It's been a crazy two weeks. I'm so far behind in this journal.
I'll try to catch up through last Friday.
Last Friday, my husband Thomas Friedman broke with the "New York Times." Thomas Friedman is calling it his "Jane Fonda moment."
Well, he's calling it his "moment like that actress." Ever since she "block-blocked" him, Thomas Friedman refers to her as "the actress."
"Block-blocked" meaning when she was holding on to the number one spot on the "New York Times" bestseller list with her book "My Life So Far" while his brand new book, "My Head Is Fat", was left to linger lower on the chart.
"Block-blocked" him from penning an instant chart topper. He's still very bitter about it. For Thomas Friedman, a grudge, like his overhanging gut, isn't something easily gotten rid of.
But he's convinced he's now like "that actress." That he's done an act of bravery.
"Watch and see, Betinna," he said to me, "I'll look as good as 'that actress' 20 years from now."
Really?
Because he doesn't look as good now.
But here's how it started. Thursday morning, I left for classes early. I did have a test but mainly didn't enjoy sitting with him at the table, trying to eat my breakfast, while he plopped one of his clown feet on the table and began cleaning underneath his toe nails with a fork.
Shortly after I left, he tried on his new foundation garmets and then a mumu dress (white) that he tries to swear is just like one Marilyn Monroe wore in a film but he can never remember the name of the film and stalls when you press him on it.
He'd used gym socks to round out his "bosom" He just focused on size and ended up with "lumpy" breasts. He applied his make up and then put on his wig.
Normally, he then plops himself in front of the TV with his "Saved By the Bell" DVDs. But he was so pleased with his lipstick, that he just had to show someone.
Not having any friends left, that left him with either waiting around until I came home at the end of the day or modeling the 'new look' for his co-workers.
Unwisely, he elected to go into the office.
As I've pointed out many times before, Marilyn Monroe didn't have a mustache. But that was far from the only problem my pudgy husband Thomas Friedman had when it came to dressing up like Marilyn Monroe.
He swears the cab driver (who, naturally, he also swears is from China and grew up reading all of his columns and, naturally, clipped some -- which he carries around in his wallet in case he ever meets Thomas Friedman) thought he was Marilyn Monroe. He finally had to tell the Chinese man that he wasn't Marilyn Monroe because he was so convincing.
At which point, he immediately pulled columns he'd clipped out of his wallet and began praising Thomas Friedman for his "insight," "wisdom" and "charisma."
Some people might believe that -- I mean some actually believe his columns so they'll swallow anything. I chose to let it pass because, when I later found him, he was enraged.
What enraged him?
Gail Collins and Bill Keller.
The way he tells it, David Brooks also thought Thomas Friedman was Marilyn Monroe. David Brooks was convinced and taken in and, appparently, taken with MM.
As David Brooks flirted suggestively with Thomas/Marilyn, Gail Collins had a snit fit.
Supposedly, Gail Collins marched over, grabbed a sock-full of boob and insisted, "They aren't even real. Mine are!" To which David Brooks asked, "Where are they?" causing him and Thomas Friedman to burst into giggle spasms.
Offended, Gail screamed for Bill Keller and insisted that she couldn't have anyone on the op-ed pages with bigger breasts than her's (does that mean John Tierney is fired?) so Bill Keller berated Thomas Friedman for "showing Gail up, showing Gail what a real woman really looks like."
Thomas Friedman said he stormed out of there.
Now I spoke with Bob Herbert because I called to compliment him on Monday's column and his first words were, "I did not laugh at him. I felt sorry for him, went into my office, closed the door and didn't come out until the whole thing was over."
The whole thing?
As Bob Herbert tells it, Gail Collins thought Thomas Friedman was in costume for a column he planned to write about how trans-national was similar to transvestites. She was actually excited and had unearther a mother lode of information about transvestites in the 19th century. She went to go get her research as David Brooks came over.
"My, you're a big girl," Brooks reportedly said to a sheepisly giggling Thomas Friedman.
As Gail returned, she found Thomas Friedman singing "My Heart Belongs to Daddy" to an increasingly uncomfortable David Brooks.
"What the hell is going on here?" she snarled.
"Don't be a jealous hefer," Thomas Friedman snapped.
Gail apparently tore off his wig and told him, "Keep your hands off the Brooks."
Insisting that he couldn't help it if men found him desirable and "Gimmie back my wig!" with a few swear words tossed in for good measure, Thomas Friedman grabbed Gail's hair (which really isn't a wig) and tugged hard.
A fight ensued and who knew Gail had a mean right hook? Mealy Mouthed Baby, if not Million Dollar.
Thomas Friedman was on the floor screeching in pain when Bill Keller wandered out of his office asking, "What happened? Did Arthur increase our co-pay again?"
Seeing Thomas Friedman and his get-up, Bill told him the outfit was disruptive to the office and that he couldn't wear it to work again.
"Nobody pushes Thomas Friedman around!" he shouted as he left amidst vows of revenge.
Which is how he came to write Friday's column, "Time for Plan B." See, the "New York Times" had planned to call for a withdrawal of troops from Iraq when "the time is right." Which Gail had estimated would be 2012. She's even decided on a title which seemed strangely familiar though she swore it had come to her during a book club meeting with her prayer group ("Should This Marriage Be Saved?"). Thomas Friedman decided to beat them by six years.
He couldn't stop laughing at the thought of Gail missing several weeks worth of "Sex in the City" in syndicated repeats as she desparately attempted to fill the hole left in her editorial schedule.
It was a bitter laughter as she'd never returned his wig.
Thomas Friedman always has to have the last word, but usually he's comfortable letting someone else have the last laugh -- he is, after all, Thomas Friedman. But the wig was important to him. Not having it drove home the concept of "loss" to him resulting in that op-ed.
But soon after it ran, he replaced the wig. Then the 'fun' really began but that's for another day.
the new york times
thomas friedman
thomas friedman is a great man
gail collins
the common ills
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Thomas Friedman focuses on foundation
At breakfast this morning, my husband Thomas Friedman slapped page A23 down on the table. His column.
I'd been lucky. I'd been spared his columns of late due to dubbing him The Whore of Babbling. He'd moped. He'd cursed. He'd weeped. He 'accidentally' kicked me in bed repeatedly until I "accidentally" grabbed his "thinking orbs."
He whimpered about that for days. Told me I should feel guilty. Me? All I know is my shins look a lot better without bruises.
So there I was, all that time later, wading through "A Choice for the Rogues."
"I didn't embarrass myself," he crowed triumphantly as I finished reading.
"No," I replied, "you didn't embarrass yourself too much. You left out the whole back story but the babbles were kept to a minimum and, for you, the hate speech was practically restrained. And you've ignored what the administration has done to Iraq, of course."
But apparently a day removed from town square laughing stock isn't its own reward because the whole point of writing a column in a way he thought I would approve (I didn't approve), was because he wanted my help picking out foundation garments. My help?
I get ahead of myself.
The need for foundation garments resulted from two things -- the pounds he's packed on and Simon Rosenberg's latest "transformation."
Apparently Simon Rosenberg quickly burned through his Kate Jackson stage. Farrah had probably lasted the longest -- well, she did have the most posters. Then he'd moved on to Cheryl Ladd and then Kate Jackson.
Jaclyn Smith?
Silly me, I didn't grasp that cross dressers shied away from K-Mart fashions. Shelly Hack? Apparently the Charlie fragance isn't classy or feminine enough for bulky men trying to pass as women. Apparently any de classe factor from hawking time shares in Vegas is mitigated by heaving your breasts throughout the schilling which is why Simon Rosenberg is ending out his homage to "Charlie's Angels" by being Tanya Roberts.
Though she's the blink-and-you-miss-her "Charlie's Angel," she's apparently had staying power for Simon Rosenberg. He's got a blonde wig that looks like straw and, once he plops it on, he's heaving and bouncing. All the other members of the "ladies" of the War Paint Council are seeing red over the effects foundation garmets have had on his otherwise pudgy, blobby frame.
So there we were at Nordstrom, and Thomas Friedman found the most "delightful" gaucho pants.
"Look, Betinna," he said excitedly holding the dark pants up, "only $99!"
Only $99? This from the man who regularly made me wear sheets at the start of our marriage and told people they were saris?
"Gauchos?" I asked crinkling my nose. "Are you trying to be Kate Jackson or Marilyn Monroe?"
He frowned but moved on.
I reminded him we were looking for undergarments. Several stores later, we ended up at Daphne's which specialized in "Plus Sizes." But Thomas Friedman wasn't comfortable with the clothes, the street (Amsterdam) or the sales people.
Many, many hours later we ended up in Lynbrook where Thomas Friedman ended up finding what he needed. A Body Briefer in blush, with waist-trimming and tummy-controlling panels. He just barely found fit the largest size, 50. I told him he didn't need a F-cup size but he said Marilyn would. I shuddered picturing all the gym socks I'd be washing. But we were done. We could leave the dressing room.
Once we did and the sales lady came over, I realized why I'd had to accompany him to the stores and to the dressing rooms: I was his beard.
I was his beard.
He was attempting to pretend the foundation garment was for me.
Now I am not a tiny woman, but I'm not a large woman either.
The sales lady wasn't buying it.
"Did it fit, sir?" she asked Thomas Friedman.
"It fit her," Thomas Friedman said pointing to me, "very well."
The woman snickered but rang up the purchase. Thomas Friedman stopped her and decided "she" (meaning me) needs two more in blush and three in white. I think he was just desparate to avoid going through the routine again.
As soon as we paid, Thomas Friedman shoved the sack at me, saying, "I hope you're happy now."
He rolled his eyes at the sales lady who wasn't buying any of it.
As soon as we were out of the store, Thomas Friedman grabbed the sack from me and was all excited, babbling on about, "In your face, Simon Rosenberg!"
I told him that a lady should try to be gracious and he seemed appropriately chastisized.
I tried not to think about the immediate future -- either him modeling them at home or his next column.
thomas friedman
the new york times
thomas friedman is a great man
the common ills
I'd been lucky. I'd been spared his columns of late due to dubbing him The Whore of Babbling. He'd moped. He'd cursed. He'd weeped. He 'accidentally' kicked me in bed repeatedly until I "accidentally" grabbed his "thinking orbs."
He whimpered about that for days. Told me I should feel guilty. Me? All I know is my shins look a lot better without bruises.
So there I was, all that time later, wading through "A Choice for the Rogues."
"I didn't embarrass myself," he crowed triumphantly as I finished reading.
"No," I replied, "you didn't embarrass yourself too much. You left out the whole back story but the babbles were kept to a minimum and, for you, the hate speech was practically restrained. And you've ignored what the administration has done to Iraq, of course."
But apparently a day removed from town square laughing stock isn't its own reward because the whole point of writing a column in a way he thought I would approve (I didn't approve), was because he wanted my help picking out foundation garments. My help?
I get ahead of myself.
The need for foundation garments resulted from two things -- the pounds he's packed on and Simon Rosenberg's latest "transformation."
Apparently Simon Rosenberg quickly burned through his Kate Jackson stage. Farrah had probably lasted the longest -- well, she did have the most posters. Then he'd moved on to Cheryl Ladd and then Kate Jackson.
Jaclyn Smith?
Silly me, I didn't grasp that cross dressers shied away from K-Mart fashions. Shelly Hack? Apparently the Charlie fragance isn't classy or feminine enough for bulky men trying to pass as women. Apparently any de classe factor from hawking time shares in Vegas is mitigated by heaving your breasts throughout the schilling which is why Simon Rosenberg is ending out his homage to "Charlie's Angels" by being Tanya Roberts.
Though she's the blink-and-you-miss-her "Charlie's Angel," she's apparently had staying power for Simon Rosenberg. He's got a blonde wig that looks like straw and, once he plops it on, he's heaving and bouncing. All the other members of the "ladies" of the War Paint Council are seeing red over the effects foundation garmets have had on his otherwise pudgy, blobby frame.
So there we were at Nordstrom, and Thomas Friedman found the most "delightful" gaucho pants.
"Look, Betinna," he said excitedly holding the dark pants up, "only $99!"
Only $99? This from the man who regularly made me wear sheets at the start of our marriage and told people they were saris?
"Gauchos?" I asked crinkling my nose. "Are you trying to be Kate Jackson or Marilyn Monroe?"
He frowned but moved on.
I reminded him we were looking for undergarments. Several stores later, we ended up at Daphne's which specialized in "Plus Sizes." But Thomas Friedman wasn't comfortable with the clothes, the street (Amsterdam) or the sales people.
Many, many hours later we ended up in Lynbrook where Thomas Friedman ended up finding what he needed. A Body Briefer in blush, with waist-trimming and tummy-controlling panels. He just barely found fit the largest size, 50. I told him he didn't need a F-cup size but he said Marilyn would. I shuddered picturing all the gym socks I'd be washing. But we were done. We could leave the dressing room.
Once we did and the sales lady came over, I realized why I'd had to accompany him to the stores and to the dressing rooms: I was his beard.
I was his beard.
He was attempting to pretend the foundation garment was for me.
Now I am not a tiny woman, but I'm not a large woman either.
The sales lady wasn't buying it.
"Did it fit, sir?" she asked Thomas Friedman.
"It fit her," Thomas Friedman said pointing to me, "very well."
The woman snickered but rang up the purchase. Thomas Friedman stopped her and decided "she" (meaning me) needs two more in blush and three in white. I think he was just desparate to avoid going through the routine again.
As soon as we paid, Thomas Friedman shoved the sack at me, saying, "I hope you're happy now."
He rolled his eyes at the sales lady who wasn't buying any of it.
As soon as we were out of the store, Thomas Friedman grabbed the sack from me and was all excited, babbling on about, "In your face, Simon Rosenberg!"
I told him that a lady should try to be gracious and he seemed appropriately chastisized.
I tried not to think about the immediate future -- either him modeling them at home or his next column.
thomas friedman
the new york times
thomas friedman is a great man
the common ills
Friday, July 21, 2006
Thomas Friedman says, "Drop the five on the dresser before moving to the bed"
There were two not so surprising conclusions to a news-bit in my husband Thomas Friedman's Friday column "Order vs. Disorder." The news-bit was that "Israeli telephone company, Bezeq, was installing high-speed Internet lines in bomb shelters". The not so surprising conclusions of Thomas Friedman?
His first snap conclusion was that this was "no ordinary war." I read that and thought, "Blow, blowhard, blow." It never is for Thomas Friedman who gets giddy from watching Hogan's Heroes. It's a mini-catch phrase for him and it all happened when he decided to listen to my "The Best of Sade" CD. I tried to correct him, to tell him Sade was singing "love" not "war" -- "This is no ordinary love, no ordinary love . . ." But with a War Hawk is there really a difference?
In better times, Thomas Friedman would leave me little notes: "Betinna we are out of Nutter Butters and canned cheese." He'd draw a frownie face and then write "I" and "you" with a little mushroom cloud in between. I took offense at that before realizing that "I NUKE YOU" is a War Hawk mating call.
So "war" for "love" was not a surprising substitute.
His second snap conclusion was that is was a sign "of Israeli resilence, a boundless ability to adapt to any kind of warfare." "That they start" was left unsaid. As was the fact that, if Palestinians controlled the traffic to their own land, if their borders and traffic weren't controlled by Israel even during what passes for "normal" in the continued occupation of their land by Israel, they might have the money to show some of that "resilence" because, let's be honest, the sign that Thomas Friedman misses is the very real one: money. Money as power.
Israel always has that.
And like a hooker two Johns short of a night, Thomas Friedman has to cozy up yet again for fear of getting pimp-slapped by his employers, the "New York Times".
Which had me wondering if he had a list with prices?
For one hundred bucks he'll sell your war one time.
For daily payments of one hundred dollars, he'll sell it repeatedly.
For a thousand, he'll piss off half the world while selling your war.
For two thousand, he'll stroke you war while you stroke his.
That sort of thing. Of course, all money must be provided up front and there's probably some disclaimer at the bottom of the list which reads: "I don't kiss on the lips." Which would be no surprise to anyone who knows his work since, it's obvious, he prefers to kiss ass.
The real difference between a sex worker and Thomas Friedman is that a sex worker doesn't keep a body count of fatalities.
With the continuous daily chaos and violence in Iraq, you might think Thomas Friedman would feel some shame? However, professional War Hawk traffic in the loss of lives so who has time for shame?
thomas friedman
the new york times
thomas friedman is a great man
the common ills
His first snap conclusion was that this was "no ordinary war." I read that and thought, "Blow, blowhard, blow." It never is for Thomas Friedman who gets giddy from watching Hogan's Heroes. It's a mini-catch phrase for him and it all happened when he decided to listen to my "The Best of Sade" CD. I tried to correct him, to tell him Sade was singing "love" not "war" -- "This is no ordinary love, no ordinary love . . ." But with a War Hawk is there really a difference?
In better times, Thomas Friedman would leave me little notes: "Betinna we are out of Nutter Butters and canned cheese." He'd draw a frownie face and then write "I" and "you" with a little mushroom cloud in between. I took offense at that before realizing that "I NUKE YOU" is a War Hawk mating call.
So "war" for "love" was not a surprising substitute.
His second snap conclusion was that is was a sign "of Israeli resilence, a boundless ability to adapt to any kind of warfare." "That they start" was left unsaid. As was the fact that, if Palestinians controlled the traffic to their own land, if their borders and traffic weren't controlled by Israel even during what passes for "normal" in the continued occupation of their land by Israel, they might have the money to show some of that "resilence" because, let's be honest, the sign that Thomas Friedman misses is the very real one: money. Money as power.
Israel always has that.
And like a hooker two Johns short of a night, Thomas Friedman has to cozy up yet again for fear of getting pimp-slapped by his employers, the "New York Times".
Which had me wondering if he had a list with prices?
For one hundred bucks he'll sell your war one time.
For daily payments of one hundred dollars, he'll sell it repeatedly.
For a thousand, he'll piss off half the world while selling your war.
For two thousand, he'll stroke you war while you stroke his.
That sort of thing. Of course, all money must be provided up front and there's probably some disclaimer at the bottom of the list which reads: "I don't kiss on the lips." Which would be no surprise to anyone who knows his work since, it's obvious, he prefers to kiss ass.
The real difference between a sex worker and Thomas Friedman is that a sex worker doesn't keep a body count of fatalities.
With the continuous daily chaos and violence in Iraq, you might think Thomas Friedman would feel some shame? However, professional War Hawk traffic in the loss of lives so who has time for shame?
thomas friedman
the new york times
thomas friedman is a great man
the common ills
Thursday, July 13, 2006
The War Paint Council
My life is hell. Sheer hell.
Gail Collins demanded to see Thomas Friedman's airline tickets and travel receipts.
One too many "creative" columns about Peru and even Gail gets suspicious.
Of course Thomas Friedman blames me. He insists I tipped off Gail.
Did she need that much tipping?
When you're supposed to be in Peru and you keep dashing to the office thinking you might have left a "Saved By the Bell" videotape there, maybe even Gail can clue in on the fact that you're not, in fact, in Peru?
So he got "benched" Wednesday. The nation's gain was my loss.
I was cutting class in an attempt to clean up. Since the week before, no matter what I've tried, I've been unable to get make up stains off the couch, off the carpet, off the walls, even off the glasses and cups. Don't the "ladies" grasp that part of dress up should be to look like a lady?
Thomas Friedman shrieked at the Fourth when a big glop of ketchup slid from his burger to his white dress.
I will never forget Simon Rosenberg (who actually does make a very convincing Cheryl Ladd) consoling him and saying that he bet Marilyn Monroe had many "women's moments" that marred her white outfits.
That's when I packed it in and headed to bed. It was eleven-thirty in the morning. I left ASAP for college the next morning. When I got home, I surveyed the damage and it was a nightmare that Comet, Windex and assorted other cleansers have been no use on.
So I'd decided this Wednesday, I'd cut class and just bleach everything.
Little did I realize that Gail had benched Thomas Friedman and that the "Lady" War Hawk Auxilary was having their "War Paint Council."
There was Armstrong Williams, still small-talking up No Child Left Behind even though they stopped cutting him a check on that long ago, dressed as Leona Helmsley. There was Simon Rosenberg trying on the Kate Jackson look. (That may have been his own natural look. But since he'd gone from Farrah to Cheryl, I assumed he was working his way through "Charlie's Angels.")
And there was Thomas Friedman, wrapped in our pink shower curtain. He really pigged out on the Fourth and none of his clothes fit him. He was insisting to everyone that it was like Marilyn's dress in "Gentleman Prefer Blondes" but I saw Robert Novack snickering.
I explained that I was there to clean and he tore me apart for running to Gail (whom I haven't spoken to in ages) and announced that they had an already scheduled meeting so my cleaning was on hold but since he'd talked Novak into updating his look ("finally"), if I wanted to stay, I could play Beulah to Novak's Mae West. I passed.
From the kitchen I could hear him bad mouthing me and saying Gail was buying all the sentences like "What is so striking about the rain forest, when viewed up close, is what an incredibly violent place it is -- with trees, plants and vines all struggling with each other for sunlight, and animals, insects and birds doing the same for food" -- before I snitched. Uh, Thomas Friedman, I believe The Discovery Channel is on Gail's approved viewing list.
I could hear Robert Novak pouting that he'd dropped Pickford and no one would help him out by being his maid. He attempted to rope in Armstrong Williams. Armstrong said he wasn't playing a Black maid and that Novak needed to ask someone Black. Novak reminded Armstrong that he was Black which seemed to come as a shock to Armstrong.
"I don't belive it!" he howled. "Get me a mirror!"
Immediately, I heard the sound of thousands of compacts opening.
I heard two squirts and then smelled Chanel No. 5 -- Thomas Friedman was calling the meeting to the order.
First they took care of old business which mainly revolved around themselves. (Robert Novak was convinced that he'd finally cleared his name -- of course, he was convinced he looked like Mae West in that outfit as well.) Thomas Friedman being Thomas Friedman, he spoke the longest about himself, cursing me because he just knew I was secretly destroying his wig and pleading for everyone to be on the lookout for a really good Monroe wig.
Then the issue moved to how to silence the left. Simon, ever the flatterer, even in that hideous orange poncho, asked Thomas Friedman to explain again how to deal with pesky reporters?
"Talk over them!" Thomas Friedman howled. "Just talk over them!"
There was loud agreement with that which ended with Novak crying out, "'CrossFire' lives on!"
"That's how you take care of the Left," Thomas Friedman said firmly.
"What about others?" wondered Simon nervously. "Like that . . . is the word 'Afro-American' now? Bob Herbert. He's gotten rather . . . uppity in print lately."
"I agree," insisted Armstrong Williams. "Ever since they got 'The Jeffersons' on TV, those people have never been satisfied."
"Well, they really don't get on TV," Robert Novak said. "I'll tell you who we have to worry about -- Nicky K."
Thomas Friedman shrieked with laughter.
"Nicky K! He can't decide if he's more concerned about Darfur or North Korea from one moment to the next! He's like a chicken with his head cut off!"
Thomas Friedman was having a coughing fit, from laughing too hard.
Simon agreed that the left lacked focus but pointed out Nicky K's recent "strong" column which seemed to have "emboldened certain elements."
"'Don't Turn Us Into Poodles'?" Thomas Friedman asked his voice dripping with contempt.
He imitated a dog whimpering.
"Please," Thomas Friedman sighed, "he couldn't even go with something as strong as 'We Aren't Poodles,' instead it's a plea: 'Don't Turn Us Into Poodles' and did you see the way the left lapped up that weak-ass sop online?"
They all chuckled at that and agreed that the 'shout outs' for that silly nonsense was a sign of how truly weak the left was.
"Now is our time," Thomas Friedman declared. "We need to talk 'democracy' up. If we can continue to do that on the Middle East, the Marines will be landing on the shores of Venezuela in no time!"
"But can we really do that?" wondered Armstrong. "I don't know that most people buy into that 'democracy' scam anymore."
I sensed that Armstrong would shortly be off the "Ladies Who Lunch" list -- even if he didn't.
Thomas Friedman said of course they could and whenever someone was unsure how to portray another nation, just think about what the US does and then accuse the other country of that.
With that, the meeting was called to an end. They had matinee tickets to "Mamma Mia" and Novak offered that Armstrong should go on down to the lobby and hail a taxi since he looked the most "matronly" dressed as Leona. Armstrong whined that at least he had dressed up in what, I'm sure, was a dig at the poncho and styleless dark wig Simon was wearing. But he left.
As soon as he did, the War Paint Council got down to the serious business: dishing.
"He's gone softer than Dexy!" exclaimed Thomas Friedman.
"Maybe we should wave some cash at him? That tends to stiffen his spine," suggested Simon.
"Wave cash at him? Does he look like a stripper in that Helmsley get up? I would have been more impressed if he'd come us Sherman Helmsley but then, he doesn't seem to get that he is Black," sneered Novak.
"All I know," said Thomas Friedman, "is that a 12-year-old girl couldn't pull off that flowery scent he's wearing. There are standards."
Everyone agreed and agreed it was time to kick Armstrong out of the club.
Thomas Friedman called, "Betinna, my wrap!"
And then they were off.
Reading over a draft of his column for tomorrow, I see that he's doing just as he said he would, repeating the lies of 'democracy.' He may convince people. I don't know how many. Probably more than the crowd at "Mamma Mia" who must have laughed at him because he came home in a bad mood. Of course, by Thursday, he was rewriting it, saying he was the hit of the audience, that more people were watching him than the show, that everyone wanted his autograph.
I gave him a look.
"It really happened, Betinna," he said rather crossly.
"And where was that? Peru?" I asked ducking from the thrown coffee cup I, rightly, expected.
thomas friedman
the new york times
thomas friedman is a great man
the common ills
the third estate sunday review
mikey likes it
Gail Collins demanded to see Thomas Friedman's airline tickets and travel receipts.
One too many "creative" columns about Peru and even Gail gets suspicious.
Of course Thomas Friedman blames me. He insists I tipped off Gail.
Did she need that much tipping?
When you're supposed to be in Peru and you keep dashing to the office thinking you might have left a "Saved By the Bell" videotape there, maybe even Gail can clue in on the fact that you're not, in fact, in Peru?
So he got "benched" Wednesday. The nation's gain was my loss.
I was cutting class in an attempt to clean up. Since the week before, no matter what I've tried, I've been unable to get make up stains off the couch, off the carpet, off the walls, even off the glasses and cups. Don't the "ladies" grasp that part of dress up should be to look like a lady?
Thomas Friedman shrieked at the Fourth when a big glop of ketchup slid from his burger to his white dress.
I will never forget Simon Rosenberg (who actually does make a very convincing Cheryl Ladd) consoling him and saying that he bet Marilyn Monroe had many "women's moments" that marred her white outfits.
That's when I packed it in and headed to bed. It was eleven-thirty in the morning. I left ASAP for college the next morning. When I got home, I surveyed the damage and it was a nightmare that Comet, Windex and assorted other cleansers have been no use on.
So I'd decided this Wednesday, I'd cut class and just bleach everything.
Little did I realize that Gail had benched Thomas Friedman and that the "Lady" War Hawk Auxilary was having their "War Paint Council."
There was Armstrong Williams, still small-talking up No Child Left Behind even though they stopped cutting him a check on that long ago, dressed as Leona Helmsley. There was Simon Rosenberg trying on the Kate Jackson look. (That may have been his own natural look. But since he'd gone from Farrah to Cheryl, I assumed he was working his way through "Charlie's Angels.")
And there was Thomas Friedman, wrapped in our pink shower curtain. He really pigged out on the Fourth and none of his clothes fit him. He was insisting to everyone that it was like Marilyn's dress in "Gentleman Prefer Blondes" but I saw Robert Novack snickering.
I explained that I was there to clean and he tore me apart for running to Gail (whom I haven't spoken to in ages) and announced that they had an already scheduled meeting so my cleaning was on hold but since he'd talked Novak into updating his look ("finally"), if I wanted to stay, I could play Beulah to Novak's Mae West. I passed.
From the kitchen I could hear him bad mouthing me and saying Gail was buying all the sentences like "What is so striking about the rain forest, when viewed up close, is what an incredibly violent place it is -- with trees, plants and vines all struggling with each other for sunlight, and animals, insects and birds doing the same for food" -- before I snitched. Uh, Thomas Friedman, I believe The Discovery Channel is on Gail's approved viewing list.
I could hear Robert Novak pouting that he'd dropped Pickford and no one would help him out by being his maid. He attempted to rope in Armstrong Williams. Armstrong said he wasn't playing a Black maid and that Novak needed to ask someone Black. Novak reminded Armstrong that he was Black which seemed to come as a shock to Armstrong.
"I don't belive it!" he howled. "Get me a mirror!"
Immediately, I heard the sound of thousands of compacts opening.
I heard two squirts and then smelled Chanel No. 5 -- Thomas Friedman was calling the meeting to the order.
First they took care of old business which mainly revolved around themselves. (Robert Novak was convinced that he'd finally cleared his name -- of course, he was convinced he looked like Mae West in that outfit as well.) Thomas Friedman being Thomas Friedman, he spoke the longest about himself, cursing me because he just knew I was secretly destroying his wig and pleading for everyone to be on the lookout for a really good Monroe wig.
Then the issue moved to how to silence the left. Simon, ever the flatterer, even in that hideous orange poncho, asked Thomas Friedman to explain again how to deal with pesky reporters?
"Talk over them!" Thomas Friedman howled. "Just talk over them!"
There was loud agreement with that which ended with Novak crying out, "'CrossFire' lives on!"
"That's how you take care of the Left," Thomas Friedman said firmly.
"What about others?" wondered Simon nervously. "Like that . . . is the word 'Afro-American' now? Bob Herbert. He's gotten rather . . . uppity in print lately."
"I agree," insisted Armstrong Williams. "Ever since they got 'The Jeffersons' on TV, those people have never been satisfied."
"Well, they really don't get on TV," Robert Novak said. "I'll tell you who we have to worry about -- Nicky K."
Thomas Friedman shrieked with laughter.
"Nicky K! He can't decide if he's more concerned about Darfur or North Korea from one moment to the next! He's like a chicken with his head cut off!"
Thomas Friedman was having a coughing fit, from laughing too hard.
Simon agreed that the left lacked focus but pointed out Nicky K's recent "strong" column which seemed to have "emboldened certain elements."
"'Don't Turn Us Into Poodles'?" Thomas Friedman asked his voice dripping with contempt.
He imitated a dog whimpering.
"Please," Thomas Friedman sighed, "he couldn't even go with something as strong as 'We Aren't Poodles,' instead it's a plea: 'Don't Turn Us Into Poodles' and did you see the way the left lapped up that weak-ass sop online?"
They all chuckled at that and agreed that the 'shout outs' for that silly nonsense was a sign of how truly weak the left was.
"Now is our time," Thomas Friedman declared. "We need to talk 'democracy' up. If we can continue to do that on the Middle East, the Marines will be landing on the shores of Venezuela in no time!"
"But can we really do that?" wondered Armstrong. "I don't know that most people buy into that 'democracy' scam anymore."
I sensed that Armstrong would shortly be off the "Ladies Who Lunch" list -- even if he didn't.
Thomas Friedman said of course they could and whenever someone was unsure how to portray another nation, just think about what the US does and then accuse the other country of that.
With that, the meeting was called to an end. They had matinee tickets to "Mamma Mia" and Novak offered that Armstrong should go on down to the lobby and hail a taxi since he looked the most "matronly" dressed as Leona. Armstrong whined that at least he had dressed up in what, I'm sure, was a dig at the poncho and styleless dark wig Simon was wearing. But he left.
As soon as he did, the War Paint Council got down to the serious business: dishing.
"He's gone softer than Dexy!" exclaimed Thomas Friedman.
"Maybe we should wave some cash at him? That tends to stiffen his spine," suggested Simon.
"Wave cash at him? Does he look like a stripper in that Helmsley get up? I would have been more impressed if he'd come us Sherman Helmsley but then, he doesn't seem to get that he is Black," sneered Novak.
"All I know," said Thomas Friedman, "is that a 12-year-old girl couldn't pull off that flowery scent he's wearing. There are standards."
Everyone agreed and agreed it was time to kick Armstrong out of the club.
Thomas Friedman called, "Betinna, my wrap!"
And then they were off.
Reading over a draft of his column for tomorrow, I see that he's doing just as he said he would, repeating the lies of 'democracy.' He may convince people. I don't know how many. Probably more than the crowd at "Mamma Mia" who must have laughed at him because he came home in a bad mood. Of course, by Thursday, he was rewriting it, saying he was the hit of the audience, that more people were watching him than the show, that everyone wanted his autograph.
I gave him a look.
"It really happened, Betinna," he said rather crossly.
"And where was that? Peru?" I asked ducking from the thrown coffee cup I, rightly, expected.
thomas friedman
the new york times
thomas friedman is a great man
the common ills
the third estate sunday review
mikey likes it
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
The party is mere hours away, here's some news
Thomas Friedman is fussing with his wig and in a tizzy over whether to wear the white dress (like in the "Seven Year Itch") or the pink satin number (which looks only a little like the dress in "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes" but the sash does minimize his hips). I'm trying to pretend like I'm still reading the paper so I don't get dragged into the middle of it. What must have I done in the life I can't remember to end up in this hell?
democracy now, pete seeger, iraq, kpfa, the morning show, sandra lupien, cindy sheehan, the washington post, ellen knickmeyer, codepink, steven green, steven d. green, nora barrows-friedman, dahr jamail, mark manning, flashpoints, janet coleman, cat radio cafe, vinnie burrows, the kpfa evening news, robert parry, why are we back in iraq, ron brynaert, thomas friedman is a great man, mikey likes it, the daily jot, cedrics big mix, trinas kitchen, kats korner, like maria said paz, sex and politics and screeds and attitude, jane kay, wbai, carly simon, playing possum, the new york times, kirk semple, david stout, the third estate sunday review, ruths public radio report, the common ills
Iraq snapshot
Chaos and violence continue. As Dahr Jamail said on Monday's Flashpoints, "It really is horrible to try to keep in context the level of violence . . . Here we are doing it again with no end in sight and I wonder just how long we'll continue doing it? . . . Things are not just staying the same in Iraq, it's getting exponentially worse."
As Sandra Lupien noted on yesterday's KPFA's The Morning Show, former US soldier Steven D. Green was arrested and charged Friday with raping an Iraqi female while he was serving in Iraq and then killing her and three members of her family. The twenty-one-year-old Green was a member of the 101st Airborne Division of the US Army before being discharged with what The New York Times termed a "personality disorder." The BBC notes that Green's next appearance in court will be July 10th. Various press reports note that four others are suspected of involvement but Green has been the only one charged. The Associated Press reports that Minister Hashim Abdul-Rahman al-Shebli, Iraq's justice minister, has "demanded" that the United Nations provide oversight to ensure that those guilty be brought to justice.
Though the United States military has maintained that the rape victime was at least twenty-years-old, reports beginning with Ellen Knickmeyer's (Washington Post) on Monday have placed the female's age much lower. Yesterday, Reuters reported that the mayor of Mahmudiya declared today that the woman "was no more than 16 years old when she was killed along with her parents and young sister".
In the United States, members of CODEPINK, Granny Peace Brigade, Gold Star Families for Peace, United for Peace & Justice and Women for Peace have gathered in DC and are fasting: "While many Americans will be expressing their patriotism via barbeques and fireworks, we'll be fasting in memory of the dead and wounded, and calling for the troops to come home from Iraq."
Yesterday, they gathered in front of the Ghandi statue at 3:00 PM where Cindy Sheehan spoke: "This war is a crime. We represent millions of Americans who withdraw their support from this government." Others participating include Daniel Ellsberg, Susan Sarandon, Sean Penn and Dick Gregory. On yesterday's WBAI's Cat Radio Cafe, Janet Coleman spoke with several members of Granny Peace Brigade about the fast and other actions. Among the women Coleman spoke with was former WBAI programmer Vinnie Burrows who sang a portion of one her songs: "The kids are dying far away in a foreign land/ I must keep on trying, their lives are in our hands."
In Scotland last weekend, members of Military Always Delivers (an activist group like the Billionaires for Bush in the United States) participated in a pro-war march and rally on Saturday. Scotland Independent Media Center reports (text and photos) that many pro-war marches were not in on the prank as members of MAD shouted slogans such as "Cut Welfare, Buy More Bombs!"; "War is the Health of the State"; and "Power Grows out of the Barrel of a Gun" while passing out "deception dollars."
Today, in Iraq, Reuters reports that Raad al-Harith, Iraq's deputy electricity minister, and 19 of his bodyguards were kidnapped in Baghdad. In other violence thus far today, a roadside bomb in Baghdad claimed the lives of at least two police officers and wounded at least four; in Hawija, a mortar attack claimed the lives of at least one and wounded at least two others; and, in Falluja, "[g]unmen wounded a member of the Association of Muslim Scholars."
An upcoming event: Brava Theater, 2789 24th Street, San Francisco, Friday, July 7th, 7:00 pm. (415-647-2822):
Mark Manning will be screening his film Caught in the Crossfire for those interested in knowing the realities on Falluja that Dexy and the other Green Zoners never got around to telling you. Nadia McCaffrey, who lost her son in the Iraq war, will bespeaking as will Dahr Jamail.
To date 2538 American troops have lost their lives in Iraq (official count). And 150 members ofAlpha Company of the 1st Battalion, 178th Infantry are headed for Fort Dix and then Iraq.
Around the globe. The AFP reports that confronted with a direct threat of nuclear strikes, from North Korea, the White House shrugs and White House spokesmodel Tony Snow declares, "It is still deeply hypothetical." However, the Bully Boy demonstrates no reluctance to play Wallflower with Iran. The Associated Press reports "Western powers" are demanding a July 12th dealine for beginning talks and ceasing nuclear enrichment -- after that, it's a nuclear dance off! This despite Seymour Hersh's reporting that "Pentagon planners and other experts" are not in support of Bully Boy's plan to nuke Iran. Korea? Iran? Iran? Korea? Michael R. Gordon's head spins as he attempts to figure out which war is a "go" in order to start marketing his own brand of home-made (war) porn. (Seymour and Shane -- what have you wrought!) And in the occupied terroritories? The 'jokesters' at the Associated Press, reporting on continued armed agression, dub their story "Israel keeps up pressure on Gaza." In the real world, Nora Barrows-Friedman, on KPFA's Flashpoints, noted that over 130,000 Palestinians have been left without water; that sonic booms are being used to terrorize the population throughout the night; that Israeli forces, in the last week, have abducted " one-third of the Palestinian government. No one in the international community has yet expressed any outrage at this or the Palestinian political prisoner's conditions."
In election news in the United States, Robert Parry writes on the campaign "tool" that benefitted the Bush-Cheney campaign in 2004: Osama bin Laden's rush-released video timed to debut four days prior to the election. Though it didn't fly off the shelves at Blockbuster, CIA analysts studying the release came to the judgement that "that bin-Laden was trying to help Bush gain a second term." Meanwhile, professional politician Joe Lieberman, who never met a baby or an ass he couldn't kiss, has thrown down his Zell-Miller-like marker announcing that if he doesn't win his party's nomination (Democratic), he will run as an independent to hold on to his Senate seat. Particularly surprising to Lieberman may be no cries of: "Say it ain't so, Joe!" This as fellow Democratic War Hawk Maria Cantwell appears to hope she can just wish the war away from constituents' minds. In contrast to Cantwell's fiddle-dee-dee approach, newly declared Democrat Jim Webb stated in Saturday's Democratic radio address: ""I have believed strongly that when things aren't working well, it is the responsibility of our leaders to admit it, and to fix the problem. Some say that speaking out against a war is disloyal to the troops. Whoever says that should consider what it's like to be a troop, wishing someone would speak the truth."
In other election news: Que una sorpresa -- another election in Mexico is rife with accusations of fraud and rigging. Possibly, next time an election approaches, US media outlets could spend less time shoring up the lite candidate as "left" and more time exploring the system that continues to fail the people? (We mean the system itself, but if it's easier to focus on the voting mechanics, even that would be preferred.) The BBC reports that conservative Felipe Calderon is the winner and the less conservative Manuel Lopez Obrador is waiting for a recount while the people of Mexico wait for a real leader to emerge. (The actual count of the votes will not begin until Wednesday, as noted by the KPFA Evening News Monday.)
In science & techonology news, the London Free Press is reporting that: "A huge asteroid whizzed by Earth early yesterday, passing about 433,000 kilometres from the planet's surface -- slightly farther away than the moon." Meanwhile, Jane Kay (San Franciso Chronicle) reports on a new study published in the Proceedings of National Academy of Science which has found the world's bird population to be disappearing at an alarming rate: "The study, the most thorough analysis of global bird species, says 12 percent of existing species -- about 1,250 -- are threatened with extinction by 2100." La loco bird flies on the op-ed pages of the Washington Post where the always laughable Eugene Robinson shows up days late, without a tardy slip, and rushes to shore up the justifiably (long) tarnished image of Star Jones (a modern-day Joan of Arc burned at the TVQ pyre, to hear Robinson tell it) in a column that will provide laughter for years (print it up, it's doubtful the 'collected works' will ever be published). The always late for the train Robison trots out a seventies spoof of Barbara Walters but seems (not surprisingly) unaware that Star Jones has been spoofed repeatedly in more recent years on both Saturday Night Live and Mad TV. For the record, roaches weren't used in any spoof revolving around Walters. Alleged homophobe, peace-activist hater, and attorney Jones will apparently next argue the case that her firing from The View just because the audiences hated her was a case of wrongful termination at I-Hops and truck stops across the country. Chances are that she won't draw a crowd there either. Meanwhile Robinson is prepping his next hard hitting column: an exploration of Shannen Doherty's public firings. [Note: C.I. participated in the writing of the previous six sentences only after consulting with friends at the Washington Post.] In a better use of space, investigative journalist and internet sleuth Ron Byrnaert discovers that a certain Free Republic poster is apparently better known to many as a voice of the left or 'left.' Ron (Why Are We Back In Iraq?) searches for the answer to the question of "Who is Vis Numar?"
Monday's Democracy Now! offered "We Shall Overcome: An Hour With Legendary Folk Singer & Activist Pete Seeger" while today's broadcast will feature:
StoryCorps: A national social history project records the voices of ordinary people -- citizen and non-citizen, old and young -- telling their stories to each other.
Musical question of the day from Carly Simon's "Playing Possum" (written by Simon, title track to the CD of the same name):
We lived up in Cambridge
And browsed in the hippest newstands
Then we started our own newspaper
Gave the truth about Uncle Sam
We loved to be so radical
But like a rugged love affair
Some became disenchanted
And some of us just got scared
Now are you playing possum
Keeping a low profile
Are you playing possum for a while?
This joint entry written by The Third Estate Sunday Review's Dona, Jess, Ty, Ava and me, Jim; Rebecca of Sex and Politics and Screeds and Attitude; Betty of Thomas Friedman Is a Great Man; C.I. of The Common Ills and The Third Estate Sunday Review; Kat of Kat's Korner (of The Common Ills); Cedric of Cedric's Big Mix; Mike of Mikey Likes It!; Elaine of Like Maria Said Paz; Wally of The Daily Jot; Trina of Trina's Kitchen; and Ruth of Ruth's Public Radio Report. [With additional help from Dallas and Tracey.]
democracy now, pete seeger, iraq, kpfa, the morning show, sandra lupien, cindy sheehan, the washington post, ellen knickmeyer, codepink, steven green, steven d. green, nora barrows-friedman, dahr jamail, mark manning, flashpoints, janet coleman, cat radio cafe, vinnie burrows, the kpfa evening news, robert parry, why are we back in iraq, ron brynaert, thomas friedman is a great man, mikey likes it, the daily jot, cedrics big mix, trinas kitchen, kats korner, like maria said paz, sex and politics and screeds and attitude, jane kay, wbai, carly simon, playing possum, the new york times, kirk semple, david stout, the third estate sunday review, ruths public radio report, the common ills
Iraq snapshot
Chaos and violence continue. As Dahr Jamail said on Monday's Flashpoints, "It really is horrible to try to keep in context the level of violence . . . Here we are doing it again with no end in sight and I wonder just how long we'll continue doing it? . . . Things are not just staying the same in Iraq, it's getting exponentially worse."
As Sandra Lupien noted on yesterday's KPFA's The Morning Show, former US soldier Steven D. Green was arrested and charged Friday with raping an Iraqi female while he was serving in Iraq and then killing her and three members of her family. The twenty-one-year-old Green was a member of the 101st Airborne Division of the US Army before being discharged with what The New York Times termed a "personality disorder." The BBC notes that Green's next appearance in court will be July 10th. Various press reports note that four others are suspected of involvement but Green has been the only one charged. The Associated Press reports that Minister Hashim Abdul-Rahman al-Shebli, Iraq's justice minister, has "demanded" that the United Nations provide oversight to ensure that those guilty be brought to justice.
Though the United States military has maintained that the rape victime was at least twenty-years-old, reports beginning with Ellen Knickmeyer's (Washington Post) on Monday have placed the female's age much lower. Yesterday, Reuters reported that the mayor of Mahmudiya declared today that the woman "was no more than 16 years old when she was killed along with her parents and young sister".
In the United States, members of CODEPINK, Granny Peace Brigade, Gold Star Families for Peace, United for Peace & Justice and Women for Peace have gathered in DC and are fasting: "While many Americans will be expressing their patriotism via barbeques and fireworks, we'll be fasting in memory of the dead and wounded, and calling for the troops to come home from Iraq."
Yesterday, they gathered in front of the Ghandi statue at 3:00 PM where Cindy Sheehan spoke: "This war is a crime. We represent millions of Americans who withdraw their support from this government." Others participating include Daniel Ellsberg, Susan Sarandon, Sean Penn and Dick Gregory. On yesterday's WBAI's Cat Radio Cafe, Janet Coleman spoke with several members of Granny Peace Brigade about the fast and other actions. Among the women Coleman spoke with was former WBAI programmer Vinnie Burrows who sang a portion of one her songs: "The kids are dying far away in a foreign land/ I must keep on trying, their lives are in our hands."
In Scotland last weekend, members of Military Always Delivers (an activist group like the Billionaires for Bush in the United States) participated in a pro-war march and rally on Saturday. Scotland Independent Media Center reports (text and photos) that many pro-war marches were not in on the prank as members of MAD shouted slogans such as "Cut Welfare, Buy More Bombs!"; "War is the Health of the State"; and "Power Grows out of the Barrel of a Gun" while passing out "deception dollars."
Today, in Iraq, Reuters reports that Raad al-Harith, Iraq's deputy electricity minister, and 19 of his bodyguards were kidnapped in Baghdad. In other violence thus far today, a roadside bomb in Baghdad claimed the lives of at least two police officers and wounded at least four; in Hawija, a mortar attack claimed the lives of at least one and wounded at least two others; and, in Falluja, "[g]unmen wounded a member of the Association of Muslim Scholars."
An upcoming event: Brava Theater, 2789 24th Street, San Francisco, Friday, July 7th, 7:00 pm. (415-647-2822):
Mark Manning will be screening his film Caught in the Crossfire for those interested in knowing the realities on Falluja that Dexy and the other Green Zoners never got around to telling you. Nadia McCaffrey, who lost her son in the Iraq war, will bespeaking as will Dahr Jamail.
To date 2538 American troops have lost their lives in Iraq (official count). And 150 members ofAlpha Company of the 1st Battalion, 178th Infantry are headed for Fort Dix and then Iraq.
Around the globe. The AFP reports that confronted with a direct threat of nuclear strikes, from North Korea, the White House shrugs and White House spokesmodel Tony Snow declares, "It is still deeply hypothetical." However, the Bully Boy demonstrates no reluctance to play Wallflower with Iran. The Associated Press reports "Western powers" are demanding a July 12th dealine for beginning talks and ceasing nuclear enrichment -- after that, it's a nuclear dance off! This despite Seymour Hersh's reporting that "Pentagon planners and other experts" are not in support of Bully Boy's plan to nuke Iran. Korea? Iran? Iran? Korea? Michael R. Gordon's head spins as he attempts to figure out which war is a "go" in order to start marketing his own brand of home-made (war) porn. (Seymour and Shane -- what have you wrought!) And in the occupied terroritories? The 'jokesters' at the Associated Press, reporting on continued armed agression, dub their story "Israel keeps up pressure on Gaza." In the real world, Nora Barrows-Friedman, on KPFA's Flashpoints, noted that over 130,000 Palestinians have been left without water; that sonic booms are being used to terrorize the population throughout the night; that Israeli forces, in the last week, have abducted " one-third of the Palestinian government. No one in the international community has yet expressed any outrage at this or the Palestinian political prisoner's conditions."
In election news in the United States, Robert Parry writes on the campaign "tool" that benefitted the Bush-Cheney campaign in 2004: Osama bin Laden's rush-released video timed to debut four days prior to the election. Though it didn't fly off the shelves at Blockbuster, CIA analysts studying the release came to the judgement that "that bin-Laden was trying to help Bush gain a second term." Meanwhile, professional politician Joe Lieberman, who never met a baby or an ass he couldn't kiss, has thrown down his Zell-Miller-like marker announcing that if he doesn't win his party's nomination (Democratic), he will run as an independent to hold on to his Senate seat. Particularly surprising to Lieberman may be no cries of: "Say it ain't so, Joe!" This as fellow Democratic War Hawk Maria Cantwell appears to hope she can just wish the war away from constituents' minds. In contrast to Cantwell's fiddle-dee-dee approach, newly declared Democrat Jim Webb stated in Saturday's Democratic radio address: ""I have believed strongly that when things aren't working well, it is the responsibility of our leaders to admit it, and to fix the problem. Some say that speaking out against a war is disloyal to the troops. Whoever says that should consider what it's like to be a troop, wishing someone would speak the truth."
In other election news: Que una sorpresa -- another election in Mexico is rife with accusations of fraud and rigging. Possibly, next time an election approaches, US media outlets could spend less time shoring up the lite candidate as "left" and more time exploring the system that continues to fail the people? (We mean the system itself, but if it's easier to focus on the voting mechanics, even that would be preferred.) The BBC reports that conservative Felipe Calderon is the winner and the less conservative Manuel Lopez Obrador is waiting for a recount while the people of Mexico wait for a real leader to emerge. (The actual count of the votes will not begin until Wednesday, as noted by the KPFA Evening News Monday.)
In science & techonology news, the London Free Press is reporting that: "A huge asteroid whizzed by Earth early yesterday, passing about 433,000 kilometres from the planet's surface -- slightly farther away than the moon." Meanwhile, Jane Kay (San Franciso Chronicle) reports on a new study published in the Proceedings of National Academy of Science which has found the world's bird population to be disappearing at an alarming rate: "The study, the most thorough analysis of global bird species, says 12 percent of existing species -- about 1,250 -- are threatened with extinction by 2100." La loco bird flies on the op-ed pages of the Washington Post where the always laughable Eugene Robinson shows up days late, without a tardy slip, and rushes to shore up the justifiably (long) tarnished image of Star Jones (a modern-day Joan of Arc burned at the TVQ pyre, to hear Robinson tell it) in a column that will provide laughter for years (print it up, it's doubtful the 'collected works' will ever be published). The always late for the train Robison trots out a seventies spoof of Barbara Walters but seems (not surprisingly) unaware that Star Jones has been spoofed repeatedly in more recent years on both Saturday Night Live and Mad TV. For the record, roaches weren't used in any spoof revolving around Walters. Alleged homophobe, peace-activist hater, and attorney Jones will apparently next argue the case that her firing from The View just because the audiences hated her was a case of wrongful termination at I-Hops and truck stops across the country. Chances are that she won't draw a crowd there either. Meanwhile Robinson is prepping his next hard hitting column: an exploration of Shannen Doherty's public firings. [Note: C.I. participated in the writing of the previous six sentences only after consulting with friends at the Washington Post.] In a better use of space, investigative journalist and internet sleuth Ron Byrnaert discovers that a certain Free Republic poster is apparently better known to many as a voice of the left or 'left.' Ron (Why Are We Back In Iraq?) searches for the answer to the question of "Who is Vis Numar?"
Monday's Democracy Now! offered "We Shall Overcome: An Hour With Legendary Folk Singer & Activist Pete Seeger" while today's broadcast will feature:
StoryCorps: A national social history project records the voices of ordinary people -- citizen and non-citizen, old and young -- telling their stories to each other.
Musical question of the day from Carly Simon's "Playing Possum" (written by Simon, title track to the CD of the same name):
We lived up in Cambridge
And browsed in the hippest newstands
Then we started our own newspaper
Gave the truth about Uncle Sam
We loved to be so radical
But like a rugged love affair
Some became disenchanted
And some of us just got scared
Now are you playing possum
Keeping a low profile
Are you playing possum for a while?
This joint entry written by The Third Estate Sunday Review's Dona, Jess, Ty, Ava and me, Jim; Rebecca of Sex and Politics and Screeds and Attitude; Betty of Thomas Friedman Is a Great Man; C.I. of The Common Ills and The Third Estate Sunday Review; Kat of Kat's Korner (of The Common Ills); Cedric of Cedric's Big Mix; Mike of Mikey Likes It!; Elaine of Like Maria Said Paz; Wally of The Daily Jot; Trina of Trina's Kitchen; and Ruth of Ruth's Public Radio Report. [With additional help from Dallas and Tracey.]
Saturday, July 01, 2006
The cross-dressing, I can live with, the right-wing plotting . . .
Cause I heard it on the wind
And I saw it in the sky
And I thought it was the end
I thought it was the Fourth of July
That Soundgarden song has been in my head all day as I realized that the Fourth was upon us shortly. I still haven't recovered from Memorial Day. What should have been a nice day with friends was instead the day Thomas Friedman invited several of his right wing and lite wing cohorts over to introduce me to the concept of tranny or crossdresser or whatever it is.
Thomas Friedman playing dress up wasn't a shock. Thomas Friedman in full time drag was. I knew he'd planned to wear my hose to the picnic. I figured there would be an eye sore of a bathing suit. I was not prepared for the yellow micro, two-piece. Or the heavy make up. Or the wig. Nor was I prepared to see the other 'gals.'
Looking back, my explosion was over the fact that my husband Thomas Friedman is a cross-dresser. There's no denying that. I've gotten used to and accepted it. But what still makes me angry was seeing all those men dressed up as women plotting to overthrow governments. Is that what they think women do when they get together?
Or was it just one more way to prove how "macho" they were despite the Avon products? (Apparently, it's less intimidating for the gals to buy make up door-to-door. Beats going into a store and showing your face at the counter. So they're not only Chicken Hawks, they're also Cross-dressing Cowards.)
Thomas Friedman, at one point, explained to me that they were cross dressers and not gay. As if little me didn't know the difference? I explained to him that, yes, I was annoyed that he had ruined every pair of pantyhose I had (my thighs are normal size) and, yes, the bikini was shocking (his hairy ass may have been the only part on his body he didn't wax and that is a problem when you're basically wearing a g-string while people are attempting to eat). But what really bothered me was all this talk, with pinky fingers lifted, about attacking Hugo Chavez and destroying economic freedoms.
"If it were just the fact that some ugly men have dressed up and look like really ugly women," I explained, "it would be no big deal."
"Yes," Thomas Friedman said nodding. "They are ugly. I've told Robert Novak that he's far too old to continue dressing up as Mary Pickford but he refuses to listen. I don't think he's even aware that the movies 'talk' today."
As Thomas Friedman ticked off the costuming faults of every friend, or 'friend,' he'd invited and avoided the issue of what his not-so-trendy cabal was plotting, I finally lost it.
"You people are insane!" I screamed. "Take a look around -- you're all freaks!"
I was back inside the apartment before I realized I'd stolen Sarah Jessica Parker's one good line from "Ed Wood". I searched my memory to try to remember if any of the boys had been dressed up as Sarah Jess and, if so, I'd possibly blown their big moment?
I remembered Christopher Hitchens, with wig eschew, wearing a dress with an ugly print and insisting he was Sue Ellen on "Dallas" as he staggered around but I think that was really more of an excuse to get loaded than an actual costume choice. Other than that, they were all dressed up as movie 'goddesses." Except for Alan Keyes who came as Jennifer Lopez but insisted upon making Charo noises like "Coochy-coochy-coo!" Well, he's never made sense.
So I've been avoiding even thinking of this upcoming Tuesday. I did ask if possibly we could invite Nicky K and Mrs. K?
"Not a chance," he hissed checking the puffs on his white dress (he's trying to recreate Marilyn from the infamous "Seven Year Itch" image). "Nicky is a traitor, a wet blanket, and he's not man enough to put on a dress! You shouldn't feel left out, I'm inviting Alan!"
Because we're both Black, we should have something in common? It's that sort of nonsense that oozes out in column after column by Thomas Friedman. Take Wednesday's "The Cry of the Wild."
For starters, I do not serve on the board at Conservation International. Why Thomas Friedman put that lie into print is as much a mystery as everything else that shows up in his columns. I laughed as he wrote of a mythical night he spent in the Amazon rain forest. This is the man who tossed out my ambiance CD because he said, "All that rain noise make me have to tinkle!"
He did find someone better to quote after I berated him for his 'sources' last week. Whether he talked with the man over the phone or just in his own head, who knows?
He watched "The Misfits" a great deal before writing the column. Over and over. I think he's channeled Monroe's Rosayln again and that explains the column.
Like the majority of the media, he wanted to cover anything except Iraq. The mess they helped sell us into is too depressing. So Thomas Friedman cast himself as an enviro-Marilyn.
I'm usually in a better mood when I write in my diary but I'm just not in the mood to spend the Fourth with 'Marilyn,' 'J-Lo,' 'Cheryl Ladd,' 'Mary Pickford' and assorted Judys and Chers who swap make up tips while plotting the downfall of Hugo Chavez and in an attempt to enslave the working class worldwide.
Thomas Friedman sensed my displeasure and lack of enthusiasm. He suggested I cheer up and offered that I could dress up as well.
"Tucker Carlson's coming as Ronnie Spector, you could dress up as Phil Spector!" Thomas Friedman said brightly.
Trust me, he doesn't want me carrying a gun when I'm around him.
thomas friedman
the new york times
thomas friedman is a great man
mikey likes it
the common ills
soundgarden
And I saw it in the sky
And I thought it was the end
I thought it was the Fourth of July
That Soundgarden song has been in my head all day as I realized that the Fourth was upon us shortly. I still haven't recovered from Memorial Day. What should have been a nice day with friends was instead the day Thomas Friedman invited several of his right wing and lite wing cohorts over to introduce me to the concept of tranny or crossdresser or whatever it is.
Thomas Friedman playing dress up wasn't a shock. Thomas Friedman in full time drag was. I knew he'd planned to wear my hose to the picnic. I figured there would be an eye sore of a bathing suit. I was not prepared for the yellow micro, two-piece. Or the heavy make up. Or the wig. Nor was I prepared to see the other 'gals.'
Looking back, my explosion was over the fact that my husband Thomas Friedman is a cross-dresser. There's no denying that. I've gotten used to and accepted it. But what still makes me angry was seeing all those men dressed up as women plotting to overthrow governments. Is that what they think women do when they get together?
Or was it just one more way to prove how "macho" they were despite the Avon products? (Apparently, it's less intimidating for the gals to buy make up door-to-door. Beats going into a store and showing your face at the counter. So they're not only Chicken Hawks, they're also Cross-dressing Cowards.)
Thomas Friedman, at one point, explained to me that they were cross dressers and not gay. As if little me didn't know the difference? I explained to him that, yes, I was annoyed that he had ruined every pair of pantyhose I had (my thighs are normal size) and, yes, the bikini was shocking (his hairy ass may have been the only part on his body he didn't wax and that is a problem when you're basically wearing a g-string while people are attempting to eat). But what really bothered me was all this talk, with pinky fingers lifted, about attacking Hugo Chavez and destroying economic freedoms.
"If it were just the fact that some ugly men have dressed up and look like really ugly women," I explained, "it would be no big deal."
"Yes," Thomas Friedman said nodding. "They are ugly. I've told Robert Novak that he's far too old to continue dressing up as Mary Pickford but he refuses to listen. I don't think he's even aware that the movies 'talk' today."
As Thomas Friedman ticked off the costuming faults of every friend, or 'friend,' he'd invited and avoided the issue of what his not-so-trendy cabal was plotting, I finally lost it.
"You people are insane!" I screamed. "Take a look around -- you're all freaks!"
I was back inside the apartment before I realized I'd stolen Sarah Jessica Parker's one good line from "Ed Wood". I searched my memory to try to remember if any of the boys had been dressed up as Sarah Jess and, if so, I'd possibly blown their big moment?
I remembered Christopher Hitchens, with wig eschew, wearing a dress with an ugly print and insisting he was Sue Ellen on "Dallas" as he staggered around but I think that was really more of an excuse to get loaded than an actual costume choice. Other than that, they were all dressed up as movie 'goddesses." Except for Alan Keyes who came as Jennifer Lopez but insisted upon making Charo noises like "Coochy-coochy-coo!" Well, he's never made sense.
So I've been avoiding even thinking of this upcoming Tuesday. I did ask if possibly we could invite Nicky K and Mrs. K?
"Not a chance," he hissed checking the puffs on his white dress (he's trying to recreate Marilyn from the infamous "Seven Year Itch" image). "Nicky is a traitor, a wet blanket, and he's not man enough to put on a dress! You shouldn't feel left out, I'm inviting Alan!"
Because we're both Black, we should have something in common? It's that sort of nonsense that oozes out in column after column by Thomas Friedman. Take Wednesday's "The Cry of the Wild."
For starters, I do not serve on the board at Conservation International. Why Thomas Friedman put that lie into print is as much a mystery as everything else that shows up in his columns. I laughed as he wrote of a mythical night he spent in the Amazon rain forest. This is the man who tossed out my ambiance CD because he said, "All that rain noise make me have to tinkle!"
He did find someone better to quote after I berated him for his 'sources' last week. Whether he talked with the man over the phone or just in his own head, who knows?
He watched "The Misfits" a great deal before writing the column. Over and over. I think he's channeled Monroe's Rosayln again and that explains the column.
Like the majority of the media, he wanted to cover anything except Iraq. The mess they helped sell us into is too depressing. So Thomas Friedman cast himself as an enviro-Marilyn.
I'm usually in a better mood when I write in my diary but I'm just not in the mood to spend the Fourth with 'Marilyn,' 'J-Lo,' 'Cheryl Ladd,' 'Mary Pickford' and assorted Judys and Chers who swap make up tips while plotting the downfall of Hugo Chavez and in an attempt to enslave the working class worldwide.
Thomas Friedman sensed my displeasure and lack of enthusiasm. He suggested I cheer up and offered that I could dress up as well.
"Tucker Carlson's coming as Ronnie Spector, you could dress up as Phil Spector!" Thomas Friedman said brightly.
Trust me, he doesn't want me carrying a gun when I'm around him.
thomas friedman
the new york times
thomas friedman is a great man
mikey likes it
the common ills
soundgarden
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Thomas Friedman Wants It Hot
I met a woman who comes into NYC to work. She's here five days a week. She goes to her office from nine to five after arriving on the train and she leaves on the train each weekend.
She told me NYC has too much crime and nothing to do. She blamed it on the tax policies of the city which she feels place too much burden on corporations.
She's not a tax attorney or anyone who studies the issue of taxes (professionally or personally), she's not law enforcement or anyone who follows trends in crimes. She had quite a lot to say about life in NYC and about the makeup of NYC.
Why am I talking about her? Well why did my husband Thomas Friedman devote his Wednesday column ("Latin America' s Choice") to what Gabriel Rozman "a Jewish technologist of Hungarian roots who was raised in Uruguay, educated in America and now heads the Latin American operations of India's biggest software/outsourcing company, Tata Consultancy Services of Mumbai" thought of Peru?
Did he think that there weren't enough outsiders weighing in on Peru? I count two: himself and Rozman. The average person, someone who really knows life in Peru? Not represented. But then if they weren't in charge of the "biggest software/outsourcing company," they might not back up all his tired and dated thoughts. (Not to mention xenophobic.) Wednesday, he pulled on the black turtleneck, tossed on the brown beret and headed to my campus. He wasn't greeted very warmly.
The answer, he decided, was that he needed a blog. "But I'm so busy!" he whined. Repeatedly.
I was attempting to do some homework for class and ignoring him. Finally he cut to the chase.
"Betinna, I know you keep a diary on our computer. Have you considered posting it?"
"Posting it?" I asked.
"Yes, I think the world would embrace me tighter if they knew about me," he explained. "And someone like you, who knows how great I am, would be the best person to do a blog."
"Thomas Friedman, what do you think I write about?"
"My bon mots. My funny observations. My generous nature. My keen insight. My wonderful abilities as a lover. My delicious body . . ."
He was still listing but I was trying to remember when we last had sex? I think it was August of 2005. And it wasn't all that to begin with which is why I had to really think to remember.
"Thomas Friedman," I said interupting his lenghty description of his physique, "I really don't have that kind of time. I'm immersed in a new world and need to focus on that."
"If you loved me," he said sticking out his bottom lip, "you'd make time."
"You're probably right," I agreed returning to my studies.
Then, smarting over the fact that despite all the lies he's told the last two weeks, Amy Goodman interviewed Italian journalist Giuliana Sgrena and not him on Thursday -- that seemed to bother him the most since "I am Mr. International!"
Apparently, there was a contest and he sang his mantra, "Gotta Be This Or That," decked out in spandex and sequins. I'm sure he dusted off some of the Garland magic and his eyes misted over as they placed the crown on his head.
"Thomas Friedman, Sgrena was kidnapped in Iraq, when she was finally safe and headed for the airport, her car was attacked by the US military resulting in wounds and at least one person dead," I snapped.
Thomas Friedman began listing off the various heads of business and finance he'd gone golfing with. I grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. Apparently the remote control works not only the TV but Thomas Friedman's mouth as well because he just got louder. Thinking I might be onto something in an Adam Sandler "Click" kind of way, I tried the "mute" button but, sadly, it only worked on the TV.
"Yes, Thomas Friedman, you are quite the social butterfly. I'm sure when Amy Goodman wants to explore the subject of corporate heads and the journalists who stroke them, your name will be the first one she thinks of."
He pouted and headed for the Charlie Rose discussion board where he always has time to post under an alias and praise himself. Then, much later, he spent about five minutes churning out his column for Friday ("The World Is Hot").
Friday, after class, Dona asked me what he was talking about?
I think too much time is spent trying to figure out the subtext. People always place some deep meaning to his columns. That's simply not the case. He was bleaching his wig further, on Thursday, and went too far. It looked like white cotton candy. He couldn't stop crying. Finally, I grabbed the thing, cut a few sections, curled a few spots and plopped it on his head.
"Dry your eyes, princess, and look in the mirror," I said.
He did and beamed as he dabbed his tears away.
"I look just like Marilyn in 'Some Like It Hot'!" he cried excitedly.
Well, Marilyn was attractive and didn't have a mustache, but, yes, the wig did look like her hair in that film.
"Some Like It Hot" led to "The World Is Hot." The confusion over the column may have resulted from the argument he was attempting to make which was not very Thomas Friedman-like. He was going for Marilyn's character in "The Misfits" who tries to make a comment on the brutality against animals but bascially ends up screaming, "Stop it! It's hurting us all!"
He did a pretty good job of channeling that character, actually. But that doesn't mean I'm staying up all night listening to him strum the ukulele while he coos "Running Wild."
I told him, "Thomas Friedman, you full figured boys need to stick together. When you want to show off your song and dance skills, go to Simon Rosenberg."
He said he would but Simon's left his "Farrah phase" and is now "soaking up Cheryl Ladd." He assured me that the new one length wig was "fabulous" and that Simon has a "killer" version of "Think It Over." I told him I'd take his word for it but I needed to get back to sleep.
He tapped me on the shoulder and said he wanted to share one more thing. Groaning I rolled over as he said he wanted to talk about the Senate.
I perked up for a minute thinking he might want to discuss the two resolutions (one weak, one strong) the Democrats tried to pass this week. I waited as he stared off into space, tilted his head (to make sure I noticed the mole he'd been applying in his quest to be the new Marilyn Monroe) and then finally spoke.
"There a 100 members of the Senate. That's a quarter of a centruy. Makes a girl think."
It wasn't a "quarter of a century," but I recognized the line and decided the sooner I played along, the sooner I'd be able to get back to sleep.
"About what?"
"About the future. Millionaires. Flocks of them. They all go south for the winter. Like birds."
"Go to bed, Sugar," I told him. "You need your beauty sleep."
thomas friedman
the new york times
thomas friedman is a great man
the common ills
democracy now
amy goodman
trinas kitchen
the third estate sunday review
She told me NYC has too much crime and nothing to do. She blamed it on the tax policies of the city which she feels place too much burden on corporations.
She's not a tax attorney or anyone who studies the issue of taxes (professionally or personally), she's not law enforcement or anyone who follows trends in crimes. She had quite a lot to say about life in NYC and about the makeup of NYC.
Why am I talking about her? Well why did my husband Thomas Friedman devote his Wednesday column ("Latin America' s Choice") to what Gabriel Rozman "a Jewish technologist of Hungarian roots who was raised in Uruguay, educated in America and now heads the Latin American operations of India's biggest software/outsourcing company, Tata Consultancy Services of Mumbai" thought of Peru?
Did he think that there weren't enough outsiders weighing in on Peru? I count two: himself and Rozman. The average person, someone who really knows life in Peru? Not represented. But then if they weren't in charge of the "biggest software/outsourcing company," they might not back up all his tired and dated thoughts. (Not to mention xenophobic.) Wednesday, he pulled on the black turtleneck, tossed on the brown beret and headed to my campus. He wasn't greeted very warmly.
The answer, he decided, was that he needed a blog. "But I'm so busy!" he whined. Repeatedly.
I was attempting to do some homework for class and ignoring him. Finally he cut to the chase.
"Betinna, I know you keep a diary on our computer. Have you considered posting it?"
"Posting it?" I asked.
"Yes, I think the world would embrace me tighter if they knew about me," he explained. "And someone like you, who knows how great I am, would be the best person to do a blog."
"Thomas Friedman, what do you think I write about?"
"My bon mots. My funny observations. My generous nature. My keen insight. My wonderful abilities as a lover. My delicious body . . ."
He was still listing but I was trying to remember when we last had sex? I think it was August of 2005. And it wasn't all that to begin with which is why I had to really think to remember.
"Thomas Friedman," I said interupting his lenghty description of his physique, "I really don't have that kind of time. I'm immersed in a new world and need to focus on that."
"If you loved me," he said sticking out his bottom lip, "you'd make time."
"You're probably right," I agreed returning to my studies.
Then, smarting over the fact that despite all the lies he's told the last two weeks, Amy Goodman interviewed Italian journalist Giuliana Sgrena and not him on Thursday -- that seemed to bother him the most since "I am Mr. International!"
Apparently, there was a contest and he sang his mantra, "Gotta Be This Or That," decked out in spandex and sequins. I'm sure he dusted off some of the Garland magic and his eyes misted over as they placed the crown on his head.
"Thomas Friedman, Sgrena was kidnapped in Iraq, when she was finally safe and headed for the airport, her car was attacked by the US military resulting in wounds and at least one person dead," I snapped.
Thomas Friedman began listing off the various heads of business and finance he'd gone golfing with. I grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. Apparently the remote control works not only the TV but Thomas Friedman's mouth as well because he just got louder. Thinking I might be onto something in an Adam Sandler "Click" kind of way, I tried the "mute" button but, sadly, it only worked on the TV.
"Yes, Thomas Friedman, you are quite the social butterfly. I'm sure when Amy Goodman wants to explore the subject of corporate heads and the journalists who stroke them, your name will be the first one she thinks of."
He pouted and headed for the Charlie Rose discussion board where he always has time to post under an alias and praise himself. Then, much later, he spent about five minutes churning out his column for Friday ("The World Is Hot").
Friday, after class, Dona asked me what he was talking about?
I think too much time is spent trying to figure out the subtext. People always place some deep meaning to his columns. That's simply not the case. He was bleaching his wig further, on Thursday, and went too far. It looked like white cotton candy. He couldn't stop crying. Finally, I grabbed the thing, cut a few sections, curled a few spots and plopped it on his head.
"Dry your eyes, princess, and look in the mirror," I said.
He did and beamed as he dabbed his tears away.
"I look just like Marilyn in 'Some Like It Hot'!" he cried excitedly.
Well, Marilyn was attractive and didn't have a mustache, but, yes, the wig did look like her hair in that film.
"Some Like It Hot" led to "The World Is Hot." The confusion over the column may have resulted from the argument he was attempting to make which was not very Thomas Friedman-like. He was going for Marilyn's character in "The Misfits" who tries to make a comment on the brutality against animals but bascially ends up screaming, "Stop it! It's hurting us all!"
He did a pretty good job of channeling that character, actually. But that doesn't mean I'm staying up all night listening to him strum the ukulele while he coos "Running Wild."
I told him, "Thomas Friedman, you full figured boys need to stick together. When you want to show off your song and dance skills, go to Simon Rosenberg."
He said he would but Simon's left his "Farrah phase" and is now "soaking up Cheryl Ladd." He assured me that the new one length wig was "fabulous" and that Simon has a "killer" version of "Think It Over." I told him I'd take his word for it but I needed to get back to sleep.
He tapped me on the shoulder and said he wanted to share one more thing. Groaning I rolled over as he said he wanted to talk about the Senate.
I perked up for a minute thinking he might want to discuss the two resolutions (one weak, one strong) the Democrats tried to pass this week. I waited as he stared off into space, tilted his head (to make sure I noticed the mole he'd been applying in his quest to be the new Marilyn Monroe) and then finally spoke.
"There a 100 members of the Senate. That's a quarter of a centruy. Makes a girl think."
It wasn't a "quarter of a century," but I recognized the line and decided the sooner I played along, the sooner I'd be able to get back to sleep.
"About what?"
"About the future. Millionaires. Flocks of them. They all go south for the winter. Like birds."
"Go to bed, Sugar," I told him. "You need your beauty sleep."
thomas friedman
the new york times
thomas friedman is a great man
the common ills
democracy now
amy goodman
trinas kitchen
the third estate sunday review
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