Category Archives: Television

The Gong Show Presidency

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I’ve long been a consumer of trash teevee. I’m not proud of it but, as one of the real housewives would surely say, I own it. I’m not sure where the hell I bought it though…

One of my past guilty pleasures was The Gong Song, which was a untalent/game show mashup. They brought shitty performers on-some ironic, some clueless-and when the judges had enough they would beat the hell out of a gong like a demented, untalented Carl Palmer or this burly bloke:

One of the ironic gongsters, the Unknown Comic, inspired my nickname for the Darnold: the Insult Comedian. That, in turn led to this May 2016 post and meme:

.Unknown Insult Comic Meme

It’s time to circle back to the post title at long last. It’s a modest proposal for future Trump pressers. He’s notoriously thin-skinned as we saw last week when he refused to take a question from CNN’s Jim Acosta. Then there was the infamous “you’re the puppet” exchange with HRC when she called Putin’s Pawn a puppet. Here’s my helpful suggestion: the Trumpers should roll a gong out for future press conferences, which will allow the Insult Comedian to bang the gong when he gets a vexatious question. It would be a ratings smash. Literally.

If only we could end the Trump misadventure by beating the shit out of a gong. We cannot but it sounds like a swell way to vent, doesn’t it?

All this talk about gongs has given me a benign earworm, so I’ll give the late, great glam rocker Marc Bolan the last word:

One more thing. This post was inspired by a tweet by my online friend Megan Romer about the inauguration of his illegitimacy:

Guess I lied about the whole last word thing again. We are living in the post-truth world, after all.  So it goes.

Sunday Morning Video: Austin City Limits Songwriters Special

This 2008 episode features the late Guy Clark, Joe Ely, Lyle Lovett, and token non-Texan, John Hiatt:

The Word Of The Day Is Salacious

Unless you live under a rock in an isolated part of Siberia, you’ve heard about the raw intelligence file posted by BuzzFeed. Many reputable news organizations, including Mother Jones, refused to publish it because it’s unverifiable. Slate’s Will Oremus describes how it finally came out after months of teasing:

The dossier was not new. Buzz Feed and multiple other news organizations had obtained it well before Tuesday and had been investigating its various claims. Mother Jones wrote about it prior to the election, on Oct. 31, and published a handful of quotes from it. Key figures in Congress had also seen it and even publicly alluded to it, and the Guardian reported on Tuesday that Sen. John McCain had passed it to FBI Director James Comey last month. But no one had published its entire, stunning contents before Tuesday—partly because, as my colleague Joshua Keating put it, “nothing in the memos has been confirmed, and even their provenance is murky.”

<SNIP>

Smith didn’t address why BuzzFeed waited until now to publish the document, and he declined to comment further for this article. But the move came almost immediately after CNN reported Tuesday that top U.S. intelligence officials had shown Trump and President Obama a two-page synopsis of the dossier. The synopsis was presented as an unofficial appendage to the classified security briefings they gave Obama and Trump about Russian interference in the presidential election, CNN reported. Sources also told CNN that the “Gang of Eight” Congressional leaders had been provided a synopsis of the dossier as well.

In short, the timing was driven by media momentum. It turns out that our old friend FBI Director James Comey has been sitting on the information. He apparently only publicizes unverifiable information about Hillary Clinton.

Twitter was agog last night over the ickiest part of the dossier: Trump’s use of golden showers as a soggy revenge mechanism.  While amusing that was NOT the most important passage of the dossier:

In terms of specifics, Source A confided that the Kremlin had been feeding TRUMP and his team valuable intelligence on his opponents, including Democratic presidential candidate Hillary CLINTON, for several years [see more below]. This was confirmed by Source a close associate of TRUMP who had organized and managed his recent trips to Moscow, and who reported, also in Tune 2016, that this Russian intelligence had been “very helpful”. The Kremlln’s cultivation operation on TRUMP also had comprised offering him various lucrative real estate development business  deals in Russia, especially in relation to the ongoing 2018 World Cup soccer tournament, However, so far, for reasons unknown, TRUMP had not taken up any of these.

However, there were other aspects to TRUMP’s engagement with the Russian authorities. One which had borne fruit for them was to exploit personal obsessions and sexual perversion in order to obtain suitable ‘kompromat’ [compromising material] on him. According to Source D, where s/he had been present, (perverted) conduct in Moscow included hiring the presidential suite of the Ritz Carlton Hotel, where he knew President and OBAMA {whom he hated] had stayed on one other official trips to Russia, and defiling the bed where they had slept by employing a number of prostitutes to perform a ‘golden showers’ (urination) show in front of him. The hotel was known to be under FSE control with microphones and concealed cameras in all the main rooms to record anything they wanted to.

I don’t do terlet humor: it’s low-hanging fruit for low-brows. The jokes missed the ominous point of the memo: that the KGB’s successor agency, the FSE, has allegedly been blackmailing Trump because he was stupid and arrogant enough to have hookers pee on a bed the Obamas slept in. Both claims are plausible if disgusting. Trump *is* stupid and arrogant and blackmail has long been used by Russian intelligence as a means of gaining leverage over people. Anyone who has read John LeCarre or watched The Americans knows that. Of course, Trump doesn’t read books and is incapable of sitting still long enough to marvel over Philip’s wigs on the FX show.

I never thought I’d be writing about a President-elect, and peeing Russian hookers. This is the level to which Trump has dragged our national dialogue. I am, however, worried that the publication of the dossier will backfire and make people feel sorry for Trump. He deserves only scorn, not sympathy.

Last night I tweeted this out:

The NYT called the dossier salacious hence the post title. As of this writing, Trump’s first full-blown post-election press conference is still on. I’m skipping it. I’d rather read about it than watch it on the electric teevee machine. Why? After reading the raw intelligence file, I feel like I need delousing. I don’t want to go through that more than once.

Saturday Odds & Sods: Born Under A Bad Sign

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Tollan, Aztec Legend by Marsden Hartley, 1933.

The only predictable thing about the weather in New Orleans to start the new year has been its unpredictability. It’s been warm and muggy, wet and damp, foggy and chilly. You name it, we’ve had it, except, that is, for snow. The last time it snowed here was in 2008. Thousands of pictures were taken of the St. Charles street car in the snow. It melted quickly and hasn’t happened since. So it goes.

It was Twelfth Night yesterday, which means that we can finally eat king cake, and, more importantly, hang our krewe flags on our houses. I’ve been wanting to fly the Spank flag for months but Dr. A wouldn’t hear of it until yesterday. So it goes.

Here’s the flag with Dennie the den of Muses cat:

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End of laginappe Carnival catblogging, make that reblogging. If you blog long enough you end up repeating yourself, repeating yourself, repeating yourself…

This week’s theme song, Born Under A Bad Sign, was written for blues great Albert King by Stax Records legends William Bell and Booker T. Jones. It seems to fit the mood of at least half the country as we contemplate the next administration. I’m not sure whether to feel cursed or resigned but I’m certain that the shit brought to the surface in 2016 will continue to stink. Shit’s a funny thing, no matter how you disguise it, it smells just as bad. So it goes.

We begin with a version King recorded in New Orleans in 1978, produced by Allen Toussaint:

We continue with an instrumental version by the man who wrote the music:

Finally, a swell 1993 rendition by the great Paul Rodgers:

Now that we’ve admitted to being down since we began to crawl, we’ll shoot for a rebirth (no, not the brass band or the pale ale) after the break.

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Mighty Like An Omarosa

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Omarosa throws shade.

I took one for the team last year and watched several seasons of the Celebrity Apprentice. Even though it ostensibly presented Donald Trump in a favorable light, it was revealing, albeit appalling, viewing that gave me insight into the fragility of the Trumpian psyche.

One of the seasons I watched featured endless bickering between former Daily Mail editor and CNN chat show host Piers Morgan and Omarosa Manigault. They appeared to genuinely hate one another as opposed to reality show hatred. At one point Morgan called her “an apprentice but not a celebrity.” Not a bad burn.

The reason I’m going on about this is that Omarosa has been hired to be the Insult Comedian’s White House shit stirrer. CNN puts it more politely:

Manigault, who prefers to go by only her first name, was a prominent African-American surrogate for Trump during his campaign and served as his campaign’s director of African-American outreach.

Her title will be assistant to the President and director of communications for the Office of Public Liaison focusing on issues such as community outreach.

Mark my words, the Trump West Wing will resemble a cockfighting ring within a matter of months. Reality teevee thrives on conflict and putting Reince, Bannon, Conway, and Omarosa on the staff is bad for the Republic but good for satire. I cannot wait for the first self-serving leaks. Let the finger pointing and back stabbing begin.

For those of you who were spared the Piers-Omarosa wars, I found a nifty compilation video. It’s almost as much fun as watching Sheree and Kenya go at it on the Real Housewives of Atlanta. Who’s gonna check you, boo?

Malaka Of The Week: James Woods

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Some actors who play villains are as sweet as pie off-stage. The late Robert Ryan, who played some of the vilest villains of the 40’s and ’50’s, was a kind, gentle, and liberal man. James Woods is none of those things. And that is why he is malaka of the week.

James Woods loves Twitter as much as his Führer, Donald Trump. He’s a glowering presence online and loves picking fights with all and sundry, especially people to his left politically. It’s a large group: Woods is the wingnut’s wingnut.

Befitting an actor who played Roy Cohn, HR Haldeman, and Rudy Noun Verb 9/11, he’s a bully with a glass jaw:

When “Abe List,” an anonymous Twitter user, called James Woods a “cocaine addict” on the social-media service back in July of 2015, he probably didn’t realize that he was starting a legal fight with the Hollywood star that would follow him not only to the grave but beyond it. But apparently he underestimated Woods’s obsessive desire for vengeance.

First, Woods famously responded to List’s ridicule by suing the tweeter for defamation, seeking $10 million in damages against “John Doe,” as he was named in the suit. Doe’s lawyer, Ken White (who writes about legal and free-speech issues under the pen name Popehat on his website and on Twitter), filed an anti-SLAPP motion seeking the case’s dismissal, arguing that “cocaine addict” was “a constitutionally protected political insult” in a Twitter context and shouldn’t be viewed as a statement of fact — especially given that Woods had used similarly inflammatory language to insult others on the social-media platform. The judge denied that motion in February, meaning the case could continue. Doe appealed that decision, but subsequently died, causing White to withdraw the appeal.

On Twitter, Woods celebrated. “The slime who libeled me just dropped his appeal contesting my victorious SLAPP motion,” he tweeted. Then, after someone replied noting that Woods had been “victorious” because his adversary had died, Woods tweeted (and later deleted), “Learn this. Libel me, I’ll sue you. If you die, I’ll follow you to the bowels of Hell. Get it?” He also expressed a hope that Doe died “screaming my name.”

He meant it! Woods decided not to let Doe’s death slow down the lawsuit, and at a deposition in mid-November, White refused to give up his client’s name, so Woods pressed yet further, filing a motion to compel him to. Now, reports The Hollywood Reporter, the presiding judge has ruled on that motion — White will have to reveal Doe’s identity. That is: the name of his client, who is dead, who was sued for $10 million for tweeting something mean at a celebrity. Woods’s lawyers had also sought sanctions against White for refusing to give up his client’s identity, but that attempt was rebuffed.

That’s right, James Woods is still suing the dead guy. And I thought I was a grudge holder. I’m a piker next to a man who once played a left-wing, albeit assholish, lawyer in True Believer. Woods made up for that momentary lapse by playing Trump buddies Cohn and Giuliani. Cohn was Trump’s mentor until diagnosed with full-blown AIDS whereupon the Donald dumped him. More recently, he discarded Rudy after the past malaka of the week helped him win the crucial FBI Manhattan field office vote. As I’ve said before, easy Comey, easy go.

We’re not out of the Malaka Woods quite yet. I visualize Woods sitting in a recliner as he simultaneously tweets nasty shit and fondles a taser. He’s suing the dead guy for the same reason he’s on social media: to take sadistic pleasure out of someone else’s pain. It makes one pine for the good old days when all he could do was insult waiters, bully stage hands, and leer at women he deems worthy of notice. He’s taken his ugliness to the internet for all to witness. Actors *are* exhibitionists, after all.

Life is a movie to James Woods. He’s the hiss-provoking villain preying on the so-called politically correct masses one tweet at a time. The Insult Comedian’s electoral college victory has only made him more insufferable. Thanks, Donald. And that is why James Woods is malaka of the week.

Pulp Fiction Thursday: The Man In The High Castle

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I’ve never read Philip K. Dick’s dystopian novel but I’ve always heard good things about it. The Man In The High Castle seems eerily prescient given that the best case scenario for the next President is for him to be the American Silvio Berlusconi. As to the worst case, I don’t want to go there right now.

I discovered the photo montage below via 8 Clicks From Nowhere. Thanks y’all. Hmm, I wonder if that makes me the Nowhere Man John Lennon went on about. Probably not. I definitely have a point of view. End of bullshit barrage, on with the montage:

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Dr. A and I have been binge watching the Amazon series. I highly recommend it. I’ll even grade it: B+, 3 1/2 stars, and an Ebertian thumbs up.

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Before the release of season-one, Amazon pulled a promotional stunt that blew up in their corporate face.  It made the public go “Heil, no.” Here’s the pictorial evidence.

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Joey No Socks Meets Don Donaldo, Il Comico Insulto

There’s a new Trump story for the MSM to ignore and/or explain away. The Insult Comedian spent New Years Eve with a guy named Joey No Socks Cinque:

Cinque can be seen in a video obtained by the Palm Beach Daily News, cheering loudly as a tuxedo-clad Trump runs through a number of campaign promises before the hundreds of guests attending the New Year’s Eve bash the President-elect threw at his Mar-a-Lago estate in Florida on Saturday.

“The taxes are coming down, regulations are coming off, we’re going to get rid of Obamacare,” Trump can be heard saying as an exuberant Cinque stands next to him, pumping his fists into the air.

Cinque’s Sunday appearance with Trump might raise some eyebrows.

Beyond a 1989 felony conviction for possessing nearly $100,000 worth of stolen artwork, Cinque “used to be friends with John Gotti,” according to a New York Magazine profile from 1995.

Cinque was also “shot three times and left for dead” in a 1980 incident that authorities described as “a hit,” according to the profile.

This is the company kept by the man who lost the popular vote. Of course, nobody should be shocked that Trump hangs out with wise guys or their associates. I wrote about that very subject last June in a post called Don Donaldo, Il Comico Insulto. I decided it was high time to revive the Italianate form of the nickname since Trump is poised to become America’s very own Berlusconi.

At least Cinque has a cool nickname: Joey No Socks is a new one on me. It evokes Joe Pantoliano’s childhood nickname, Joey Pants. He, of course, played Ralphie in The Sopranos. Cinque has also been called-get ready for it-the Preppy Don. Maybe that’s why Trump hangs out with him…

The real reason Trump likes Joey No Socks is that he runs a group that gives fake awards to rich egomaniacs. It’s something called the American Academy of Hospitality Sciences. I wonder what science is involved? Chemistry or scammery? Probably the latter. Here’s a picture of Don Donaldo and his sockless felon pal from 2013:

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Imagine if the Clintons were seen bringing in the New Year with a guy described in his Wikipedia entry as a “small-time mobster, a scam artist, and an art fence.” It would be the lead story on Fox News and the respectable MSM would be all over it like a cheap suit worn by James Comey. I’m hearing crickets so far. The MSM is too busy giving Trump credit for the Congressional ethics walk back to be bothered. A new motto for the respectables: if Trump tweets it, it must be true.  #SARCASM

One oddity of this story is that Joey No Socks shares a name with the leader of the Amistad Revolt, Joseph Cinqué. The only difference in spelling is l’accent grave. There’s another difference, one of them led a slave revolt whereas the other is slavishly revolting.

When I first heard about the Trump-Cinque connection, I misheard the latter’s nickname as Joey No Shoes. That’s why I’m giving Frank Zappa the last word:

That concludes this edition of Life Imitates The Sopranos.

Saturday Odds & Sods: The Best Of Adrastos 2016

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Nighthawks by Edward Hopper.

It’s time to take a look back at 2016. It may be an exercise in egotism but it’s mine, all mine. Last year’s best of Adrastos was a top thirty list, this year we have a plus-one. Sounds like a dinner party, doesn’t it? It’s time to belly-up to the buffet…

2016 was a good year for satire, but a terrible year for the country. And I was a better pundit than prognosticator. So it goes.

Here’s this year’s crop of posts in chronological order:

January 7, 2016: The Fog Of History: The Wallace Factor.

January 16, 2016: Saturday Odds & Sods: Black Tie White Noise.

February 27, 2016: Saturday Odds & Sods: All The Things You Are.

March 28, 2016: The Fog Of Historical Pictures: Grace Coolidge’s Pet Raccoon.

March 28, 2016: Charles Foster Kane Meets Donald Trump.

March 31, 2016: Malaka Of The Week: John Milkovich (Not Malkovich)

April, 18, 2016: Oy, Such A Mentor

April 21, 2016: Malaka Of The Week: Jeff Weaver.

May 7, 2016: Saturday Odds & Sods: They All Laughed.

May 18, 2016: Speaking In Dudebromides.

June 3, 2016: Trump Violates The First Rule Of Litigation.

June 13, 2016: Still Comfortably Numb Revisited.

June 29, 2016: A Fatal Lack Of Cunning & Guile.

July 11, 2016: Jill Stein: Crunchy Granola Machiavelli.

July 29, 2016 DNC Wrap Up Finale: She Won’t Stay Throwed.

August 18, 2016: Heckuva Job, Advocate.

August 18, 2016: The Insult Comedian’s Not For Turning.

August 22, 2016: Every Flim-Flam Man Needs A Sucker.

September 8, 2016: Is Trump Really Running For Grand Nagus?

September 17, 2016: Saturday Odds & Sods: Birdland.

October 4, 2016: Instant Analysis: The Debate As Altman Film.

October 6, 2016: Absence Of Malice.

October 10, 2016: Breitbart-Bannon-Bossie Man.  Bloggers Note: This post was included by Batocchio in the Jon Swift Roundup 2016. 

October 17, 2016: Moe’s Wife Blames Larry.

November 2, 2016: Out Of Control FBI Playing By The Clinton Rules.

November 10, 2016: Sitting Political Shiva.

November 11, 2016: Confessions Of A Keyboard Maquis.

November 16, 2016: Malaka Of The Week: New Orleans Baby Cakes.

November 17, 2016: The Most Dangerous Game. 

December 1, 2016: Louisiana Politics: A Terrible Candidate For Terrible Times.

December 12, 2016: Hayes/Smith: Only Victims.

That’s it for 2016. It’s been a tough year but we’re still alive and kicking. I’ll give the last word to two guys we’re really going to miss:

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Trumpstock Fail

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The Insult Comedian and Beach Boy Mike Love.

If you’re like me, the only thing amusing about the prospect of a Trump inauguration is how few acts are willing to perform in “celebration” of it. They’ve even been turned down by supporters such as Kiss leader and epic creep Gene Simmons. Vulture has compiled a rejection list. It’s a thing of beauty, y’all.

The Trumpers cannot even win over conservative country singer types or past contestants on the Celebrity Apprentice. The Beach Boys are still on the fence about taking the plunge. I’m surprised: professional asshole Mike Love owns the band name and he’s famously right-wing. In 2012, Love’s (right) wing man Bruce Johnston called President Obama “a socialist asshole” and said the country was fucked if he was re-elected.

The best lie about this show-biz debacle comes from a Trump transition flack:

Donald Trump’s transition team says it’s not at all worried about the lack of A-list celebs signing up to perform at the President-elect’s inauguration.

“Not at all,” Boris Epshteyn, the communications director for the inauguration, told CNN on Monday. “You know, this is not Woodstock. It’s not Summer Jam. It’s not a concert. It’s not about celebrities.”

Epshteyn told CNN that Trump doesn’t want to have a bunch of A-list celebrities perform at the event, and instead wants to book performers who represent Americans.

<SNIP>

“The Rockettes represent the American people. The Mormon Tabernacle Choir represents the American people,” Epshteyn told CNN, adding that other yet-to-be-announced performers will also represent the everyday American at the event. “And that’s what we’re concentrating on.”

The notion that the former host of a reality show featuring C and D-list celebs doesn’t care about show-biz glitz is ludicrous. They might as well call Ted Nugent and be done with it. Now that I think of it, the Secret Service may not let the Nuge near an official event after 8 years of veiled threats against the Current Occupant.

I’m pleased at how toxic the Trump brand has become. The MSM keeps trying to convince people that he’ll grow in office, but only true believers are buying it. Here’s hoping that Team Trump’s inability to convince even Trump sycophants such as Meatloaf to perform is an early indicator that their incompetence may yet save the Republic.

I’m not sure why the Beach Boys are so squeamish about playing for the Insult Comedian. They’re the group that recorded one of Charlie Manson’s songs, after all. Of course, they rewrote it and royally pissed off the homicidal cult leader. Mike Love has been dining out on his encounter with Manson for years, why not add some Trump tales to the repertoire?

 

Deep Thought

The fate of Western liberal democracy is primarily in the hands of a conservative German Chancellor who was born in communist East Germany.

One more deep thought. Tracey Ullman’s Angela Merkel is much better than Kate McKinnon’s:

Sunday Morning Video: Bette Davis Meets Dick Cavett

The movie legend went one-on-one with the teevee talk show legend in 1971. It’s a classic as are Bette’s boots.

Saturday Odds & Sods: End Of The World

 

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Sideshow banner by Snap Wyatt.

We’re riding a weather roller coaster here in New Orleans. I hate roller coasters and prefer consistent weather as long as it’s vaguely wintery be it Johnny or Edgar…

I’m still fighting a cold so this will be on the short side. I know, famous last words and all that shit.

I’m not feeling apocalyptic but many people are. I cannot blame them. It’s hard to be a glass half-full person right now and this week’s theme song reflects that. End Of The World was written by John Wetton and Geoff Downes for Asia’s 2010 Omega album. The melody is a bit too gorgeous for a truly apocalyptic feel but that’s what they do.

While we’re ending the world, we might as well give a certain REM tune with a very long title a spin:

If you’re feeling apocalyptic now, you might want to be patient. It’s bound to take longer than expected. Everything does.

Don’t worry. We’ll still be waiting after the break. The world isn’t going anywhere for the time being.

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Tweet Of The Day: Food Fight

Food was important in my family. My mother was a phenomenal cook and fed us well. She made sure that her youngest (me) knew how to cook since his father could only boil water in the science oven. She learned to cook all the Greek family recipes from my Yia Yia and added a few twists of her own; mostly involving cheese and Norwegian baked goods.

Food is important in Greek culture as well. I recall my aunt asking my cousin to defrost a moussaka for my father’s wake. Said cousin said: “Which one? There are three. Heaven forbid we run out of food in this family.” That’s why I fit in so well in New Orleans. I quickly realized how food obsessed they were here and said, “These are my people.” It was my Brigham (This is the Place) Young moment only without the plural wives and autocratic tendencies.

I included that long preamble to point out that I understand the importance of food. I don’t, however, squeal when someone knocks an eatery I like, not even one owned by a relative. That brings me to the Insult Comedian’s latest early morning rant:

You probably already knew that Vanity Fair editor Graydon Carter has been feuding with Trump for decades. He’s the one who first dubbed Trump a “short-fingered vulgarian.” That’s not it, this whole mishigas is about a bad VF review by Tina Nguyen: Trump Grill Could Be The Worst Restaurant In America. Here’s a tasting menu of Ms. Nguyen’s piece:

The allure of Trump’s restaurant, like the candidate, is that it seems like a cheap version of rich. The inconsistent menus—literally, my menu was missing dishes that I found on my dining partners’—were chock-full of steakhouse classics doused with unnecessarily high-end ingredients. The dumplings, for instance, come with soy sauce topped with truffle oil, and the crostini is served with both hummus and ricotta, two exotic ingredients that should still never be combined. The menu itself would like to impress diners with how important it is, randomly capitalizing fancy words like “Prosciutto” and “Julienned” (and, strangely, ”House Salad”).

<SNIP>

Perhaps Trump’s veneer of a steakhouse is too obviously a veneer, meant for the hoodied masses to visit once and never return. (There are already an infinite number of articles about how Trump’s mass-produced products are meant to impress a hollow sense of wealth.) And prior to his victory, it seemed as if the world of Fifth Avenue power brokers agreed: the lobby was perpetually empty, the Grill(e) mostly frequented with Trump Tower residents and locals looking for a convenient power lunch, if any of the bigger, better power-lunch spots nearby were full. But later, when I read previous reviews of the Trump Grill before he became a presidential front-runner, I was shocked to discover that the food back then was bland, mediocre, and as Eater’s Robert Sietsema once wrote, “for timid people with digestive problems.” In other words, it was a culinary marvel lightyears beyond the rich-man slop we ate at the Trump Grill weeks after the election. (And indeed, it was slop: as soon as I got home, I brushed my teeth twice and curled up in bed until the nausea passed.)

The food critics I’ve known have cast-iron stomachs so it takes a lot to induce nausea. She actually kinda sorta liked the Taco Salad that inspired this racist tweet and rare Trumpian smile on Cinco de Mayo:

Back to the attack tweet. Yes, Virginia, Donald Trump is this thin-skinned.

Ms. Nguyen’s takedown of Trumpe Grille is the most scathing restaurant review I’ve read since the NYT’s Pete Wells took a dump on the dread Guy Fieri’s tourist trap back in 2012. Now that I think of it, Trump and Fieri have some things in common: bad hair and incessant shouting. There’s even a series of Trump-Fieri mashup pictures floating about the interweb. This one in text form is my fave rave:

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Thanks, Hell Demon, whoever the hell  you are. I hope that Flavor Town is safe for now. That begs the bigger (beggar?) question: is anywhere in America safe from the Insult Comedian’s incessant whining? It’s not as if he cooks the food at Trump Grill. I bet he can’t even boil water in the science oven.

I’m not telling you anything you didn’t already know but Trump is a classic bully. I’m old school when it comes to dealing with bullies: you stand up to them and fight back. A sensitivity seminar isn’t going to help with the likes of Donald Trump. The best defense is mockery of any Trump branded item, which is guaranteed to inspire a whiny tweet. Mr. Tough Guy is actually the whiner-in-chief as well as a bigger Weiner than Anthony…

Finally, I’d like to thank for the Insult Comedian for giving me something to write about. I’ve been sick so it’s been one and done for me this week. What would I do without you, Donnie baby? I’d love to find out. Life without Mr. Big Man sounds most appealing:

 

The Fog Of Historical Pictures: Bad Company

No, I’m not posting pictures of Paul Rodgers, Simon Kirke, Mick Ralphs or even the late Boz Burrell who is well and truly Gone, Gone, Gone. This post is about the bad company kept by Time Magazine: its latest person of the year, Donald Trump.

Time’s standard disclaimer is that the honor is based on who “for better or for worse…has done the most to influence the events of the year.” Whatever, y’all. The winners of US Presidential elections are customarily honored as were Trumpian lackeys Rudy and Newt.

I’m interested in the *really* bad company honored by Time over the years, especially the dictators. Here’s a sampler in reverse order.

We begin with the Insult Comedian’s bosom buddy, Vladimir Putin. I suspect both envision themselves as Tom Hanks, not Peter Scolari, neither of them wants to play Lena Durham’s father in Girls. I see Trump as a malevolent Forrest Gump instead. End of Bosom Buddies inspired riff. On with the parade of covers:

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I suspect manly man Vlad was bummed that Time gender neutralized the honor before he received it in 2007. Our next dictator is longtime KGB director and short-term Soviet leader Yuri Andropov. I suspect he’d be proud of the state sponsored hackerism Russia used to disrupt the 2016 election. Andropov was honored alongside his American counterpart who was a former movie actor, not a spook:

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Looks like they had each others back. Me, I would have dubbed them Men of the Yuri…

Speaking of bad company, Iran’s Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini was man of the year in 1979 even though he wore robes, not trousers. He certainly wore the pants in Iran for a decade.

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Here’s another honoree guaranteed to give the Islamophobes surrounding Trump the vapors. It’s an oil embargo based honor:

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Seeing King Faisal’s stern countenance reminds me of a pun made on the name of his oil minister by NYT columnist William Safire. The minister in question was Sheikh Ahmed Zaki Yamani, whose name inspired this 1981 column title: “Yamani or Ya Life.” Sounds like a real sheikhdown to me…

I’ve skipped several dictators including Khrushchev and Deng Xiao-Ping despite the latter’s punworthy name. All I have to say to any Deng fans out there is this: tough shit.

Our next dictator was a two-time honoree in 1939 and 1942. Time to introduce the mighty mite from Georgia aka the Red Tsar or Uncle Joe:

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Just looking at Stalin’s ugly mug gives me a hangover. Vodka hangovers are the worst and Stalin loved drinking his associates under the table then mocking them for being hungover the next day. Nobody ever called him Comrade Nice Guy, after all.

Our last dictator is the worst company of all. A vegetarian teetotaler who loved dogs and Aryan children but hated everyone and everything else:

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As you can see, Trump is in very bad company with this honor. Believe it. I’m surprised he didn’t insist on Time returning to the original man of the year rubric since he *is* the incoming  pussy-grabber-in-chief. I cannot wait until he starts bragging about it. In fact, I’m shocked he hasn’t tweeted about it as of this writing. It won’t be long.

Time to circle back to the beginning of the post and give Paul Rodgers and krewe the last word. They’re actually good company but Bad Company is a better band name:

 

Saturday Odds & Sods: Liar

It’s been another weird week in New Orleans. The weather has been yo-yo-ing to and fro. We reluctantly ran the AC on a particularly steamy day and we’re back to the heater right now. The kitties, of course, prefer the latter. So it goes.

There was a lethal shooting last weekend on Bourbon Street. It doesn’t happen that often but when it does the media, city government, and tourism establishment lose their collective minds. This time there are suggestions of metal detectors and limited access. That’s typical NOLA think: propose something that would be simultaneously costly and unenforceable. We live in a country and a state with an armed population and when you add booze and crowds to the mix, violence is not surprising. It’s difficult to prevent an asshole with a concealed weapon from discharging it. That may sound cold and harsh but “to live in this town, you must be tough, tough, tough, tough.” Thus spake Jagger and Richards. She-doo-be.

The mendacity theme here at First Draft continues with this week’s theme songs. That’s right, my obsession with different songs with the same title continues. We begin with Todd Rundgren’s 2004 tune Liar. It’s followed in quick succession by Queen, the Sex Pistols, Argent, and, of all people, Three Dog Night who covered the Argent tune.

I had no idea there were so many songs with liar in the title and that’s the truth. There will be more prevarication after the break, but first I need to find that lying sack of shit that we’ve heard so much about over the years.

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Louisiana Politics: A Terrible Candidate For Terrible Times

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I swore I wouldn’t write about the Gret Stet Senate run-off since I prefer not to take shots at my own side. BUT a pro-Foster Campbell super PAC ran an ad that can be interpreted as flipping off part of the Democratic base. Here’s how Tyler Bridges described it in the Advocate:

A super PAC supporting Foster Campbell, the Democratic candidate for the U.S. Senate, is airing an unlikely television ad on the highly-charged issue of abortion.

The pro-Campbell ad attacks John N. Kennedy, his Republican opponent, from the right — even though Kennedy has the endorsement of National Right to Life, a prominent anti-abortion group.

The ad alleges that Kennedy supported abortion from 1988 to 2004 and, as viewers hear a beating heart, posts the number 22,581,040 on the screen.

 “That’s how many children were aborted during John Kennedy’s career as a pro-choice politician,” the announcer says, citing figures from National Right to Life.

“Foster Campbell worked with us to protect the unborn,” the announcer adds.

I understand that one reason for the ad is to accurately paint John Neely Kennedy as an opportunistic weasel. But the sub-text for people like me is that we have nowhere else to go, so they don’t care what we think. So much for this run-off tag line: Straight Talk with Foster Campbell.

Here’s the deal. I have voted many times for Blue Dog Democrats and I’m sure I will in the future, but Foster’s populist pose really riles me up as they say in the piney woods. He’s also running an ad wherein he states that he will work with Trump when he’s right; not exactly an uplifting message for a blogger whose slogan is Vive les Maquis. He has said he’d oppose Trump on Social Security and Medicare, which is why I’m holding my nose and voting for Foster.

I realize that the Insult Comedian got 58% while winning Louisiana but if Foster were a genuine populist he’d run against all the wealthy plutocrats appointed to the Trump cabinet. The DeVos, Mnuchin, and Ross appointments clearly establish Trump as the phony populist 49% of the people believe him to be. Instead of indulging in me-tooism, Campbell should indict Trump as a lying fake populist who appointed the “foreclosure king” as Treasury Secretary while forgetting the forgotten man. I’d also like to point out that Huey Long, the patron saint of Gret Stet populism, was willing to attack a popular President of his own party. And Trump ain’t no FDR.

Running a scorched earth campaign would also allow the doomed candidate to lose with some dignity instead of trying to out hick Neely. I considered calling this post Hick vs. Hick but I’m sick of the hick shtick so I didn’t. In the end, Foster is a candidate who reminds me of Foghorn Leghorn. I say, I say.

My dislike of Foster Campbell dates to the 2007 Gret Stet Goober Race. He was allegedly the leading Democratic candidate in a race that Bobby Jindal was destined to win. Foster barely had a pulse during that election. He ended up with 12.45% finishing in fourth place behind a guy who had been a Democrat for five minutes and independent John Georges, the dullest Greek tycoon in recorded history. I have a friend who told Campbell he could build a name for himself even in defeat if he ran a spirited campaign. He did not and he lost. Badly.

Campbell *is* running a better campaign than in 2007. His team includes many of the same people who helped elect John Bel Edwards Governor in 2015. The problem is that Edwards was a better candidate than Foster and Bitter Vitter was a weaker candidate than Neely. That race featured a West Pointer versus Diaper Dave. The 2016 Senate race is more like Foghorn Leghorn versus Colonel Corpone. In the end, Senate races are a different beast altogether: they’re about national, not state politics. If the opposite were true, Mary Landrieu would have won a fourth term in 2014,

I am planning to vote for Foster Campbell in the run-off. It will be a clothes pin vote. There’s been some debate among my friends as to what kind of clothes pin it should be. One friend advocates a strong spring clamp, another a cast iron clothes pin. I’m sticking with the old-fashioned pinewood clothes pin since we’re having a hick vs. hick run-off. Or perhaps I should go Claes Oldenburg on their asses:

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Foster closes one of his teevee spots by shooting a shotgun, Joe Manchin-style. At least he isn’t running an ad with this closing line: “I believe that love is the answer but you oughta own a handgun just in case.”

As an antidote to that Neelyism, I’ll give Todd Rundgren and Utopia the last word:

Sunday Morning Video: Leon Russell Live On Homewood Session

It’s our final tribute to the late, great Leon Russell. It’s Leon and friends on a homey Los Angeles teevee show hosted by the film critic Charles Champlin. R.I.P. Leon.

 

Saturday Odds & Sods: God’s Comic

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Glass Tears by Man Ray, 1932.

Facebook killed me off earlier this week. I even got a death notice from them but neglected to take a screen shot. I was not alone in receiving a premature memorial page notice from the Zuckerdudes. Facebook even whacked blog pun consultant James Karst:

Karst is dead.

I’m pleased to report that, unlike the late Johnny Winter, Karst is still alive and well:

I’ve heard several explanations as to what went wrong but there’s one I like. And I’m sticking to it even if it’s debunked as de bunk. Consider it my Ford factory relocation moment. Here it is: It may have been concocted by trolls who wanted to metaphorically liquidate people whose content they dislike. I wear their scorn as a badge of honor even if I have long believed that “we don’t need no stinking badges.” That’s my story and I’m sticking to it, y’all. Facebook and fake news go together like Lennon and McCartney before Yoko and Linda or Rodgers and Hart before Hammerstein. Oscar, Oscar, Oscar.

This week’s theme song is an obvious choice: God’s Comic by Elvis Costello. It’s written from the perspective of a dead guy. This may make EC the Nostraelvis of rock and roll since it was written for the Spike album in 1989 long before Facebook existed. Or is that Nostradeclan? I cannot for the life or death of me keep that straight. First the song followed by a few  lyrics:

EC is a notoriously wordy songwriter so there are a lot of lyrics.  Here’s the first verse followed by the chorus :

I wish you’d known me when I was alive, I was a funny feller
The crowd would hoot and holler for more
I wore a drunk’s red nose for applause
Oh yes I was a comical priest
“With a joke for the flock and a hand up your fleece”
Drooling the drink and the lipstick and greasepaint
Down the cardboard front of my dirty dog-collar

Now I’m dead, now I’m dead, now I’m dead,
Now I’m dead, now I’m dead
And I’m going on to meet my reward
I was scared, I was scared, I was scared, I was scared
He might of never heard God’s Comic

On that mordantly morbid note, it’s time for the break. We should move expeditiously before Facebook kills me off again and I go on to meet my reward.

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Campaign 2016 Odds & Sods

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I’m blogging hurt this morning. I’ve had a hellacious head cold the last few days. It’s best described as a chest cold. It feels like I’m carrying Oscar around in a Baby Bjorn. And he’s a big boy. There’s a krewe meeting tonight that I hope to attend, but I don’t want to spread this thing around: as far as I know, they’re all Hillary voters.

Having requested a mulligan even though I do not golf, let’s skip the foreplay and get down to it. Do I hear inane snickering? Is it Billy Bush? I must be hallucinating; told you I was under the weather.

The Hispanic/Latino Wave: I’m feeling wishy-washy so I’m going to alternate the terms. Whatever the label, Latino voters have arrived in 2016. It should not surprise anyone that a group that has been consistently denigrated by one candidate is supporting  his opponent. It has, however, surprised the inside the beltway punditocracy. I suspect that’s because, like  Trump, they think of them only as “the help.” They’re more than just cooks, dishwashers, yard men, housekeepers, construction workers, and fruit pickers. They’re human beings who are saying no to those who demean and degrade them in the best way possible: at the ballot box.

The reports of Hispanic turn out for early voting in Nevada and Florida has me confident that they will be colored blue on Tuesday. Trump needs to win both states to take the election. He’s toast. I don’t care if it’s close or not. He’s toast and marmalade for tea.

The other wonderful thing about the Latino Wave is that it reduces the importance of Iowa and Ohio. Hillary can lose both those states and still win.

A personal story. There are two Mexican guys doing some work next door. Like most of the migrant workers I’ve met over the years, they’re polite and cordial. I was outside and one of them pointed at my Clinton-Kaine sign and said, “My new hero. Hillary.”

Roll Latino wave, roll. Roll Hispanic wave, roll.

You say Latino, I say Hispanic. Let’s call the whole thing off. Now that I’ve quoted Ira Gershwin for the gazillionth time let’s move on,

Fear Is The Key: I was on Twitter Saturday during the LSU-Alabama game, which my Tigers lost 10-0. Our defense was magnificent and I think Nick Saban had poopy pants several times during the game, which is most gratifying.

Anyway, I was online when Team Trump’ did some epic conclusion jumping:

I guess that makes HRC a pussy but they didn’t go there. This was retweeted by all the Top Trumpers and they’ve made it into a thing even after the truth came out.

As everybody with a brain now knows, the incident involved a Never Trump Republican, Austyn Crites, a sign, and a fear-crazed crowd: 

“I had a sign that said ‘Republicans against Trump.’ It is a sign that you can just print off online.”

Initially, there was the expected reaction of people around him booing, he said. “And then all of a sudden people next to me are starting to get violent; they’re grabbing at my arm, trying to rip the sign out of my hand,” he said.

He said he could not be sure but “it looked like” Trump was pointing at him, and may have been “instigating something”. Either way, the crowd piled on him, he said, kicking, punching, holding him on the ground and grabbing his testicles.

He said he was a wrestler in his youth and used his training to turn his head to the side to maintain an airway open as he was being choked by one man who had him in a headlock. “But there were people wrenching on my neck they could have strangled me to death,” he added.

Crites said when he was on the ground he heard someone yell “something about a gun” and he kept telling those on top of him that he had merely been holding a sign.

Notice that the Trumpers *assumed* without any evidence that Crites was packing heat. It’s yet another sign of how fearful and paranoid they are.  It’s a good thing that there were metal detectors at the Reno event otherwise it might have been a bloodbath. It would have been blood red instead of silver and gold:

We’ve become so used to Team Trump lying that it’s not shocking that they continue to describe this incident as an assassination attempt. It’s what they do on a daily basis as described in a must-read piece by Daniel Dale of the Toronto Star, Donald Trump: The unauthorized data base of false things. Dale found over 500 outright falsehoods. Believe me. Don’t believe the Insult Comedian.

Since this is Odds & Sods, there has to be a Who song involved, amirite? It’s one by John Entwistle called Dangerous that closes with the refrain, “fear is the key to your soul.”

Docudrama Of The Week: Let me pose a quick question: What do Justice Robert Jackson and Donald Trump have in common? They were both played by Alec Baldwin. I just re-watched Baldwin’s fine performance as Jackson in the 2000 mini-series ,Nuremberg. It was a good way for this history nerd to pass a few hours whilst sick.

It’s on the YouTube if you’re interested. There’s also a clip of Baldwin as Jackson’s closing argument. The writers had the good sense to use Jackson’s own words:

I give Nuremberg 3 1/2 stars, an Adrastos grade of B+ and a rousing Siskelian thumbs up. End of this oddball but salient variation on a regular Saturday post feature.

Let’s finish things up with a discussion of the most disturbing thing about Campaign 2016: the awakening of dormant anti-Semitism. Thanks, B3 Brownshirts.

The Ugly Underneath Revisited: On October 13th, Donald Trump gave an ominous speech jam-packed with anti-Semitic code words. Here’s how I concluded a post entitled The Ugly Underneath:

I think it’s important for those of us who know history to take a firm stand against Trumpism. That’s why I’ve started comparing him to Hitler at his least disciplined. Hitler had the good sense to *keep* the ugly underneath until he had enough support to enact his racist program. Trump has no self-control but he is every bit as ugly, which is why he needs to lose in a landslide. Some of us are worried that he’ll refuse to concede on election eve, whip his supporters into a frenzy, and provoke a sort of American Kristalnacht. The good news is that most Trumpers are, well, pussies and are unlikely to riot if it’s a blow-out. Let’s hope so.

The B3 Brownshirts have adapted excerpts from that speech into a “populist,” rabble rousing “closing argument” teevee spot:

Railing against “elites” whatever that means is fashionable now. Three of the so-called criminal economic elitists shown in the ad, Janet Yellen, George Soros, and Lloyd Blankfein have one thing in common: they’re Jewish. Here’s what Senator Al Franken has to say about this noxious ad:

Speaking on CNN’s State of the Union, Franken told host Jake Tapper the advert was acting as a “dog whistle to a certain group in the United States”. He called the political commercial “an appeal to some of the worse elements in our society in the closing argument” of the election.

“I’m Jewish, so maybe I’m sensitive to it. But it clearly had an Elders of Zion feel to it, the international banking crisis conspiracy.”

The Protocols of the Elders of Zion was a fabricated text first published in 1903 that circulated around Europe disseminating a vicious conspiracy about a Jewish plot for world domination over the economy and culture.

Have I mentioned lately how much I love Al Franken?

Team Trump continually uses anti-Semitic rhetoric, code words, and dog whistles. Their defense is that the Insult Comedian’s son-in-law, Jared Kushner, is Jewish and Ivanka is a convert. You know, the old “some of my best friends are…” dodge.  Josh Marshall sums up my feelings about where Trump himself stands quite nicely:

… my general belief is that Trump believes in various anti-Semitic stereotypes, probably largely drawn from his upbringing – time and place. But I don’t think he holds or did hold any particular animus toward Jews. Indeed, we have pretty reliable accounts of his thinking in anti-Semitic stereotypes in a way that people often interpret as philo-semitism. Like he wants Jews with yarmulkes as his accountants and money managers and not blacks. A former Trump executive claimed he said: “Black guys counting my money! I hate it. The only kind of people I want counting my money are short guys that wear yarmulkes every day.”

That’s Archie Bunker-style anti-Semitism. He only wanted Jewish doctors and described his preferred law firm as “Seven Savage Jews.” I wonder if the Donald calls Jared meathead?

Here’s Josh’s closer:

So is Trump himself an anti-Semite? I have no idea. It doesn’t matter. He’s running an anti-Semitic campaign. That’s all that matters.

I’ve long thought that anti-Semitism is a “canary in a coal mine” form of bigotry. It’s somewhat easier to cloak in pseudo-populist dog whistles than other forms of racism. When anti-Semitism rears its ugly head, there’s more bigotry to come. As Josh said, I have no idea if Trump is personally anti-Semitic, but Stephen Bannon is, and he’s running an anti-Semitic campaign on behalf of Trump who’s clearly a textbook anti-African American racist. Thanks, B3 Brownshirts.

When I wrote the original Ugly Underneath post, I had a lively discussion on Social Media with some fellow music lovers as to whether that was the right XTC song to use as the post title. I remain convinced it was: anti-Semitism is the hate that can be cloaked in seemingly benign populist language. That’s why it’s the Ugly Underneath. One friend suggested the more overtly political song, The Ballad of Peter Pumpkinhead. It does feature an asssassination and since Team Trump has been on about a fake one, I’ll give Andy Partridge and XTC the last word:

I fibbed about the last word thing again. I couldn’t resist posting my lovely election picks map again:

2016

My worst case scenario is still pretty darn good: Clinton 324, Trump 214 and a 50-50 Senate. I stand by my earlier forecast, but cannot believe I forgot to mention Arab American and Muslim voters in Michigan as one reason Trump will not be the first Republican nominee to carry Michigan since 1988.

That is all.