by Medgar Alien Schmoe
Strictly from Commercial
Once upon a zeitgeist creepy, hardbit reporters got all weepy
Some quaint and curious malady had them weeping on the newsroom floor,
When suddenly in limited seating, my derriere it took a beating,
Forced away from winter heating, to sit upon the newsroom floor
Since I was bid enforced attention, I turned on my teeny text invention
Just some tweeting, nothing more.
Then, methunk, the air grew tenser, as the flopsweat grew still denser Continue reading
I bought this exact issue in 1969
Full disclosure: my first job was delivering the Denver Post — back when the great Patrick Oliphant was their political cartoonist — in Laramie, Wyoming, where the two Denver dailies — the Post and the Rocky Mountain News — competed with the Laramie Daily Boomerang (named after Bill Nye’s mule, who would untie himself and follow Nye into Laramie saloons). But, as I say, I delivered the Post.* (* Who still owe me a catcher’s mitt and a ten-color pen, with interest for selling subscriptions in their contest to go to Denver and see 2001 — A Space Odyssey at the Cinerama Dome, with hotel and accommodations courtesy of the Post. Pay up, welshers!)
I read the Rocky Mountain News, growing up. Not a lot. Well, actually a LOT, because I read voraciously and omnivorously, but never at the top of my reading list. Continue reading
Or, CPAC for short.
Today opens the Black Mass of American politics, as the post-Reagan Konservative movement meets to commiserate, castigate, crapulize (or whatever gets one crapulous), catatoniafy, collateralize, cogitate, curmudgificate, carp, complain, constipate, coagulate, and alliterate. (Or illiterate, which seems the tenor of most GOP carping these daze.)
In honor of that Konservative Konfabulation, here’s part of my virtual coverage from 2007. Dan Borchers is in the news again this year, having successfully pressed Connecticut’s Elections Enforcement Commission to investigate Ann Coulter for voting fraud — living in Manhattan, but voting at various times in Florida and Connecticut. Continue reading
UPDATED … SEE BELOW
People misinterpreted our “chimp” cartoon, quoth Rupert Murdoch, because we didn’t have anybody in the (white) newsroom of the New York Post who could have noticed that Blacks might interpret the cartoon as racist.
completely innocent NY Post cartoon with
my completely inoffensive recaptioning
It’s been in the news enough that you ought to have heard about it. Continue reading
It seems that the only time that Republicans are in favor of “fiscal prudence” is when Democrats control the government.
Where was all this highfalutin’ rhetoric from 2000-2009?
Curiouser and curiouser.
(OK: not really.)
Frankly, it was an embarrassment. The Kindle II may well represent an important advance beyond killing trees for our literary needs. It has adjustable font sizes, and there are apocryphal tales that older readers love them because pages are easier to turn (for arthritis sufferers) and EVERY book is suddenly a large print book (for just about anyone older than 40). Continue reading
Not funny. Not funny at all. From Reuters:
In a camouflaged trailer truck in the Nevada desert, a bank of computer screens shows live images of a mud-walled compound in Afghanistan, 8,000 miles away. Those pictures are coming from a Predator unmanned aircraft that you, hunched over the computer in the darkened room not far from Vegas, are flying remotely. Continue reading
Better not to know what it means. But by all means, take precautions against fleas, ticks and bedbugs. It may be a rough spring.
A friend of mine from the early Hollywood days is being interviewed tonight for her book, My Mother’s House.
She’s on something called “Author’s WebTV” and is testing the waters of this brave new world. I was talking with another friend about the interview, and about the sad truth of the modern writing profession: you have to be not only a free-lance writer, but a free-lance publisher, publicist, promoter, prevaricator and proselytizer. Continue reading
I sometimes wonder if people have actually lived before they shoot off their big mouths about living. Case in point: this afternoon, smart movie critic monkeys and Hollywood Muckymuck Insiders and NPR radio hosts confabulated a festival of assininity (or, dumbassery, if you prefer the portmanteau) about the Oscars®.
They began maundering about the Oscars as a “narrative” that Hollywood wants to tell. Maybe at a high metaphoric level, but no, I lived in Hollywood for a decade and more, and, like every other voting event in the world, the results are surprising even to those trying to move the process. Continue reading
Michelle Malkin, the deranged Kewpie Doll from Hell™ is up to her old tricks, or, rather, up to old tricks she learned from the cradle on:
click for Media Matters story
Camille Paglia seems to be off her meds. Consider looney ravings like this one, from her latest Salon column (basically answering reader mail, which is like taking Q&A from a lecture audience — no planning, just scattershot “brilliance”):
Excellent analysis! You have cut the entire ground out from beneath Dick Cavett’s lofty claim of grammatical superiority to Sarah Palin by exposing his inability to sense a simple parenthesis in a spoken passage. I laughed heartily at your e-mail, for which I am most appreciative.
As I have repeatedly said in this column, I have never had the slightest problem in understanding Sarah Palin’s meaning at any time. On the contrary, I have positively enjoyed her fresh, natural, rapid delivery with its syncopated stops and slides — a fabulous example of which was the way (in her recent interview with John Ziegler) that she used a soft, swooping satiric undertone to zing Katie Couric’s dippy narcissism and to assert her own outrage as a “mama grizzly” at libels against her family.
That’s typical of her new “look at me” charm offensive. Or, rather, offensive charm. Anyone who can listen to Sarah Palin and find a brilliant post-Feminist mind, unfairly pilloried by an effete media is either off her meds, or has just returned from the Rush Limbaugh re-education camp (think “Clockwork Orange”). Continue reading
I have no clue what this is, other than an amazing image:
click for picture
The linked headline, when clicked, takes the diligent clicker to this page:
click for story
But, any hint of the where, what, why, when, or who of the picture is entirely absent. And the moment itself has vanished into cybernetic ether.
Probably a band.
* Ars longa vita brevis can be found at link. It’s a fun and enlightening read, even if you think you know the phrase.
Yes. There was no Valentine’s Day posting. Valentine’s Day is Cupid’s day, or, in the Roman ripoff, Amor. In the Greek, it’s Eros, and, Valentine’s Day is concerned with Amor and Eros, neither of which are particularly for public consumption this year.
That leaves us with Agape, better saved for Sunday, and there’s so damned little of that lately, it hardly seems worth commenting on. (But the lack of it is — just not on Valentine’s Day.)
Consider yesterday a moment of silence for my father — also a “Hart” — born on Valentine’s Day in the Great Depression, who lost his father and his family at three years old, and who lost his family when his oldest son was five years old. Happy birthday, sire. (Specifically meaning #3, in case you were wondering.)
And yesterday, Valentine’s Day was the 150th Birthday, the Sesquicentennial of the State of Oregon, admitted into the Union 150 years ago, in 1859, on the eve of Civil War.
But none of these have anything to do with Amor or Eros.
So, no Valentine’s Day post.
Courage, which is literally a “quality of the heart.”