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some recent thoughts from some recent nights

... I kinda want LBJ to be president again. 'cuz he would have dialed up Rupert Murdoch and demanded that "King of the Hill" be put back on the air. And you know what? LBJ would've gotten it done.

... This is my pick-up line, were I a trucker: "I was lookin' at you from the other side of the bar, and I just wanna say, you got one helluvan ass."

... Public Masturbators Anonymous just wouldn't work.

... Here is a question no one wants to be asked, particularly in moments of high anxiety: "Which penis is it?!"

... I have a new idea for a magazine. It's called "Defenseless White Woman Monthly."

In case yer interested ...

You can read my latest unremunerative piece here about a trip I took to China several years ago.

Among pieces I can't even give away

Solomon Grundy addresses rumors he will portray Sam Clay in an upcoming cinematic adaptation of Michael Chabon's "The Adventures of Kavalier and Clay"
by John Flowers

Solomon Grundy like take time address rumor him hear of Solomon Grundy star in adaptation of "Adventure of Kavalier and Clay." Him very much offer role but him tell fan of book and of Solomon Grundy what tell producer: No, not happen.

Number of reason Solomon Grundy turn down role. Timing part of problem. Solomon Grundy have many stage and film commitment in near future. Ditto convention appearance. Rumor that Solomon Grundy not comfortable with role where him kiss man untrue. Twist statement Solomon Grundy make. How Brainiac love use gay kiss tease Solomon Grundy (Brainiac always say thing like "peat bog that give Solomon Grundy life mostly manure run-off," or "maybe when Solomon Grundy successful like Brainiac, Solomon Grundy finally afford new suit"). But all reason boil down two word: studio politic.

Solomon Grundy first hear of project from agent, Sam Greenbaum. Sam Greenbaum say studio interested in Solomon Grundy. Solomon Grundy roll eye when first hear. Think "No more golem role!" Sam Greenbaum say No. Want Solomon Grundy for Sam Clay role. Show Solomon Grundy script. Excite Solomon Grundy. Think him finally get big break. Show other side of Solomon Grundy. Think maybe buzz. Then Oscar. Then get people on board for Solomon Grundy John Dos Passo project. Direct, even.

Alas, Solomon Grundy get ahead of self.

Problem start with script. Solomon Grundy hear committee when read dialogue. "Too many cook," Solomon Grundy think. Not sound like voice of book. Script try too hard be all thing all people. Solomon Grundy read again and again. Want find argument why script work. Want script really work. Eventually, Solomon Grundy realize no good, force square peg in round hole. Best just do what did when catch Sinestro admire self in mirror in Wonder Woman outfit: Just walk away.

Solomon Grundy later learn studio and producer never on same page. One like original script, other demand many re-write. One say let be 150 minute, other say "No, 100." Indecision cause A-list star stay away (Solomon Grundy think that be why him offered role in first place). First one director attach then another. Then film distributor lukewarm to project. Say movie about writer always box office poison. Say that why they hang art in museum, not artist.

Also, not thrill with gay love subplot. Sam Greenbaum relate story of producer talk with distributor.

"What 'bout 'Philadelphia'?" producer ask.

"You get Tom Hank, we talk," distributor say.

Result is studio not want spend lot on movie. Or so word go. Studio tight-lip when come to budget. That what Sam Greenbaum say. Studio tight-something else. That what Solomon Grundy say.

Reason Solomon Grundy write letter now, not when rumor first start 2005, is Solomon Grundy need move on. Can't when reporter call every day. Ask if rumor true. Solomon Grundy also tire of Grodd always come around. Want something. That always sure sign rumor flare up again. Grodd hear someone get something and him first thought be, “How that benefit Grodd?” Him think others' fortune his too. Grodd like hipster that way. Always with “easy” plan for fame and fortune. Never one that include hard work or Grodd money.

"Gorilla City easy take," Grodd always say.

"If so easy take, why not Grodd already have Gorilla City?" Solomon Grundy ask.

"Solomon Grundy not understand politic," Grodd scoff.

"Oh, Solomon Grundy understand politic. Not need psychic power know why Grodd not get one vote." That get Grodd.

Solomon Grundy not cry over what could be. Solomon Grundy too busy for that. Start work soon in Grand Rapid Civic Theatre. Part of Tom Stoppard festival. Play role of Higg in Stoppard play "Real Inspector Hound." Not big part, but stretch from more melodrama Solomon Grundy find himself in of late.

Solomon Grundy like thank all fan for support. Ask keep write. Solomon Grundy enjoy all kind word.

Take care, and if in Grand Rapid, come by. Shake hand. Solomon Grundy always like meet fan.

All best,
Solomon Grundy

10 minutes and counting ...

Seriously, American Express. If you're going to tell a person that "due to a high call volume," wait time "to speak to a representative" is going to be 10+ minutes, then the least you could do would be come up with a better song than a Muzak version of "Send in the Clowns."

And by the way, what does that mean exactly when a representative finally DOES come to the phone: "Don't worry, they're here"?

Like taking a huge dump

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, our long national nightmare is over – or, rather, “at least temporarily suspended." Your author has found gainful employment at the previously mentioned [A Certain Financial News Outfit]. It's a freelance job, which means no medical benefits, and a temporary job, which means we could be right back here in a month. However, the pay is good and I was given enough “you know what I mean”'s to tip me off that if I do well, better things are afoot. I think of it as a foot in the door. Which is preferable to what I had, which was a foot in the ass.

Special commendation goes to my friends The Pirate and his wife The Mrs. Pirate who gave a good word to the fiancee of a friend of the latter and, basically, started this whole ball rolling. If they were pedophiles, I would buy them a large, nondescript van right now. That's how much I think of them.

Suffice it to say that I will be having celebratory drinks sometime soon. However, I want to wait until I have that first check in hand – to smell it, make love to it – before any carousing commences. Thus, if you're in the New York City area at the beginning of next month and see a man, late one Friday night swinging his pants in the air – not in frustration, but in triumph – consider yourself introduced to Hot Johnny.

Thanks for all the good words and humor these last six or so months.

Cheers,
HJ

Today's lesson: All I have to do now is become an expert in personal finance. No sweat.

Me and my 'dog sore'

The number of people concerned enough to email or phone as to whether I have rabies now stands at five, a large enough number for me to start worrying myself. By two, I was a bit concerned and by four I decided to hunt down that man and his dog to make sure that I was safe (a process of which I am in the middle of).

Of course, what struck me about these concerns wasn't their sympathy. Rather it was their lack of it. They never asked “Are you worried about ...?” or “Do you know whether ...?” about whether the dog had its shots. It was always, “Ya got rabies?” or something to that effect, like saying it was a “heh, heh” punch in the arm.

Rabies, it seems, is on the same sympathy level as oral herpes. Call the latter “a cold sore,” and you're bound to get an avalanche of “Ya mean herpes?” and a few knowing glances (and for the record, no I do not).

More curious, were the friends who asked about tetanus were much more concerned. I would have thought the opposite was true. But lockjaw, it seems, is a scarier proposition than rabies (if you have to be keeping a list of such things and need this information for ranking purposes).

Thus, from now on, I no longer will be calling what I probably don't, but ever so slightly may have, as “a dog sore” and not “rabies”.

*****************

Oh, I also wrote another story (that's three top bylines and two end bylines) for Time Magazine online again.

Pleading ignorance can be the expert move

Flipping through the newspaper at a Polish restaurant in Greenpoint (which is something of a tautology, I admit), I happened across a headline, something about older gay couples, and immediately flipped past it. Not because I'm a bigot or prejudice in any way. Rather, because I don't want that information in my head, ready and primed for that socio-political discussion we all have, drunk at 2:30 in the morning at a bar or party, and have people's whispered reaction to my weighty response be:

“John sure does know a lot about filing status for gay couples on their taxes. I wonder ...” And they don't wonder if it's because, maybe, you're an accountant. It's never, “you know, he made this EBITDA joke the other day, and, you know, I didn't really think much of it at the time but that and now this thing. I don't know, man ...”

It reminds of this party I was at -- or it may have been a bar -- with several friends and late into the evening I found myself chatting up a young lady, flirting as young men are wont. Somehow we settled on what would be our first and only topic of the evening: what we would do if we were to rob a bank. As luck would have it (or so I thought), I once had tried writing a screenplay with a friend about a female bank robber who claimed, erroneously it turned out, to be an Iraqi war widow during the hold-ups (it was a social satire that thankfully died on the operating room table). Remembering the research I had done there, I told this young woman:

“Well, the first thing I would do is probably choose a smaller, regional bank.”

“OK. But what do you do about the dye pack?”

“I'm not going to worry about it, because half the time the tellers are so scared that they forget to put it in. Other times they put it in and it just doesn't work. So, probably what we'd do is have them put the money into four or five bags, so that all or most of it doesn't get tarred.”

“Really? They forget to put it in?”

“Yeah. And to further swing the odds in our favor, I'd choose the teller farthest away from the front door. Usually that's where they put the newbies – as customers are naturally going to walk to the teller who's closest to the door.”

“How do you know all this?”

“You'd probably want to rob just five or six banks in an area and move on. Police reaction time isn't really anything to worry about either, which is why you rarely if ever get those scenarios you see in movies and TV shows where cops surround the bank robbers still in the bank. Of more concern is how we launder the money so the serial traces don't come back to us.”

“Seriously, how do you know all this?”

“Um ... 'Harper's'?”

(Actually, I did make an EBITDA joke once. I tried coming up with words or phrases used often by equities analysts that also could be titles for Hollywood movies. I came up with two: "Same Quarter Last Year" and "Andrew Lloyd Webber's 'EBITDA'.")

Oh, the places in Queens you don't mean to go

The second interview at [A Certain Financial News Outfit] went well, with no mention of my ink-stained previous performance. It involved two separate interviews, some miscommunication (of which i am 100% blame) regarding an extra copy of my clips and resume, and a free lunch. I was told on several occasions that I did very well in the interviews -- though I've been told that on several occasions, only to get -- in one case, literally -- "some lovely parting gifts" (the "gift," I kid you not, was old issues of the publication at which I was interviewing; to this day I'm still unsure whether the "gift" wasn't to the person who no longer had to haul those issues to the dump).

The firm graciously paid for a car ride home and without going into a litany of boring detail, let's just say Flowers and His Common Sense, 1 Driver and His GPS 0.

A piece of advice for those thinking otherwise

If you accidentally step on a dog's foot and try to make nice by petting said dog and such amends go well -- walk away. Don't go for it a second time, because maybe the dog has had time to think. And the worst thing in this world is an aggrieved animal that's had a second opinion on the matter.

What kind of dog was it, Brendan? Well, one with a big maw and sharp teeth.

Today's lesson: The owner of said dog, it should be known, skidaddled upon said attack, a fact I would have been angry about had he not burned his apartment down the day before. Having felt justice served, only the day before, I returned to the Cowboys v. Cardinals game.

Quick, serious request

If anyone knows a trader who'd be willing to talk -- anonymously, if need be -- after the market closes about the mental/physical stress of the current market collapse on traders, please email me at:

johnfflowers [at] gmail.com

This is for a freelance story I'm working on that goes online (not here, on an ACTUAL news site) some time after the market closes.

Thanks,
John

Interview post-poned

Today's Day 2 interview at [A Certain Financial News Outfit] is on hold, as their is man currently taking apart my bathroom right now.

It seems there is a big leak from my end (about the third in the last year, too) dripping into A2 and whereas normally when strange people are in my apartment I would say "What the Hell" and go on my merry way, the last time there was a leak, I came home and the door was open and there was caulk EVERYWHERE -- on the shower curtain, the sink, the floor, my toothbrush -- EVERYWHERE. It was like the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man came.

So, I've asked to post-pone said second interview and with it the knowledge of whom I stained.

The Washington Times could use a good copy editor

Check out this incendiary headline from an article in today's paper --


-- which would have us believe Obama is an un-American a-hole in violation of the Logan Act.

Yet, the nut graf --


-- would have us believe, well, to write that graf another way:

"Some of the specifics of the conversations remain the subject of dispute. Iraqi leaders passed off as true what is likely false to The Times that Mr. Obama urged Baghdad to delay an agreement with Mr. Bush until next year when a new president will be in office - a charge the Democratic campaign denies."

If words are weapons, then the Washington Times is like Wile E. Coyote with a shotgun.

The blue interview

So I'm at [A Certain Financial News Outfit] at a job interview graciously set up by one The Pirate (he of legend, folklore, and many a delirious alcoholic rant), and everything is going swimmingly.

The first bit where I interviewed with his friend, three time removed, went well. I seemed to pass his initial test of "what do you think about the government owning preferred shares in companies such as Such-and-Such?" and "If you have a thousand dollars, where would you invest it?" And, so, having passed, I was to wait on a couch for just a minute or two until Interviewer No. 2 was ready to meet.

I had brought no reading material to bide any dead time. Fortunately, there were a pile of self-help financial books on the table next to me. I grabbed one and began to peruse when, suddenly, I noticed my palm, thumb and a good bit of the rest of the fingers on my right hand had turned blue. My pen, the one I bought only yesterday, had exploded in my pocket. It had soaked the contents therein, gotten all over my clean, upstanding-citizen hand, and "She'll be with you in just a minute."

Directly across from the couch was a bathroom. I shot up, raced to the restroom, scrubbed my hands with the lukewarm water from the automatic faucet -- soap, soap, scrub, scrub -- and deposited the pen, which by now looked like an extra from "Scanners," in the trash.

I washed my hand for as long as I dared and then almost raced out of there without drying before I thought, "You know, a hand-shake with an ink-stained hand is far less disconcerting than one with a wet hand." And so I dried and dried until I dare not stay in the bathroom any more.

I raced back, plopped myself back on the couch, and returned to my book with just under a minute to spare.

They want me back for a second interview tomorrow. And why wouldn't they? I'm like if Robert Samuelson were on the "Mission: Impossible" team.

Today's lesson: How many hands I shook before discovering this problem, I have no idea, but it had to be a few.

Why I generally hate sci-fi

From comic strip xkcd:

Seriously -- Mace Windu?

The Japanese have monkey waiters

Let me say that again. The Japanese. Have. Monkey. Waiters.

It's a freedom of choice (but choose Obama)

When a problem comes a long, you know that Obama will whip it.

Yes, it's official. Devo are for Obama and against the mongoloid.

Work. What a beautiful choice.

For a change, I've been busy this week (well, yesterday and today), freelancing for an old job, two gigs ago.

It's old news now, but in case you care to read yesterday's news online, be my guest.

A better idea for debates

Let's see, so tonight's Presidential debate featured Tom Brokaw asking no follow-up questions to queries submitted by viewers who, after two years and with less than a month to go, still don't know who they are going to vote for.

Awesome. You know what? Scattergories would have been a better debate format. Or how about Taboo?

“I'm sorry, Senator McCain. What was the whole picking at the bottom of your shoe?”

“I was trying to mime stepping on a tack, for 'no tax.'”

“Yeah. Sorry, it wasn't that clear.”

Then again Obama would look a little less impressive were he to shake the quarters in his front pocket.

A fake occupation at which I would be really bad

I think I'd be a really bad king. I'd be the very embodiment of the snuff-sniffing out-of-touch monarch who'd try to say something nice but end up sounding like a complete upper-class jerk.

I can just imagine being in the royal carriage, stopped due to traffic, and upon being seeing a small beggar child say:

“What a sad little face ... and such droopy little arms."

Honest? Yes. Compassioniate? Well, in a manner of speaking.

Comic Book Guy would agree

"Are you the creator of Hi and Lois? Because you are making me laugh." One of my favorite Simpsons' lines, it is perfectly illustrated in these posts by blogger Michael Leddy that the physics and geometry of "Hi and Lois" are grounded in some world other than our own. Enjoy.

Sarah Palin Debate Flow Chart

Courtesy, Political Wire:

On post-VP debate commentary

I think the one thing I'll miss when the election is over is watching historians Robert Norton Smith and Robert Beschloss try to one up each other with historical anecdotes relevant to whatever they may be helping PBS cover in post-whatever coverage.

Take, for instance, last night's VP debate:

One would start, "Well, this reminds me of Ed Muskie in 1968 ..."

"Yes, but, remember Adlai Stevenson in 1956?"

"Ah-hah. But what of Dan Quayle in 1988?"

"I'll call your Dan Quayle in 1988 and raise you a Walter Mondale in 1976!"

My very first poem. Enjoy.

A perspective
by john flowers

you know who the
most unracist people
are in the world?
pornographers.
if you want to make
money making pornos, you
can't hate anybody
in this world.
not anybody.
not blacks, not
jews
not nazis, not midgets
not fat chicks or
old folk or
whips
or whatever,
not anybody.

Women, maybe.

Meet the Mets' (prankster fans)!

There is more to a baseball game than merely baseball, as this video taken at Shea Stadium demonstrates.

There's always beer, a passed-out fan, his bored neighbors, and empty cup-a-mids to pass the time.

(Note: As the video is long, I have denoted the highlights below. However, I suggest you watch the video in its entirety as it is never boring. Not once.)

1:12 - Drunk, passed-out fan becomes now worth the price of admission to everyone.

2:40 - Adding a second cup to fan's head briefly succeeds, then fails.

3:13 - 3rd cup succeeds.

4:01 - 4th cup succeeds.

4:21 - Cup with 1/3 beer succeeds. Briefly.

4:44 - Cup-amid construction begins.

4:53 - "Are we sure this guy's alive?"

5:39 - "All right. He's breathing. He's breathing."

6:00 - Cup-amid continues.

7:01 - Full beer on top of Cup-amid succeeds.

7:28 - Construction continues unabated.

7:48 - Now four cups tall, including one filled with beer, can the gods look away any longer?

8:15 - A fifth cup is the effort's Waterloo, Tower of Babel, and Icarus rolled into one. Patient briefly opens eyes upon collapse of Cup-amid. Briefly.

8:28 - "I think he's gotta be awake now."

8:40 - "Let's do it again!"

9:07 - "We gotta put that on YouTube!"

9:18 - Eventually, even Mets' security becomes aware of the awesome powers of the Cup-amid.

9:41 - Fan is awake, immortalized and taking pictures and signing autographs for his fans.

FIN

Thar be PR-savvy pirates here

Yes, everything is imploding. Yes, every "Mad Max" knock-off turned out to be right. Yes, yes, and a thousand times "yes." But there are other stories out there, equally fascinating and none more so than the one about pirates currently at a standoff with the U.S. navy.

The short of it is that five days ago Somali Muslim pirates captured a Ukrainian ship filled with tanks and missiles and all kinds of armed goodies, and Western powers are scared sheikless that those armaments will find their way to al-Qaeda-linked Somali militants.

Having kept one eye on this story for a few days, I am now both eyes and both ears ready for every scrap of information that wafts from wire services after reading this section from an AP story about a possible recent shoot-out between the two camps:
Yes, pirates have spokesmen now! We are living in an age where pirates can't just blast their guns back in response, no they must counter PR with PR. Awesome!

Soon pirates will be retracting statements, delivering non-aargh aargh's, and will be uttering lines like "I neither be confirmin' nor denyin' at this time."

They may even start their own spin rooms, trying to get the press to refer to them as "Salvagers" rather than "Pirates."

Regardless, keep in touch with this story if you need something to take your mind off Doomsday.

It's rare that I can offer relationship advice

I offer this piece of advice to women everywhere not as a defense of the author's previous actions but, let us say, fair context: Do not quiz a man on the state of your relationship when he is drunk and trying to get to sleep, unless you are prepared for all possible answers.

This advice is several weeks old, but just as relevant today, tomorrow and in the far future as it was then.

Random conversation with myself

Thought yesterday while clicking through "The Paris Review":

"I wonder what the odds are of me getting published in The Paris Review."

"Probably the same as you editing The Paris Review."

Touché.

Go Brewers!

In 2003, with no baseball near or within the borders of my home state, the Commonwealth of Virginia (despite assurances otherwise from a string of Virginia governors starting with, in my lifetime, Chuck Robb), I randomly adopted the Brewers as my favorite baseball team. In part, I felt that I had no baseball for me even after four years in New York, because the Yankees bandwagon was crowded with every manner of investment banking douchebag and the Mets, well, they never really had the character that I needed in a team; that, and they either tried a little too hard to be liked ("Meet the Mets!") or were quixotic by definition ("Ya Gotta Believe!"). Plus, I thought, "What if, one day, I live in L.A. or Phillie or, gulp, Kansas City?"
Always rooting for both New York franchises to do well, I nevertheless decided one day early into the 2003 season that I would adopt a team in a wholly other city, one whose choice would answer those concerns. And like that! I zeroed in on the Milwaukee Brewers. I figured, "The Brewers have everything I'm looking for in a team: The day they make the playoffs -- if they ever make it -- no one can call me a Johnny-come-lately. Plus, their very name celebrates something I very much love."

Beer.

It was nice to know that in this era of smokeless bars and tsk-tsking Big Brother Bloomberg government that there were still places where the whole family could celebrate vice in a PG sort of way. And the Brewers, I always thought, fit their eponymous source (American beer), like a glove. Never great. Hardly ever hit one out of the park. But always a solid, cheap ticket.

But the character issue doesn't end with just the name. No, sir. During every game, the Brewers showcase a running of the Sausages -- five men, dressed as five different kinds of sausage, racing around the park for the glory of meats everywhere. Oh, and they also sing "Beer Barrel Polka" after "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" during the 7th Inning Stretch. Plus, at the time (but, sadly, no longer), whenever a player hit a home run, the team mascot, Bernie Brewer would slide into a vat of beer (now it's an anti-climactic platform).

"Win, win, win," as far as I was concerned -- with an unexpected fourth win coming last year when I took my ten-team fantasy baseball league thanks in very, VERY large part to picking up then-rookie Brewers slugger Ryan Braun.

Of course, now I have the Washington Nationals with whom also officially to suffer. The Lerners, who own the team, are turning the franchise into a mid-Atlantic Pittsburgh Pirates, what with questionable scouting and lack of free-agent spending. Plus, they've effectively turned the team into squatters. But, what's a modern era without fans having teams and step-teams, I say? (Hell, I haven't been to either park yet).
Thus, to my many despondent Mets friends, I must say that while I appreciate your loss, my heart is in Milwaukee (which sounds like a great country/western song, doesn't it?).

And, so, Go Brewers!

Today's lesson: Maybe if the Mets went back to their Fuck You!/Coke-Snorting days from the mid-80s, when their attitude made them akin to the Oakland Raiders of baseball, then we could talk. But until then ...

A silver lining, perhaps?

New York and other big cities soon may experience the same silver lining in the banking crisis for which Jonah Goldberg hopes in D.C.

The one media complaint you rarely hear

... is that outlets should keep their gay pulp fiction rhetoric to a minimum. That's because usually there's no such problem.

But then there are times ...

Cookie Slayer

Anyone have her number? Says Boing Boing:

This killer Cookie Monster Slayer was spotted at the Dragon*Con 08 fantasy/SF convention earlier this month.

Top. Men.

You know yer dealing with a crackerjack web team when the link on the new-look home page takes you to one with the old-look home page.


Today's lesson: "Who?" "Top. Men."

A journal entry, you might say

So, I’m watching the Brewers game against the Reds and I’m watching a player plow toward home, and so I feel the need to text message my friend The Pirate the following message:

Cecil Fielder is a big boy.
Hes gonna have big
black man titties when hes 80.

At which point I became endlessly amused with the phrase “big black man titties” and needed to find out something:

And that is what I did between about 5:05 and 5:21 p.m., Saturday, September, 20, 2008.

Today’s lesson: Always watch me at this time of day.

Complaint about recent rock music, vol. 47

If you’re going to do four-chord rock, make your bassist learn more than four notes. No more

“thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, THUD, THUD, THUD, THUD, THUD, THUD, THUD, THUD, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud.”

Frankly, it's boring.

R.I.P. Richard Wright

He wasn't tragic like Syd Barrett or feverishly egotistic like Roger Waters or even an iconic axeman like Dave Gilmour, but Richard Wright, keyboardist, founding member, and now late of Pink Floyd, wrote and sang one of my favorite Pink Floyd songs, "Summer '68," on 1970's sprawling "Atom Heart Mother" album. He will be remembered.

Welcome, newest member of the club

While not on the level of a Roseanne Barr or Carl Lewis, pop singer Kat Deluna added her own entry to the category of "worst versions of the Star-Spangled Banner" during last night's edition of "Monday Night Football."

Her cracked notes don't quite hit the number of those of her predecessors, but they do the decibel. And her overall style, which is a mix of shirt-wringing bombast and drawn-and-quartered pronunciations ("rocket's red guh-lare"), make this version a worthy entry. Oh, and she also doesn't seem to have ever practiced with a metronome.

Honestly, at the end, I expected Eddie Murphy to come on stage and shout, "Sexual Chocolate! Sexual Chocolate!"

With surrogates like these ...

I can't help but imagine what would happen if John McCain had to function in a presidential race 200+ years ago (please, no age jokes). Back then, public spats led to duels and in a duel the most important person by your side was your second. He didn't fire the gun for you, but he did everything else up to loading it. And if McCain had lived then with the seconds he's got now -- men and women who keep misfiring from the mouth -- then he would have been on the ten-dollar bill.

First, it was adviser and former Texas Sen. Phil Gram mouthing off about Americans being penny-pinching whiners, then it was adviser John Goodman informing America that if you can crawl to an emergency room, you already have health insurance (a corollary to the “if you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball” logic). And now, surrogate Carly Fiorina, ousted ex-head of Hewlett-Packard, has said in response to whether Sarah Palin has the experience to run a company like H-P, “No, I don't. But you know what? That's not what she's running for."

But that’s OK and for two reasons: 1) She’s running for something much, much smaller: successor to the President of the United States of America.

And 2) she added much needed context to the remark in a subsequent interview by alleviating fears about Palin by adding, "I don't think John McCain could run a major corporation ... "

Honestly, it’s not Obama that McCain needs to worry about. It’s his own seconds shooting him in the foot.

The good Brooks

I've always felt there were two David Brooks -- the David Brooks who writes thoughtful columns for The New York Times with which sometimes I agree and sometimes don't, and the David Brooks who's just trying to get out of town early.

Today, we have an excellent example of the former. The key passage that everyone seems to be zeroing in on is:

In the current Weekly Standard, Steven Hayward argues that the nation’s founders wanted uncertified citizens to hold the highest offices in the land. They did not believe in a separate class of professional executives. They wanted rough and rooted people like Palin.

I would have more sympathy for this view if I hadn’t just lived through the last eight years. For if the Bush administration was anything, it was the anti-establishment attitude put into executive practice.

And the problem with this attitude is that, especially in his first term, it made Bush inept at governance. It turns out that governance, the creation and execution of policy, is hard. It requires acquired skills.

But I think the key line is this:

Democracy is not average people selecting average leaders. It is average people with the wisdom to select the best prepared.

There is no cannibalism in the McCampaign

So, now the McCampaign has said that Obama did NOT call Sarah Palin a pig.

However, McCain himself said yesterday that Obama "chooses his words very carefully."

This back-and-forth reminds me of a Monty Python routine, where Graham Chapman as a vice-admiral of the Royal Navy claims to an interviewer, “May I take this opportunity of emphasizing that there is no cannibalism in the British Navy. Absolutely none, and when I say none, I mean there is a certain amount.”

Don't forget about Dre Rangel

Lost amid stories about Sarah Palin and Lehman Brothers and things generally spinning heads round and round, is the ongoing saga of long-time New York congressman Charlie Rangel and taxes unpaid.

The longtime poobah of the New York Democratic delegation, Rangel has suddenly had discovered for him that for the last 10 or 20 (and that's one of many questions here) years he's failed to pay taxes on a number of properties (ditto, what that number is). It's a story we've heard a thousand million times about a thousand million people, and so this isn't really that big of a deal because, big surprise, some rich guy -- rich politician, even -- skirted paying taxes, right? Well, save for one fact --

Rangel is the guy charged with writing this nation's tax policy.

Best idea for a baby name

Over the weekend, I was hanging out at neighborhood bar The Black Rabbit. The owner is a great guy whose wife is six months pregnant and asked if I had any ideas for baby names -- "particularly any joke names."

I thought. And I thought. And after one or two tries, I came up with the answer:

"Chinese Firedrill."

"What?"

"You know, 'Chinese Firedrill!'" I started yelling.

We were both amused.

The opposite

Politicians really don't know what to do during an economic crisis, as there are no ruins to tour nor people to hug. And giving huge blocs of money to the people at ground zero of the fallout is the absolute LAST thing you want to do at these times.

Which is why, when it comes to financial crises, you want the government to learn what George Costanza did once upon a time, and that is to do The Opposite:

• Kiss a baby after a hurricane? I say, slap one after a bank fails.


• Pass a spending bill after an earthquake? Then reserve first rights to the choicest office furniture when an investment bank goes under.

In fact, perhaps Henry Paulsen is the wrong person to have in this situation. Perhaps the man we need at this time is ... Mike Brown!

Sunday video

Your strangely compelling video to ease that transition into Monday includes children, a farting "Bohemian Rhapsody" and a slide that looks like a penis.

McCain and the question of email

From Jonah Goldberg at The Corner:

Does anyone know why McCain doesn't use a computer or email? As a couple readers suggested to me, it might be because his injuries prevent it. I mean he can't lift his arms much higher than his chest and it looks like he has all sorts of other mobility problems with them. Maybe he can't type or use something like a blackberry. I don't know. But I hope the Obama campaign found out before they played the granpa Simpson card on McCain. I'd hate for Obama to be mocking a veteran's disability to score cheap points.

Next thing you know his vice presidential pick will be telling guys in wheelchairs to get up.

True, John McCain's physical injuries likely limit the kind of interaction he can have with a computer.

Then again, if Stephen Hawking can use a computer. Certainly John McCain can as well.

Sarah Palin and my own foreign policy experience

From Talking Points Memo:

"Energy. She knows more about energy than probably anyone else in the United States of America."

That's John McCain on Sarah Palin. Even better? It's McCain's answer to what her foreign policy credentials are.

"Alcohol. John Flowers has gotten drunk on a wide variety of alcohol from around the world. In fact, 'John Flowers' is Australian for 'experience.'"

Sarah Palin interview wrap-up

If you missed part one of Charlie Gibson's interview with GOP VP candidate Sarah Palin last night, here is a wrap-up of the highlights:

• When asked to define the Bush Doctrine -- that pre-emptive war is a regretable but necessary thumbs up -- Palin drew a blank and proved to the world why it took five colleges and six years (and one college twice) to earn her bachelor's degree.


• Gov. Palin has excellent memorization skills. Simply, excellent.


• She doesn't have the ability of a true politician to dodge a question. Worse, she doesn't have the ability of George W. Bush to dodge a question.

Luckily, there were be two more days of Gibson and his testy school marm demeanor and Gov. Palin and her, well, assets.

really, just a random thought to start the day

You know, I've always wished their were video tape of Bush, in the White House, of moments when he thought he was alone. You know, doing whatever it is he does when he thinks no one is watching. B/c, the way I picture it is, he's in the Oval Office and gripping some prop like it's a mic, singing, "Mr. Boooooojangles." Or just walking through the hall, quietly singing the jingle from "Golden Crisp" cereal -- "Can't get enough of Super Golden Crisp, it's got the--" -- but then he stumbles because he can never remember how that last bit goes and so he keeps repeating it, over and over again, "it's got the--", only to keep substituting in bits to fill the gaps, "it's got the ... flavor of cereal."

I don't know why that makes me laugh, but it does.