Two Weeks In a Nutshell…Or a Bombshell
By March 7, 2011 0 623•
When the world teems with upheaval, oddities get overlooked. The revolution in Cairo has been an uprising to unnerve every man in the Middle East holding the title of king, ruler, president [for life], or prime minister. Still, even amidst the revolution, I noticed a few other things that puzzled me, ticked me off, or seemed worthy of comment So here ‘goes:
I read Sally Jenkins’ column about the wretched excess of the Super Bowl in Dallas and didn’t feel so alone any more, just even more appalled. $900 for a parking spot? $20 for a margarita made in Dallas? This must be a Texan version of hard times, by way of Marie Antoinette.
There was a perfectly terrific football game buried in a horrible half-time show and an all-day television extravaganza, which included Fox News roughneck Bill O’Reilly interviewing President Obama. I guess I haven’t been watching: when did this get to be a tradition?
There was way too much pontificating going on in the commercials, the commentary, and all the mouths churning a mile a minute. More than a football game? Really? This was America? Really?
Would it be too much to ask for pop star Christina Aguilera to remember the lyrics to the Star Spangle Banner? Sure you love your country, yadda yadda yadda. But if you can remember to add a pelvic bump to every song lyric you ever sang, you can surely do the Spangled.
On the other hand, there were the Black Eyed Peas and a few thousand radioactive extras, reminding us again of the mystery of Fergie, who, unlike Christina, did remember her lyrics. But on the other hand, she can’t sing. How much did this little party cost?
I don’t care about the commercials, or the little Darth Vader kid, and so on. Commercials are the times in my life when I go to the bathroom, even if I don’t have to.
Speaking of Dallas, as in “only in Dallas”: A Dallas city councilman who had heard Michael Vick, the renewed, re-invented, redeemed MVP of the NFL, speak to a group of youngsters, was so moved that he offered Vick the key to the city. One cowboy fan apparently complained that you shouldn’t be giving a key to the city to an Eagle.
I could care less about that. Just one thing, you strange people of Dallas: if you want to give Michael Vick the key to the city that’s fine. Just don’t give him the key to the kennel.
Speaking of football, we have a little freedom of the press issue becoming very pressing in our own fair city. Dan Snyder, the owner of the Washington Redskins, got all bent out of shape about a City Paper cover story which basically, but factually, ridiculed the owner of the Skins, a team which he’s managed to mess up so thoroughly that naming all the coaches and free agents of the Snyder era could become a difficult trivia question.
Snyder is so mad that he’s threatening to sue the paper, asking for an apology and demanding that the writer be fired. Whoa, Nellie. He’s made wild accusations of anti-Semitism, picking on his wife, and so on. No doubt the details have been on the local talk shows, so we won’t go into them.
We have just one thing to say: Are you kidding me?
Snyder’s attorney basically has suggested that since the victimized Snyder has such deep pockets he can practically bankrupt the City Paper, which is not the Washington Post.
I’ve got an idea. There must be some lawyer with time on his hands in this city of lawyers who can take this case on pro bono. The publicity value alone would be priceless. And the case is bound to be a slam-dunk. Nobody has yet won a libel suit for suggesting that an idiot is, well, an idiot.
And if you don’t like this, Mr. Snyder, sue me. Please.
Moving on to Cairo: I have no advice to offer Mr. Obama. I think he’s done the best that can be done in a painfully tricky diplomatic situation, while probably biting his tongue so that he won’t blurt out “don’t let the door hit your butt on the way out!” to Mr. Mubarak.
So far, most of his political foes in this country have kept quiet, realizing that it is the President’s job to conduct foreign policy, not the Tea Party.
Everyone except, of course, for Sarah Palin, who shoots and knits at the same time. She said that she was not happy with Obama’s handling of the crisis, and said that it was one of those 3 a.m. calls that went straight to the answering machine. Other than that, she said a few words—freedom, liberty, Bristol—and offered no suggestions on what to do, since she cannot see Cairo from her back yard.
Speaking of Palin, she is apparently, according to some reports, attempting to trademark her name. A similar effort was conducted by her daughter Bristol. Ah, the eternal conflict between self-interest and self-interest.
Every time I start writing about Palin, I can’t stop. Time to go to rehab.