I am totally, completely serial
I hate myself for asking this question. But…I can’t bear the burden of it all by myself. DOES BARNEY FRANK HAVE ANY TEETH? Check it — I’m seven pages into a Google images search, and I see NO evidence!
It would explain why his speech is so completely incomprehensible, I guess. What the hell? Dude can afford dentures or implants or something, surely…? What kind of person goes around without teeth? On camera? Representing his state and his country?
Why have I never noticed this? Why hasn’t anyone mentioned it?
Okay…I really, really regret asking this next question. I’m not sure I even want to know the answer. This isn’t related to his…lifestyle choices, is it?
UPDATE: ZOMG! Incoming LGFalanche. That thing in the picture in the upper right corner? Not lower teeth: tongue. You can tell in the color picture, because it’s pink.
There! First thing Monday morning, and I got you thinking about Barney Frank’s little pink tongue. And you thought the bailout was distasteful! (You’re welcome).
October 2, 2008 — 1:48 pm
Comments: 57
Shameless
Ifill questions why people assume that her book will be favorable toward Obama.
“Do you think they made the same assumptions about Lou Cannon (who is white) when he wrote his book about Reagan?” said Ifill, who is black. Asked if there were racial motives at play, she said, “I don’t know what it is. I find it curious.”
Okay, let’s walk down the list, shall we?
▓ Ifill wrote a vomitously saccharine puff piece about Obama in Essence magazine. (Warning: Barack holds Michelle in his arms and sings. Can you take that, sunshine?).
▓ She covered Palin’s convention speech like she was sucking a lemon.
▓ She’s writing a book titled “The Breakthrough: Politics and Race in the Age of Obama.”
▓ It’s set to be released on Inauguration Day — hence, she stands to make substantially more money if Obama is elected than if he is not.
▓ She’s moderating tonight’s Vice Presidential debates.
▓ If you think there’s anything wrong with that, the AP thinks you’re racist.
This election makes me feel like I took the crazy bus to Crazytown.
— 7:32 am
Comments: 57
Once, my son, the plains were dotted with them
My real estate agent asked if I would mind letting my buyer in to take some measurements last night. And I said, “I thought buyers and sellers were like matter and antimatter…” and she said, “I think this will be okay.”
Which it was, because as it turns out, my buyer is the nicest kid you could hope to meet. Twenty-six, single, currently living with his folks about a mile away. He described himself proudly as an “auto body technician” — which is how the local trade school describes this noble profession in their TV ads. (He’s restoring a 1966 Dodge Dart; the two-car garage was a selling point).
But the real selling point for him? All the little 1940’s gracenotes that made me fall in love with the house: the fixtures, the tile, the woodwork. I was just sure some ignorant boo-boo would buy this place and gut it, but he’s keeping the lot…right down to my beloved Delta kitchen faucet (“the chrome…!” he sighed). An elderly plumber unclogging my drains once called his apprentice to come and stare at this great American classic, one of the last ever spotted in the wild.
I don’t know where Mister Autobody Technician got his aesthetic sensibilities, but he didn’t miss a single architectural quirk of Weasel Manor.
So that’s good. Sure I’m getting reamed — but at least I get a nice, respectful young man for the job.
October 1, 2008 — 8:18 am
Comments: 42