Angels of Death

Watch this.

The pertinent information begins about at about 1:25.

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DXM: Revolutionary Goad/4.7.09

Going Rogue Insane

The great quotes keep piling up this week, but here's another contender for the Quote of the Week top spot to throw into the mix.

From conservative radio host John Ziegler's review of the Sarah Palin memoir in Mediaite:

"This is by far the best book and greatest literary achievement by a political figure in my lifetime."

By the way, yes, he's serious. And no, as far as I know he isn't mentally retarded.

You really have to read the rest of Ziegler's review; it's the most detached-from-reality thing you'll subject yourself to all day. Seriously, you'll start questioning whether somebody dosed your coffee.

Mediaite: Going Rogue Review by John Ziegler/11.17.09

The Old Man and the C-Word

Kudos to Andrew Sullivan for keeping his eye on the ball during this week of non-stop Palin media ubiquity. He's placing the blame for our ongoing national nightmare squarely where it belongs: on John McCain.

Remember that if it weren't for McCain and his team's thoroughly cynical, irresponsible and, yeah, dangerous decision to open Pandora's Box (for those who've long since forgotten this or have simply psychologically repressed it, Sarah Palin was at one point frighteningly close to being one 72-year-old heartbeat away from the highest office in the world) none of us would even be familiar with the Palin Reality Show, let alone be subjected to its lunacy everywhere we fucking turn.

From Sullivan's column in the Atlantic yesterday:

"We knew that about a charlatan like Kristol and a nihilist like Rove. But what I didn't fully come to terms with, until the Palin farce, was the full extent of John McCain's recklessness and cynicism. This is worth keeping in mind through all this. The only reason we even know about Sarah Palin is John McCain.

He picked her so carelessly, and his thought process was so cynical, that he should stand in the dock of public opinion before Palin does. Her vanity led her to say yes to his crazy offer. But he gave her that chance. And in the end, she is his responsibility.

And that's why in fact the pushback has been almost milquetoast. How do Steve Schmidt and John McCain reveal the truth about Palin when that truth only further proves their fantastic incompetence, nihilism and unseriousness with respect to government? And what's truly telling about Washington is that a man like McCain, who perpetrated this nonsense and even now refuses to take an ounce of responsibility for it, is nonetheless invited on countless talk shows and treated like the hero he always was. And no one demands he account for this train-wreck outside his tested cant about Palin 'exciting the base.'

If he had any sense of responsibility, he would resign. And if the Washington media had any sense of responsibility, it would never invite him on TV again without demanding he take responsibility for what he nearly did to the national security of this country. No one who put this person near the nuclear button should have a future in public life."

As much as it pains me to mention Sarah Palin here yet again -- for the record, I searched the name "Palin" in the DXM archives and 188 entries came up -- I wanted to bring back one of the very first things I wrote in the wake of John McCain's introduction of what we know now is, to quote a very old Saturday Night Live sketch, "The Thing That Wouldn't Leave." At the time I was furious as hell about Palin; I still am, just for different reasons.

"McCain and Unable" (Originally Published, 8.29.09)

I should be glad John McCain picked Sarah Palin to be his running-mate.

I should be glad that in his first true test of leadership -- the one that inescapably sets the tone for what's to come and acts as a yardstick by which to measure his judgment -- he proved that he isn't fit to govern an Elks Lodge, much less the United States of America.

I should be glad that by choosing a self-proclaimed "hockey mom" -- a first-term governor of a state with an unimaginably low population density whose only former role in public service was as a city councilwoman and the mayor of a town of 8,000; a former beauty queen with no experience whatsoever in foreign affairs -- John McCain may have all but handed the election to Barack Obama.

I should be glad.

So why the hell am I so outraged?

Maybe it's because what John McCain just did -- the cynical gamble he's taken in a desperate effort to win the White House -- in fact gambles with the very future of this country. With the safety of its citizens and the lives of its soldiers. By attempting to pander to those Hillary Clinton supporters who may still feel snubbed and disillusioned by the outcome of the Democratic race, and by making a transparent grab for both the shock value that can only come from pure political theater and the chance to regain his "maverick" label, McCain has said something terrifying -- and telling.

He's said that he's perfectly willing to risk the United States -- a country that, as he's so fond of reminding us, has enemies that must be confronted; a country that's currently enmeshed in two wars -- to achieve his goal of getting elected.

Because don't think for a second that he truly believes Sarah Palin is ready to lead the free world should something render him unable to. No, what John McCain believes is that Sarah Palin can lead enough women to the polls to win him the presidency.

It's a thought that should make Americans sick to their stomachs: McCain is counting on Palin's charm and warmth, her somewhat sharp mind [Author's Note: How funny is that line now? I stand very, very corrected.] and fascinating backstory, to mesmerize voters and recast his campaign and his image in a bright new sheen of youth and vitality. He expects Sarah Palin to be the spark plug that fires up the media, who will surely have to admit that he's turning his back on the past and is ready to reshape and reclaim the Republican Party by making history. And yet at the end of the day, nothing changes the fact that this is actually more of the same from the GOP -- more political opportunism and clever gamesmanship for the sake of achieving the goal of power. Nor does anything change the fact that McCain wants to put someone without a shred of experience in foreign relations, worldwide diplomacy or global conflicts a heartbeat away from having to deal with all three -- with the security of the rest of us hanging in the balance.

As McCain himself has implied about his opponent, the White House is not the place for on-the-job training -- not during these uncertain times, when our country is facing turmoil abroad and unprecedented challenges at home.

Why am I outraged?

Because there's always the possibility that his shifty little parlor trick will actually work.

And then what?

Listening Post

New music from the Raveonettes. Here's Last Dance.

Quote of the Week (I Stand Corrected, Not Sure Anything's Gonna Top This)

"I saw the Mayor of New York said today, 'We're tough. We can do it.' Well, Mayor, how are you going to feel when it's your daughter that's kidnapped at school by a terrorist?"

-- Rep. John Shadegg (R-Pee-Pee Pants), ratcheting up the fear and paranoia to literally hysterical levels at the notion of Khalid Sheikh Mohammed and four other Gitmo detainees being tried in New York City

I always thought that the Republicans were supposed to be the tough guys, but I swear to Christ, the way they're crying about the sky falling and running to hide under their desks at the prospect of these terrorist assholes being tried in the city they attacked -- you'd think they've been watching too many movies:



By the way...

TERRORIST!

BOO!

(Oh, and one more thing: Bloomberg has two daughters; one's 30 the other is 26, ergo, neither of them is in school, you putz.)

Tuesday is Recycling Day

"Welcome To the Jungle" (Originally Published, 9.8.07)

I realized earlier this week that I've lost touch with "the streets."

Although this could very well be the single most ridiculous thing I've ever said, it in no way diminishes the sentiment I'm trying to express. I just don't get out enough anymore. My days usually consist of work, followed by a lot of time at my computer, followed by dinner with my wife, followed by sleep. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. This is unfortunate, because for me -- and I'd imagine a whole lot of others -- New York City is basically one giant playground. When I first moved here, I never spent more than a few hours indoors at any one time; the city outside was always calling. It wasn't until I moved into a high-rise in Chelsea with a view of the Empire State Building that I even started to think of staying at home for any length of time.

So, today I decided to change that. I threw on my Mighty-Mouse t-shirt, a baseball cap, cargo shorts and flip-flops, grabbed my backpack and hopped the subway downtown. I'm glad I did; I was reminded in so many ways why I love this city, even when I fucking hate it.

Union Square

While standing with a crowd of people at a crosswalk at 13th and Broadway, I turned my head and noticed a guy heading toward us on a bike -- riding slowly, parallel to the traffic we were all trying to cross. As he pulled in front of the teeming mass gathered on the side of the street waiting for the light to change, he began complaining that everyone needed to step back. "Get back, get back," he said with an air of arrogance that was utterly surreal coming from a kid who was wearing an oversized Puerto Rican flag t-shirt and a hip-hop-style flat-billed baseball cap. The fact that he was riding one of those tricked-out low-riding bikes made the whole scene all the more strange. The heads of those at the front of the crowd followed him as he passed -- confused looks on their faces. "Get back, get back," he kept saying as he got closer and closer to where I was standing. Finally, he pulled slowly in front of me, barking the same instruction to me that he had to everyone else -- "Get back." I was following him with my eyes, when, without saying so much as one word, the guy standing next to me simply reached his arm out and pushed the kid over. As he and his bike spilled into the street, the entire crowd, myself included, busted up laughing.

Otafuku

At 9th and 2nd Ave lies one of this city's best culinary secrets -- Otafuku. It's a place the size of a shoebox -- no seating, no counter, nothing -- that serves Takoyaki, which is basically Japanese street food, the kind of stuff you generally find kids in Osaka wolfing down after a night of heavy drinking. It's deep-fried, it's slathered in mayonaise, and it's fucking spectacular. For six bucks you get fritters made with octopus, and a giant helping of wok stir-fried noodles.

I got a take-out box, a pair of chopsticks and some napkins and headed to find a park bench.

Tompkins Square Park

As it turned out, today was "Art in the Park" day, as opposed to the usual daily event: "Junkie Whores in the Park." I sat down with my octopus balls (well, what would you call them), turned on my iPod and settled in to enjoy the show. It wasn't long before a woman who could've been a dead-ringer for Nancy Spungen -- had Nancy been morbidly obese and insistent on doing her makeup so that she looked like a Romulan -- stumbled over and collapsed onto the bench directly in front of me, waking the old black guy wearing the Rhythm Nation-style baseball cap who happened to already be sleeping there. The intrusion produced a shouting match that would've been incomprehensible even to a UN translator.

This scene was immediately followed up -- almost as a sort of resolution to the punchline -- by a guy who walked right in front of me carrying a sign that read: "Bad Advice $1."

Nevada Smiths

Three pints of Boddingtons. A great crowd. A World Cup rematch -- Italy vs. France.

Forbidden Planet

There's no better place to get your geek on than at the country's biggest comic book store. Forbidden Planet has every silly, stupid, completely unnecessary goddamned thing a kid who grew up mainlining sci-fi into his veins could ever want. From new issues of 30 Days of Night and the brilliant Y: The Last Man, to a ball cap which features a picture of General Zod and the word "Kneel!" on it, to a button that says "Han Shot First," to a mini 3D movie poster of the original Alien (guess what'll soon be adorning my work space), to a vintage-looking t-shirt with the Colonial Viper Squadron logo on the front of it (tragically, they didn't have it in my size, but promise to get it soon).

I could die in that place.

SoHo

Eventually, every single person in New York City -- visitor or resident -- will face one seemingly insurmountable dilemma, and it sounds like this: "Do I take the chance and buy 3:10 to Yuma on DVD from the little guy selling it out of a plastic bag, knowing full well that it may be dubbed into Chinese, look like it was downloaded on a VIC-20, or simply not work at all." What about Superbad -- or The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford? I've been screwed too many times to consider blowing even a measly five bucks on steet bootlegs anymore -- although the original Spider-Man was worth it just for the pleasant surprise of subtitles in Engrish. ("Tap in the itsy bitsy spider climbed up. Down came the Goblins and spiders had took out a nest.") Bottom line: I passed.

Subway

I try to avoid the trains like prison rape on the weekends; they run one every six or seven hours and they're usually packed solid with a cross-section of grotesque vermin the likes of which seem beyond rational comprehension. Still, they're cheap, and that obviously counts for something. My train ride home involved being pinned against the doors by an old woman in a wheelchair. Under normal circumstances, the predicament of the elderly and handicapped would likely inspire pity or at the very least concern for the well-being of the person in question; when that person smells God-awful and is taking up a very large amount of desperately needed subway car space -- well, fuck that. She stared blankly ahead, a cup of water in her hand, resting on her lap. After waiting for a half-hour in a steaming subway station (and believe me, there hasn't been a word created yet to properly describe the hell of an underground train platform in the summertime), it's safe to say that most of the riders were less than thrilled about the insinuation of this giant metal contraption and its drooling occupant into the center of the car. It came to a head though when I glanced down to see the woman, for no apparent reason, let go of her cup and spill the water all over herself -- then proceed to reach her own hand into her pants in what I assume was an attempt to clean up the mess. There was a family of tourists next to me at the time; the look on the faces of the kids was better than priceless.

Welcome to New York, folks.

? ? ?

Tonight, I'm going out. If you think this place is batshit in the daylight, you have no idea what it's like when the sun goes down.

Wish me luck.

American Psychos

In the grand tradition of Mad Magazine's "Scenes We'd Like To See," comes a scene we wouldn't exactly like to see but one that we pretty much are seeing these days -- compliments of Matt Taibbi.

Here's his take on what a recent story in Bloomberg -- one in which Goldman spokesman Lucas van Praag laughed off Goldman CEO Lloyd Blankfein's statement that he was doing "God's work" -- may as well have been:

"Blankfein didn’t mean to be taken seriously when he said the bank was doing 'God’s work,' said the bank’s spokesman, Lucas van Praag.

It was 'obviously ironic, a throwaway response,' said van Pragg. 'Sort of like saying, Life fucking rocks from up here, so suck on my yacht, when someone asks how you’re doing. Or stepping right on a homeless person’s crotch instead of stepping over or around him on your way to work.'

Van Pragg added that Blankfein’s comments were also 'like pouring battery acid on a sleeping harbor seal, or using an Indian slum child’s eyes for martini olives,' or like 'getting the mortgage department to do the wave during a foreclosure' and 'cheering and chest-bumping while two shivering AIDS patients are hauled out of their homes in blankets by sheriff’s deputies. Just an aside, you know, something you do.'"

Damn, I love Taibbi.