Category Archives: Food and Drink

Tweet Of The Day: Anarchy In Milwaukee County Edition

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Is this what Sheriff Clarke has in mind?

Remember when Donald Trump told us he was the law and order candidate? It was, of course, another lie. He should have said he was the lawless and disorder candidate. His supporters have an anarchic streak to say the least. One of the few high-profile African-American Trumpers is the wack-a-doodle sheriff of Milwaukee County, Wisconsin, David A. Clarke Jr. The A seems to stand for arsonist:

Nice to see that the guy who runs the jails in Wisconsin’s most populous county’s hobby is inciting social media riots. Sheriff Clarke is enjoying his time in the spotlight:

His fans are gathering tiki torches to storm the castle? Is this some sort of Hawaiian or Polynesian uprising? Does that mean that Victor Frankenstein is holed up at Trader Vic’s? Does Trader Vic’s even exist any more? The original tiki bar and restaurant seems to only exist abroad according to Wikipedia, which is a real shame. I met the original Trader Vic when I was a kid. He was a friend of a friend of my father’s. I remain convinced that he created the Mai Tai; sorry, Beachcomber Don. I think Trumpers like Sheriff David Asshole Clarke should drink a few Mai Tais and catch the island vibe. That concludes this brief Adrastos-Zelig story except, that is, for this musical interlude:

Back to Sheriff Wingnut. It turns out that the lawless man in a tin foil cowboy hat is a blogger.

Clarke’s hernia inducing post is an incoherent rant that makes it rather worrisome that he’s a jailer. He’s just nutty enough to try to “lock her up” in his own jail. Here’s a sample of his unhinged writing:

When I tweeted the above image, I meant it. I wasn’t speaking in code. It’s time to run those corrupt politicians out of Washington DC and back to whatever crevices they crawled from. It’s time to put Mrs. Bill Clinton behind bars, where she belongs. And it’s time that the DOJ learns what the “J” stands for in their name.

Of course, that’s not what the “Democratic operatives with bylines” understood when they saw my tweet. They immediately reported that I was trying to “incite violence” — and unbecoming habit for a law enforcement official.  They were so desperate to make something of it, they contacted the NRA and probably the Trump campaign to get them to disavow me.)

Uh, yeah, that’s exactly what it sounds like. What do the voices in your head tell you, Sheriff Clarke? Something like this:

I’ve done nothing in 38 years of law enforcement to make any person believe that I incite violence, unless you believe that the right of self-defense which I advocate for, is inciting violence which this same media accused me of doing several years ago. Yet here goes the liberal, tolerant media giving liberals a pass while making plastering headlines across America that a black man’s conservative political rhetoric is actually violent.

<SNIP>

That is who my tweet was directed at. I encourage them to join me in pushing back against the corruption that has infected our institutions of government. I took an oath to defend the Constitution of the United States, not the pretended legislation of federal bureaucracies that have no law making authority under the Constitution. That Constitution is being shredded with the aid of Big Media as I write. I guess that makes me old school. Fine. I haven’t forgotten that I report to the people, not Big Media.

Yes, like the Founding Fathers knew and had the courage to say, it is pitchfork and torches time in America.

I feel a liberal hernia coming on, y’all.

The most alarming thing about Clarke’s rant is that it makes no fucking sense whatsoever. The “pretended legislation” of federal bureaucracies? What the hell does that even mean? Does it have something to do with this doo-wop classic?

That makes about as much sense as Clarke’s tirade about hernias, pitchforks, and torches. Oh my.

The country seems to be divided between two camps right now: those who want to “burn it down” and those who want to build on the step-by-step incremental progress that is the stuff of democracy. The “burn it down” group is largely right-wing but I know a few lefties with an anarchic streak who think it would be a good idea. Why? I’ll never know. Slow and steady wins the race in a democratic society. The pace may be painful, especially in a fast-moving digital world but it beats the hell out of political arson.

David Clarke is a Joe Arpaio wannabe. It’s a good thing his extreme views will make it difficult for him to be elected to higher office. It is, however, scary that this tin foil hat wearing paranoid holds a responsible position. It is even more distressing that a black “conservative” is advocating mob action. I hope the voters of Milwaukee County  will take him out at the next election; not with pitchforks and torches but with votes.

I feel one more tiki torch tune coming on. Speaking of pretenders, I’ll give Jackson Browne and David Lindley the last word:

Saturday Odds & Sods: The Winding Stream

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The Hailstorm by Thomas Hart Benton, 1940.

It’s been a scorching hot and depressing week in New Orleans. The Alton Sterling case is too close to home for comfort. The reaction from some white Gret Steters has been dispiriting while not altogether surprising. Apparently, it’s okay for a white dude to pack heat but not a black dude. The distinction eludes me. Additionally, the events in St. Paul and Dallas have cast a bloody pall over the week. I don’t usually let the news affect my mood but these events have. If you missed it, please read Doc’s post No Lives Matter. It sums my mood up quite well.

The good news is that I wrote most of this post before the appalling police shootings in Dallas. The combination of that city’s name and the word sniper has some bad juju for many of us. The post was already rather somber, so let’s get back to what passes for normality at First Draft.

The heat has been oppressive even by NOLA standards. When you step outside, it hits you in the face like a damp washcloth. It’s August level heat and humidity, and my body hasn’t even adjusted to the high 80’s let alone the mid-to-upper 90’s. There’s a huge difference between the two. When it’s 95 here the “feels like temperature” goes as high as 105-110, which is like Phoenix, AZ only wet, wet, wet. Dare I make a Wet Willie joke? Nah, I’ll skip it since it could get obscene and I’m not in the mood.

We spent some time outside last Saturday at a one-year-old’s birthday party. I found a shady, comparatively breezy spot, and in the feline manner staked it out as my own. My friends pointed out that cats seek out sunbeams but I hissed and declined to move.  The birthday girl is named Luna and one of the Spanksters made a piñata that looked like the image from Georges Melies’ landmark 1902 flick A Trip To The Moon:

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Piñata by Lara Desmond.

It was decided that it was too beautiful to be smashed to smithereens, so it’s now hanging on a wall at Luna’s folks crib. As Mad Men’s Weird Glenn would put it, Nice digs. Have I mentioned lately how much I miss Mad Men?

This week’s theme song is something of a bucolic antidote to my urban angst. It was written by AP Carter and has been recorded by oodles of artists. It’s also the title of a recent documentary about the Carter Family but more about that anon. The first version is by the original Carter Family: AP, Sara, and Maybelle. The second version features Carlene Carter, June Carter Cash, and a grand total of four generations of Carters:

Old-time Country music can be so comforting, in between tales of drunken depravity; of course, the Carters weren’t in to that sort of thing. They were traditionalists in the best sense of the word. On that note, it’s traditional for us to go to the break at this point.

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Saturday Odds & Sods: The Day I Get Home

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Economy of Grace by Kehinde Wiley.

It was a long ass road trip, y’all. Our first destination was Richmond, VA to attend our nephew Zachary’s high school graduation. He goes to a small public school for super smart-n-independent kids. There were 42 graduates, which meant that each of them got to say something. They even introduced the entire staff including the custodian. It’s a racially mixed class so, naturally, the black parents were loud and raucous whereas most of the white folks were polite and quiet. Boring. I tried to make up for that by whooping it up but I could not come close to the African-American mother who shouted out “Don’t you cry, baby girl” when her daughter approached the podium. It did not work. Profuse tears were shed.

Another highlight of the trip was seeing the Kehinde Wiley exhibit at the Virginia Museum of the Fine Arts. It’s entitled A New Republic and offers a fresh take on the masters by a talented black artist. If it comes to or near your town, check it out. Don’t tell them I sent you, they won’t give a shit.

We attended the Wiley exhibit the day after a horrible storm front blew through Richmond causing 150K power outages and general havoc. I’m not sure if General Havoc sided with the Union or the Confederacy. We had to drive through it but, much like the Rain Man, Dr. A is an excellent driver. Things were so hinky in Richmond that the museum alarm went off as I was looking at the VMFA’s fine collection of George Bellows’ work. It started bellowing so we exited, it had nothing to do with brexit. I’ll probably write something about that for Monday. I’m too pooped to mock Cameron, Corbyn, Farage, and Bozza right now. Note: the Johnson blond straw ‘do is real as you can see from this picture with his father:

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Photo via the Guardian.

Let’s move on to this week’s theme song. Thursday was actually the day I got home but what’s a bit of artistic license among friends? Artistic licentiousness is an altogether different matter. A musical highlight of the road trip was blasting a bootleg of a 1993 Squeeze show as we barreled through Birmingham, which according to Randy Newman is the greatest city in Alabam. Me, I prefer Mobile or the town in Alabama where the tusks are looser. The rim shot belong to Groucho Marx, not me, y’all.

Where the hell was I? Oh yeah, this week’s theme song. It’s The Day I Get Home by Difford and Tilbrook from the Play album. We have two versions for your listening pleasure; including one from the phenomenal 1993 Some Fantastic Place tour with Pete Thomas on drums and Paul Carrack on keys and vox:

After the break, I’ll post a few more trip tales as well as another homey/homely tune. Gotta stretch my legs, it was a long road trip.

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Saturday Odds & Sods: Dirty Old Town

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New York 1910 by George Bellows.

It’s been a rather wild and wicked week in New Orleans. Make that Wicked. I became the last American to see that hit musical and enjoyed it; yea verily. I never thought I’d root for the wicked witch but I did. The music was excellent and the instrumental flourishes reminded me of Duke period Genesis; not a bad thing at all.

In other NOLA news, the city wants to tax anything that looms over sidewalks including stoops and galleries. That’s a fancy word for balconies and many of the ones in the Quarter have been there and untaxed since the early 19th Century. It’s another money grab by City Hall and strikes me as a stoopid idea. The term “grandfather clause” should apply to this situation since the offending objects have been there even longer than the Landrieus. The Mayor should turn his attention to the air bnbs that his administration has allowed to pop up like toadstools after a summer rain. The whole topic makes me feel like the Stoop Crone on Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt…

Now that I’ve made an obscure pop culture reference for the first time (I lie like Trump) it’s time to move on to this week’s theme song. Ewan MacColl wrote Dirty Old Town in 1949. It’s about MacColl’s hometown Salford, Greater Manchester in the UK but has been recorded by a wide variety of artists, especially the Irish. We begin with MacColl’s version followed by the Pogues:

There’s *another* fine song of the same title by David Bryne. Bryne’s Dirty Old Town was written and recorded for his 1989 Rei Momo album:

Let’s shake the dirt off and move to the break. But first a word on dirt from Robert Penn Warren:

“Dirt’s a funny thing,’ the Boss said. ‘Come to think of it, there ain’t a thing but dirt on this green God’s globe except what’s under water, and that’s dirt too. It’s dirt makes the grass grow. A diamond ain’t a thing in the world but a piece of dirt that got awful hot. And God-a-Mighty picked up a handful of dirt and blew on it and made you and me and George Washington and mankind blessed in faculty and apprehension. It all depends on what you do with the dirt. That right?”

Willie Stark in All The King’s Men was inspired by Huey Long. Warren wrote the novel when he was on the faculty at LSU and it remains one of the best books ever written about the Gret Stet of Louisiana. Let’s turn over another shovelful of dirt and go to the break.

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The Fog Of Historical Pictures: Soak It To Me?

After there was a riot at the Insult Comedian’s gig in San Jose, CA last week, I tried to find some good pictures of a melee at a Nixon rally in San Jose when it was a hick town in 1970. The ones online aren’t any good so I dropped the idea despite having a fine title: Stoned In San Jose. Pity really.

While doing some research for a segment on Presidential boozing for the next Saturday Odd & Sods post, I stumbled into this picture of Tricky Dick in 1979:

Nixon-Grich

One thing Nixon and I agreed on was baseball. Above is the former President getting a beer bath from California Angels 2B Bobby Grich after the Angles clinched their first AL West title in 1979. Grich was one of my favorite non-Giants from that era: a player with a meh batting average, a high OPB, and off the hook defensive skills. Naturally, Grich was underrated; much like one of my favorite Giants of the same period, 3B Darrell Evans. Don’t get me started about Darrell Evans, y’all. The best baseball player nobody ever heard of.

It’s baseball card time:

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Jeez, I seem to be turning into Doc; only without the whole Cleveland Cavs fan thing.

It’s always funny to see Nixon *trying* to act like a regular guy and the Grich Bud bath picture is one of the best examples I’ve seen. The post title, of course, was inspired by Tricky’s appearance on Laugh In during the 1968 campaign:

While, we’re on the subject of beer, let’s give the Clancy Brothers the last word:

Saturday Odds & Sods: They All Laughed

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Painting by Piet Mondrian.

It’s been a wet May thus far in New Orleans. Jazz Fest was a muddy mess. The day we went turned out to be the driest of the second weekend. I wonder if the Mud Brothers returned to slip and slide in the slop?

In other news, the Formosan termite swarms returned to town. It’s a spectacular sight but not if you’re caught out in it. It’s like the locust scene in The Good Earth but doesn’t last very long. Somehow Adrastos World Headquarters was spared the worst. I have a theory about that:

Actually, I should give credit where it’s really due:

Enough Termite talk. Time to bug out and move on to this week’s theme song. They All Laughed was written by the brothers Gershwin for the 1937 Astaire-Rogers movie musical Shall We Dance. It became one of Fred’s signature tunes. My favorite Astaire version is a 1953 small group jazz version with the great Oscar Peterson on piano:

Next up on the Gershwin hit parade are Ella and Louis with Oscar Peterson on piano. Detect a pattern? It’s followed by a swinging big band version from Der Bingle:

Finally, it would be unforgivable if I didn’t let Fred and Ginger dance in an art deco nightclub for you this Saturday morning:

Now that we’ve all laughed, it’s time for the break. See you on the other side.

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Saturday Odds & Sods: Splendid Isolation

Father Mississippi by Walter Anderson.

Father Mississippi by Walter Inglis Anderson.

It’s been a relatively quiet week in New Orleans. There’s a new gentrification controversy involving changes to an Uptown green space known as the Fly. I’m for the status quo but I’ve decided to keep my fly zipped on this issue. I hereby apologize to everyone for that joke.

Meanwhile in Baton Rouge, the budgetary sky is falling. 8 years of Jindalnomics have left the state in such dire straits that not even Mark Knopfler could fix things. Once again, I need to apologize for that joke, which means I have to take the walk of life in atonement:

The new Governor gave a sort of chicken little speech about the state’s financial woes, which doesn’t seem to have moved many votes in the lege thus far. John Bel Edwards did, however, imply that if there were more budget cuts to higher education, the LSU Tigers might not play football next fall. Now that’s a serious threat here in the Gret Stet of Louisiana: No Leonard Fucking Fournette? Only time will tell if that helps, but the lege is loath to raise taxes on our 1%, which consists mostly of oil tycoons and people named Benson who own sports franchises. I have no idea what’s going to happen but it won’t be pretty. Neither was PBJ now that I think of it…

PBJ Spanked

This week’s theme song was, in part, inspired by the artist who painted the featured image. Walter Inglis Anderson was born in New Orleans but did much of his painting in nearby Ocean Springs, MS. Anderson was plagued with mental health issues and in 1965 rode out a hurricane with his own form of Splendid Isolation:

In 1965, months before his death, he rode through Hurricane Betsy on his beloved Horn Island, tethering his little skiff to his waist, climbing at night to the highest dune, wanting to feel the storm first hand. The water rose to his chest.

“Never has there been a more respectable hurricane,” he wrote, “provided with all the portents, predictions, omens, etc. The awful sunrise — no one could fail to take a warning from it — the hovering black spirit bird, the man of war, just one, comme il faut.”

Warren Zevon also lived life on the edge, but even the most extreme story told about him isn’t as wild as the tale of Walter Anderson and Hurricane Betsy. We grow our eccentrics larger than life here in New Orleans, y’all.

Splendid Isolation is one of my favorite WZ tunes; so much so that I’m posting three radically different versions. We begin with the piano driven studio version from the Tranverse City album:

Next up is a version with David Sanborn and the house band from the, uh, splendid but short-lived teevee show Night Music:

Finally, a live acoustic romp featuring Zevon’s fellow rock eccentric Neil Young:

Instead of putting tin foil on the windows like the character in the song, we’ll pull up our socks and muddle through after the break.

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Wishbone Ash Wednesday

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I cannot believe I blew the chance to use that pun with the ACAW feature. Better late than never. I’m still recovering from the long Carnival season. My feet are sore, my legs are stiff, and I ate way too much king cake. There was so much king cake around the house that Dr. A made a very yummy king cake bread pudding yesterday.

I’m a bit behind on the political news but the Granite State primaries went as expected. Any time there’s a New England Democrat on the ballot, they win in New Hampshire; even Mainer Ed Muskie in 1972. That’s right, McGovern didn’t win in NH, he exceeded expectations. On the GOP side, it could be Goodbye Rubio Tuesday all over again as Marcodroid Rubiobot laid an egg after being eviscerated by Governor Asshole at the last debate.

Wishbone Ash is, of course, a venerable British band who never quite achieved the success they deserved here in the good old US&A. This punny title is unlikely to help their cause but there are actually two-count ’em two-tenuous links between them and Carnival. First, the title of the song below evokes king cake if you’re inclined to whimsy. Second, it comes from an album entitled Argus, which is the big Fat Tuesday parade in suburban Metry.

It’s probably time for me to atone for this post title but we all know I’ll pun again. It’s what I do. Besides, I’m not Catholic and the only thing I’m giving up for Lent is Carnival. I considered amputating my aching legs but some friends talked me out of it. Why? I’ve always wanted to use the old Vaudeville line: Cut off my legs and call me Shorty.

That is all.

 

Saturday Odds & Sods: Hey Pocky Way

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Rex parade some time in the 1960’s.

Carnival may be a marathon, not a sprint, but I’m feeling winded after our annual Muses open house, which was a bit too open for my taste this year. Additionally, the crowds on the parade route are getting rowdier and more aggressive even on our relatively civilized corner. Even the best parade throws such as a Muses decorated shoe are just junk on Ash Wednesday. So it goes.

I hate to do this but this week’s Odds & Sods is going to be characterized by brevity. I’ve been having back problems, which led one of my friends to prescribe a cure: a fifth of Jameson’s. I only had some of it but I’m a bit the worse for wear anyway. I’m not even sure I feel like punning right now. I suspect you’re uncertain whether to be scared or relieved at this point…

I may be crapping out this week but there *is* a theme song. It’s one of the great Carnival anthems, Hey Pocky Way. It’s rooted in the traditions of the Mardi Gras Indians, with which Art Neville of the Meters and Neville Brothers is intimately familiar. His  beloved Uncle George Landry was Big Chief Jolly of the Wild Tchoupitoulas.

The song was written by the original Meters and began life as Hey Pocky A-Way:

I’m not sure why the A was dropped by the Nevilles since they’re definitely A students when it comes to music:

Finally, a live version from the good old Grateful Dead with keyboard wiz Brent Mydland on lead vocals. The Dead started performing the song after touring with the Neville Brothers:

That’s it for this truncated edition of Saturday Odds & Sods. Time to eat some party leftovers including some homemade chicken curry courtesy of one of Dr. A’s colleagues. In the meantime, don’t forget to:

Egghead

 

 

Saturday Odds & Sods: From The Cradle To The Grave

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Krewe of Comus float, 1916.

I had an epiphany on Wednesday and realized that it was Twelfth Night. Mardi Gras day comes ridiculously early this year, which means that Krewe du Vieux rolls on January 23rd. We’re shitting bricks trying to get ready for that early parade date. I’ve spent a lot of time inhaling paint fumes, swallowing sawdust, and, most importantly, drinking beer in anticipation of the big day. The Krewe of Spank specializes in hyper-local satire and this year’s theme is sufficiently obscure. Only New Orleanians will get this one. I don’t mind: I’ve got a forum for national satire right here.

We just put 2015 in the grave and now it’s time to slap the 2016 baby and see if it’s alive. Metaphorically, not literally as the Veep would surely say. Speaking of babies, we’re knee-deep in King Cake season and whoever gets the little plastic baby Jesus has to buy the next King Cake. Fuck that shit. I am a seasoned King Cake baby liar. I blame my disorder on this creepy mascot our NBA team unleashes on its unsuspecting fans every Carnival season:

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Seeing double with King Cake Baby and Pierre the Pelican.

Have I ever mentioned how much I loathe and despise mascots? I hate them almost as much as I hate Vodka, which is only suitable for drunken Mensheviks. No wonder Lenin had them all liquidated. Speaking of horrendous, there’s actually a vile-tasting King Cake Vodka on the market:

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I *almost* wrote about this week’s theme song earlier but wound up riffing on King Cake babies  and Vodka instead. From The Cradle To The Grave is the title track of the brand spanking new Squeeze album. The video below features age-morphing, which is much better than the lame and insipid  Krewe of Morpheus, which is best known for its EMPTY FLOAT.

Now that I’ve thoroughly confused you with that hyper-local Carnival joke, let’s play another Squeeze song before the break:

A totally ridiculous video for a great song. More ridiculous nonsense after the break.

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Fog Of Historical Pictures: Huey Long Behind The Bar

I stumbled into this picture whilst hanging out with Mr. Google. I’ve never seen it before and the folks who posted it said it was Huey in the 1940’s. Oops: he was gunned down in 1935.

My hunch is that it *may* be the Sazerac Bar at the Roosevelt Hotel in New Orleans BUT that’s just a guess. My partner in defogging history, James Karst, thinks it “could be a bar in NYC, a city to which Long imported the Sazerac bartender to teach those Yankee heathens how to make a proper gin fizz.”

Whatever the case, it’s a good picture to post 3 days before NYE.

Huey bar

Quote Of The Week: Drew Magary Edition

My chef friends have been buzzing all week over The 2015 Hater’s Guide To The Williams-Sonoma Catalog. Drew Magary is best known as a snarktastic sportswriter but he’s also a Chopped champion, so he knows from kitchen tools. Here’s how he started his third annual piece:

I have terrible news for you, America. I know that you’ve already endured a harsh autumn of partisan politics and mass tragedies and inconsistent NFL officiating. I know you can’t handle one more goddamn piece of bad news right now. It’s too much. It may break your spirit entirely. But I have to do it. If I don’t tell you now, you may learn this from an enemy, or from Twitter, or from your rich asshole brother-in-law:

There are no chicken coops for sale in this year’s Williams-Sonoma Christmas catalog.

I know. I know. Stay strong. We’ll get through this TOGETHER. I know you feel lost now that you won’t be able to shell out $1,000 for a goddamn chicken coop made out of driftwood by celebrated Carroll Gardens wood visualist SAMUEL PINE. Between this and the collapse of that one Blake Lively catalog, your interminable compulsion to run up your credit limit on horrible crap may never find a proper outlet.

HOWEVER, I do have some good news to soften the blow, my friend. While the coops are gone, the Williams-Sonoma Christmas catalog is still here. And yes, it remains as hilariously tone-deaf as ever, ready to help you plan the PERFECT holiday entertaining season, because to experience anything otherwise would be COLD DEATH. You must have a flawlessly laid-out dinner spread. You must have coordinated china and stemware patterns. The lyrics to “Sleigh Ride” must literally BE your life. You must SING! Yes, you must join hands with your gorgeous WASP children and sing carols in perfect harmony aloud for all to hear, so that the rest of world knows the truth: that their lives are SHIT and you, good friend, live among the holiday gods, in an evergreen paradise scented with luscious peppermint oils and laden with soup tureens and festooned with garlands sewn from the skinned corpse of a dead swan.

Chicken coopless? I don’t know about you, but I’m desolate. It makes me want to chicken out and fly the coop or contemplate this Seeds of Decline float:

Choke Mor Chikin

Photograph by Michael Homan.

The Cake Troll

My longstanding internet policy is a simple one: Do not feed the troll. Now we know what to feed a troll; at least a whiny titty baby Louisiana neo-Confederate malaka troll:

Last Thursday, Chuck Netzhammer posted a YouTube video that has since had more than half a million views.

In it, he tells about his effort to prove a point at a local Walmart after hearing the corporation was eliminating items with confederate flag symbolism from its shelves.

The ploy started by trying to order a cake with the flag and the words ‘Heritage, not hate,’ on top at a Slidell Walmart.

“She was very nice. She said I’ll try to run it through. She did the paperwork, said, ‘I’ll have to run that by the managers, more than likely, they’re probably not going to do it,'” he said.

Later that day, the call came that the order was in fact denied. Netzhammer then sent his wife to a different Slidell-area Walmart with something he considers offensive, the ISIS flag.

“She presented this image, they wrote up the paperwork. Everything is fine. The next day we picked it up,” he said of the ISIS order.

A Walmart spokesperson said in a statement, “Our talented bakery associates take pride in what they create for our customers. It’s unfortunate that one customer sought to take advantage of an associate who did not know the flag or its meaning. This cake should not have been made and we apologize for the mistake.”

Netzhammer says the employee isn’t the problem.

“Walmart should not be telling me what is moral or offensive at all,” he said.

The WWL-TV report can be found if you follow the link but here’s this bozo’s video on the YouTube:

More troll drollery after the break or is that droll trollery?

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Election Day

It’s election day in the United Kingdom and the right wing press has been going batshit crazy during the campaign. The invisible man of the Labour campaign, David Axelrod, popped his head above the parapet and spoke to Politico Europe:

POLITICO: But what about the press? You say it has disproportionate power here.  Do you think Britain’s conservative print media is more powerful than Fox News?

DA:  Yeah, I do. I do think the parties approach media as partisan players. So you see parties disseminating messages through the print media in a way that is unusual.

<snip>

Fox is certainly very conservative, skews to the Republican side, but there isn’t a kind of lockstep between them and the Republicans.  Fox tries to drive the Republican agenda more than reflecting it.

Here there are relationships between the parties and media outlets that are deeper so you see a lot of themes being previewed in the media in a way that you don’t see in the states.

This election cycle, the pro-Tory press has worked itself into a frenzy. I thought I’d give you a sample of some of the wildest front pages. First, the Murdoch Sun, which has been beside itself for months. The first front page is from yesterday and features a year old picture of Labour leader Ed Miliband eating a sammich:

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FYI, porkie is a Britism for a lie. More stupid Tory press tricks after the break.

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Bigotry Is Bad For Business

I didn’t know that Dave Duke had moved to Jersey:

“No matter what you are — Muslim, Jewish, black, white, gay, straight — you should be proud of what you are. I shouldn’t have to feel bad about being white,” Boggess told the Hunderdon County Democrat in March.

However, many people had a problem with Boggess’ sign, including his neighbor, Bhakti Curtis, who accused Boggess of “mocking Black History Month,” according to the Hunterdon County Democrat.

Boggess took down the sign after a few days and apologized to Curtis.

However, it seems the apology was not enough to keep Boggess in business. Boggess closed his deli and has started a GoFundMe page for his deli in hopes of raising money to reopen.

“It was only supposed to be a white thing but people read more into it than that,” Boggess wrote on his GoFundMe page about his sign. “I did get tons of supporting letters from all across the USA. Which was very comforting during such a stressful time.”

“Then the bottom dropped out and customers were no longer coming into my deli, and now I am forced to close down my Deli and lose my American dream. I have become heavily in debt and getting shut off notices from everywhere for both business and home,” Bogess continued in his note. “I don’t think I deserve this just because I wanted to be proud of being white and be able to celebrate my heritage like everyone else does.”

As of early Friday morning, Boggess had raised $215.

I don’t know about you, but I have no idea what a “white thing” is or  what “white history month” would look like. Did Boggess plan to show episodes of Fifties sitcoms like Ozzie and Harriet, Leave It To Beaver, or Father Knows Best? He clearly didn’t not know best despite having an awesome surname, which sounds like the Blogess.

Here’s the deal: controversy isn’t good for business. It’s a cliche, but the only color that matters is green. There was a local business, whose name I won’t mention to protect the guilty, that did some serious trolling on Twitter last year. Their act included gay baiting and egregious gun nuttery. It was a classic case of keyboard courage because the offensive tweets were deleted within an hour post-outburst. After a series of flame wars, the stupid tweets stopped and the whole thing ended up in the dustbin of internet history. The moral of that story is: use your business feed to promote your product, service or whatever and not your opinions, especially if you’re a dumbass

I hate to see anyone’s business damaged by something like this BUT it’s a self inflicted wound. I guess Boggess was hoping to emulate the Indiana pizza bigot’s tin cup rattling but it’s been a flop thus far. Next time maybe he’ll think first before doing something like this. Then again, thinking doesn’t seem to be his strong suit.

Repeat after me: Bigotry is bad for business.

Headline Of The Day: Fast Food Malakatude Edition

The MSM have been making asses of themselves since Hillary Clinton threw her headband in the ring. This headline on a Wall Street Journal blog is the apogee of stupid:

Clinton Bypassed Centrist Taco Bell For Liberal Favorite Chipotle

The post goes on to share semi-interesting marketing data about which chain attracts liberal customers. Here’s the deal: Hillary was hungry and sometimes one just wants to have a burrito the size of a Great Dane’s head.

Odds & Sods: Friday Follies Edition

the-who odds--sods

There are always follies on Fridays; most other days as well. At the risk of sounding like Keith Olbermann, we begin with:

From Debrisville To Durstville: Robert Durst has been making headlines in New Orleans since his arrest. He faces gun and weed charges locally. I’m glad the DA’s office is charging him since the case against him in the murder of Susan Berman is the *opposite* of a slam dunk. Hopefully, it won’t be an air ball.

More Friday hilarity after the break; at least I hope it’s funny. I dread turning into Jack Webb as Joe Friday at times like this. Why? I’ll never know. Continue reading

Odds & Sods: March Reading List

the-who odds--sods

The Idea of March have come and gone without my being stabbed in the back, so I figured I should celebrate by suggesting some articles. It’s a good thing I don’t know anyone named Brutus although my late mother had a crazy, rather incontinent dog by that name. He never stabbed me in the back. He did, however, pee on my copy of Tupelo Honey. I guess he wanted to be named Ocatavian…

The Israeli Election: TPM’s Josh Marshall has been blogging the hell out of it so y’all should check out the editor’s blog at his joint. My favorite recent post on the subject was one about a forgotten Labor Prime Minister, Levi Eshkol, and why Isaac Herzog wants to be like him. It amounts to a pledge for less drama to an electorate worn out by Bibi the actor. I’d call him a ham but it wouldn’t be kosher…

Speaking of the annoying Mr. Netanyahu, Haaretz has an excellent thumbsucker (think piece, A’s not the only one who knows newspaper slang) about why Bibi and Likud may lose the election.

American Political Scandals 101: Andrew Burstein and Nancy Isenberg try to put the stupid, petty, and downright ridiculous media controversy about Hillary’s emails in historical context.  Btw, the authors are LSU profs. Hopefully, Governor PBJ won’t shitcan them for writing above the 4th grade level.

School Daze: Anyone remember Spike Lee’s 1988 film about African-American frats and such? It was pretty good, actually, even if it goes down as a lesser joint.

Anyway, I’m not the only NOLA blogger who has been ransacking his archives. Jason Berry aka Damabala was inspired by the Okie racist frat flap to pull out a 2010 post about then Mayoral candidate John Georges and his bratty, fratty days. Georges is currently the owner of the New Orleans Advocate but he’s still a DKE at heart. Jason’s post is called, quite appropriately, The Specter Of Jim Crow Still Haunts The South’s Fraternity Row.

The Original New Orleans Diva: Let’s close on a lighter note. My twitter friend and fellow San Francisco Giants fan April Siese has written a superb profile of the late, great Adelaide Brennan. So, make yourself a cocktail and read about a true New Orleans original.

Class dismissed, but not before I circle back to Tupelo Honey: