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Thursday, October 27, 2005

MEN AT FORTY 

I recently switched from Manhattans (an old law school pal’s recipe – rocks, 2:1 bourbon or rye to sweet vermouth) to Rusty Nails - 3 parts blended scotch, 1 part Drambuie floated on top, rocks. It has been a nice change.

Some colleagues recently took me out to commemorate a milestone birthday, and here was a rare opportunity to talk to a bartender. She was early 20s, cute, perky, tattoos, etc., and admirably well versed on the classics. She had respectable formulas for Manhattans and Rusty Nails down pat, and even said the kids today order them with some frequency.

But the most popular cocktail among the 20s set is apparently the Jager Bomb. It’s Red Bull in a pint glass with a shot glass of Jagermeister dropped into it, to be chugged.

A sense of peace and acceptance descended, and I recalled a poem of Donald Justice --

Men at forty
Learn to close softly
The doors to rooms they will not be
Coming back to.

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

SHE SAYS: I GUESS TEAM AMERICA IS A BIT FUNNIER THAN THE THREE STOOGES 

I'm glad I saw Team America the other day but the Warrior Monk correctly reveals that he enjoyed more than I did. Barfing humor, like fart pride, is a concept that eludes me. Even puppet barfing. Nor does puppet sex do anything for me, laugh-wise. Hackneyed romantic scenes are only slightly less boring when performed by marionettes than real (allegedly) actors. In fact, as parodies of action-adventure movies go, I much prefer True Lies to Team America.

So, why didn't I hate it? The linguistics. In scenes set in Paris and South America the puppets exclaim in foreign languages -- but restricted to the few phrases that we ugly America are familiar with ("Sacre Bleu!"). But my favorite is the pretend Arabic spoken by the terrorists and the Team America heroes:
Hero: Bak. Derk-derk-Allah. Derka derka, Mohammed Jihad. Baka sherpa-sherpa. Abaka-la.
Terrorist: Ohhh! Derka derka derka!
[Allows hero into terrorist hideout]
Unlike most earworms, for some reason I like the sound of "Derka derka derka! [pause] Mohammed."

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

OH DEAR 

The four year just announced "we're going to have ho and tell tomorrow!"

Monday, October 17, 2005

I TOO, DON'T RECALL 

It's awfully hard to remember why anyone cares other than where there's smoke there might be some fire. I'm talking about the Valerie Flame (Hah!)/CIA operative leak scandal from the last century (or so it seems).

So New York Times reporter Judith Miller finished her three month jail stint for refusing to testify about it (after VP Cheney's chief of staff assured her that yes he really did mean it last year when he said it was OK for her to testify) and finally ta daa! her answer to the grand jury's questioning: "I simply could not recall where that came from."

Where's there's such weirdness, there must be more to come.

And I've found it, with a sneak preview of Karl Rove's testimony:
All right, rat-brains, I’m coming clean. Sure, I gave the reporters clearance to talk about me years ago, and I’ve testified a whole bunch of times, but I was holding back the really good stuff. This time I’m going to spill the beans…on Mrs. Weinstein.
I may have to go back and figure out what the deal is after all.

Mrs. Weinstein is, of course, a sock puppet.

Sunday, October 09, 2005

GRADE INFLATION 

Scene: breakfast table

Dad: Do you want to work on your letters?
Four-Year-Old: Sure.

Dad: [Pointing the first letter in a newspaper headline] What's this?
Four-Year-Old: Two!

Dad: Well no, but that was close. It's the letter "S."
Four-Year-Old: Do it again!

Dad: Uh, OK. [Pointing at the same letter] What's this?
Four-Year-Old: Six!

Saturday, October 08, 2005

I SCREAM YOU SCREAM PART II 

Turns out ice cream isn't the only offensive kids' treat out there: toy pigs are the latest threat.

Workers in the benefits department at Dudley Council, West Midlands, were told to remove or cover up all pig-related items, including toys, porcelain figures, calendars and even a tissue box featuring Winnie the Pooh and Piglet.

Bosses acted after a Muslim complained about pig-shaped stress relievers delivered to the council in the run-up to the Islamic festival of Ramadan.

...

Councillor Mahbubur Rahman, a practising Muslim, backed the ban. He said: “It’s a tolerance of people’s beliefs.”

Well, I believe suicide bombing is offensive. I now expect all bombers and bomber-related items to be removed or covered up.

I'm waiting...

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

WORDS TO THE WISE 

Some travelling tips are timeless:
Never attempt to fire a gun or pistol while on the road ... the careless handling and cocking of the weapon makes nervous people nervous. Don't discuss politics or religion, nor point out places on the road where horrible murders have been committed.
Others are a bit dated:
The best seat inside a stagecoach is the one next to the driver ... you will get less than half the bumps and jars than on any other seat. When any old "sly Elph," who traveled thousands of miles on coaches, offers through sympathy to exchange his back or middle seat with you, don't do it.
Vox Baby reprints a list from 1877.

Saturday, October 01, 2005

WHAT'S NEW PUSSYCAT? 

Another aging songsmith has taken a courageous and unusual stand against President Bush: Burt Bacharach. Burt's new album, to be released in a month, finally allows the king of cheese to speak out:
"I had to express myself, not only musically but lyrically," Bacharach says. "It was time for me to ask, 'Who are these people who are taking control of our lives and how do we stop the violence?'
All I can say is, it's about time someone in the music biz asked these questions. They're all such administration apologists. It takes an old-timer to truly buck the system.

But I can do without all the bawling:
There's no doubt that At This Time is a departure, a deeply-felt and personal statement. Among other things, it features the sound of the old smoothie actually breaking down and weeping, while talking about his children on "Where Did it Go?" He has four children, a 39-year-old daughter by the actress Angie Dickinson, a 19-year-old son by Carole Bayer Sager, the songwriter he married in 1982, and two young children with his fourth wife, Jane Hansen. He sings heart-rendingly about the world he's bequeathing to them. "I recorded the song live," he says, "in front of an orchestra, and yes, I was very moved, I was in tears." Does he really fear for his kids' future? "Yes I do. It's not getting any better, is it? I don't want my 19-year-old boy going into the army. I love these little kids. They understand how passionate I am."
I have this thing about crybabies, you see. Unless they actually are babies.