continue running in whichever direction you chose (i.e., right or left) and search for one of the following, any of which a vehicle would have some difficulty navigating: higher ground; a densely wooded forest; a stream, river, or other body of water; or a quarry, rock pile, ditch, mine field, proving ground, or any other patch of comparably impassable landscape. Alternatively, and assuming you are not carrying a cell phone, try to find a residence or business, no matter how isolated, or better yet, in a densely populated area, someplace where you might possibly find other people and/or a telephone that you could use to call for help. How to deal with phone harassment If you are receiving threatening or harassing phone calls and you do not know who is making them, shell out the lousy, what, 10, 12 bucks for Caller ID. It’s 2002 for crying out loud. Then, set up your phone so that it rejects anonymous callers. Pick up your phone and dial *77. Your phone will now reject all calls from those who have blocked their numbers. This will continue until you pick up the phone again sometime and dial *87. This is a free service. Use it. If you are incapable of performing either or both of these tasks, at least try to remember this: If you receive a threatening phone call and immediately hang up on the other caller, and the phone then rings again right away, it’s a pretty safe bet that the caller is the same person who harassed you just seconds ago. So . . . Don’t answer the phone! After all, just because you aren’t aware of the existence of Caller ID and *77 doesn’t mean the rest of the world is unfamiliar with the simple concept of a redial button! Also, asking “Hello?” two, maybe three, times is more than sufficient. If the person on the other end can’t come up with something to say after three hellos, chances are he’s not going to be a great conversationalist. Hang up. And inquiring, “Who is this?” rarely, if ever, results in your getting the information you want. Finally, if worse comes to worse, call your local telephone service provider and ask them to change your phone number.
Now wasn’t that easy? July 14, 2002
Hmm . . . I can’t recall having seen “bilked” and “balked” in the same paragraph before reading this. “The 50 Worst TV Shows of All Time.” Brought to you by TV Guide. They ought to know. They’ve been promoting crappy TV for decades.
I wonder how they were able to stop at 50. Those wacky Malaysians are at it again. This time it’s Kylie Minogue. Maybe they’re on to something. |
