Monday, January 28, 2008

A fitting tribute




Totally my bad last night, and I promise to never go there again. I had no bloody idea who 95% of those persons were, and I think that’s a good thing. I would do Cannes, though. Hint, hint.

As for tonight, I will confess to having “watched” the State of the Union Address, but only because we were liveblogging it over at The Cynic’s Party, which has more or less become my local. A lot of politics, smart people, drinking and very foul language. What more could one ask for? There was a Friday Night massacre at wonkette last week, so the party has decamped to the new bar, as one does.

But the fun part of the day was watching Patrick, Caroline and Uncle Ted adopt Obama just as I was awakening to my day, Teddy passionately declaiming as only he can. Masterfully skewering Hill and Bill, sneering at, mocking and burying all their lies, racist remark s and stupidities. The couple-in-waiting had clearly forgotten that one of the virtues of that generation of Kennedys is/was their ability to wage righteous, earth-scorching war, especially in the face of fatuous, self-serving parvenus.

And parvenus they are. Hills thinks all she needs to do is put a pantsuit on a Rovian dirty tricks strategy, and no one will notice. They will never understand that some people really truly do believe in one or two of the things they say they believe in, even a [very] few politicians. And when Bill outed himself on Saturday with the Jessie Jackson comment, they were off the plantation [irony intended] forever.

Parvenus because they only understand poll driven positions, pandering and pretense.

Parvenus because "Few men are willing to brave the disapproval of their fellows, the censure of their colleagues, the wrath of society. Moral courage is a rarer commodity than bravery in battle or great intelligence. Yet it is the one essential, vital, quality for those who seek to change a world which yields most painfully to change.”

Not that they could ever understand those words, but the person who spoke them, if he were still around, would have ruthlessly kicked them to the floor, grinned and never given them another thought.

Luckily for all of us, his brother did it for him today.

Sunday, January 27, 2008

Maternity couture



It would appear that no one showed up this evening, at least no one who can dress themselves.

I also adore Cate, of course, and frankly this was the best I've seen. Balenciaga, I think, F2007, and you can't tell from the shot, but she's seriously preggers.

Also, my bad from the previous post: that was Jeremy from last year, although thus far my premise still holds.

Peacock alley






Yes, the horror of it all.


Thus far, this is the most interesting example of sartorial splendour I've seen.


The shirt is horrid, the jacket "interesting," but what the hell is going on around Jeremy's waist? Some sort of old school punk truss?


Love the scarf, though.

Tilda



Yes, one of my favorite actresses in one of my favorite films which was directed by one of my favorite directors. She's also apparently nominated this evening.


And just to make things even more exciting - not to mention easier - I just found another site that shall be liveblogging, but with [easily pilfered] pics!

A programming note



As penance for my previous post, I thought I might address something with a bit more universal appeal and leave my rant on Hillbot for a later time. Perhaps sometime after midnight which, as some of you know, is Cocktail Hour in this particular purgatory.

I had thought of addressing the serious issues of whether or not the interwebs are destroying porn…how much I wish I could have been the PA for that French rogue trader and learned a truly useful trade…why Irish hitmen are so wildly incompetent…

But I’ve decided instead to liveblog the SAG awards tonight, sober, which should probably make any and all observations coherent but snarkier than they might have been otherwise.

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Why I really truly despise Keith Olbermann




[Let this note serve as a more or less permanent caveat: my deepest apologies to those lucky readers who are inhabiting other, more pleasant parts of my universe and who will not be familiar with some of my current topics.]




Yes, the boy started out as a welcome counterpoint to all the other cowardly whores on CNN and Fox and MSNBC. He was an unabashed geek, loved baseball and clearly saw himself as Speaking Truth to Power. No mean feat when all the others, in all mainstream media outlets, were twisting themselves into obscene pretzels, scared witless by the fear mongering, wiretapping, career destroying Powers That Be.

But then the sad metamorphosis into misogynistic, preening narcissist. Righto. Déjà vu redux, sigh, for those of you who might remember another with similar trajectory.

As he became the darling of the Left, his smug overwrought self-righteousness became beyond unbearable. The endless rants, pompously stating the obvious, loving the sound of his own words to such a degree that the entire spectacle made me feel as if I’d caught some pathetic wanker en flagrante delicto. Not that I would rule out the odd bit of voyeurism, but this sort of public self-pleasuring should be confined to private, or certain public , restrooms.

He is constantly self-referential, and I picture him googling himself every 5 minutes as he has need to note any mention made of him anywhere in the universe. His silly obsession with the O’Reilly twit serves only to provide mirror for his very own brand of twitdom. Then there are the very nasty, offhand and occasionally vulgar “jokes” about the fair sex.

Yes, let’s face it. The young dweeb, all grown up, basking in the spotlight of his own glory and moral superiority, not to mention now having a chance to get back at the legions of girls who must have recoiled in horror at his fumbling advances.

Over-reacting, you might ask? But of course. It’s just that I am finally totally sick unto death of fatuous, self-engrossed boys who start out useful and then, unmasking in public, reveal nothing but their childish insecurities and narcissistic overcompensation.

So there [flouncing petulantly offstage, Jameson in hand].

Monday, January 21, 2008

redux

For a bit too long I’ve felt as if I’ve been scattering various discrete parts of my self all over the interwebs. Several too many blogs, each reflecting one small piece of the puzzle, an abundance of personas, avatars, sects, rants, passions and persons.

So of course we know the solution: one more bloody blog.

Some of the compartmentalizing was a necessary survival mechanism. The nature of my work, for example, often requires me to interact with real people in the real world who would hardly understand or appreciate my other passions.

And many of my most fervently passionate friends might be unsettled at the thought that I do, in fact, exist in the real world.

Since I spent my formative years inside the beltway – and many of the subsequent ones manning various barricades – politics will always be in my blood and heart. And I have always moved, rarely comfortably, between both worlds. Both worlds demand a kind of allegiance, a strict adherence to proper thought and agenda, a kind of obedience that I will always find abhorrent and impossible.

So I suppose I see this as some sort of coming out – disrobing as we might have said in the Parlour. And, yes, there will still be room here for foolishness. Sex and gossip, Balzac and low blows, footwear and flora, harlots high and low.