Kick the Wall Turn the Street and Back Again

So I was talking to one of my cousins last night, who, despite his former status as a terrorist toddler with balled fists of fury aimed at my head, has managed to grow up into a reasonably well-adjusted adult and rather savvy analyst of all things economic/financial/political. After an hour or so of chit chat about the current situation, we decided that the next step in this debacle isn't necessarily:

But, rather:

Not. Good. Because, you know? No only do I not feel like rearranging my wardrobe for Le Dictatorship, black is a suck ass color for my particular skin tone. So hang tough, Party People.



P.S. I just finished listening to some talking head in the mortgage industry drone on and on about how the Fail Out is necessary because lending requirements have gotten so tight lately, that no one can get credit without an exemplary record. "The bailout would allow lenders to loosen their requirements for credit."

Sweet Christian Louboutin on a cracker. Isn't that what got us in this mess in the first place, LOOSE LENDING PRACTICES? And isn't the only way out a tightening? What ARE these idiots thinking? Have we become so sloppy in our thinking that we now believe everyone has a "right" to credit?

F is Also For: FAILURE

And in that, a small victory.

Mute Monday: F is For

Never Mind the Goon Squads for Uno Momento

We interrupt our regularly scheduled rants against the gooberment for a moment to contemplate something nearly equally important. I was too hopping mad to watch the Emmy's last Sunday and therefore was unable to comment properly on the fashion. Or lack thereof.

But I can back track (thanks to New York magazine on-line) and make just a few comments.

The Bad News:
Seems that all my least favorite fashion trends listened not one bit to Moi and instead merrily bounced themselves down the red carpet like a bunch of recalcitrant five-year-olds at the candy aisle at Wal-Mart.

One, the jumpsuit has invaded formal evening wear. Gag. Hack. Cough.


Worse yet, the poor woman looks like she's wearing one of those partition ropes you see at movie theaters and airports across her chest. What kind of statement is that supposed to make? Keep off? Move along? Get in line?

Then there's the plaid. For day, it's a big ol' lumber jack-assed mess (unless, like Doris Rose and Wicked, you happen to actually BE Scottish). But for evening? It enters a whole other universe of Gad Moi with a Manolo.

I imagine that when Henry Paulson hires himself some tacky ass 'ho's, 'cause no rational woman on the face of the earth would have sex with the man? They look like this.


Lord, I could just go on and on. Like, why did Marcia Cross, a woman whose bad ass hair color and peaches and cream skin have earned her a lifetime pass to looking fabulous all the time (except in plaid), decide to mess with her record for elegant restraint and outfit herself like a wayward Cinderella coming down off an acid trip just puked fairy dust all over an acre's worth of tulle?

Marcia, Marcia, Marcia: 46 is nothing to worry about, dahlink. It is, in fact, the new 36. And five years from now, when even greater leaps and bounds in anti-aging procedures arrive at a doctor's office near you? It will be the new 26. Or is that 31? Never mind – just don't start freaking out on me, okay?

The Good News:
So who did look great? Well, near as I can tell, only one person: My hero, Brooke Shields. Yes, this is one big ol' curtain o' pink and under normal circumstances, would send me running for the nearest brown paper bag. But sweet Christian Louboutin on a cracker, the girl pulls it off.


And for comparison: the gal from House who bought her dress from the bathroom curtain section of Bed, Bath & Beyond and another from Mad Men who, just, well. I'm always a little worried when ta-tas this large are given this much leeway. Although, I'm kinda groovin' on the green. You?

Dancing on the Backs of the Bruised

From Ron Paul, posting on Lew Rockwell today:

Whenever a Great Bipartisan Consensus is announced, and a compliant media assures everyone that the wondrous actions of our wise leaders are being taken for our own good, you can know with absolute certainty that disaster is about to strike.

The events of the past week are no exception.

The bailout package that is about to be rammed down Congress’ throat is not just economically foolish. It is downright sinister. It makes a mockery of our Constitution, which our leaders should never again bother pretending is still in effect. It promises the American people a never-ending nightmare of ever-greater debt liabilities they will have to shoulder. Two weeks ago, financial analyst Jim Rogers said the bailout of Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac made America more communist than China! "This is welfare for the rich," he said. "This is socialism for the rich. It’s bailing out the financiers, the banks, the Wall Streeters."

That describes the current bailout package to a T. And we’re being told it’s unavoidable.

The claim that the market caused all this is so staggeringly foolish that only politicians and the media could pretend to believe it. But that has become the conventional wisdom, with the desired result that those responsible for the credit bubble and its predictable consequences – predictable, that is, to those who understand sound, Austrian economics – are being let off the hook. The Federal Reserve System is actually positioning itself as the savior, rather than the culprit, in this mess!

• The Treasury Secretary is authorized to purchase up to $700 billion in mortgage-related assets at any one time. That means $700 billion is only the very beginning of what will hit us.
• Financial institutions are "designated as financial agents of the Government." This is the New Deal to end all New Deals.
• Then there’s this: "Decisions by the Secretary pursuant to the authority of this Act are non-reviewable and committed to agency discretion, and may not be reviewed by any court of law or any administrative agency." Translation: the Secretary can buy up whatever junk debt he wants to, burden the American people with it, and be subject to no one in the process.

There goes your country.

Even some so-called free-market economists are calling all this "sadly necessary." Sad, yes. Necessary? Don’t make me laugh.

Our one-party system is complicit in yet another crime against the American people. The two major party candidates for president themselves initially indicated their strong support for bailouts of this kind – another example of the big choice we’re supposedly presented with this November: yes or yes. Now, with a backlash brewing, they’re not quite sure what their views are. A sad display, really.

Although the present bailout package is almost certainly not the end of the political atrocities we’ll witness in connection with the crisis, time is short. Congress may vote as soon as tomorrow. With a Rasmussen poll finding support for the bailout at an anemic seven percent, some members of Congress are afraid to vote for it. Call them! Let them hear from you! Tell them you will never vote for anyone who supports this atrocity.

The issue boils down to this: do we care about freedom? Do we care about responsibility and accountability? Do we care that our government and media have been bought and paid for? Do we care that average Americans are about to be looted in order to subsidize the fattest of cats on Wall Street and in government? Do we care?

When the chips are down, will we stand up and fight, even if it means standing up against every stripe of fashionable opinion in politics and the media?

Times like these have a way of telling us what kind of a people we are, and what kind of country we shall be.

I'll Be Back Tomorrow . . .

When I'm not floating on a cloud of Beck-induced feelings of goodwill and wuv to all. Which, ding dang it, just kinda takes the edge off being a big blue meanie to the grubber-ment. For today, at least.

In the meantime, I'm putting together outfits for La Revolucion. Which of course means, we start with the shoes. I'm thinking, boots and low heel.


Like this: just right for stomp, stomp, stomping. But still tres chic without being too butch, in case we want to lunch afterwards.

I've Only Got Two Fingers Left

And one of them is pointing at the door:

BE GONE, YOU FORKING FORKS
IN THE FEDERAL RESERVE
AND ALL THE FORKS
WHO ALLOWED THIS TO HAPPEN
INCLUDING YOU IDIOTS IN CONGRESS
(BUT NOT YOU, RON PAUL)

The other is snapping itself to a tune by Beck.

I can't help it. Yes, I'm as pissed off as I have ever been by our gub'ment's betrayal of We the People. And pissed right the fork off for We, the People's, betrayal of ourselves. For our la, la, la, la, la-ing the past ten years over what we all knew, just KNEW was coming. And yet we still didn't change our evil ways. That kind of denial should only ever be used for those times when you come home with a brand new pair of retro 1940s tee strap sandals with a 4" stacked heel and the husband goes, "Huh? Don't you have fifty thousand pair of those already?"

And you pretend you don't hear him.

But we should never, EVER, have our heads in the sand rooting around like a bunch of little piggies while our gub'ment and their fat cat buddies piss all over the United States Constitution and Bill of Rights. This is our fault.

And while I'm busy trying to figure out how to continue, how to offer something soothing to despondent friends and relatives, how to plan for the future when I realize that everything I've ever worked for and saved could be worth little more than the dust that settles after this debacle, I also have to LIVE.

Which means going to the Beck concert tonight and having myself a ball. With S.B., who took this week off from working just so he could go with me and I wouldn't be forced to drag a reluctant friend or try and scalp the thing and risk possible arrest. Sure, S.B. likes Beck well enough, but he knows I ADORE Beck and since S.B. adores me, he's hoisting himself along for the ride. Even though the evening will take him way past his bedtime and two new episodes of House and Fringe. And I adore S.B. for doing that. See, ya fucks in Washington? Love makes the world go round. Not your dumb ass power plays.

Peace, out. And Viva la Revolucion.



P.S. Recent quote by George Will:

"The political left always aims to expand the permeation of economic life by politics.

Today, the efficient means to that end is government control of capital. So, is not McCain's party now conducting the most leftist administration in American history? The New Deal never acted so precipitously on such a scale. Treasury Secretary Paulson, asked about conservative complaints that his rescue program amounts to socialism, said, essentially: This is not socialism, this is necessary. That non sequitur might be politically necessary, but remember that government control of capital is government control of capitalism."

Mute Monday: D is For

Video for the Week

K9 is busy designing a soundtrack for the End of the Republic As We Know it. Pop on over there, why don't you, and add your suggestion? Here's one of my faves:

Dang, Now I Have to Get Serious

Because I'm so hopping mad about the gub'ment "bailout" of Freddie and Fannie. It screws all of us. So if you do nothing else today, read this:

http://www.lewrockwell.com/rockwell/imperative-sound-money.html

If you don’t have time to read the whole thing, here are some of the most important points:

What I also find striking is the way in which this move was announced. Let me read to you from the New York Times: "The Bush administration seized control of the nation’s two largest mortgage finance companies on Sunday…. It could become one of the most expensive financial bailouts in American history."

Even the most sophisticated observers of our present scene had to blink their eyes in reading such words. Without debate, without votes, without anything other than an executive fiat, the White House just decided, on its own, to seize the mortgage market. Actually, this is an action to excuse dictators the world over, past, present, and future.

This sort of thing makes a mockery of the Constitution and the very idea of freedom and the free market, to say nothing of the idea that we have a limited government. What's more, if we can believe press reports, President Bush had very little to do with the decision. It was the work of Henry Paulson, the secretary of the Treasury and former head of Goldman Sachs, working on behalf of the nation's most well-connected financial elites. Nobody elected this guy. Most Americans don't even know his name.

And look at how he throws around trillions of our money. The New York Times says that this is expensive. That's one way to put it. It makes the S&L bailout look like the warm-up. Freddie and Fannie carry about $5.3 trillion in mortgage commitments and another $2.4 trillion in financial exposure. The total cost of this operation is unknown; it could reach to $2 trillion, with untold amounts of future exposure. [TRILLIONS, Party People! Can you even imagine a number that big – let's pause while we all try, shall we? Whoa . . .]

These two New Deal institutions were founded to speed up the home ownership process for people that banks would otherwise consider unqualified. In time, under LBJ and Nixon, they were given legal permission to expand without limit, in the name of privatization, of all things. The motive was a classic bipartisan effort: universal home ownership. The left favored the redistribution. The right favored the supposed moral virtue associated with the nuclear family and its suburban abode.

Thus was born the greatest wealth transfer in American history outside Social Security and the warfare state. In a free market with sound money, borrowing is connected with the ability to pay. [sorry, folks, that's just the way it is – no one has a "right" to borrow money.] At first, this is only available to the rich. As prosperity spreads, so does credit worthiness. Any government intervention designed to inject steroids in this process is going to end in what Rothbard called a cluster of errors. It is completely disingenuous that so many people are today decrying the banking system's failure to discriminate between those who should and should not be carrying a mortgage. The banking system in a free market handles this just fine. Ferreting out the difference between those who can handle loans and those who cannot is a main job of the competitive system. The market precisely calibrates this. If one lender fails in its assessments of borrowers, another is there to correct the problem.

If you rush the process of prosperity, and insist that everyone who wants a loan should get one, you set up a situation in which there will be problems down the line. That is precisely what the regime has done. It created Freddie and Fannie to subsidize loans. It engaged in a phony privatization that secretly socialized losses. The legal status of these privately owned, publicly traded, and government-protected agencies was always unclear, but the markets had long assumed that they would be bailed out.

There was a moral hazard at the heart of this policy. But the real point is that the free market judgment about who should get what was being over-ridden. Surely, that is not a problem when it comes to promoting the alleged American dream! In fact, we are paying for this mistake a half century after the policy became a national priority. As the evangelical ministers like to say, the wheels of justice grind slowly, but they grind mighty fine.

She Had an Horror of Rooms; She Was Tired, You Can't Hide Beat

And when I looked in their eyes, they were blue, but nobody home.

Listen, all you gub'ment jackasses out there: the economy sucks the big one because YOU'RE fiddling in it. This is no place for a full-on economic lesson, but good Lord, you guys, it's not that difficult. Go read Marx and Engels. Then take a peeky-peeky at Ludwig von Mises et al and tell me what makes more freakin' sense.

That is all.

Sorry, Monday Isn't Blue - It's Burnt Orange

A couple weeks ago I called my stepfather to wish him bon voyage for a trip he was taking up to Glacier National Park. Before hanging up, I said, “I’ll call you Sunday after next, when you get back.”

Instantly, what popped into my head when I said Sunday was not the word itself, but the image I have long held of what Sunday looks like, which is a block of pink set among another series of blocks, all differently colored, all representing days of the week, all stretching out in a kind of linear grid-like from, extending from whatever day it happens to be now into, well, infinity.

Likewise, if I think about what month it is, the image I see in my head is of a block of color that has a particular position on something I call a “year wheel,” which begins in the upper left hand corner with January (a dusky pink), and works its way down through the months (all differently colored) to form a kind of long, racetrack-shaped oval and ending with the month December, which is a block of deep blue/black.

Every letter in the alphabet also has its own color. Some of the letters even have personalities. F you have to watch pretty carefully, because it steals. And it’s too far away from the zen-like mitigating personality of M, which is too busy trying to convince N and O to take better care of themselves. Z is plotting to take over the government. L is an incessant complainer.

However, while individual letters each have their own color and personalities, that all disappears when I use them to form words. Say a word, any word, and I have a Crayola Crayon color from the box of 64 to go with it. My friends, family and colleagues? I don’t think of them necessarily in terms of their names, but their colors. Everyone’s got one.

I’ve been like this as I long as I can remember. Up until a few years ago, I didn't think much of it – I always thought everyone was like this. But then I mentioned it to a few people who all looked at me like I was a few screwdrivers short of a full tool belt and I began to worry if there was something wrong with me.

Well, not totally.

I finally found out just exactly what this thing is only a few weeks ago. I was reading a favorite perfume blob and someone left a comment saying that whenever she smelled a certain perfume, she thought of the color purple. Did any of us do this? A few comments down, another person said, “Oh, sounds like you have synesthesia.”

Which I looked up and, lo and behold, suddenly I understood myself! And my particular manifestation is nothing, Party People, compared to what some people experience. Some synesthetics can actually “feel” words. Or “smell” sounds. I don’t do any of that. (Although, sometimes my mouth feels too full of words and I have to swallow a few to make room.) And, according to most of the info I've read, this isn't anything to worry about.

Then I went to a housewarming party this weekend and started talking about synesthesia to a couple friends – pumpkin orange and lemon yellow – and it turns out pumpkin orange knew exactly what I was talking about. Not because she's synesthetic, but because she works with children who have p-r-o-b-l-e-m-s and, apparently, she told me, synesthesia is associated with particularly high functioning autistics and people with Asperger’s.

Great, I’m Jerry from Boston Legal.

How about you? What color is your Monday?

Mute Monday: C Stands For . . .

Que onda guera?

I Hate Myself For Wearing You

Three months ago, stooooooopid ass Dish Network went and canceled their contract with Voom Network, which also effectively canceled one of the highlights of Moi's week: Thursday evenings on the sofa with Fresca and Cheetos deconstructing the latest hideousness to ooze its way out of Marc Jacobs' brain. Yes, I hate Marc Jacobs. I find his "designs" to be overrated, condescending, and terribly butt-ass ugly. No, I realize he is not the only designer to commit these sins. He's just the one I love to hate the most.

Take this dress. You know, just know, when this thing came down the runway, the fifty bazillion fashion mavens perched in the front row bobbed their bobble heads at each other in dim-witted Emperor's New Clothes-like fashion and tittered, "Dahlinks, this is genius, pure genius." When, instead, someone should have immediately jumped to their Louboutined feet and screamed, "Dudes, somewhere in Manhattan, a daycare center is missing its DRAPES."




Anyway. Back to Dish Network.

I even wrote a letter to the company's head muck-mucks, and when no response from that was forthcoming, stated my case in a carefully elucidated over-the-phone protest to one of their Pakistani service reps who, despite her limited English, totally understood where I was coming from and tut-tutted along with me in a touching show of allegiance. Sniff. Fashion truly crosses all borders. But, alas, she was unable to offer me any hope of Voom's reinstatement. So, as of this moment, I remain, terribly, tragically, Fashion TV-less. Which means I have to log onto New York Magazine and suffer through the teensy videos. But suffer, I do. And aghast, I am. Marc Jacobs aside, there are two other fall 2008 trends that have the smoke rising from my ears.

Suck Ass Trend #1: Plaid

Can you freakin' believe plaid is still in? Look, I don't care if you dress it up and call it Betsy Johnson OR Oscar de la Renta (who would, of course, never stoop), the ONLY justification for this material's existence is to make kilts for hot Scottish dudes who regularly neglect to don their tightie whities underneath. If all that was left in my closet was a pair of high waisted jeans with tapered legs and a pair of day-glo orange Crocs, you couldn't crowbar me into any of these outfits. Yes. I said it. I would rather be caught out in public in Crocs than hiding out in my living room in plaid.

Bottom line: No. No, no, no, no, no. And, one to grow on: HELL NO.

Suck Ass Trend #2: Jumpsuits

Yes, you heard me. Jumpsuits are in for fall. Jeezus, I thought they went the way of The Runaways, who, regardless of their playful pushing of the jail bait envelope, terrific eye makeup, and totally cool songs, still managed to look NOT SO HOT in the jumpsuit.


And while today's interpretation of the trend are thankfully baggy enough to take care of any potential camel toe issues, they are also heartbreakingly free of even a whiff of Studio 54-like fabulousness or tongue-in-mechanics-chic. Maybe, just maybe, you could justify the jumpsuit if it were all part of an elaborate ploy to get a little something something by appearing to be all helpful when your guy does whatever it is he does when bending over a car engine or tucking himself underneath the bathroom sink and then afterward, you slowly unzip the thing to reveal – ta da! – a sexy bit of Agent Provocateur. Nah. This stuff is too grimly utilitarian, too Soviet-style sexless to inspire any fun of that sort. Instead, it's as if Nikita Khrushchev himself rose from the grave to design the ultimate outfit for standing 12 hours in line at the state-run grocery store under grey skies vomiting industrial disease.

No lingerie here, folks. Just TWO kinds of shoes: black or blacker.

A Stomach Full, Not a Chip on my Shoulder

This was the question posted recently at that rockin' foodie Web site, Karmic Kitchen:

Do you consider yourself a bold and venturesome eater? Think you could give Andrew Zimmern a run for his money? The following list of foods ranges from the mundane to the obscure. Give it the once over, then let everyone know just how audacious your taste buds are!

1) Copy this list onto your blog, including these instructions.
2) Mark the items you’ve eaten with a "+".
3) Mark any items that you would never consider eating with a "-".
4) Let us know when you've posted the list, so we can compare!
5) Have fun!

Please, do not take the fact that I've eaten most of what's on this list (and about another half-dozen weird-ass things not even listed here) as an indication that I'm some kind of gourmand. I'm not. I'm just kind of weird when it comes to food. Weird in that when other people go, "Yew, no way am I trying that!" I'm instead the first in line with my mouth open. As if not trying earthworms or Rocky Mountain oysters at least once will somehow slam the door forever shut on a rewarding – or at least interesting – life exerpience. Gourmand? No. Curious Piggy? Yes.

1. Venison +
2. Nettle tea
3. Steak tartare +
4. Alligator +
5. Black pudding +
6. Raclette +
7. Natto
8. Carp
9. Borscht +
10. Baba ghanoush +
11. Calamari +
12. Pho +
13. Peanut Butter & Jelly Sandwich +
14. Allo gobi +
15. Dirty water dogs from a street cart +
16. Epoisses de Bourgogne +
17. Black truffle +
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes +
19. Steamed pork buns +
20. Green tea ice cream +
21. Ugli fruit
22. Fresh, wild berries +
23. Foie gras +
24. Gumbo +
25. Head cheese +
26. Raw habanero +
27. Dulce de leche +
28. Raw oysters +
29. Baklava +
30. Bagna cauda +
31. Wasabi peas +
32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl +
33. Salted lassi +
34. Kim chee +
35. Kangaroo +
36. Cognac (with a fat cigar) +
37. Clotted cream +
38. Jello shots +
39. Buttermilk +
40. Oxtail +
41. Curried goat +
42. Insects
43. Phaal
44. Goat's milk +
45. Whiskey that cost more than $200 a bottle +
46. Fugu
47. Chicken tikka masala +
48. Eel +
49. Warm Krispy Kreme original glazed donut + (yes, but Krispy Kreme is for pussies; Dunkin rocks)
50. Sea urchin roe +
51. Prickly pear +
52. Umeboshi
53. Abalone +
54. Paneer +
55. Big Mac Meal +
56. Spaetzle +
57. Dirty gin martini +
58. Anchovies +
59. Poutine
60. Carob +
61. S'mores +
62. Sweetbreads +
63. Balut
64. Salted plums
65. Durian
66. Frog legs +
67. Beignets +
68. Haggis
69. Fried plaintain +
70. Chitterlings +
71. Gazpacho +
72. Caviar +
73. Louche absinthe
74. Gjetost, or brunost +
75. Roadkill
76. Baijiu
77. Hostess chocolate pie +
78. Snails +
79. Lapsang souchong tea
80. Bellini +
81. Tom yum +
82. Eggs benedict +
83. Pocky
84. Suckling pig +
85. Kobe or Waygu beef +
86. Hare +
87. Goulash +
88. Edible flowers +
89. Bear
90. Criollo chocolate
91. Spam +
92. Soft shell crab +
93. Rose harissa +
94. Ostrich
95. Mole poblano +
96. Lox +
97. Polenta +
98. Kopi Luwak coffee
99. Lobster Thermidor +
100.Snake +

Mute Monday: B is For . . .

"I told you from the start just how this would end.
When I get what I want and I never want it again."

– Hole

Ohm

Clicky for music.

Given all the schiesse coming down the poleetical pike these days, I oh so feel a post coming on that is guaranteed to offend everyone on the planet and maybe even some aliens in their space ships. But that's next week.

This week, today in fact, I simply want to enjoy the fair. See myself some Fancy Dress dancers. Yes, that's an actual category in Native American Dancing: Fancy Dress. How fabulous is that?

I also want to buy some art. See if he is here again this year.

I own one of his drawings but would love to be able to afford more, more, more because Maldonado is muy talented. I guess I can take solace in the fact that I just don't have the wall space, never mind the budget.

I'm hoping Kabu is here again this year as well. Again, lack of wall space means I'll be able to pay the mortgage instead of trying to coordinate one of his massive canvases with my office decor. But, look how awesome!


I do think I'll cheat just a little bit though and push the envelope of the question: just how many pair of chandelier-style Zuni petite point earrings does one girl possibly need? Oh, you'd be surprised.

Also in Moi's plans: champion rabbits, fowl, and beef.

And, of course, I plan to stuff myself silly, sat fat cals and political incorrectness be damned.



I know that some of you have your own fairs coming to town this weekend and are, in fact, just as big of fair freaks as I am. If so, I'll raise a deep fried Snickers bar in your honor around noonish today. If not, well, what in the heck are you waiting for? Nothing more fabulous on a late summer day than the smell of fresh horse poop.