Persiflage

The Rain in Spain

Possibly hindering my understanding and appreciation of current events is the circumstance wherein every time I hear the President speak, I drift off into a reverie that involves dragging Henry Higgins out of the past (er, out of fiction, which is probably even more drastic) to conduct an intensive seminar in speech therapy.  Hey, maybe Camp David is available!  President Bush, you are the leader of the free world.  You need to stop sounding like Foghorn Leghorn on 'ludes, at least when you are on national television.

(If you are one of those people who underestimates the importance of elocution, you probably do not appreciate the vitality of proper grammar, either, and I have no time for you.  I assume that such people impale bunny rabbits in their spare time.  Save your hate mail for someone who cares.)

Higgins might have to adapt his methods slightly, since, based on the pretzel incident, some difficulty might arise in the implementation of the speaking-with-marbles-in-the-mouth drill.  It would almost certainly still be easier than working with Clinton, though, who undoubtedly would be feeling up Eliza Doolittle in the parlor.

Runner-Up Gets To Be Tennille

Why was I not told that Monday's national holiday had been recast into a festival of inappropriateness?  The actions and statements of several diverse public figures have led me to believe that this gala event must have been construed to those in the know as an ultra-competitive championship of indecorous behavior.  Advance knowledge of the celebratory extravaganza might have helped me respond to the elderly customer (apparently participating in the day's festivities) who, in response to my winning smile and cheerful greeting, shouted that he was, "damn tired of people asking how I'm doing!"

Based solely on their statements and actions on the day in question, my list of finalists for the coveted title of Captain Inappropriate would include:

Roy Nagin, the embattled mayor of New Orleans, who aired his opinion that Hurricane Katrina was a scourge brought down from heaven to punish America.  Since issuing comments in that vein worked out so well for Pat Robertson  Nagin also made multiple references to his desire to rebuild a "chocolate" New Orleans.  Unless he meant something akin building to a gingerbread house,- in which case, I am ALL for building a chocolate New Orleans, yum!- Nagin's remarks can only be taken seriously to the extent that they conclusively prove the presence of ingestible toxic substances released by the deluge.

Hillary Clinton, who lacks the luxury of readily available toxicity as an excuse for her recent actions.  On Monday, Clinton compared the Republican-led Congress to a plantation.  Because, when you're on a concerted three-year buildup to a presidential campaign, it's a fabulous idea to come across as though you take vile social evils lightly.  Her statement makes it sound as though she conceptualizes the antebellum south as cheerful place where the slaves routinely broke into well-choreographed musical numbers while working in the fields, and Brer Rabbit would occasionally hop on by, and the predominant problem was the persistent lurking of a bumbling and inept overseer.  Probably wearing a bad fake mustache.  Apparently, spending so much time pretending to be a Republican has begun to warp Hillary's brain.  As Larry "Quote Monster" Sabato of UVA opined, "at least she didn't mention Hitler." 

Isaac Mizrahi, who spent a significant amount of his time on the Golden Globes' red carpet touching lady parts.  And asking invasive questions about underwear and the grooming of private areas.  Is some sort of reverse coming-out?  Like, Isaac's always assumed that, since he was a fashion designer, he had to be gay, but lately he's been having these feelings towards women that he couldn't explain, but also couldn't deny?  And maybe, deep inside, he's always known?  And he isn't quite sure how to deal with these newfound urges?

You make the call.

On Clarifications, Important

Yesterday on Meet the Press, Lindsey Graham revealed to the nation that, "[t]he Vice President is not the Vice President of Torture."  I was stunned by this revelation, as I'd been confident that Cheney had had the savoir-faire to get written permission for that sort of thing before having it embossed on his business cards and oh-so-casually dropping the title while wooing the ladies at the hottest Georgetown bars.

Let's all applaud Senator Graham for this courageous outing.  It's never easy to step forward and point fingers at a superior's misuse of authority, even when the best interests of the country demand the truth.  This was a proud, proud moment for America. 

Making the Roadrunner Proud

DCist reports on the Metro's efforts to address the difficulties of those who are riding the short bus of urban transportation etiquette.  At long last, "stand right, walk left" signs will be installed on Metro escalators.  Apparently, my suggestion of signs reading "stand right, walk left, you bloody Midwestern moron" was rejected.  Probably too expensive, all those words.

When this mission is accomplished, a week or two before the apocalypse, maybe we can move on to coping with the folks who emerge from the depths of the Metro and come to a grinding, screeching dead halt in the middle of the Connecticut Ave. sidewalk.  By, say, dropping anvils on their heads.