Threatened. She says she felt threatened. Well! Having one of them gently touch her elbow while she was wagging her finger in his face would naturally elicit a visceral reaction like that. She was surrounded by them, after all. And of course they all defend each other; what do you expect?
Oh! Surrounded by politicians. What did you think she meant?
Caption Contest Update: I’ll keep it open until Sunday morning. That gives you two weekend nights to drunk-compete for that Jan Brewer Souvenir Hospitality Bottlecap, lovingly, or hastily and lovingly, crafted by me. Bueno suerte!
Life as an iconic hairdo isn’t as glamorous as media depictions would have you believe. Take the sad case of the self-contained hair-pod that resides on the noggin of the third Mrs. Gingrich.
If you only knew what those titanium tresses have had to endure. Crushing ennui brought on by endless rubber-chicken circuit events. Listening to the same tired stump speech and wondering dimly who this “Saul Alinsky” person is (Emmanuel Goldstein maybe?).
Rope-line encounters with supporters sporting hideous, tightly permed follicular fortresses reeking of Walmart “Great Value” brand conditioner. Stale hotel rooms with Fox & Friends blaring in the background and cheap Conair blow-dryers affixed inconveniently to the bathroom wall. And then of course there’s…him.
Mrs. Gingrich’s hair has had quite enough, thank you, and she hopes last night’s substandard performance by the spouse of her owner will finally put an end to this absurdity so they can return to Fairfax County and the tender ministrations of Salon de Paris and Mr. Pierre’s miraculous keratin treatments.
De Botton suggests that atheists like Richard Dawkins won’t ever convince people that atheism is an attractive way of looking at life until they provide them with the sort of rituals, buildings, communities and works of art and architecture that religions have always used.
Yes, that’s a lovely idea. Who wants to sleep in on weekends? I salute this notion, it promises all the sense of obligation and going-through-the-motions of church attendance, but without the downside of getting to be reunited with loved ones when you die. And don’t lie, you know that when you’re reading a comment thread on Pharyngula you’re thinking the whole time, “man, I sure wish I could sit next to these charming folks on a wooden bench for an hour and a half every week.”
I’d like an atheist temple in my neighborhood, actually; might help me figure out why, exactly, my godless brethren are so keen on having meetings all the time. Maybe the rampant polysexual hedonism’s more fun with an audience? Me, I’d be too paranoid about revelers bogarting my abortifacient stash to really loosen up.
My initial reaction to this story was a frustrated cry of “it’s called THE OUTDOORS,” but to be fair, this guy lives in England. I’ve never been, but to hear my more globetrotty friends tell it, a typical weather forecast goes something like “dreary with a chance of seasonal affective disorder,” so okay, I can’t expect Londoners to develop deeply meaningful personal relationships with Stephen Jay Gould or whoever over a picnic spread. Still, I can’t help but think he’s mistaking old for religious. I mean yeah, St. Patrick’s Cathedral is breathtaking, no question, but a modernist church? Yuck. Looks kinda cool from the outside but then you walk in and there’re all these weird angles that don’t seem to have any real purpose. I think I’m still talking about architecture.
De Botton argues that you definitely don’t need a god or gods to justify a temple. ‘You can build a temple to anything that’s positive and good. That could mean: a temple to love, friendship, calm or perspective.’
Okay, you guys have fun building your temples! I’ll be rubbing mine.
Now who would ever believe Jan Brewer could treat the President uncordially? The Governor wanted a meeting with the President. He told her that her fabulous description (“fabulous” as in “confabulated”) of the last one they had, as portrayed in her searing expose of why Jan Brewer is as awesome as Jan Brewer, Scorpions For Breakfast: My Fight Against Special Interests, Liberal Media, and Cynical Politicos to Secure America’s Border, was, well, not very cordial, and then this thing up here happened. Afterwards, she added to her luster as a wordsmith by calling the President “thin-skinned,” and explained wagging her finger in the President’s face thusly: “I will say that a picture is what it is.” Thankee, Governor!
The RightOSphere is naturally outraged that the President apparently walked away from the Governor while she was in mid-sentence. I say she’s lucky she can still reach the middle letters on her laptop. Any old hoo, it’s a caption contest waiting to happen. Winner gets a souvenir Jan Brewer Hospitality Bottle Cap.
As far as I know, not like this, anyway. Huh, “totally natural,” the guy says.Yeah, I’ll see your “totally natural.” Next up, dogs and cats living together, and the entire Animal Kingdom slides into debauchery, licentiousness, and crude, Euro-style living. I told you those radical social policies wouldn’t work.
The Corner’s Andrew Cline is predictably displeased with the President’s SOTU: Teamwork? “We can do this?” Who’s this “We” he’s talking about? Not the Founders’ idea of “We!” No, says Andrew, heading off trouble by seizing hold of the National Motto and throttling it:” . E pluribus unum is not Latin for, “Hey, bro, let’s invest in some infrastructure together.” It’s that Collectivism rearing its ugly head, bro!
Where’s the Liberty, that individualistic type Liberty, which, you know, only applies to We The People one by one. You know the President hates Liberty, because in his speech, he only mentioned it once, while “By contrast, Ronald Reagan in his 1982 SOTU said the word four times.”
That’s 400% more Liberty than Obama! And also, soaring rhetoricwise, “We’ve got each other’s backs” does not come up to Andrew’s standards. Reagan’s speech had a Sacred Flame, 400% more Liberty, and cribbed off Abraham Lincoln. And nobody had anybody’s backs, bro.
Another day, another unexpected point of agreement with otherwise reprehensible Republican carbuncle Newt Gingrich, now cheerfully bloodying the putative GOP nominee at a Univision-sponsored round table: what a weird, relaxing world Willard Romney inhabits. An Obama-level fantastical world, according to “Moon Miner” Newt (President Obama’s “fantasy” is evidently one Latino voters prefer, incidentally).
Did you hop the roof of a freight train, place your life in the hands of brutal coyotes, or otherwise risk your all and everything to cross the border illegally, only to find you can’t get employment and provide for your family? Just self-deport (which I imagine would go something like this) and reverse the process! You can take a job back home to while away the time while you wait your turn to enter this most greatest nation of all with our collective blessing. Still unsure about whether or how to do it? Here’s a site (H/T Dave Weigel) that can help you take that giant backward step proudly!
Meanwhile, a portion of Mittens’ money somehow has deported itself to pleasant havens like Switzerland and the Cayman Islands, though it was all duly declared——-in the years he let us see, anyway. ; - >
The Speaker didn’t disappoint as Congresswoman Giffords was helped to the podium to hand him her letter of resignation. Her friend and colleague Debbie Wasserman-Schultz also fought tears during the ceremony where she read Giffords’ farewell .
The country is learning, along with Giffords’ family, that recovery from brain injury is complex, and deficient in traditional happy endings, even for people who, like Gabby, have the best of care. Brain-injured soldiers are returning in great numbers from Iraq and Afghanistan, to whatever the VA can offer, but brain-injured civilians face enormous obstacles to getting the rehab they need to face what will inevitably be an altered life.
Followers of this blog know that our own StrangeAppar8us* is now a member of the community of TBI sufferers. There is a great deal that can be done to help them, and so I hope that Gabrielle Giffords might find a new purpose in speaking for the people who don’t have access to the care she did, because while TBI means confronting some sobering realities, there is no good reason for the brain-injured not to recover as much of their abilities as possible.
There is a book, Head Cases, which delineates some of the problems the brain-injured encounter, as well as presenting the stories of some brain-injured people, but I confess finding it too painful to continue reading. YMMV, I hope.
*I will be posting an update on Strange, and the progress of his fund, shortly.
Snoozy has-been Fred Thompson was supposed to cut an endorsement vid for his pal Newt Gingrich. But as Fred did so often during his short-lived campaign for the GOP presidential nomination, he plopped down in his recliner with a glass of scotch and was soon swept away by the sandman.
The Gingrich people called about the delay, but no matter how hard trophy spouse Jeri Thompson shoved the old fart, shouted in his face or shook him by the lapels of his green, crushed-velvet smoking jacket, Fred snored on. This is what poor Jeri spliced together to get the Gingrich campaign off her back:
President Obama will address income inequality (ouch, Mitt!), outsourcing (ouch, Mitt) and Congressional obstructionism, and outline an economic blueprint to which Mitch Daniels will then respond using his new, GOP-issued oligarch-friendly talking points.
May be semi-live-blogged by yr. semi-live Mrs. Polly, but feel free to take the reins from my bloodless fingers.
Here they come to snuff the guy with high favorables in Worcester
I don’t want this to come across the wrong way—I’m as amused as I am bemused—but I gotta ask: What the holy friggin’ hell, man?
I’m as nostalgic for the go-go Clinton years as anyone, but it’s getting a little weird. Seriously, who tore the space-time continuum? Or perhaps a better question to ask would be, who’s got a cranium sufficiently outsized to tear the space-time continuum as he emerges from a wormhole? Yeah, I’m callin’ it: We’re dealing with Gingrich straight off his House ouster, not the guy who’s been aging alongside the rest of us since. Take a gander, does he look any different than he did then? Sure, you could say the same of his baby pictures, but my point stands!
Of course, if Gingrich becomes the Republican nominee, it’s incumbent upon him to lose. He’s an unscrupulous man, a one-car demolition derby, but if he goads Obama to unaccustomed bravery and other Democrats to rethink outdated liberal dogma (affirmative action, etc.), then he will have done his nation a great service. Take a bow, Newt. Then take a powder too.
Yeah, et cetera. “I’ve got tons of examples at my fingertips, but in the interest of time, suffice it to say blacks are lazy.”
Letting the mask slip and exposing the rot at your core through a parenthetical aside: part of this pernicious breakfast.
Above: the WaPo mentorship program ordered those omelettes forever ago, but you know what kind of people staff the commissary