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A minor tempest over at Queerty as touchy Madonna fans take the gayer-than-thou site to task for daring to criticize She Who Must Be Worshipped. From the comments:
I wouldn’t be a proud gay man without Madonna.
And that, my friends, is the saddest thing I've ever read.
When family members back home tell me how much they dislike -- even hate -- politics, I can thank amoral political hacks like Douglas E. Schoen. An adviser to Bill Clinton post 1994 -- the era of Dick Morris -- Schoen today in the Post advocates Hillary Clinton taking a scorched earth policy to somehow breath life into her lost campaign.
Although voters and the media look favorably upon a positive campaign message, and Clinton is acutely conscious that too much negativity and too many personal attacks will hurt her party in November, a positive message is simply not enough to alter the race at this point. It is too late for Clinton to wait for Obama to make another mistake. She must seize the opportunity that Obama's self-acknowledged mistakes last week presented to her campaign; it is almost certainly her last chance.
So the advice is that even though going negative and personal could cost the Democrats the race in November, Clinton should go ahead and do it anyway because this race is all about her, regardless is she's run a losing campaign from Day 1. Of course, this would all just be mildly amusing if it didn't look like she was about to do exactly this.
Leaving aside my biases in this race, I'm not some political Pollyanna who thinks that all campaigns should be conducted at a tone appropriate for serving tea. Politics is a rough business -- it should be, given the importance of the ideas, values and expectations at stake. But that's not reflected in shots of Crown Royal and endless repetitions of "I'm not bitter!" All that's doing is laying the groundwork to -- pardon the cliche, but it's appropriate -- snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.
With the issues at stake in this election -- war, executive abuse of powers, suspension of basic civil liberties -- it's disappointing, sad and infuriating that Clinton would choose to run a campaign based on a solipsism.
There seem to be two ways for Kentucky politicians to get themselves mentioned in the national news:
1. Be Mitch McConnell.
2. Say stupid shit.
So Rep. Geoff Davis (R-KY) is just the latest example of why my home state pride cringes in expectation every time I see the state mentioned in a headline. As for Davis, well, stereotypes aside, Kentuckians are not stupid in general. They're not stupid about race. They know calling a black man "boy" is racist. They know that even a racist doesn't use "boy" in public unless he really, really means it.
Judging from his "apology," I'd guess that Rep. Davis really meant it.
I've just begun another cycle of review cars -- seems like I'm going to spend the next few weeks driving SUVs and crossover SUVs. What's a "crossover" SUV? Well, you'll have to drive yourself over to my new blog, Four Wheels Good, to find out.
Just up is a post on my initial impressions of the 2008 Mitsubishi Outlander SE; later this week I'll have some thoughts on the surprisingly strong Suzuki XL7 Limited.
And I'll likely do some Google whoring by talking some more about what makes a gay car. It's like internet candy for straight people, they just can't get enough.
It may just be me, but when your company name is "Camel," you might want to think twice before using a product name that looks an awful lot like "Anus."
Just a pinch between the cheek and gum, indeed.
Though I'm a little late to the game after this weekend's latest "gaffe," I'm up to play. Because if after eight years of Bush you're not bitter, then you're not paying attention.
My reasons to be bitter:
And the list goes on and on.
So much of D.C.'s downtown architecture from the 60s and 70s has the run-down ennui that evokes such cinematic masterpieces as Conquest of the Planet of the Apes, so it's no great sadness to see them fall like dominoes across the city to give way to new construction. Maybe they'll even get around to that godawful New Executive Office Building one of these days.
Anyway, this is just a shot I snapped outside a church in Southwest on Saturday where I was giving a little presentation:
The building itself looks sad. I'd look sad too if I were that ugly. It's all a little blurry and wonky at the top of the frame and it could use some better cropping, but I was using my iPhone so give me a break. Mostly, I just like the framing of the naked trees. As far as I could see, no apes were on the scene protesting their enslavement.
Mostly unrelated, and even more worthless, a few years back at a conference in Los Angeles I was staying in Century City and I totally realized that I was on the site of the ape riots, which was also under the shadow of the Nakatomi Building. That was about the only moment I actually enjoyed in L.A.
Some people are just bound and determined to stomp all over the new glories of the modern communications age. For example, the Post has spotted a trend of cab drivers and passengers being annoyed by the lack of conversations in taxis.
Those people can shut up. Really, I would enjoy the silence. This is progress, people. The ability -- nay, the right -- to jump in a cab for convenient transportation without being subjected to inane, time-passing conversation is something to cheer about. Way back in the days before cell phone ubiquity, I wrote a column complaining about this very topic:
The only problem with taking cabs is the possibility the cab driver will attempt to start a conversation -- make that the certainty the cab driver will want to chat. I’ve developed a number of defenses against this, most of which involve reading newspapers or other large pieces of paper that form a barrier between myself and the driver.
There are those drivers, however, who are undaunted by my silence. In these cases, I’m generally subjected to long-winded monologues about the Redskins or whatever testosterone-induced sport happens to be in season. Then, when I finally make the point that I don’t watch or care about sports (with the exception of men’s gymnastics, of course), I’m greeted with a disdainful snort.
Like he’s going to care about any of my personal hobbies.
Sometimes the “conversation” drifts towards the other subject that seems to interest cabdrivers: breasts (also known as “ta-tas”).
Last week during my cab ride home, the cabdriver suddenly honked his horn. “Just look at the pair on her,” he said, turning his head toward me. “When they stand at attention like that you just have to salute, don’t you think?”
I understand that some extroverts among us consider this to be the equivalent of the Algonquin frickin' round table, but we introverts who just want a little peace and quiet before we arrive at whatever socially stressful event we're traveling to don't agree.
I'm willing to accept that I have particularly bad cab karma, an unfortunate situation during my days of dwelling car-less in some of D.C.'s most transitional neighborhoods. I've had cabs refuse to take me home. I've had drivers put me out when I told them the address I was headed to. I've called for cabs to pick up a friend at my home, only to wait for hours before anyone showed up. I've endured blatant attempts to swindle me via contorted readings of the city's laughable zone system. I've had a cab driver tell me, unbidden, that AIDS was God's punishment "for all these men fucking each other."
But bad karma or no, if the trend is for cab drivers to keep their conversations to themselves I'm just going to count my blessings.
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