So I’m watching Greta Van Susteren, incomprehensible as always, serve up snarky innuendo about Barack Obama and his “radical friends”.
Greta, dear, you’re a Scientologist. You pal around with brainwashers. You’ve probably served on some auditing board with Tom Cruise. I bet you’ve even had dinner at Jenna Elfman’s house.
If I were you I wouldn’t be judging anyone else’s “associates”.
I’m coming to join ya, Weezie?
My suspicions about this Obama fella have been confirmed. While the rest of us real Americans spent our childhood drinking Hawaiian Punch, eating Quisp and watching “Sanford and Son,” young Barack was probably out in nature studying legal precedent with a glass of buttermilk and, on Fridays and holidays, a box of Wheat Thin crackers. What do you wanna bet he’s never even heard the name Gene, Gene the Dancing Machine?
Aaaah…
The battle over Proposition 8, which would change California’s Constitution to eliminate the right of same-sex couples to marry, has featured the usual fearmongering:
“they’re trying to recruit our kids …”
It was hate at first sight.
I met Lance through a guy I was dating, back in my Hollywood days. It was assumed, as aspiring screenwriters, we’d have much in common.
Never assume.
He was a preening snob, and proud of it. Within the first five minutes of our initial conversation, Lance (he had not yet become Dustin Lance) falsely insinuated that USC owned the rights to everything I wrote while enrolled in its Graduate Screenwriting Program. “You should’ve checked on that before spending all that money,” he said, effortlessly condescending.
Then he corrected me on my pronunciation of Truffaut, as in Francois. He was wrong.
We rarely spoke again, save for the mutual exchange of piercing glances whenever our paths crossed. After I broke up with his friend, I didn’t see him much, a nice bonus.
A few years later, I was involved in a promising relationship with a guy well above my pay grade. Then that Lance person intervened.
We were talking about people or things we hate (a conversation I likely instigated) when Lance’s name came up. I had no idea the guy even knew my nemesis. “Dustin Lance Black is one my favorite people in the world.”
Next!
That was some seven years ago. Today I received an e-mail from an old L.A. friend asking if the writer of the upcoming Sean Penn flick, “Milk”, was the Dustin Lance Black. No. Can’t be.
It’s late on a sunny Thursday morning in the Castro when a slim and radiantly beautiful young man, someone who would not seem out of place on the set of a Harry Potter movie, climbs the stairs of my Market Street flat, plops himself down on the worn, black couch, and explains why he’s spent nearly half his life pursuing a dream to turn the life of a martyred gay politician into a film. Dustin Lance Black is a polite and focused young man, a multi-talented writer/filmmaker who’s spent the decade since college finding a creative platform to exorcise the demons of a complicated childhood spent boomeranging between military installations in the Central Valley and a Texas city that’s home to the Alamo and his Mormon parents.
Might as well pierce my genitals with a rusty ice pick.
Oh, and I won’t be seeing “Milk”.
(atlpaddy chimes in with the perfect comparison. I’m Andy Millman.)
Sigh.
(via Dr. Corsi’s employer, the consistently nutty WorldNetDaily)
Better than being sober inside Hooters.
Speaking of craven radio promotion: WSB even made meteorologist Kirk Melhuish change the spelling of his last name so that it could create billboards that say “when the weather turns hellish, rely on Mellish.”
My surname is easily rhymed, though that can be overrated. Witness these leftover slogans from my unsuccessful campaign for 5th grade class president:
“They’re coming from the moon to vote Chris … “
“Don’t be a goon. Vote for …”
In retrospect it probably wasn’t a good idea to suggest voter fraud, or to insult undecideds.
Does anyone really believe a man who calls himself Chad Michael Morrisette (no way that’s his real name) is capable of committing a hate crime?
Some WeHo residents — offended by his juvenile and unimaginative Sarah Palin effigy — say that he is.
One question: What’s his crime?
Hating Sarah Palin?
It is not illegal to hate. It is illegal to incite violence. Chad Michael is no William Pierce. He is an idiot:
“If it’s a political statement, it’s that their politics is scary to us,” Morrisette said of the John McCain-Palin campaign. “This is our palette and *this is our venue of expression.”
Now kids, how do we treat an idiot? We ostracize them, we mock them, but we never, ever call the cops. That just gives them an opportunity to play the victim, and something tells me Chad Michael enjoys a little drama.
Don’t give him the satisfaction.
*But is it art? No, it’s a mannequin with a beehive wig and a pair of eyeglasses.
I just discovered Facebook, only a few years behind schedule. It didn’t take long to realize its allure. What a glorious waste of time!
“What did we do with ourselves before the Internet?” I asked a friend. Stupid question, since it was only 10 years ago.
“We watched ‘Fifteen’ and Jerry Springer,” she replied. Ouch!
Back then, wasting time took effort, and it wasn’t always fun. We literally had nothing better to do (or, better said, we lacked the initiative to do anything constructive so we watched bad TV instead).
Still, I’m glad I was sitting on the couch the day a very substantial woman told Jerry Springer (referring to her friend onstage): “She’s ‘ho and she wears no drows (drawers)!” Jerry tried to walk away, but she wasn’t done. “No drows, Jerry. No drows!” Bad enough that her friend was a ‘ho — she could handle that — but going commando was going too far.
“No drows!”
I’m frankly surprised we haven’t seen more fringe right figures play the Antichrist card.
Who knew “SNL”-alum Victoria Jackson ran with that crowd? Apparently her dumb blonde routine was no shtick:
I don’t want a political label, but Obama bears traits that resemble the anti- Christ and I’m scared to death that un- educated people will ignorantly vote him into office.
You see, what bothers me most, besides being a Communist, and a racist …
I may have had a few too many Saturday night. It’s possible my inner Gallant (the witty raconteur) was overwhelmed by the guileless Goofus. No doubt it was Goofus who talked me into having that second shot of Jack.
But I’m not sweating it, thanks to Barack Obama. That wasn’t drunk talk you heard; nope, just another of my trademark rhetorical flourishes.
What a gift from our all-but-certain next president. If it can get Joe “Crisis Guaranteed” Biden off the hook, then certainly I can use it to rationalize those rare moments when I come off a bit, uh, inelegant.
Unfortunately, it comes 32 years too late for another famous political gaffe-r:
“Of course I’m aware that Romania and Poland are under Soviet domination. I’m sure it was obvious to everyone else that I was merely engaging in a rhetorical flourish. It’s how really powerful people communicate. You’d know that, Gov. Carter, if you were a really powerful person like me.”
Politico counts down the year’s worst campaign ads, including this one, for Republican senator John Cornyn, er, “Big Bad John”:I’m so glad I don’t live in Texas.
A new low for Gov. Sonny:
Amid state employee furloughs and calls for massive spending cuts, work is set to begin this week on the $23 million Go Fish Center down the road from Gov. Sonny Perdue’s home in Houston County.
Department of Natural Resources officials said Perdue signed the contract to get the project moving earlier this month. That was two months after he told state agencies to cut spending 6 percent to make up for a projected $1.6 billion budget shortfall. …
Go Fish is going forward at the same time some veterans are having to find new homes because of the state’s decision to save $2.7 million by closing a Milledgeville domiciliary unit at the Georgia War Veterans Home.
Perdue’s flak defends the project, saying it’ll pump money into the local economy. Never mind that we’re in the middle of a drought.
Hard to fish when there’s no water.
