Sunny Saturday News Roundup

Because My Typist Will Go Mad If I Don't Let Her Close a Few Tabs in Her Browser Edition

1. Death Takes No Holiday: Sadly, the summer of celebrities dropping like flies continues, with word last night that legendary newscaster Walter Cronkite has bitten the dust at the age of 92 in New York City. Those of you under a certain age probably can't appreciate the scale of this loss to a generation of TV babies who grew up in a time when news was news and not infotainment. When Cronkite choked up during a live broadcast on Nov. 22, 1963 announcing the death of President John F. Kennedy (see photo at right and this vid), some of us were as shocked to learn that men could cry as we were to hear that presidents could die. Thank dog a man of Cronkite's keen instincts and good sense presided over the birth of television news. Would that his lack of ego and his commitment to striving for objectivity had prevailed in his profession. RIP, Mr. Cronkite.

2. Big Dawg Rolls Over on Same-Sex Marriage: Yep, it's true. Former President and signer of the Defense of Marriage Act Bill Clinton has announced that he has finally realized queers are no greater threat to the sanctity of marriage than he is. Michael Tracey reported in The Nation earlier this week that Clinton recently "replied in the affirmative" when asked if he supported same-sex marriage. His support is a fairly pale shade of lavender, as he still considers it a matter that should be settled by individual states rather than a full-on purple issue of equality before the law, but the declaration matters. Clinton is the biggest of big Dems who have recently found the nerve to state any kind of public support for marriage equality. (Tracey mentions "former Democratic National Committee chair Howard Dean, New York Senator Charles E. Schumer, New Jersey Governor Jon Corzine, and Connecticut Senator Christopher Dodd" as others who have recently shifted positions on the issue.)

3. No Slings, Several Possible Arrows: Meanwhile in Hillary-land, the secretary of state emerged this week from the semi-seclusion caused by her recent elbow injury to give a major speech at the Council on Foreign Relations (transcript and vid here). It was a fine speech, vintage Clinton -- rock solid, in command of the issues, delivered without wearing a sling -- but we predict the SOS will need a few more Vicodin to get through the tedious, moronic round of utterly vacuous stories speculating on whether her elbow has temporarily sidelined her or she's actually being marginalized in the Obama administration. Oh, for crying out loud, people. Shut up! Please make yourselves useful. Go write stories on whether the Pope's broken wrist means that whole infallibility thing may be horse manure after all.

4. Yawn: Silver-Tongued Prez Opens Mouth Again: Yes, Barack Obama gave a great big speech at the 100th convention of the NAACP on Thursday night. (Vid here. Transcript here.) A friend of ours who was there declared it "electrifying," and the tape suggests that's an accurate description. We didn't blog it sooner because we no longer think it's news when the Greatest Orator In the History of Speechifying makes a crowd go crazy with his lofty eloquence, especially when he goes all black-churchy and starts talking about the good old days when parents felt entitled to "whup" another person's child if they saw it "fooling around." Good times, people, good times. And I am sorry, Kool-Aid drinkers, but our hearts no longer go pitty-pat when the prez aims his pretty words in our direction with a couple of nice lines about "our gay brothers and sisters, still taunted, still attacked, still denied their rights." By whom, Mr. President? Do you by any chance refer to your own DOMA-defending Department of Justice? No? I didn't think so, but we appreciate that you left out the word "lifestyle" this time.

5. White House Opens Office of Persona Management, Mark Twain Not Amused: Proving that imitation truly is the sincerest form of flattery, the New York Times published an Op-Ed this week written in the voice of Bo Obama, First Dog of the United States, taking stock of his first hundred days in the White House. Reached for comment on this obvious ripoff of America's favorite dog blog devoted to politics, pop culture, and basketball, Roxie's World director of OPM Mark Twain uttered a string of profanities not printable on a family-friendly dog blog while sipping whiskey on the patio at Ishmael's, the seedy yet cozy bar around the corner from the global headquarters of RW Enterprises, LLC. My typist was more diplomatic but nonetheless underwhelmed. "Look, Rox," she said between bites of nachos, "this whole imagine-you're-a-dog business is not as easy as it looks. It's clear this New Yorker dude doesn't know the first thing about it. I mean, please -- That ending: 'Excuse me: I must chase a ball.' Oh, wow -- The brilliance! The originality! You are killing me, man!" "Please, Moose," Twain interjected at that point. "Let's order another round and change the subject. This fool clearly has less than a teaspoonful of brains, and you are hogging the nachos. Waiter!"

And that’s the way it is today in Roxie's World, kids. Peace out and dog bless.

Lt. Bradshaw Comes Home

(The body of Army 1st Lt. Brian Bradshaw arrives at Dover Air Force Base, 6/27/09. Photo Credit: U.S. Air Force photo/Roland Balik.)

Please go read this deeply moving letter that was printed as an Op-Ed in this morning's Washington Post. It was written by two members of the Air National Guard team that transported the body of Army 1st Lt. Brian Bradshaw from the forward base where he was killed to Bagram Air Base in Afghanistan. Bradshaw was killed on June 25, 2009, the day Michael Jackson died. On July 5, the Post published an eloquent letter from Bradshaw's aunt, Martha Gillis, of Springfield, VA, which criticized the media for offering wall-to-wall coverage of a singer's death while practically ignoring the deaths of Lt. Bradshaw and the several other soldiers who died that week in Afghanistan. Capt. James Adair and Master Sgt. Paul Riley wrote their letter, a detailed account of the hundreds of soldiers from Lt. Bradshaw's company who stood in formation on the runway in total darkness as their plane touched down to retrieve his body, to let the family know that his death had not gone unnoticed or unmourned. Here are a couple of paragraphs, but please go read the whole thing:

Brian's whole company had marched to the site with their colors flying prior to our arrival. His platoon lined both sides of our aircraft's ramp while the rest were standing behind them. As the ambulance approached, the formation was called to attention. As Brian passed the formation, members shouted "Present arms" and everyone saluted. The salute was held until he was placed inside the aircraft and then the senior commanders, the sergeant major and the chaplain spoke a few words.

Afterward, we prepared to take off and head back to our base. His death was so sudden that there was no time to complete the paperwork needed to transfer him. We were only given his name, Lt. Brian Bradshaw. With that we accepted the transfer. Members of Brian's unit approached us and thanked us for coming to get him and helping with the ceremony. They explained what happened and how much his loss was felt. Everyone we talked to spoke well of him -- his character, his accomplishments and how well they liked him. Before closing up the back of the aircraft, one of Brian's men, with tears running down his face, said, "That's my platoon leader, please take care of him."

Why do you need to interrupt your Web-surfing to click over and read something that will make you cry or otherwise upset you? Several reasons.

You need to read it as a penance for every moment you spent reveling in the orgy of coverage of Michael Jackson's death. Yes, he had a significant impact on music, dance, and popular culture, but you have to admit the coverage was wildly out of proportion to anything remotely approximating Jackson's actual significance.

You need to read it because combat deaths are rising in Afghanistan, and none of us is paying careful enough attention. That needs to change. Immediately. Whatever your position on the escalation of troops, you need to face the consequences of the United States expanding its involvement in some of the most dangerous parts of one of the most unstable countries on earth. Earlier this week, in a story about how hard the president is working behind the scenes to get health-care reform passed, White House senior advisor David Axelrod audaciously compared President Obama to Lyndon Johnson for having "a big vision" for the country and "a great appreciation for the legislative process." Let's hope that so far wholly unjustified comparison to LBJ doesn't get born out in another American presidency brought down by its commitment to an unwinnable war.

You need to read it because WaPo needs to see that readers care about such stories. There is disturbing evidence that editorial and staffing decisions, particularly at bastions of print journalism now painfully transitioning to a mostly nonprint environment, are being made on the basis of what gets clicked on and what doesn't. Page-view data seems to have played a role, for example, in the Post's recent decision to terminate Dan Froomkin, a liberal columnist whose blog White House Watch suffered some slump in traffic once Obama took office. If you don't click on stories like this, then you won't see stories like this.

(Of course, another part of the problem is the issue of how easy [or not] it is for readers to find "stories like this" in the online versions of big papers like WaPo and NYT. Moose noticed the story about Lt. Bradshaw because she spent time this morning with the dead-tree edition of the paper, which she no longer does with the same religious dedication she used to have. Had she only read the online version, she likely would not have clicked on the piece because it wasn't well-promoted and the authors weren't names she recognized. Also, part of what grabbed her attention in the dead-tree version of the story was a compelling photo, similar to the one at the top of this post. Moose scoured the Post Web site looking for the image and could not find it. This is a consistent and, to Moose, deeply annoying pattern with WaPo online. Why deny Web readers the visual elements of a story? And why separate images from stories in cheesy galleries of "Photos From Today's Post" that don't, in fact, include all of the photos from today's Post?)

Pardon the rant, but you know how my typist gets when someone thwarts her quest for eye candy. Anyway, go read that story, then come back here and tell us what you think about the escalation of troops in Afghanistan. And while we are ordering your eyeballs around, please do not under any circumstances click on the profile of antiabortion lunatic Randall Terry (no link here) that ran in today's Style section. Shakesville's Melissa McEwan tears the piece to shreds for failing to convey "Terry's intimate association with the exhortation of violence against abortion doctors and his extended history of harassment." Per usual, Liss is spot-on. The article will help to resurrect the career of a man who ought to be consigned to the dustbin of history -- or held accountable for the violence he helped to inspire -- as quickly as possible. It is, as Liss puts it, "gobsmackingly irresponsible." Do not give it a click!

You have your orders, darlings. Obey and be happy. Peace out.

Overheard

Saturday, somewhere on Sligo Creek Trail

Self-Important Guy on Cell Phone: It's my understanding she's taken up tango instead.

Followed by sounds of silence, brief cogitation, then:

Moose: She's taken up tango instead of . . . yoga?

Goose: . . . knitting?

Moose: . . . bomb-making?

Goose: . . . blogging?

Moose: . . . a lover? (Or, lovah, as Carrie took to saying during her brief fling with Aleksandr Petrovsky.)

Followed by snickering, snorting, then silent reflections on the fact that July is, I swear to dog, National Cell Phone Courtesy Month. Hang up, people! It's a walking trail, not a phone booth!

Fashion Sense

(Malia Obama in Rome, 7/8/09. Photo Credit: Reuters, we think, via Shakesville)

Lessons for Girls: Geopolitics of Fashion Edition

So, okay, like, you just turned eleven, and all you really want to do is stay home and play Wii all summer, but your dad is, like, the leader of the free world and so your parents drag you off, with your little sister and your grandmother, on a European trip – your second within, like, a month! – and everybody is staring at you and the press is totally in your face and J. Crew is all like, hey, that’s our $298 trench coat she’s wearing and the fauxgressives are all in a dither, going, hey, no fair, hands off the girls, and you’re like, whatever, dudes, and hey, Mom, what should I wear to go to this ice cream parlor in Rome this afternoon? and she’s all, whatever, honey, but you know they call it “gelato” over here, so you figure, oh, heck, I’m just gonna throw on this T-shirt and be done with it, I am so over the whole dress-up thing, I don’t care what anybody thinks, I just want to be cool and comfortable and it won’t matter if I get ice cream on this T-shirt. Gelato, whatever, c’mon, Sasha, let’s go already! Where’s grandma?

PAWS UP and a big snap to Malia Obama for teaching several valuable Lessons for Girls by stepping out in Rome in a T-shirt that has set tongues wagging and fingers pounding around the world. The lessons?

1. You are not what you wear, even if everyone around you is obsessed with what you happen to have on, so wear what you want and to hell with what anybody says.

2. If people are staring at you, stare back -- fiercely, beautifully, directly.

3. Even for the baby diva, shades really are essential equipment. Wear 'em. Work 'em. Janet Jackson on stage at her brother's funeral has got nothing on you, Malia.

4. Your dad may rule the world, but you still have a voice -- and a global stage on which to use it. Daddy is raising troop levels in Afghanistan. Daughter says, Give peace a chance.

5. If, through no fault of your own, you find yourself always moving in a large crowd of people, make damn sure you are the leader of the pack. Take it from a dying old alpha dog, sweetheart, that is the only way to go, but you seem to have figured that out already.

Good for you, Malia. Hope you had fun at the Vatican today. Can't wait to see what you wore there! Happy, safe travels to you and yours. Peace out. Tell your dad we said that, too.

Gone Too Soon

No, not that guy. More like this guy:

(Image Credit: Picked up here.)

This post goes out in memory of my big beast of a cousin, Kona, warrior king of the remote kingdom of Indiana, who died yesterday after a sudden, brief illness -- an attack of pancreatitis, the same nasty disease that darn near killed yours truly three years ago. Kona was a beautiful chocolate lab -- serene, majestic, loyal, and large -- who presided over a large family and a hyperkinetic pack of chihuahuas with forbearance and quiet strength. When Moose visited his realm a couple of weeks ago, she smiled as she watched the big guy calmly patrol the grounds while the chihuahuas and the humans wreaked havoc around him, as chihuahuas and humans are wont to do. Kona was ten years old, born in 1999 on my very own birthday, April 1. Our condolences to the brother and sister-in-law of the Moosians and all of Kona's extended pack. We know your hearts feel broken right now, and our hearts go out to you.

After hearing the news about Kona yesterday, Moose ministered to me this morning with even more tenderness than usual. She fussed with my eyes, determined to rid them of the icky sticky gunk that spreads like kudzu every night while she's asleep. We ended up in the shower in something that felt a little bit like a massage and a little bit like a wrestling match as she searched for the right balance of gentleness and force in the effort to get me clean without hurting my increasingly thin and fragile body. She washed and partly dried me, then placed me out on the deck to let a delightful morning sun take care of the rest. When I was dry, she brushed me out, delicately using the flea comb around my eyes and mouth to try to extricate the last of the icky sticky stuff. When finally she was finished, we gazed at one another. "I'm still here," I said. "I know," she said, "but now you're clean and pretty, too." "Satisfied?" "Always, silly old girl," she said with a laugh, "always perfectly satisfied with you." And I know she really meant it.

Save me a place up there in heaven, Kona, a soft place with a view of the pool and a big pack of chihuahuas off in the distance. You do the heavy lifting, I'll do the thinking, and the little guys, well, they can run in circles around us from now until the end of time.

Peace out, and we'll let Usher sing you off, just as he did that other guy the other day:

Pug Love

What, you were expecting a 3,000-word post on Michael Jackson's life, death, and pop cultural legacy? Perhaps a super-snarky Sarah Palin follow-up? Not today, kids. Nope, today, thanks to my brother Geoffrey, it's all PUGS here in Roxie's World. Why?

1. Because pink is pretty.
2. Because I am confident that a significant number of my readers like sentimental musical backgrounds played on toy pianos. I could name names, but I won't.
3. Because pugs are grossly underrepresented not only in the culture generally but, we are sorry to say, right here in Roxie's World. Today, we begin to make amends to this noble if weird-looking breed.
4. Because every once in awhile we are willing to violate one of the cardinal rules of the companion species contract that usually pertains around here -- you know, the one about not putting dogs in ridiculous anthropomorphosized situations for the entertainment of humans. We do so, because, um, because, well, it can be funny, and we'll bend or break pretty much any rule for the sake of a good laugh.
5. Because my typist's sabbatical seems to be off to a slow start -- by which I mean she doesn't have time for a proper post because she'll be spending much of the day on campus today in all likelihood not thinking Deep Thoughts about the Hugely Important Book on Blogging That Is Going to Save the Humanities and Bankroll a Comfortable Retirement. She has a meeting, and I have a nap to take.

It's blog fodder, kids, plain and simple. Enjoy, and we'll catch up with you soon. Take it away, pugs!

Palintology (Encore)

(Photo Credit: J. Scott Applewhite/A.P. Images, via Vanity Fair)

Lucky for you, citizens of Roxie’s World, that the madcap moose huntress of Wasilla decided to announce her resignation as governor of Alaska on the eve of the 4th of July. Sarah Palin’s stunning move derailed my typist’s plans for a moody holiday post on the overvaluation of independence in American culture. It would have been full of Deep Thoughts and poignant personal revelations, probably illustrated by copies of family photos she downloaded during her recent visit to her home state of Indiana. Screw that, she thought when she woke up this morning with visions of the long forgotten Sarah dancing once again in her brain. “Goose,” she declared, “you make the potato salad. Roxie and I need to update the Palineologisms, maybe bang out a fresh Palin-ode or two to mark the occasion.” “Aye, aye,” Goose dutifully replied. She makes the finest potato salad in all the land, and she far prefers funny posts to moody ones, so she was more than happy to oblige. Moose grabbed a cup of coffee and the laptop.

“PALINOSTOMY!” she shouted moments later. (Okay, technically, it was a couple of hours, but doesn’t that sound better?)

Palinostomy

Noun (pl. –mies)
Elective surgery performed to remove a minor irritant on the bowel of the body politic. Generally performed to assure future viability of the organ, though risks of unforeseen complications are high. Patients may require extended period of recovery and rehabilitation.

Origin early 21st century: from failed governor of an obscure American state + Greek stoma ‘mouth.’

Palin-ode III: Dead Fish (for Palinodes I and II, go here)

The quitter’s way would be to stay
And do the job you gave me
But I’ve no wish to swim with dead fish
Perhaps Fox News will save me

Palin-ode IV: Efficiencies

My work is done and there’s no fun
In being just a lame duck
I’m so darn good it’s time to go
So long, voters – Good luck!

Want to make sure you’re locked and loaded for a fiery 4th of July debate on the soon to be ex-governor of Alaska? Here’s your ammo, kids. Click, aim, fire!

• Huff Po has the video and transcript of Palin’s stupefyingly disingenuous resignation speech, which includes the lines about dead fish and “the quitter’s way” that inspired Palin-ode III.

• Vanity Fair has Todd Purdum’s lengthy dish on Palin that some speculate may have fueled her decision to leave office, perhaps because all that trashing by unnamed McCain staffers and Republican insiders made her realize she had no future with the party.

• Runner’s World has an equally long piece on Palin’s strong commitment to sweating as a way to maintain sanity. It’s worth noting that the governor refused to talk to Vanity Fair but seems to have had plenty of time for the jock journalists of RW.

Hope your holiday is swell, patriots. It’s a beautiful day here in Roxie’s World, and we plan to spend it reflecting on the virtues of (in)dependence – by which we mean savoring all that connects us to one another and to you, our legions of loved ones and loyal fans. This day always makes us think of the great democratic bard of New Jersey, Mr. Bruce Springsteen, so we’ll let him sing us out, with a vision of the boardwalk and fireworks and the carnival life we never really left. Take it away, Boss.