So Mitch ditched and left the lion's den. But who can blame the fellow, after his wife's vilification preview in the press last week. She left Daniels for a doctor, so the story goes, and the doc left his wife. After duking it out in a custody battle, she and the doc drove off, "abandoning" their children and spouses.
Yep, that is a tough narrative. It's terribly interesting; and the doctor's spurned ex sounds vituperative ("Look up 'narcissist.' I really question [Cheri's] character and motives") and bitter.
Barbour began the charge from the fray, withdrawing his name at the end of April. Huckabee followed suit a few days later.
The Donald, too, told us no, but then raptured his decision with a maybe so. He's coy, that boy.
Perfecting the scare-the-nanny stare.
That leaves Pawlenty, like polenta. Or hummus and couscous. But none of them bring to mind presidential hubris (although his video today was serious and humorless). Yee-haw "T-Paw" is hardly better: that's the guy in the room next to grandma at the nursing home.
Huntsman sounds strong, but a cheese is still a cheese.
We've got Godfather's Cain, which makes me think of pizza, and Able, his antithesis.
Finally we've got Romney, which makes me think: rummy. Gin rummy and a hair-sprayed mummy.
Oops. I forgot about old Newt. Isn't there a tiny sea creature called a newt?Tiffany's makes it in a brooch, I think.
Maybe I'm too shallow, but presidential images these names do not conjure.
The most feared contender, no one wants to acknowledge -- at least no one in the liberal press.
Gosh, Josh Margolin posted a fairly innocuous piece today, reporting that Obama is doing opposition research on Chris Christie. This compelled Christopher Robbins to bash them both with a bat.
There was brain matter on the floor, such was the reaction. Maybe Margolin stood up Robbins for a drink, or keyed his car, or drove a stake through his heart.
Then again, maybe it's just that Obama's distraction tactics (trying to elevate mere mortals like Paul Ryan into mortal enemies) aren't working.
Do you toss and turn in bed at night, fretting over the dreaded question, "What do you do?"? I sure did. After all, do you really want to admit you're a loathsome lawyer or, worse, a government gawker?
For a time I could say I was a notary public. But then my commission expired.
Well, awkward jobsters, angst no more. The day of my epiphany is upon you. Because you, my friend, can be a social media analyst, just like the TSA's beloved Blogger Bob.
I'm too sexy for an x-ray, too sexy for the gateway, too sexy for . . .
Playtex cross my heart, as a social media analyst you are in good company. Just feast your eyes on this prolific witty wordsmith and his Queer-Eye-for-the-Straight-Guy goatee.
But bless Curtis Robert Burns Blogger Bob's heart, he's under constant scrutiny, barraged by scathing parodies -- just for holding his excellent public post. Gosh, with a job like Bob's, who wouldn't claim an alternate title?
Gun-slung on a lower rung are TSA's Biker Bobs. But these burly men can take cover as SMAs, too. Look, here's a government groper now, idling right next to me. Come to my window, big fellow. Vroom.
Is that a gun in his pocket, or is he just glad to feel me?
"You're doing it to relax. You come home from work and you change into baby mode." -- Stanley Thornton.
Stan, the baby man, enjoys being a baby and being babied by his roll-playing mommy caretaker. And who are we to say he shouldn't, even if we have to pay for it?
Okay, so maybe there aren't words. But I'm totally down with this, because I'm hip. I'm cool. Friends, the quarterly checks I cheerfully send Uncle Sam keep Stan's baby dreams alive.
So what if Stan is able-bodied, with the carpentry skills to make his own adult-sized high chair and crib? Are you not a progressive or what? He wears a f#cking onesy; this baby-man needs your money.
Yet stingy senator Coburn wants to turn off Stanley's disability benefits. Yep, just cut this man off at the thighs. How do these guys sleep at night?
Needless to say, baby-man Stan is not taking the news well. He says he will kill himself if the checks stop coming.
Senator Coburn, I've known a few liberals in my day. And you, sir, are no liberal.
For shame, for shame.
UPDATE: Michelle Malkin takes the topic to a whole new level.
Obama, coming out of Kansas influence, white, loving grandparents, coming out of Hawaii and Indonesia, when he meets these independent black folk who have a history of slavery, Jim Crow, Jane Crow and so on, he is very apprehensive. He has a certain rootlessness, a deracination. It is understandable.
Princeton professor Cornel West had a few other choice words to describe Obama, all too tangential to "deracinate" to be relevant here. Suffice it to say, Obama should have given West tickets to his inauguration. And returned his phone calls.
With professors like this, how can anyone seriously argue there's a bubble in higher education?
If you were a 50-year old single mom to a young son, if you'd kept the father clueless about his parentage until the boy was already a toddler, and if you knew that in one short year, all eyes would be on you, former paramour and handmaiden to this political star . . . would you let the man buy you a house on Native Dancer Street?
Oh, what we'd all give for a crystal ball.
On another note entirely, where did the ridiculous phrase "love child" come from? I know it refers to a child born out of wedlock, and it's better than "bastard," I suppose. But still. It's so Phil McGraw gauche.
Schock points out that he and the First Lady both hail from Illinois, where:
One out of five Illinois children are considered obese. Not overweight, obese. And two-thirds of Americans are either overweight or obese. When people hear that, they're shocked, and rightfully so.
The number of obese children has more than tripled since 1980. For the first time in our history, children are not expected to outlive their parents.
Doctors are wringing their hands. Pediatricians debate whether to call a child "overweight" or the more stigma-laden word "obese," while the National Association to Advance Fat Acceptance weighs in with its own acceptable terms. Broke-back mothers can no longer hold their babes in arms. Experts scratch their heads.
So what is causing this burgeoning epidemic? School lunches? Computers? The stress from TSA pat-downs?
(Photo: Andrew Eccles. Hair by Alejandra/Artists by Timothy Priano for Redken, Benjamin Thigpen/Artists by Timothy Priano. Grooming by Dora Salgado using M.A.C. Cosmetics for Agent Oliver. Makeup by Sylwia Rakowska/Ford Artists using Temptu)
The bubble in higher education is getting a lot of attention and mainstream coverage. And perhaps it should. Over the last thirty years, health care costs have increased six-fold but college tuition has gone up by ten.
Indeed, the cost of a four-year degree has climbed so high you could take that tuition money -- $200,000.00 on average -- and buy a house instead. Or travel Europe for a year or two. Or join the Peace Corps.
Entrepreneur James Altucher claims college is only good for teaching young men — “with almost no exceptions” — to learn to drink and talk to women.
Ah, tis true, Mr. Altucher. But colleges are going a step further, actually, teaching the young folk how to . . . Well, read on.
Last February, during a "Human Sexuality" bonus lecture at Northwestern, a willing woman hopped up on stage, disrobed, and reached orgasm before the students' very eyes, by way of a penetrating, modified reciprocating saw.
To the professor's utter amazement, this feat of orgasmic sawmanship was feted not. Instead, it drew murmurs of dismay and quickly snowballed into quite a controversy. Said the confounded Professor Bailey:
During a time of financial crisis, war, and global warming, this story has been a top news story for more than two days. That this is so reveals a stark difference of opinion between people like me, who see absolutely no moral harm in what happened, and those who believe that it was profoundly wrong.
(Alex Garcia, Chicago Tribune / May 9, 2011)
This guy looks like a real pro. He's intimidating. But to this sexpert, I would say:
During a time of financial crisis, war, and global warming, to lecture students on how to have orgasms with a reciprocating saw reveals a stark difference of opinion between people like me, who see absolutely no academic purpose for such a stunt, and those who believe that it was profoundly . . . wonderful.
Later, Professor Bailey shed his effete college-speak and dumbed his words down to reach the common man in all of us:
Sticks and stones may break your bones, but watching naked people on stage doing pleasurable things will never hurt you.
Northwestern's spokesman, Al Cubbage, had a more measured, circumspect response:
Northwestern University faculty members engage in teaching and research on a wide variety of topics, some of them controversial and at the leading edge of their respective disciplines.
Leading edge? I'll say! Yowza.
But seriously, after hearing about this, what rational parent would begrudge his child the $200,000 he will need to learn to come, to come and drink?
Greetings, fair maidens. I bring you glad tidings and good news.
Unless you are one of those paranoid privacy nuts who doesn't appreciate Apple tracking your every move via your iphone, this will come as very good news indeed.
The Obama Administration wants to tax you for every mile you drive. They're including this new tax in their "Transportation Opportunities" legislation.
Within the Department of Transportation, a new office would be created: the Surface Transportation Revenue Alternatives Office. (Why not call it the Surface Transportation Alternative Revenue office? "STAR" is so catchy. And positive!)
Enforcement will be carried out by installing an electronic device in every person's car, making the government privy to every mile that we drive.
So if you are a cancer or dialysis patient living in a rural area who must drive miles for medical treatment every day, too bad. Oh, but wait. Surely the government will make an exception for people like you, if you'll just give the b-crats all the personal details of your life. I mean, if you've got nothing to hide, you've got nothing to hide.
(This picture doesn't do it justice, but I'm no food photographer)
Last night I had the best pizza ever. Not the best delivered pizza, not the best frozen pizza, not the best pizza I've ever had in a restaurant. But the best pizza anywhere, ever.
Amazingly, it was frozen pizza. Really. Frozen. From the grocery store. Our local Central Market, during "the thrill of the grill" week, handed out samples of this pizza they'd cooked on their grill and it was incredibly good. Vito and Nick's, on sale for $7.99. M and I promptly bought a box so we could try this pizza-grilling experiment at home.
Alas, the first attempt was a disaster. After following the directions on the box to a T, I ended up with a burned black pancake and a hungry, crying child. Do NOT follow the directions on the box.
425 for 30-35 minutes? *&%#!
Persistent pizza lover that I am, I went back to Central Market (which willingly gave me another box to try) and got instructions on how to grill this pizza from one of their grilling experts.
Last night I followed the expert's, and let the grill temperature hover around 325 degrees. I put the frozen pizza directly on the grill rack (not on top of foil), closed the lid, and checked on it every 4-5 minutes. After about twelve minutes, it was ready and perfect and truly divine.
And this handy gadget . . .
Finally found a use in my kitchen. Frozen pizza cooked in the oven has such a mush crust. Ah, but the sound of a real, crunchy crust being cut, fresh off the grill? Is heaven.
If you can't find any at your grocery, insist that they start carrying it. As a last resort, I think you can order it frozen, here.
So Mitch ditched and left the lion's den. But who can blame the fellow, after his wife's vilification preview in the press last week. She left Daniels for a doctor, so the story goes, and the doc left his wife. After duking it out in a custody battle, she and the doc drove off, "abandoning" their children and spouses.
Perfecting the scare-the-nanny stare.
We've got Godfather's Cain, which makes me think of pizza, and Able, his antithesis.
Finally we've got Romney, which makes me think: rummy. Gin rummy and a hair-sprayed mummy.
Oops. I forgot about old Newt. Isn't there a tiny sea creature called a newt? Tiffany's makes it in a brooch, I think.
Maybe I'm too shallow, but presidential images these names do not conjure.
Gosh, Josh Margolin posted a fairly innocuous piece today, reporting that Obama is doing opposition research on Chris Christie. This compelled Christopher Robbins to bash them both with a bat.
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