— Kozza (@Kozza) November 7, 2016
The Reddit MeIRL crowd produces some of my son’s favorite internet snark — and provides a bridge between 16 y.o. consummate savvy and [mumble mumble mumble] technological cluelessness.
Here’s what he shared with me today:
May your day be one in which all your sneks are garters.
(And no, not that way. This is a family blog.)
Open. The Thread. It Is.
— Mark Murray (@mmurraypolitics) September 2, 2016
Cassidy: "It really seems to boil down to Mr. Trump’s personality being not what people like," not GOP policies https://t.co/vtzAg0Wg6C
— Alexandra Jaffe (@ajjaffe) September 2, 2016
You just keep telling yourself that, Sen. Cassidy — it’s not the message, it’s the messenger! If only Deadbeat Donald could be a little more… restrained about your party’s appeal to all the worst elements of racism, xenophobia, and misogyny in American politics…
But Cassidy’s from Louisiana, he needs emergency reconstruction funds for his state right now, not when Mitch McConnell gets tired of stonewalling in hopes that Hillary (or better yet, Donald) will be struck by lightning before November. “Principles” are all very well when your gang of Freedom Caucus Liberty Patriots are riding high, but when the guy at the top of the ticket looks to be bent on self-immolation…
For the special delectation of Balloon Juice readers: The NYTimes reports that “Tensions Deepen Between Donald Trump and R.N.C.”:
The Republican National Committee had high hopes that Donald J. Trump would deliver a compassionate and measured speech about immigration on Wednesday, and prepared to lavish praise on the candidate on the party’s Twitter account.
So when Mr. Trump instead offered a fiery denunciation of migrant criminals and suggested deporting Hillary Clinton, Reince Priebus, the party chairman, signaled that aides should scrap the plan, and the committee made no statement at all.
The evening tore a painful new wound in Mr. Trump’s relationship with the Republican National Committee, imperiling his most important remaining political alliance.
Mr. Priebus and his organization have been steadfastly supportive of Mr. Trump, defending him in public and spending millions of dollars to aid him. But the collaboration between Mr. Trump’s campaign and Mr. Priebus’s committee has grown strained over the last month, according to six senior Republicans with detailed knowledge of both groups, some of whom asked to speak anonymously for fear of exacerbating tensions….
Ya think? [surreptitious sounds of blame being shifted; reporters pretend not to recognize figures behind the curtain]
… There is no prospect of a full public breach between the Trump campaign and the R.N.C. because both sides rely on a joint fund-raising arrangement crucial to their election efforts.
But tensions have grown to such a point that they threaten to diminish the party’s ability to work smoothly with Mr. Trump during the most critical post-Labor Day phase of the race, when the committee traditionally helps supervise an extensive voter turnout effort.
Mr. Trump, who has struggled to raise money, is dependent on his party’s national committee to perform many of the basic functions of a presidential campaign. Should the partnership continue to deteriorate, it could hinder Mr. Trump’s bid for a late comeback in the race…
In response to Marco Gutierrez’s remarks expressing concerns about an invasion of Taco Trucks I decided to strike a blow for Salsa (Verde, also Roja and Crema and guacamole) Justice and went for Mexican food tonight. Never has standing in solidarity, by sitting and eating, tasted so good. Also, the corners of my neighborhood are still clear of taco trucks, so I’m going to keep Balloon Juice set at TacoCon 5 for the time being. So grab your forks my Salsa Justice Warriors and head for the comments – open thread!
(El Paso Burrito with Salsa Roja, Crema, and Verde)
Remember to wear your seat belts!
I didn’t realize the previously posted video was an advertisement (hadn’t watched it all the way through). Mea Culpa! Mea Culpa! So instead, here’s some kangaroos!!!!
Commenter SiubhanDuinne shares this with us:
Most of you know I love Gilbert & Sullivan.
Most of you know I do NOT love Donald Trump.
Most of you know I enjoy writing doggerel parodies.
So here you go.
When I was a lad I got the key
To my father’s real estate company
I knocked on doors and collected rent
And now I am the nominee for president!
(And now he is the nominee for president!)
I hassled tenants fearlessly,
And now I am the darling of the G.O.P.
(He hassled tenants fearlessly,
And now he is the darling of the G.O.P.)
I said, “I’ll strike out on my own
If my daddy will give me a tiny loan.”
A million here, a million there,
Before you know it, I’m a billionaire!
(Before you know it, he’s a billionaire!)
I took that money my daddy lent,
And now I am the nominee for president!
(He took that money his daddy lent
And now he is the nominee for president!)
I wed three gorgeous foreign chicks —
(Well, Marla came from the Georgia sticks) —
“Will you marry me?” They all said “Yup,”
So I made ’em sign an airtight ironclad pre-nup
(They had to sign an airtight ironclad pre-nup.)
They signed so fast it was evident
That one day soon I’d run for U.S. president!
(They signed so fast it was evident
That one day soon he’d run for U.S. president!)
I am the very best, you know,
At managing a business like a casino,
This next part might just make you sob,
But I had a little run-in with the Jersey Mob
(He had a little run-in with the Jersey Mob).
I lost my casino in bankruptcy,
And now I am a presidential nominee!
(He lost it all in bankruptcy,
And now he is a presidential nominee!)
Casinos, towers, Miss Universe,
T.V. and golf, it could’ve been much worse.
“TRUMP” blazoned everywhere in shining gilt,
I’m classier than any puny Vanderbilt
(He’s classier than any puny Vanderbilt).
Forbes, Vanderbilt, or Carnegie,
And now I am a presidential nominee!
(Forbes, Vanderbilt, or Carnegie,
And now he is a presidential nominee!)
Trump Steaks and Wine, they’re here for you,
Trump Magazine, and oh, Trump Water too,
Ask anyone in my family,
And don’t forget about Trump University
(And don’t forget about Trump University).
That wetback judge has so much gall,
He’s prejudiced because I’m going to build a wall
(That Mexican judge has so much gall,
He hates that Trump has said he’s going to build a wall!)
The media love my every move
And I don’t have a goddam thing to prove.
A documentary by Ken Burns,
But I hope he doesn’t ask about my tax returns
(No, we hope he doesn’t ask about the tax returns!)
The rest of my life’s an open book,
And, like Nixon, I will tell you, “I am not a crook.”
(His life is like an open book,
And he swears that, just like Nixon, he is not a crook!)
You surely know how much I’m worth
And I wish you’d look at President Obama’s birth.
I searched for the long-form document,
And now I am a candidate for President!
(And now he is a candidate for president!)
My hands are huge, my fingers long,
And I hope you will appreciate this humble song
(His hands are huge, his fingers long,
And we hope you are delighting in this humble song.)
So all you folks — you straight white men —
Let’s make America great again!
When women really knew their place,
And Jim Crow was the answer to the Negro race
(Yes, Jim Crow was the answer to the Negro race).
When “cheerfulness” is what “gay” meant,
That’s where I’ll take you when I am your president!
(When “cheerfulness” is what “gay” meant,
That is where he’ll take us when he is our president!)
This made my day.
(Trumpbaby image shamelessly stolen from our favorite Wonkanatrix.)
I’ve been enjoying the turn the campaign has taken over the last few days as much as the next heartless Democrat. (Will no one think of the Green Room GOP?) And I’m getting nervous: this is August, and until Labor Day comes and goes with Trump still tossing molotovs down the outhouse hole that is his campaign, I’m not going to relax.
But still, one cannot live on outrage and schadenfreude alone. So here’s a little bit of wonderful comedy in glorious black and white. I was reminded of it at the gym when my guy told me to “engage the ropes.” See 2:15 or so to about 2:50 for the resonance.
Anyway: never say I don’t love y’all:
Let this be a recombinant-hair-piece-free open thread.
You cannot make this stuff up. A guy named Schmuck attempted to teach an impromptu firearms safety course while drunk in front of the Quick Stop Deli on West Louther Street in Carlisle, PA (former home of me – Carlisle, PA, not a convenience store and deli on West Louther Street).
Christopher R. Schmuck, 39, was charged by the Carlisle Police Department on Friday after officers say they were called to the Quick Stop Deli on the 600 block of West Louther Street for a report of a man with a gun.
When police arrived, they found Schmuck at the front of the store, and they say he had a .45-caliber glock handgun tucked into his waistband.
Police say Schmuck, who was intoxicated, was giving a gun-safety lesson to two teenagers, and at one point, there was a live round in the chamber.
He did not have a license to carry the gun, police say.
Schmuck was charged with a weapons violation, reckless endangerment, public drunkenness and disorderly conduct, and is set for a preliminary hearing on Wednesday.
Needless to say: what a schmuck!
Calling all Sokals!
I know this is a case of chasing easy marks, but still, I laughed.
Two teenagers visited the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art and they came away…underwhelmed:
The teenagers, Kevin Nguyen, 16, and TJ Khayatan, 17, both of San Jose, had been left scratching their heads at the simplicity of some of the museum’s exhibits, including two stuffed animals on a blanket.
“Is this really what you call art?” Kevin said in an interview over the weekend.
TJ added, “We looked at it and we were like, ‘This is pretty easy. We could make this ourselves.’ ”
Cue the long-standing first reaction to a Pollack: “My five year old could do better!”
Nguyen and Khayatan, however, did the hard thing: put their ambition to the test. Theirs was no instant success:
Inspired during their visit on May 21, they experimented with putting a jacket on the floor and then a baseball cap, but neither drew attention.
Like any driven artist, the two persisted, until, the breakthrough!
Kevin then placed his Burberry glasses on the floor beneath a placard describing the theme of the gallery. He said neither he nor TJ did anything to influence museum visitors, such as standing around and looking at the glasses.
The linked article has a picture of what came next…;-)
Not that the creators could fully appreciate their success. One does have to sacrifice for art:
Within about three minutes, people appeared to be viewing their handiwork as bona fide art, though Kevin said that without his glasses, he could not see what was happening too well.
Give SFMOMA credit, though, for a sense of humor about the matter:
That would be a reference to this, I believe (as does the NY Times…)
Anyway — good times! And nothing to do with the ferret headed weasel (a sphinx for our times!), the senator from the north country, nor the lady whose nomination must not be acknowledged. So I guess this makes it another politics free open-thread. Have at it.
*Well. Actually…they are, in exactly the sense that Magritte argued that his pipe was not.
Image: Artemisia Gentileschi, Self-Portrait as the Allegory of Painting, between 1638 and 1639.
I always enjoy Julia Ioffe’s journalism for her deadpan Sancho Panza/Twelve Chairs wit. When I read she was being twitter-mobbed by antisemitic Trump followers, I assumed their grievance would be associated with her latest Foreign Policy article, “On Trump, Gefilte Fish, and World Order”:
I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I was eating my mother’s gefilte fish while watching Donald Trump’s foreign-policy address Wednesday afternoon. First, it was lunchtime; second, it is Passover; and third, the fish patties in front of me — an amalgam of lots of different ingredients (porgy, rockfish, matzo meal) that, mashed together, resemble nothing immediately recognizable as naturally occurring food — couldn’t help but echo the strange consistency of the policy combinations Trump put forward.
Punctuating his carefully scripted speech with Trumpian bursts of “believe me” and “very bad” — consider them bright bits of rhetorical magenta horseradish — Trump set out his vision of America in the world: America first, but America everywhere. America cutting down on its debt, but also expanding its standing army and revamping its nuclear arsenal. America standing up to China, but also striking an alliance with it. America supporting its allies, but also cracking down on them. America being restrained and judicious in its use of force, but also getting involved militarily and fighting to win…
Should’ve known better; the piece that so offended Der Trumpfuhrer’s fans was an apparently anodyne GQ profile of the woman a Stormfront blogger called “our Empress Melania”:
… Back then, in 2005, it didn’t seem odd that she and Donald Trump would mark their happy occasion with the former president and First Lady, then a senator from New York. “When they went to our wedding, we were private citizens,” Melania reminds me. Just two private citizens getting hitched at the groom’s 126-room Florida palace. He in a tux; she in a $100,000 Dior dress that laborers’ hands had toiled upon for a legendary 550 hours, affixing 1,500 crystals—jewels fit for private citizens like them. A pair of ordinary people, really, uniting in matrimony in the presence of Rudy Giuliani and Kelly Ripa, as Billy Joel serenaded the couple and guests slurped caviar and Cristal in the shadow of a five-foot-tall Grand Marnier wedding cake.
Those were, in some ways, simpler times. But things change quickly—which is perhaps the enduring fact of Melania Trump’s entire improbable life—and when your husband works up a plan to make America great again, the very same Clintons you once smiled with on your wedding day can now become your family’s mortal enemies. And you can think, as Melania Trump says she does, that it’s no huge deal, really. “This is it, what it is,” Melania tells me. “It’s all business now; it’s nothing personal.”…
It’s perfect that this guy’s from New Jersey:
Mr. Santillan, 28, arrived at Keflavik International Airport on Monday morning after a five-hour flight from New York and was eager to get to the Hotel Fron on Laugavegur, a main street in Reykjavik, Iceland’s capital, local news media reported. But the spelling error got in his way, according to Visir, an Icelandic news website.
While driving nearly six hours over icy roads, Mr. Santillan, who works in retail marketing, had an inkling that something might be wrong, local news reports said.
His suspicion was confirmed when he arrived in Siglufjordur, a remote fishing village in northern Iceland that is roughly 430 kilometers, or about 270 miles, from the airport and has a road named Laugarvegur.
There, a local woman informed him that he was not in Reykjavik, which is about 45 minutes by bus from the airport at which Mr. Santillan arrived.
Should have asked, “What exit?”
The Times scrupulously notes that, “his account could not be independently verified.” Even if the truth turns out to be somewhat stretched, however, we’ll always have Wrong Way Mike.
Yesterday started sadly so I thought I’d post something fun and tender to start the day today. We saw Jacques Tati’s Mon Oncle over the weekend. (Thanks Alamo Drafthouse!) Tati was a postwar French amalgam of Charlie Chaplin and Samuel Beckett. (Seriously, they played a short before the movie featuring David Lynch saying so.) His movies are sweet and weird and moving and funny all at the same time.
The scene that elicited the most guffaws needs no explanation:
I can imagine our H. erectus ancestor kids pulling the same prank a million years ago, and whoever succeeds us a million years from now doing the same.
— Zack Beauchamp (@zackbeauchamp) December 13, 2015
@AlexUsherHESA Mark Hamill is today the same age as Sir Alec Guinness was in 1977.
— Rob Huck (@BumfOnline) December 13, 2015
So I'll be curled up in a fetal position for the rest of the day then. https://t.co/OIOkzPiyf9
— Daniel Drezner (@dandrezner) December 13, 2015
There’s been a certain amount of attention paid to Buzzfeed Ben Smith’s “What The Hell Happened To Mickey Kaus?” — mostly, IMO, for the wrong reasons:
… I wrote a blog every day, more or less, from 2004 to 2011. Mickey Kaus was an old-timer when I started, and he was still going when I stopped. A pioneer of the platform, he is one of the handful who can lay claim to inventing the political blog — though he would never claim it, and indeed goes to great lengths to argue that he didn’t.
Kaus helped introduce elements of blogging style that still endure in online writing: the breathless, stream-of-consciousness style; the informal, self-referential voice; the disdain for the mainstream media…
Kaus mostly stopped blogging this year when he broke with the Daily Caller after criticizing Fox News — from the right. And while his old friends from top New York and Washington publications are now Top Thinkers and People Who Run Things, he is sitting in a coffee shop in Venice, talking about how he’s going to light up the congressional switchboard with calls about immigration. He now lives off his savings, and writes solely on Twitter, where he has emerged as an unlikely man of this political moment: a Democratic intellectual who thinks that Donald Trump is the “most credible” candidate for the presidency…
In other words, if not completely nucking futz, Kaus is an extremely quirky person whose idiosyncrasies gave him a foothold when the whole “political blogging” thing was being invented. Blogging has changed since those days, Kaus maybe not so much, and there isn’t a paying niche open at the moment for him. Sad commentary, if you’re the kind of online guy who seems to have grown up wanting to be Mickey Kaus…
… Kaus also helped found the debate platform Bloggingheads with his old friend Robert Wright. (A Kaussian digression: I once debated Glenn Greenwald on Bloggingheads, on the proposition that my employer, Politico, was a right-wing proxy. The figure at the center of Greenwald’s theory was Joe Albritton, who he said owned Politico. I countered that the man was dead, and that his son Robert — without the CIA ties — ran the company. That turned out to be wrong — Joe was then alive, and in fact my boss’s boss; Greenwald very kindly allowed me to delete that portion of the audio, and save my job, and I’m reminded that he shares with Kaus [though being different in every other way] the quality of being a huge asshole on the internet but astonishingly gracious in person.)…
What I hear, reading that paragraph: Blogging was such a different and special place when it was just me and a handful of my bros, yapping for money from rich dudes whose politics we carefully chose not to understand! But now that just anybody can do it, the rich dudes have moved on!
And for some reason, I’m finding myself clean out of pity for Mickey Kaus, and all his fellows/imitators.
@yeselson 10+ yrs ago, was at least $ in contrarianism. Sad to see a guy stuck with an ugly schtick developed for a vanished market.
— reflectionephemeral (@R_Ephemeral) December 13, 2015
— Jeet Heer (@HeerJeet) December 13, 2015
You are welcome.
After an April Fools’ joke of helicopter pizza delivery left pizza-craving islanders thinking wishfully, a Dominos in the St. Maarten airport has officially teamed up with the airline Winair to offer small, neighboring islands pizza delivered by plane.
Audrey Agard, a manager at the Dominos location, told Mashable that since the service launched earlier this month, it has become quite popular — with several requests per day.
The food service is taking advantage of existing flights already scheduled to the islands. So when a customer calls to order a pizza, they are able to pick an arrival time and the pizza is baked right before departure. Typical fight times range from 15 to 20 minutes, depending on the island and weather conditions.
So what will this cost? As of right now, Agard said the delivery fee will only set customers back $2.75. The only downside that we can see is how jealous plane passengers will be when the delicious pizza smell takes over the plane’s cabin.
Unfortunately, for pizza enthusiasts, they’ll still have to drive to the airport in order to pickup their pizza from Winair, but that’s better than no pizza at all.
Be sure to tip your pilot. You’re also on your own for obligatory “case of the munchies” jokes, this being Caribbean pizza delivery and all.