Second Variety

Oh, Nothing, Just Princess Sparkle Pony And Grover Norquist Trading Jokes On Twitter

Of course, what really gets a frisson out of me is the idea of Grover looking at that picture and wondering, "What's that in the background?"

UPDATE:

I'm Going To Go Ahead And Say "His Bald Scalp"

(Screenshot from Media Matters.)

I don't know why it took me so long to notice George Will's really weird wig, but now that I have, I can't un-see it. Has it always been that obvious, or is it just looking particularly laughable lately? Honestly, this is like the department store sketch from Monty Python.

Looking through recent pictures, this seems to be a new... thing? It kind of freaks me out.

Arizonan Plays Pocket Pool In Statuary Hall

(Photo: Mark Henle/The Republic)

Why is this man smirking?  

Because he's about to become Arizona's latest (and second) contribution to the U.S. Capitol's Statuary Hall. It's a Barry Goldwater revival!

I always feel sorry for modern sculptors who have to make men in glasses and business suits look artistic. That said, I think the sculptor, Deborah Copenhaver-Fellows, did a very good job. She's livened up the pose by putting one of Barry's hands in his pocket, the other gesticulating as if making a point, and rather than standing stock-still, the figure's weight is shifted to the left leg, with the right leg stepped almost casually forward. It's a nice contrapposto. 

And believe it or not, I'm giving a thumbs-up to the bolo tie. It's a specifically Arizonan detail (it's the official state neckwear). And what is the bolo design? It appears to be a variation of a Native American thunderbird. Perfect choice for the hoary old warmonger.

Interesting that Arizona would choose a figure who was soft on abortion and gay rights, and antagonistic towards the religious right, but who else have they got? Somehow I can't picture Mo Udall making the cut in today's Arizona.

I Color In The Ted Cruz Coloring Book So You Don't Have To...

... with pictures of the Manson Family:

(Click for lots bigger.)

I did a bunch of these back in December, using all the available images on the web. And then I waited. Surely, I thought, somebody will post scans of the whole thing? Then I waited some more. And then I got tired of waiting and ordered a copy of the damn thing so that I could scan it myself. So enjoy! More to come!

Concepts Illustrated

Previously on Concepts Illustrated.

What If Ted Cruz Suddenly Became A Drag Queen?

He's halfway there, isn't he? He already looks like an almost perfect cross between Joe McCarthy and Pee Wee Herman. So, OK, it would be surprising if Ted Cruz showed up to a congressional hearing in a smart St. John Contrast-Trim Milano Blazer (one must dress appropriately for the place, after all!) worn with a silk blouse and a color-blocked pencil skirt, but it would be refreshing, entertaining, and quite possibly even effective! Here's a look at how a typical week for Tia Partay might play out:

• Monday: "I realize we were called back to Capitol Hill on short notice," Harry Reid admonishes Cruz, "but there is NEVER any acceptable excuse for a caftan and slouch boots, Miss Thing."
• Tuesday: Cruz receives standing ovation for latest fake filibuster, not because he accomplished any legislative goal, but because he ended with a rousing lip sync of "I Dreamed a Dream."
• Wednesday: Asked about the latest congressional stalemate, an exasperated Nancy Pelosi bitterly tells reporter, "I don't know when it will end. Why don't you ask Ted Cruz's ASHY KNEES?" Widespread conservative media outrage ensues.
• Thursday:  "It's nice to see," Rachel Maddow wryly observes, "that Erick Erickson, Glenn Beck, and Tucker Carlson are suddenly so passionate about defending ashy knees."
• Friday: After Cruz releases latest fundraising and spending statements, "Lacefrontgate"scandal is born.

Quickie: Jennifer Rubin Is Just Toying With Us Now

OK, so the other day I declared that Jennifer Rubin had won the current round of publishing the worst sentence ever to appear in the Washington Post. As if to underline her supremacy, yesterday she included this gem on her blog:

The House in the next few days with get the Senate CR, tweak it and send it back.

Look, Jen, you've won the title! You can relax for a few days! The ball is in Richard Cohen's court now.

This appears to confirm that Jen's editor is basically spell check.

"Worst Sentence Ever Published In The Washington Post" Award Goes Back To Jennifer Rubin

Since I've been keeping track, the "Worst Sentence" award for the Washington Post has alternated between Richard Cohen and Jennifer Rubin. First it was Richard, and then Jen stole the prestigious title with an amazing construction containing the word "inure", and then it went back to Cohen when he failed to distinguish between the correct uses of "we" and "us." Jennifer is always up for a challenge, though, so now, merely a few months later, she has triumphantly snatched the crown away from Cohen with the following tortured string of words published yesterday, when all the unsuspecting editors apparently had the day off:

Obamacare is disliked by a majority of voters, strongly so among women who — a key Democratic constituency.

Wow, way to go, Jen! Champagne all around! How is Richard Cohen going to compete with that?**

**With a "Dickensian" column of breathtaking hackiness.

Here We Go Again With The Anna Wintour Ambassadorship Rumors

Last December there were a bunch of rumors that Obama was going to give Anna Wiintour a plush reward for her support, namely an ambassadorship to either France or the UK. At the time, I pointed out that these rumors were manifestly ridiculous:

The source of this silly rumor (Why not David Geffen? one wonders) is a majestically cheat-sourced gossip piece from Bloomberg, an item lovingly crafted to dovetail with every possible permutation of conservatives' favorite Democratic Party caricature, that of the elitist limousine liberal:  Jane Fonda, aglitter, emerging from her town car upon arrival at a premier for a multimillion dollar anti-poverty film. This Anna Wintour fake story is just so on the nose, isn't it?

LOL, she "may be" nominated. Other people who "may be" nominated, but also won't be: Guy Fieri, Marilyn Manson, Tom Cruise, Marie Osmond, the guy you used to play Barney the Dinosaur, etc. 

And now it's happening again! This time it's –surprise!– The NY Post touching off the rumor with an item which is even less sourced than the old Bloomberg piece, and we're talking completely, utterly spun out of thin air.

And wouldn't you know it, Al Kamen in the Washington Post, who used to be savvy before he turned 200-years-old, totally fell for it and picked up on the rumor with utter credulity. This offers a great look at how stupid rumors (like our beloved Condi Veep Rumors) gather steam in Washington. Wintour, Kamen says, "had been talked about for either London or Paris early on." Technically this is true: it was talked about "early on" in gossip columns and the Drudge Report, but not by anybody serious and certainly not by the Obama administration. So, in other words, Kamen is using old rumors which turned out to be totally, completely false to lend credibility to the new rumors which also will turn out to be totally false.

By the end of today, these rumors will have jumped from the NY Post's total guess, to the Washington Post's starry-eyed and glamor-starved repeating of the story, to, no doubt, Fox News, where it will metastasize into a tale made-to-order for the conservative outrage machine.

So I'll repeat it once again: don't be ridiculous. Of course Anna Wintour isn't going to be named the next ambassador to Paris, to London, to anywhere. Come on, now!

Head Trauma (Illustrated!)

(Illustration by Marv Newland. Click for bigger.)

The early 1990s was such a strange time for me. I was working as a promoter for Spike and Mike's Festival of Animation, and to say my memories of this time are deeply conflicted and ambivalent is a gross understatement. On the one hand, animation! Travel! Meeting animators! Visiting Disney production warehouses! Hanging out with John Lasseter, Pete Docter, and Andrew Stanton! On the other hand: INSANE bosses! Living out of suitcases! Having bottles broken over my head! Wait, what? Let me explain.

We were presenting the show at our home base, the La Jolla Museum of Contemporary Art (now the San Diego MoCA). When working in San Diego, I would ride my bicycle from my house in Mission Beach to the Festival office in La Jolla. Sometimes at night after the show, we'd briefly gather at Spike's nearby home to go over the evening's receipts. I wasn't wild about Spike (more on that below), but on this particular day, Canadian animator Marv Newland, one of my favorites (see here and here), was visiting, so any excuse to socialize with him was enough for me.

Eventually I said my goodbyes and hopped on my bike to head home, pedaling along the winding side-streets of tony La Jolla. Just a couple of blocks away from Spike's house, I encountered a car idling in the middle of the road, with a gentleman going through the trunk. As I slowed to pass, he looked up at me and mumbled something. I stopped and asked if I could help. Before I knew what was going on, he knocked me down, bike and all, and four other guys jumped out of the car and started... well, beating me up, grabbing at me, generally fucking me up. I struggled. And then CSHHHH! one of them smashed a wine bottle over my head. I remember thinking, "Oh, wow, this is wild, I just got a bottle broken over my head! Just like in the movies!" I continued to struggle, and then CSHHHH! another bottle smashed over my head, followed, amazingly, by CSHHHH! yet another bottle. Crazily enough, I distinctly remember thinking, "Jesus, there are five of you, and I'm a skinny runt, and this is really overdoing it!" I also remember being startled that having three wine bottles smashed over my head didn't really hurt all that much. "Why am I still conscious," I wondered. Finally, they got my wallet out of my back pocket, jumped back into the car, and drove away. I could feel blood running down my face, and my bicycle and I were a tangled mess in the middle of the road. I managed to sit up and look at the car driving off, and was surprised to see that I had a clear view of their license plate, which I immediately committed to memory. I felt oddly triumphant, and even a little smug at my ability to concentrate on this important detail.

I groggily and painfully stood up, all the while repeating the license plate number over and over in my head (number number number), took stock of myself, decided that I was surprisingly undamaged, and decided (still repeating to myself, number number number) to head back to Spike's house, only two blocks away, to get help. I walked in without ringing the doorbell (number number number) and entered the living room, where Spike and Marv were still where they had been when I left. They both looked up and I believe Spike said something like, "Did you forget something?" (number number number). Within seconds, their eyes widened and jaws hit the floor. I was a bloody mess. I turned to Marv, who always, always had a pen and sketchbook in his hand, and blurted out, "Write this down right now: NUMBER NUMBER NUMBER NUMBER NUMBER! NUMBER! NUMBER!" He did.

There's some more unpleasantness to come, so let's take a brief intermission and look at a picture of a cute puppy:

Before I continue the story, I have to tell you something about Spike: he is the most openly, enthusiastically racist/xenophobic person I have ever encountered (and I'm from Arizona, so that's saying something). He had a special name for each group: African Americans were "nigs," Mexicans were "beaners," gays were "fudge-packers" or "carpet munchers," Indians (from India) were "spots" (har har), Middle Easterners were "towel-heads," etc., etc. He used all these terms openly, loudly, and frequently. Most of all, Spike really hated black people. If he saw you giving a flyer for the show to an African American, he would furiously chastise you. "You just threw five cents down the toilet," he'd scream. "Nigs don't come to see the show. What are you, an idiot? DON'T GIVE THEM FLYERS."

So when it became obvious to Spike that I had been mugged, the first thing he asked, rather than, "Are you OK?" was "Were they nigs? They were, weren't they?" I stammered, "Yeah, but...." That, predictably, set him off: "See? Of course they were! Fucking nigs! Goddamn nigs!" I could see Marv rolling his eyes, and he diplomatically interrupted, "Uh, let's get Peter to the hospital, Spike, OK?" So off we went, Spike raving the entire time, which didn't exactly make me feel better.

At the hospital, the doctor examined me and determined that I didn't even have a concussion, but that I'd need a few stitches on my head. He proceeded to sew me up. Police arrived and took a report, and were impressed that I had managed to get the car's license plate number. Everyone was amazed that I wasn't hurt a lot worse. "Are you sure you had bottles broken over your head? Three bottles? Really?"

I had been thinking about that, too. How was it that I had never lost consciousness? "You know what I think it was?" I offered. "They brought down the bottles as hard as they could. Because the wine bottles were cheap and thin, and the impact was so strong, all the energy was dissipated by the bottles exploding outward as they totally shattered, rather than the force being directed into my skull." The doctor shrugged, "Yeah, that actually makes sense; I think you're right." So if there's a lesson to be learned from my experience, it is this: if you want to knock somebody unconscious with a wine bottle, don't swing it with all your might, because it probably won't work. Now you know! News you can use (service journalism!).

The other good thing that came out of the experience was that the next day, Marv presented me with the drawing featured at the top of the post, showing what he was thinking about (Ew! Riverside!) when I interrupted his wool-gathering with my dramatic, blood-soaked entrance. Thanks, Marv!

I also decided that I simply couldn't stand to be around Spike any longer, and shortly thereafter switched to working for another division of the Festival of Animation so that I wouldn't have to listen to my boss going on and on AND ON about how I was a "nig victim" every chance he got. I didn't want to be his "exhibit A" in his never-ending quest to enlighten those around him to the dangers of the scary mud people. Sheesh! I was honestly upset at myself to lend ammunition to Spike's virulent racism.

In the end, the police traced the license plate. Unfortunately, it belonged to a car owned by a rental agency in Los Angeles which the cops said was known to rent cars to gang members so that they could go on "field trips" to rob people in fancy neighborhoods like La Jolla. They had "no records" of who had rented the car, and it was a dead end. It certainly explained why they didn't seem to be terribly concerned that the plate was readable as they drove away from the gooey mess they had left on the road.

Oh, and my wallet? The one they had expended so much energy to obtain? I had three dollars in it, not even enough for a buck apiece. Not even enough to buy another bottle of wine.

What If Grover Norquist's Head Suddenly Turned Into A Giant Crocheted Toadstool?

PSP Political Star Of The Year Award, 2012!

(Uncredited photo via)

You might be surprised by my choice, but it's fabulous Josh Mandel of Ohio! My obsession with Mandel began earlier this year, when every time I would stumble across a photo of him, I'd recoil instinctively, only to return, fascinated, to study his blatantly wicked countenance. Eventually I snapped out of a trance induced by his bizarre hairline long enough to actually read about him, and learned that he is exactly the kind of smirky, terrible, frat-boy conservative he appears to be.  It's as if one of the villains from Animal House were running for senate.

And, yes, his hair is deeply weird and maybe even psychotic, and it goes from thrilling new style to thrilling new style. Buzzed here, pomaded there... what will Josh do with his difficult hair next? It's exciting.

Here's another picture:

(Photo: ohio.gov)

Look, I know it seems like I carp on people's appearance a lot, but I generally keep it to criticism of their choices and habits, like clothing and hairdos and hand gestures, rather than of innate physical characteristics over which they have no control. I don't think, for instance, that I've ever made fun of a politician for being "fat." I guess my two major infractions would be my obsession with Robert Gates adorable teensiness and Condi's occasional resemblance to a Klingon.

That said, isn't Josh Mandel one of the most wonderfully scary and creepy Republican villains you've ever seen? He reminds me of an evil ventriloquist dummy from a horror movie, or a Brooks Brothers mannequin from the 1950s come chillingly to life:

(Photo: Rollcall)

It's almost (Almost! Not really! Just kidding!) too bad that Mandel is almost certainly going to lose against Sherrod Brown. Even his hometown paper called him the "cartoon candidate." How can I not love him? And how can you not love that this ghastly specter is the GOP's nightmare version of youthfulness?

So it's sad, because my Josh Mandel obsession is cresting just as he's about to vanish from the national stage. Something tells me, though, that there's a lot more Josh Mandels whence this one came.

What, Exactly, Is A Mitt Romney?

This is merely a straightforward "you should read this" post. Like so many others, I'm plagued by the "what IS it about Mitt Romney, anyway?" question, and also like many others, I simply shrug and feel well enough informed to hold a reasonably consistent opinion about him. Finally, though, Jonathan Chait has published a short summary of Romney's character in New York Magazine which is so brilliantly concise yet such a thorough description of the candidate that it should immediately be stapled to every telephone pole in the country.

That's all! It's just really good.

Pretending To Care

(Associated Press)

OK, I know everybody is already talking about this one, but I simply can't let Paul Ryan's magnificent Saturday pantomime photo-op go without comment.

Let's review: Ryan and his entourage were on their way to the airport when they thought they'd stop off for a quickie at a soup kitchen, photographers in tow. Never mind that the charity's homeless clients were already gone, had already been served, or that there was nothing charitable to be done; Ryan and family donned clean aprons (Ryan didn't even remove his tie!), carefully rolled up their sleeves, and pretended to wash dishes which were already clean as the AP photographer dutifully recorded the fake event (see above).

Ryan claimed he wanted to spotlight the efforts of soup kitchen volunteers. No, Mr. Ryan, you wanted a photographer to make you appear to be one of them.

It's breathtaking!

The cynicism displayed by Ryan and Co. in this case is so blatant, it makes even Condoleezza Rice's most baffling, dishonest and pointless photo-ops look sincere in comparison.

I'm impressed.

UPDATE: CBS News has video. It's great!

Fashion Victim: What Was Once Mere Disdain Is Now Reflexive, Involuntary Loathing

Ew, ew, ew. Thanks a lot, Time Magazine. Gross.

Is Jennifer Rubin Unconciously Willing A Hurricane To Hit The Republican Convention?

Oh, people, don't think even for a moment that I've forgotten Jen! She's been super-hilarious lately, with post after post after post about how great Mitt 'n' Paul are, how well they're doing, how Obama hates Israel, loves Iran, etc., etc. I haven't been writing about her, though, because Pony Pal™ Alex over at Salon has been doing such a superb job of it, I suspect he may be more in love with her than I am! Is that possible?

But here's something eerie and fun: I'm sure you've heard how it's quite possible that a hurricane is on its way to Tampa to join in the festivities of the GOP convention, right? I believe that Jennifer Rubin is inadvertently, subliminally willing it to happen! Wait, hear me out! Here's Jen's latest post, about how Mitt 'n' Paul are, you know, so great and doing so well and everything. Let me put a few words and phrases in boldface and you'll see what I mean:

It is not hard to see that something is happening in the presidential race. Mitt Romney and Rep. Paul Ryan (R-Wis.) are drawing huge crowds. Romney has a money advantage (another reflection of grass-roots enthusiasm). And a series of state polls in New Hampshire, New Hampshire and Michigan suggest the Romney-Ryan ticket is on the rise. Inside the Romney-Ryan camp, there is cautious optimism that the tide is building as Republicans head into their convention. At the very least, the campaign has weathered the most treacherous time, when President Obama enjoyed a huge spending advantage

If the public polls and the Romney-Ryan camp’s temperature reading are correct, what accounts for the uptick? With the caveat that this is what may be happening now and is not indicative of where the race may wind up, it’s fair to assume that several factors are at play.

Jen! What are you doing? Is it because the storm's name is Isaac?

UPDATE: Pony Pal™ Pareene responds, "Her excitement leading up to Tampa is definitely going to lead to her unleashing latent weather-controlling telekinetic abilities. I would put money on it."

Fashion Victim: Heterosexual Sports Fans Don Their Princess Sparkle Pony Apparel

Ha, ha, what you're seeing above is a group of straight men (like, probably with wives and, ew, kids and even, like, pets), members of a "fantasy football league" (first and last appearance of that phrase on this blog, I bet) brandishing citrus fruit and holding a sign that says Lemon Party. If you don't know why that's funny, and you decide to Google that phrase, be prepared to see explicit pictures of naked men in their eighties having sex, OK? God, jokes lose all their sizzle when you have to explain them.

But what's this? What's that on their shirts? Why, it's my caricature of Rob Halford, nelly overlord of Judas Priest. How on earth did that end up there?

No, no, don't get righteous-indignationy. It just so happens that one of the guys in the photo above contacted me and asked if they could use the image, something very few people who "re-purpose" my artwork bother to do. He explained that Rob Halford was, in fact, the patron saint of their team, so how could I refuse? I happily prepared a nice greyscale png file with a transparent background for "Serious Business" to use, and provided it to them with the sole proviso that I had to, had to, had to see a photograph of them wearing the shirts to believe that it was real.

I'm happy because I have a soft spot for that drawing. I originally did it as part of a cover design for Genetic Disorder magazine in 2002. Later, I rejiggered it for a post here. It never garnered any response at all, and I was miffed, because I'm terrible at caricatures and I thought that, for once, I had gotten one right. So the 9-year delayed rave review was thrilling.

I have a funny Rob Halford story! And it's a funny Arizona story, too! I was in the Phoenix area in about 1992-3, presenting the Festival of Animation at the wonderful Valley Art Theater in Tempe. One night I was relaxing with some locals at a hairdresser watering hole when a very familiar-looking man walked by. I turned to my companions and the following conversation took place:

Me: OMG!
Persons A and B: What? What?
Me: Wasn't that... Judas Priest guy? Rob Halford?
Person A: Oh, her?
Person B: Yeah, she's here all the time. She lives here.
Person A: Honey, she's a tired old queen!

So anyway, four glittery hooves way, WAY up to "Serious Business" for having the courtesy to ask my permission to use my design (flattery will get you everywhere) and for making good on their promise to model the results.

The system works! Looking good, fellas!

Campaign As Audition

Talking Points Memo reports today that some Senate candidate said the following:

“This is one of my wackier ideas but — run for office,” Hinckley told the audience in the 2009 speech, video of which was obtained by WPRI. “I have some great stories about friends that have done this. And even if you lose, running for office, you actually win, because you get tons of free PR.”

And it's funny because I was just thinking of that exact concept yesterday when contemplating this:

 

Clearly this young woman has no intention whatsoever of actually becoming a senator (Eww! Boring!). I would bet any amount that this is a blatant ploy to get noticed by reality TV casting agents... and I'm certain it will work.

How Much Right-Wing Generated Revulsion Can Arizona Produce?

(Photo via the New Times)

I haven't lived in what I still admit to being my home state for quite some time, but it really says something about Arizona politics that, upon hearing that a neo-Nazi shot up a house full of people there, my first thought was, "Wouldn't it be wild if it turned out to be that guy who Russell Pearce always palled around with and denied palling around with?"

And, of course, it did turn out to be that guy.