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The Public Blogging of Pomosexuality, Homotextuality, Homophobiaphilia, and Drear Theory (aka Career Theory) [aka Gay4Pay]. We also read the Corner and OpJournal so the right buttock will be punished as well.
All comments subject to publication. Or dismissal. Or Both.
Light posting, busy. Working like a fiend to finish my biography of John Edwards, A Boy Named Sue, by my Labor Day deadline. My bio of John Kerry, A Man Called Horse, is with the printers and should be on the shelves early September.
My dual biography of George W. Bush and Dick Cheney, Portrait of a Marriage: Vita Sackville-West and Harold Nicolson, has already been remaindered. Apparently the reading public wasn't ready for my parablistic fabulism. The biographical audience especially is fixated on conventional chronology, transparent narrative and the given subjects' proper names. For them, the book-clubbed reading groupers, the front door is the only way into the fortress of truth. Oh, and be sure to knock. No crashing in through the skylight or tunneling in through the cellar. Don't even think about genre-blending, meta-fictive, meta-pieman, slurealistic problematizing. It makes baby's head hurt.
Yeah, well fuck baby and the horsey he rode in on. And might I point out to baby that his horsey is really a painted stick with platonic head attached. Yet baby has no trouble seeing a horse in the lazy facsimile. Maybe baby could apply his imagination a little more generously and see the biographies in my books.
But since I can't count on that, I've dumbed the new ones all the way down. John Edwards is "John Edwards" and "John Kerry" is "John Kerry". So pull up your chair to that feast.
Hillary's panicked grip of the stadium railing is good for a sympathetic chuckle. Bill would have fought fire with fire and enfolded Puffed Iddy in an even more frighteningly eye-locked, counter-embrace.
Vikings Re-Invade England or The Vacancy at Stamford Bridge or Euro Whoros in Baller Squalor
The best thing about Google News is its weather reports of far distant teacup tornados. Nothing more pleasantly exotic than the parochial scandals of foreign lands.
This is probably the greatest blog post ever. I mean anywhere. It is certainly the greatest cast of characters in the history of human affairs (they embolden me, so I've emboldened them):
Sven Did Not Lie About Affair, Says Deputy
Sven-Goran Eriksson’s number two has insisted his boss did not lie to the Football Association about his affair with a secretary.
The embattled England head coach has come under growing pressure after it emerged that both he and FA chief executive Mark Palios had affairs with staff secretary Faria Alam.
...Eriksson’s number two, Tord Grip, said today that his boss did not lie about the affair with the former model – because no one asked him about it.
He said: “Sven is not concerned about his job. Nobody at the FA has said anything about his job.
“They did not ask him about his private life. He did not lie because no one talked to him about this.”
...Eriksson’s personal manager, Athole Still, said: “We are pleased there is going to be a proper investigation so this whole matter can be cleared up.”
Privately, Eriksson’s backers believe the Swede is the victim of a media witch-hunt following his supposedly secret discussions with Chelsea chief executive Peter Kenyon over the managerial vacancy at Stamford Bridge that was eventually filled by Jose Mourinho.
...Two years ago it emerged that Eriksson had an affair with TV presenter Ulrika Jonsson, a fellow Swede.
Eriksson’s long-term partner, Italian lawyer NancyDell’Olio, was reported to be outraged at the latest revelations and allegedly ended their relationship.
The only souvenir saved from a fading dream was the phrase dipstick lesbian. I'd never heard anyone say it, so I wondered if it was original. It seemed such an obvious coinage, I would have been surprised if no one had thought of it before. Google confirmed that it had been used, but it found only 35 hits (and those mostly on porn sites), compared with over 26,000 for lipstick lesbian. So work must be done to bring it into the mainstream where it belongs.
Get to it.
We also need to decide which sapphic sex act to associate with the phrase, "She got her tires rotated."
Colby Cosh links and quotes a terrific-looking paper on the caloric history of economic productivity that was mentioned in a news story on those high men of the lowlands, the doorway-clobbered Dutch (the average of whom I am just taller than, I know from doorways--Colby shared, so what the fugg). I will read the paper when I have accumulated sufficient BTUs to deal with the aggravation of a pdf.
This is the second bump for the tall Dutch story in as many weeks. The first was early in July when this story ranked very highly on Yahoo News for a couple days.
The really interesting thing about the first story is what goes
unmentioned. Immigration. What are the relative rates and how do they play into the overall comparisons? The main premise of the earlier story is that USA's declining rank among the leaders in world height is some reflection of a greater disparity between rich and poor here. But the data don't support that, since there is apparently no great difference in height among the rich and poor in the US. And as the more recent piece Colby linked points out, we're still world leaders in fat, so there appears to be not much imbalance of nutritional wealth. Immigrants can certainly help us keep the fat title, while contributing little to the height championship, since adult immigrants (as well as younger immigrants passed a certain age) will expand out but not up, given a more abundant diet.
As an anecdotal gloss on the missing element in the first story (if you can gloss upon nothing), I have two Asian friends very close in age, both from refugee families. The first left Vietnam at 13, he's 22 now and 5'4". The second was born in the US a year after his Cambodian parents arrived in California, he's 21 now and 5'11". My Cambodian friend's parents (well armed and plexi-glass-encased deli take-out owners) are much closer in height to my Vietnamese friend.
Their American success stories are completed by the detail that the son of Vietnam is on his way to medical school, the son of Cambodia to law school, and that they both are gay. More of less.
Say what you will about the Vietnam War and the killing fields of Cambodia, but they delivered some extremely cute dudes to our shores. Which is likewise a detail missing from all histories of the conflict and its aftermath. I need to write a paper on the comeloric* history of economic productivity. I will recycle the graphic on the title page of Professor Fogel's paper for my own. It sums my point up nicely.
*It started here, OED. If you give Marginal Rev the credit I will crucifry** you.
Your daughter has disappeared. She is five weeks pregnant and was days away from moving with her husband to a new state where he was to begin medical school.
(That's enough, right there.)
Your beloved son-in-law reported her as missing, telling police she never returned from her morning jog. But before reporting her missing (and just before he was supposed to be moving 2229.2 miles) he stops by a furniture store to buy a new mattress.
(That's enough, right there.)
Shortly after your daughter's vanishing becomes a national news story it is revealed that your son-in law has been living an elaborate lie, he hadn't been accepted at the medical school he was moving across country with his wife to attend.
(That's enough, right there.)
Early in the morning of the day following your daughter's disappearance, your son-in-law is found by police "running naked ... at a hotel about a half-mile from the couple's apartment."
(That's enough, right there.)
You have my sympathy. There is no more hopeless chain of circumstance in all the annals of true crime.
