A Lomblog Roundtable: The Mideast Crisis

Lombaire Fan, writer/editor/artist/raconteur
Hello! Welcome to my very first "virtual" roundtable.Yes, a roundtable - oh, I feel just like Dorothy Parker!

Our topic: the Middle East. The conflict between Israel and Lebanon has dominated headlines this week; it's even overshadowed the impending nuptials of Kid Rock and Pamela Anderson. So I thought I'd invite some expert panelists to help us hash this crisis out before it becomes even more newsy.

Our guests are two men who know a lot, both about the Middle East and panel discussions. Christopher Hitchens is a British-born author and commentator who you may recognize from his many appearances on shows like Hardball With Chris Matthews and Real Time With Bill Maher. More likely, you recognize him from open-bar night at your local Bennigan's. Whatever the case, he has many fascinating insights into current events that will "virtually" astound anyone really impressed by accents.

Our other guest, Professor Juan Cole, is an expert in Middle East culture and history. He's also known for posing awkwardly in photos on the sidebar of his blog.

Welcome, gentlemen.

This week, the president weighed in. In a conversation he did not know was being recorded, he revealed that he plans to send Secretary of State Condoleeza Rice to the region. Juan Cole, is there realistically anything the US can do to mediate in this situation?

Juan Cole, author/academic
Ugh. That is all I can say, LF. Three days after I first watched the Bush-Blair "dialogue", I still tremble at the thought that this simple-minded simpleton is making our foreign policy. In fact, as I ponder this Orwellian nightmare that all of us have lived through the past six years, it literally makes me sick to my stomach. Yes, I've now resigned myself to outright nausea for the remainder of this president's term.



In the face of images like this, I'd like to see Hitchens defend the indefensible - the Neocon policies that have led to so much death and destruction across the Middle East since the Iraq occupation began in 2003.

Lombaire Fan, writer/editor/artist/raconteur
Well, that's a little off-topic, but what do you have to say, Chris?

Christopher Hitchens, author/contrarian/British guy
I have no idea why I accepted the invitation to appear on this squalid little blog with its horrid template and excreble writing standards. But I do like to see my name in bold text, even alongside this squalid little apologist for mullahs whose own excreble blog, Informed Comment, would be more aptly titled Misinformed Comment --

Lombaire Fan, writer/editor/artist/raconteur
Ha! Misinformed Comment - did you just come up with that?

Christopher Hitchens, author/contrarian/British guy
But setting that aside, I find it a bit galling that Mr. Cole would use the phrase "Orwellian." He must know that I wrote the definitive book on the subject of Orwell. Orwell's own great niece, CiCi, has said that only I, of all contemporary authors, hold my cigarette and frown in a manner reminiscent of the master himself. So the fact that the professor is now using language associated with me to attack my views shows you how debased the Left has become since they stopped inviting me to their parties. But I admit I've lost many friends since I decided to speak out against the Islamototaliterrofascithugs™ that only Mr. Bush and Mr. Blair have shown the courage to confront - bravely, if stupidly and disasterously.

Lombaire Fan, writer/editor/artist/raconteur
Uh, Professor?

Juan Cole, author/academic
I'm pleased to see Hitchens acknowledge that Bush is stupid and disasterous. Now will he admit the rank depravity of what's taken place in Bush's torture cells?



Lombaire Fan, writer/editor/artist/raconteur
Wait, isn't that a still from Scanners?

Juan Cole, author/academic
Yes. That movie is being used as a training film for US interrogators. Still, I'd like to see Hitchens defend this war in the face of images like that.

Christopher Hitchens, author/contrarian/British guy
As anyone who reads me knows, I've never supported the way this war has been conducted by the American administration; I've only supported it as an intellectual enterprise.

But from perusing Mr. Cole's online photo gallery, it doesn't surprise me that he's too myopic to understand the nuances of my position.

Lombaire Fan, writer/editor/artist/raconteur
Hey now - that's getting a little personal...

Juan Cole, author/academic
OK, NOW YOU'VE DONE IT!! I'm going to post a picture of what Hitchens' liver must look like!



I'd like to see him defend his chronic drinking habit in the face of images like that.

Lombaire Fan, writer/editor/artist/raconteur
Professor! Ewww.

Anyway, we're out of time. We got pretty far afield, and never really did discuss Israel and Lebanon. Will the two of you come back for another roundtable?

Juan Cole, author/academic
Yes, when I finish trembling.

Christopher Hitchens, author/contrarian/British guy
Possibly. But not tomorrow - I have two C-SPAN bookings and a Dixie Chicks/Cindy Sheehan appearance to heckle.

Lombaire Fan, writer/editor/artist/raconteur
Great. Until then, I'll see all of you in the peace and security of cyberspace.

Adieu for today!

In Memoriam

Hooters Chairman Dead At 69

Expect a simple, dignified service:

BREAKING: Israel Attacks Zidane

PARIS - A tense world situation grew even more tense tonight, with news that Israel has attacked the practice space of controversial French soccer star Zinédine Zidane.



This explosive yet seemingly inevitable development comes one week after Zidane headbutted an Italian player at World Cup, and three days after the strike on South Lebanon by Israeli forces.

So far, it is believed that Mr. Zidane was unharmed in tonight's raid, as he was apologizing elsewhere when the bombs struck. But the symbolic import of this unprecedented clash between Mideast powerhouse and midfield power player can not be overstated.

Many longtime Middle East observers are tonight asking "Why?" Why would Israel choose to assault a French soccer compound when it's already fighting a two-front war in its home region? My sources in Jerusalem list these reasons:

1) Mr. Zidane is a Muslim - a strong, agile Muslim given to provocative gestures. While he's never explicitly called for the destruction of Israel, he's never explicitly not called for it either.

2) The practice space in question may be a hiding place for Hamas and Hezbollah secret agents, many of whom must have been encouraged by the hero's welcome Zidane received after the headbutting incident.

3) As it never qualified for this year's World Cup, Israel is in a unique position to take a stand against poor sportsmanship.

4) It's the weekend - time to cut loose.

Now, more background on the participants in tonight's match, Zizou vs. the Zionists.

First, Israel:

• It's been playing internationally since 1948.

• Nickname(s): "The Jewish state"; "The Jewish homeland".

• Playing style: It's been known to be a bit aggressive on the field...



...but sometimes it makes nice.



And Zinédine Zidane:

• He's been playing internationally since 1994.

• Nickname(s): Zizou; Butthead.

• Playing style: He's been known to be a bit aggressive on the field...



...but he too sometimes makes nice.



Good luck, gentlemen (and ladies)!

We'll have more on this story as events develop.........

Next Up



Einstein's Love Letters Revealed

Outing Bloggers



Allow me to get meta for just a moment. Lately, a few of my compatriots in what I call the "non-Lomblogosphere" have been "outed" by the news media - exposed as real people with lives and careers away from the Internet. A few were even revealed to have done work that related directly to the people and topics they've blogged on. Luckily, I've taken precautions to avoid this kind of conflict. Namely, I have no life and no career. It's a drastic step, but that's the price one pays to avoid the appearance of impropriety.

Still, I have great sympathy for bloggers who've found their private and professional lives the subject of media scrutiny. It seems this kind of thing is the result of the increasing influence of blogs and the fact that many journalists regard us as a threat of some kind. Why? I don't know. I honestly think that blogs may be the best thing to happen to the news media since Gutenberg invented the printing press and Ben Franklin invented the staple-gun. Thanks to blogs, the reporters and columnists who constitute the establishment press have a whole new audience for their work. And while most of that audience is busy composing expletive-filled hate mail, some will be readers and subscribers for many years to come.

Fortunately, a few people in the big media "get it" and are mature enough to handle the kind of intelligent critique blogs and blog-readers provide.

As David Brooks of the New York Times said to me in a recent e-mail:

Thank you very much for your thoughtful response to my recent column on Iraq. By the way, how did you know my wife is double-jointed?

But back to the topic at hand: should bloggers who'd like to remain anonymous expect cooperation from the news media? For my part, I honestly believe that anonymity is critical to what we do. Blogs like this give voice to the voiceless, the powerless and often, the pantless. Without the cover anonymity provides, dialogue on the Net would be as stilted and lifeless as it is on the nation's editorial pages. In fact, I think the editorial pages should take their cues from blogs. It'd be really cool if every Friday the editors of the Washington Post stopped publishing articles on Social Security reform or the future of the Democratic party and instead printed a bunch of cute pictures of their Calico kittens Fransisca and Princess Fluffytoes. That's when we'd know the "blogovolution" was fully in effect.

Until then, this is one blogger steadfastly guarding my identity from both the Old Media and those nasty people at the DMV.

Anonymously yours,

LF

Soon On Lomblog

"Uno - Dos...One - Two - Tres - Quattro!"



Out-Of-Work Garage Bands Flock To Participate In Mexican Recount

NK Nukes: A Solution

News from the Far East put a lot of people on edge this week. Following the long holiday weekend, North Korea's pint-sized Stalinist dictator popped up to remind an administration preoccupied with Iraq and Iran that you can't spell "Axis of Evil" without the "Il". Now the world holds its breath, hoping international condemnation can back down the most seriously bouffanted threat to hit the Asian continent since Gary Glitter.

Will tough talk, combined with diplomacy, do the trick? Can the president resolve this crisis? Can the UN?

I doubt it. But there is someone who could help, and it just so happens she's already a diplomatic force.



Now I realize Mrs. Jolie-Pitt is busy these days, having just given birth to the first product of naturally conceived genetic engineering. No doubt she has many major film projects in the pipeline, as well as responsibilities to her other children, which she adopted once Mia Farrow could no longer financially support them. But pardon me, I think saving the world from nuclear annihilation is a little more important.

By all accounts, Kim Jong is quite the ladies' man as well as a major movie buff. Being across the negotiating table from perhaps the most beautiful film actress of modern times would surely make him think twice about firing off missiles outside his own personal airspace, if you know what I mean.

And after that, who knows where things might lead?



Now I'm not advocating that Jolie permanently leave Brad, Hollywood and her ten biracial deaf orphan children to head off an arms race. But I do think "Jongelina" would be the celebrity coupling to end all celebrity coupling. A year or two as concubine to the ruler of an unstable regime would show that Jolie - and by extension, the entertainment community - is really serious about making a difference. Just like Clark Gable and Jimmy Stewart, who suited up to do battle with the original Axis menace, it's time for today's Hollywood royalty to sacrifice for the good of humanity.

After that, what could Jennifer Aniston possibly complain about?

Adieu for today!

Enrot



Yesterday, we learned that Enron founder Kenneth Lay died after experiencing a massive heart attack, just six weeks after experiencing a massive prosecution.

Here at Lomblog, we always show respect for the deceased. So let us be the one major news organization to highlight the positives of Mr. Lay's life and legacy.

Most retrospectives on this influential CEO have naturally focused on his central role in one of the country's largest corporate-abuse scandals. Others noted his longstanding friendship with President Bush. What most will overlook is the major contribution to charity he made with the millions he stole.

During his time at the top, Lay's largesse financed everything from construction of the baseball stadium Minute Maid Park (once named "Enron Field") to the Houston Holocaust Museum (once named "Enron Death Camp Exhibit"). There was even a Katy, Texas YMCA named in his honor - until it was decided that association with a convicted criminal and the Village People was too much stigma for one recreational center.

But more than what he gave us in life, there's the lesson he's given us with his death.

Once, like in 1987 or so, it was said that Greed was Good. But now we know the truth: Greed - along with stress brought on by the prospect of life in prison - Kills.

There's a reason why men like Lay burn out in the prime of life - 64 - while the likes of Warren Buffett continue to shine brightly well into their mid-seventies. It's because bilking old ladies out of their life savings puts a terrible strain on the arteries. If Lay had simply acted on the up-and-up, he might still be up-and-up.

So Mr. Lay's passing is just one more chapter that closes the books - cooked or otherwise - on the Age of Greed.

That's assuming he actually is dead.

During his corporate career, Lay proved to be one cagey hombré. It's possible that he has cheated Death too, by, say, shifting his vital signs to a part of his anatomy not yet examined by federal investigators.

But for now, let's listen to a MIDI rendition of "Everytime You Go Away" and think fond thoughts of Ken.

Adieu for today!

Coming Up



International scientists debate the existence of World Cup fever

Later On Lomblog



South Dakota celebrates International Women's Day

The Jimmys

Hello old chums,

LF here, post-Oscars - still trying to recover my senses and the three-grand I lost on Brokeback. At least my other picks were mostly correct, though you'll never convince me that Dame Judi Dench didn't "throw" her performance in Mrs. Henderson Presents. I'm afraid you have to be close to this town to know how corrupt it is. But don't take that as criticism - as George Clooney would surely remind us, Hollywood has frequently been the first to expose Hollywood corruption.

Anyway, if you think awards season is finally over, think again. Tinsel Town's next big get-together is just around the corner.



That's right, the Jimmys - the first awards to honor achievement in the pirated motion picture industry. Named in honor of Jimmy Nussle, a nineteen-year-old Kansas man believed to have the largest cache of illegally downloaded movies on his hard drive, the Jimmys will be held this Sunday in the basement of the Kodak Theater. No stars are expected to attend but plenty will appear. And the competition for Best Picture should be quite exciting, though it may take days to complete.

These are the nominees:

• The Forty-Year-Old Virgin (complete) SHARE OR DIE!!! - teddyboy843

• Star Wars Episode III - Revenge of the Sith NOT A FAKE - ackbar5904

• Dukes of Hazzard cam. part one JESSICA SIMPSON/BRAESTS - pe439al

• Fat Kid on pogo stick (REALL & HILARIOUS!!!!!!) - dAveDAWg95

• MILF Hunters: Rachel - foghorn4830

Unlike the Oscars, the Jimmys are truly international. For instance, every single nominee in the Sound Effects, Editing and Cinematography categories is Chinese.

So move over, Oscar, there's a new golden boy in town! See you at the Jimmys!

Oscar Countdown

Our next Best Picture nominee is Good Night And Good Luck.



This movie takes us back to the 1950s, a time when right-wing demagogues used fear and intimidation to drive the nation's press agenda - in other words, just like now but in black and white. Fortunately for all of us, one man wasn't having it: the legendary CBS newsman Edward R. Murrow, who created such a high standard for TV journalism that no broadcaster since has dared live up to it out of respect to his memory. Murrow's lonely, courageous battle against "the Red Scare" is an example to us all, though not so much the part where he chain-smokes unfiltered cigarettes. Still, a generation will always remember his integrity as well as his legendary sign-off, "Seacrest out."

David Strathairn is excellent as Murrow. He is so dull, grey, dour and devoid of expression that we actually believe he has been dead for forty years. But the real find here is the actor who portrays Senator Joseph McCarthy. I didn't stick around long enough to catch his name in the credits and I don't see him on the Oscar ballot but whoever he is, he is really good. Scary good, in fact - I found everything he said very convincing. If this guy wants to get out of the movie biz and start a political career, it's his. Let's just hope he's one of the good guys and not another Schwarzenegger.

Good Night was directed and co-written by George Clooney, who also co-stars and bankrolled this modest production off his Facts of Life residual checks. While the film's message is entirely relevant to our time, the b&w cinematography and jazz soundtrack is a nice throwback to the age of Eisenhower, I Love Lucy and principled reporters.

So cheers to Good Night And Good Luck - the Best Picture of the Year!

Now vote for your Best Picture:

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The Zenmaster Is Getting Antsy

Vote in his latest web poll:

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More Oscar Preview

If there's a frontrunner at this year's Awards, it has to be Brokeback Mountain.



Directed by Ang Lee and starring Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal, this is easily the most talked-about motion picture of the year, if not the decade. With all the controversy, the criticism, the parodies, it's hard to imagine anyone visiting this blog not already familar with much of what takes place in this film. But out of respect for those who haven't seen it, my review contains absolutely no spoilers.

Brokeback tells the story of Ennis Del Mar (Ledger) and Jack Twist (Gyllenhaal), a pair of young ranch hands who over the course of an early '60s summer in Wyoming discover that they really enjoy doing things together. Things like swimming, fishing, horseback riding and just about anything else that might strike their fancy. But there's one catch: they really, really like doing things together. Like more than they've ever liked doing things with anyone else before. Herein lies the film's universality, as I think we all remember that one buddy from summer camp with whom we just could not part ways. Anyone who's been through that experience or anything similar will surely identify with the characters in this film, to some extent.

So Ennis and Jack promise to be Best Friends Forever while agreeing to keep it "on the downlow", so to speak, as they both get married and start their lives in earnest. But neither can escape the feeling that they'd really rather be doing things together. They agree to get together once a year and return to Brokeback Mountain - and who can blame them? The scenery is gorgeous. However, the wives (Anne Hathaway, Michelle Williams) get a little concerned, as wives tend to do when a husband is spending all his time horsing around with one of his close pals and ignoring the homefront. Again, this is a movie that nearly every American male will relate to, though perhaps some more than others.

As the film progresses, taking us further into the character's lives, it takes on tragic dimensions. We come to feel that Ennis and Jack were destined to do things together but their lives have been undone by society's tendency to frown upon certain people doing things together. Yes, it's a downer.

But Brokeback Mountain is also a very thought-provoking film. I thought about it an awful lot afterwards, which is odd since I've never been a fan of cowboy movies. Certain scenes replayed in my thoughts a lot - so much so that I had to mentally recast the film just to get it out of my head; my version of Brokeback stars Danny DeVito and Paul Giamatti. It's just as well-acted but a little less thought-provoking.

So cheers to Brokeback Mountain - the Best Picture of the Year!

Now take our latest web poll, courtesy the Zenmaster:

Free Web poll for your Web site - freepolls.com

Oscar Poll #2

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Oscar Preview

In just a few short days, the 78th Annual Academy Awards will kick off in Los Angeles. For us film fans, it's like the Olympics, the Super Bowl and the Daytona 500 all rolled into one but longer. This year's telecast may be the most interesting in years, with the expected dominance of Brokeback Mountain and the likelihood that afterwards Oscar will never again find solace in heterosexual drama. All this anticipation only served to remind me: I haven't seen any of the films nominated this year. So in the interest of providing a learned assessment of this year's ceremonies, I'm scrambling to catch all the Best Picture candidates before the red carpet - and Joan Rivers' wax remains - are officially rolled out on Sunday.

Last night I caught Capote starring Phillip Seymour Hoffman.



Naturally, the story of an ambitious eccentric who inserts himself into a major news event with seemingly little concern for the real people involved has great resonance with me. I probably haven't identified so strongly with a character on screen since PSH's earlier role in Happiness. Hoffman doesn't just play Truman Capote, he is Truman Capote, in a performance so convincing that even months after the film's release, Liza Minelli is still calling him up at 3:00 am and demanding to raid his Quaalude stash. The film also provides fascinating insight into the literary world of the 1960s; who knew that famed To Kill A Mockingbird author Harper Lee (played by the exquisite Catherine Keener) was also one of the world's first "fag hags"?

It's in the story of Capote's relationship with a convicted killer, Robert Blake, that we see what an innovator the man really was. We witness how he pioneered the "non-fiction novel", a concept which the likes of James Frey have recently picked up and taken to new heights. With that in mind, it's too bad that Truman largely operated before the age of crack and Oprah because he really could've been somebody. Instead he became a sad, wasted figure chatting it up with celebrities at drug-and-sex-infested parties at Studio 54 - ie. living the American dream. But what a talent that creepy manipulative bastard was. The whole film made me want to pull out my well-worn, yellowed-out copy of In Cold Blood and actually read it instead of wearing it and coloring it yellow.

So cheers to Capote - the Best Picture of the year!

Now here's your chance to sound off on an Oscar category, via our old friend the Zenmaster:

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More Soon...

Including a Bumshot Mountain symposium, but first a brand-new sponser:

The Cheney Shooting: What Might Have Happened

One week ago, an event occurred that has since transfixed the nation. Though the two principals have spoken to the press, there is still much we don't know about last weekend's accident in Texas. Until a definitive account is published or broadcast by major media, perhaps only fiction can bring us close to the truth...

In the summer of 1963 when Richard "Dick" Cheney first met Harry "Harry" Whittington, neither was a big wig in Republican politics. They were just simple ranchhands. Tall, lean and handy with a rope, Harry had dreams of someday starting a law practice in his native Texas. Chubby, steely-eyed and crooked of mouth, Dick's goals were more base: to repeatedly enter and exit the revolving door of government and corporate life, while making millions for himself, his clients and contributors. But herding sheep that summer on the Wyoming plains, both realized there was a lot more they wanted - and could never have.



In fact, it was clear from their very first night around the campfire together that a very special kinship was forming.

"I tell ya, this is mighty good grub," Dick grinned. "Where did you learn to cook like this?"

"Oh, Dick, you know I'm an ol' Texas boy," Harry smiled back. "I done been campin' and cookin' fer years."

"Texas?" Dick's eyes lit up. "I hear there's a lot of money in oil down there, and a burgeoning Republican party that will slowly take over the state, then the nation in the years after Kennedy gets his head blown off in Dallas."

Harry looked perplexed. "What, Dick? The president's gonna be shot? In Dallas? How do you know that?"

"Don't ask me how I know," the young Westerner sneered. "I just know."

It was almost sundown when Harry heard a noise near the tents he and Dick had set up earlier.

"What's that, Dick? I think we got some mean critters tryin' to raid our food stash."

"I know what that is," Dick calmly replied before grabbing his trusty shotgun. "Coyotes." He then fired eight shots into the night air, four of which ricocheted off a tent pole and landed in Harry's backside.

"Damnit, Dick! You nailed me in the ass somethin' fierce!"

"You shoulda had the sense to get outta my way."

"Well, you should have better aim!"

"Hey old coot - go fuck yourself."

Not wishing to cause more trouble, Harry murmured, "I'm sorry, Dick. It really is my fault."

After twenty-two minutes, Dick's humanitarian instincts took hand and he dragged Harry into his tent. With a first-aid kit in hand and remembering all he'd learned as a Cub Scout, Cheney began to stitch up the wounded posterior. As he did, Harry felt not just relieved but actually soothed by Dick's bulky fingers and gruff, authoritarian manner. Then Dick lurched his hand away.

"Goddamnit Dick, if you stop right now, I won't be able to sit fer the rest of the summer!"

"You know why I stopped, old man," Dick replied, sneering again. "I'm not no queer. I don't know how they do things in the Lone Star State, but here in Wyoming, we don't cotton to that. My daddy told me about men what got shot, stabbed, dragged behind a pickup truck, sent home without severance pay for doing what I just did to you."

"But Dick....you were just stitching up my rear-end!"

"It's all about appearances. Maybe public relations won't matter when you go off and become a lawyer, but it sure does where I'm headed. That's why we can't let anybody know about what happened tonight. When you go back to Texas and they ask you about those bullets in your ass, you tell 'em you were shot by a Cuban national."

"Well, ok, Dick. I won't tell a soul. A one-shot thing. Nobody's business but ours."

What neither man realized is that they weren't completely alone that night. Watching their silhouettes was the owner of the Legal Limit Ranch, a lanky Connecticut WASP turned Texas wildcatter whom everyone called "Poppy."



"Poppy" had bought Wyoming land in hopes of establishing a beachhead for his family's ambitions in every one of the lower forty-eight. He'd hired the Cheney kid after seeing him in action at Yale a few years earlier. It was obvious that he was a troubled young man but also determined, crafty and very loyal. And with knowledge of what he'd seen through the lens of his binoculars, "Poppy" knew that Dick would be in debt to he and his clan for the rest of his natural life.

At the end of that summer, Dick and Harry shook hands and went their separate ways. But the memory of Bumshot Mountain was something that never left them. Individually, their dreams were realized: Harry become a prominent attorney and political contributer; Dick got married, sired a lesbian daughter and profitted off his public service. But despite their busy lives, they always set aside one weekend a year to be together. Sometimes the wives got suspicious; Lynne, Dick's missus, once asked, "What is it you do on these 'hunting trips'? You never bag any quail and Harry always comes back limping." Dick insisted his wife had no right to know of his activities and referred all further questioning to his Chief of Staff, L. "Scooter" Libby. As the years passed, the get-togethers became less frequent yet somehow they needed them more.

On their last visit, at the Armstrong ranch in mid-February, the vice-president of the United States confided in his old riding partner.

"Harry, Washington life just isn't working for me. Everyone I know is either under indictment or distancing themselves from me. We can't keep meeting like this. That's why I'm thinkin' about going south, and I want you to come with me. Harry, let's go to Mexico."

"Mexico, Dick? They'd kill us there!"

"No, they wouldn't. There's lots of places they'd kill us but not there. Think about it - in the day, we'd fish, hunt, go riding. And in the evenings, we'd cuddle but nothing more, because I believe in the sanctity of a committed heterosexual union."

Harry was just about to answer when he heard a rustling in the bushes.

"What's that, Dick? I think we got some war protesters afoot. Secret Service here?"

"Don't need em," Dick calmly replied as he grabbed his trusty shotgun. "I know what that is. Cindy Sheehan."

He then fired twelve shots, most of which landed in Harry, who had gone to check for demonstrators.

As he lay wounded, with injuries in his chest, neck and face, Harry muttered words that would define the essence of their relationship.



"I wish I could quit getting shot by you, Dick Cheney."

Coming To Lomblog

Exclusive coverage of the Cheney shooting, including the first photos from Saturday's hunting trip:



Plus, a look at how conservative media is covering the incident:

Cartoon Stirs International @#%!Storm

Well, the Muhammed cartoon controversy continues to rage. Not since Gary Larson drew the ire of Hindus for his portrayal of cows in The Far Side series has the world witnessed an uproar like this. Things have gotten so bad that tourists in Muslim-dominated countries have been advised to return home as quickly as possible, and to absolutely, positively avoid doodling.

The cartoons, originally published in Denmark, have yet to be reprinted in the US. Also, as a preemptive measure of sorts, major American cartoonists have begun reaching out to the Islamic community:



Like many in my field - such as it is - I've done a lot of thinking on this topic. For rarely have my private and public values - such as they are - come into such stark conflict. I am, of course, a staunch proponent of the Muslim cause. But the TV scenes of violent protest leave a queasy feeling in my stomach, and not just because the phrase "burning Danish consulate" stirs up improper hunger pangs. It seems that despite my best efforts, the angry, Allah-fearing youth of the Middle East have yet to really "lighten up." As with our efforts to promote Arab democracy, it may take decades, even centuries for Muslims to understand, much less embrace the hip, irreverent, let-it-all-hang-out humor that's become synonymous with both Lomblog and Scandinavians.

Every culture has its own concept of "funny": The French laugh at slapstick; the British, drag humor; the Germans, the futility of existence. This is why accomplished humorists and raconteurs so often tailor their remarks to fit the tastes and mores of whatever audience they happen to speak before.

For instance, whenever I talk to a AIPAC meeting, I like to begin with this joke:

Q. What's the first thing Yasir Arafat heard when he went to Heaven?

A. Sorry, wrong door - we thought you were Ringo Starr!

But when I speak at a Hamas fundraiser, this is how I like to start:

Q. What's the first thing Ariel Sharon will hear when he goes to Heaven?

A. Ariel Sharon will not go to Heaven. He will burn in the putrid bowls of Hell along with the other infidels, butchers and defiers of God's will who have bloodied the people of Palestine. All hail Hamas!

Either way, the line kills. Which I think proves that we all have a lot more in common than we realize.

Is there a solution on the horizon? I see only one: President Bush should appoint a special humor envoy to the Middle East. Someone who understands the sensitivities of the region but has a real desire to rebuild and reshape the Islamic fundamentalist funnybone. If Danny Thomas were still alive, he would be perfect for this. Since he's not, I suggest Robin Williams. He has an international following, voiced a character in Aladdin and has that manic quality the Arab street seems to appreciate. Yes, desperate times call for desperate measures, and nothing conveys desperation like Robin whipping out a Richard Simmons bit from 1987. But even that would bring the Muslim world one baby step closer to understanding contemporary satire.

Must dash - I have to polish up my entry in Iran's "Make A Funny Blog About The Holocaust" contest.

Yours,

LF

Indie-cent Exposure



Well, it's great to be back home, after three grueling days partying and attending screenings at the annual Sundance Film Festival in Park City, Utah. Although I'm a longtime admirer of independent and experimental cinema - I mean, DUH! - this was my first time experiencing the festival in person. What a wonder - Robert Redford has created something truly unique in American film history, and if he had to sacrifice skin care in doing so, more kudos to him. I just wish there were a festival like this later in the year in a location a little more conducive to my jetset lifestyle - say, late May in the south of France? No matter, I had a lot of fun.

Since I arrived near the festival's close, I didn't get to see/camcord the majority of films that were in competition this year. But the ones I watched lead me to believe that '06 may be a banner year in moviedom, building on last year's triumphs like Brokeback Mountain, Capote, TransAmerica and one of those films where Charlize Theron gets beat up by miners or something. Of the entries I caught, these were my favorites:

• I'm Not Gonna Cry Now - Riveting true-to-life story of a woman who discovers the baby she gave up for adoption is now fully grown.

• Looking For Gary Busey - Riveting documentary about a pair of out-of-work actors who travel across country in search of actor Gary Busey. Starring, directed and written by actor Gary Busey.

• OUTSEASONED - Riveting documentary exposing the garlic-based biases of cable's Food Network.

• Soldier Bois - Riveting true-to-life story of gay soldiers in WW2 whose homosexuality is so suppressed, they can only express it through inventive mispelling of common words.

Catch these sleepers when they hit the theaters later this year. For now, I'm going to wash the rest of my clothes so they don't smell so....Ebert-y.

Letterboxed with love,

LF

Coming Up



Is God Punishing Oprah?

Eavesdropping The Ball



Yesterday, President Bush visited the National Security Agency - an organization so secretive it refuses to reveal its initials - in an attempt to buck up staffers charged with the tedious task of "decoding" America's smileys. The agency has taken the lead role in a massive domestic spying program that some call "Big Brother" and others call "elimiRIGHTS". For like most of the president's decisions, it's hard to find a middle ground. Defenders claim eavesdropping is a vital tool in the War on Terror as we seek to scope out those radical Islamists within our midst that always phone home during Ramadan. Critics charge Bush's actions are not only invasive and unnecessary but a betrayal of our Founders' intent: that America be a nation of laws, not of Mr. Furleys.



I, of course, have strong feelings on this issue. But I'm keeping them to myself out of fear that they will make me a target of government surveillance, just like MLK back in the '60s. And he didn't even blog! Unless you count this.

No, what really concerns me, an amateur terror-fighter, is the Feds' utter unresponsiveness to citizen informants. Witness this transcript of a recent call to the FBI tipline:

UNIDENTIFIED CALLER: Hello? Is this the FBI? I want to report some suspicious activity.

OPERATOR: Yes? Go on.

UNIDENTIFIED CALLER: Well, nothing I've witnessed firsthand. But I think my girlfriend is seeing an Al Qaeda operative.

OPERATOR: And why do you think this?

UNIDENTIFIED CALLER: Just a hunch. I've seen them together a couple of times now. He's a large man - about 6'3; dark hair, dark complexion...especially lately; and beard. Well, not a full beard, but you know, facial hair. Like Skeet Ulrich?



OPERATOR: And is he of Arab descent?

UNIDENTIFIED CALLER: That I don't know, and I'm not really one for stereotyping but...(pause)

OPERATOR: What? Is there anything else?

UNIDENTIFIED CALLER: Yes. Do you remember that shoe bomber?

OPERATOR: Yes.

UNIDENTIFIED CALLER: Well, this guy owns a LOT of shoes. A lot. Like a new pair every day. And one time, I followed him. Into a shoe store. He was buying these big snow boots, like Timberlands, I think, and --

OPERATOR: Could you speed this up a bit? What did you find suspicious?

UNIDENTIFIED CALLER: Well, like I said - nothing I've seen firsthand. But it's an outdoor cafe where they eat every day - sometimes at noon, sometimes around three o'clock....and once, when I went to pick up some groceries around five, I happened to pass by, and there they were...

OPERATOR: And you've overheard conversations that troubled you?


UNIDENTIFIED CALLER: Well no, I wouldn't expect them to be plotting right out there in the open! But I've seen them together a few times now, and everytime I do, I just get this sinking feeling. A feeling of, "This guy is going to blow up downtown LA."

OPERATOR: And have you talked to your girlfriend about this?

UNIDENTIFIED CALLER: God no! What, do you think I'm nuts?!

OPERATOR: So you decided to call the FBI?

UNIDENTIFIED CALLER: Well, I just read about this surveillance program, and I thought you could maybe...do some things like.....well, not tap her phone because she really doesn't use a landline much, but if you could somehow get her cell phone records.....e-mail...her AIM account, which is sweetiegurl515.....if you could just get some of that and maybe share the information with me -

OPERATOR: Uh, even if we were to follow up on your report, we wouldn't be able to share any of that with you.

UNIDENTIFIED CALLER: Really? Why not?

OPERATOR: It's not our policy to share sensitive information in a criminal investigation with a private citizen.

UNIDENTIFIED CALLER: But I'm her boyfriend!

OPERATOR: Sorry.

UNIDENTIFIED CALLER: Damnit. Ok, it was worth a try.

OPERATOR: Thank you for contacting us.

UNIDENTIFIED CALLER: Thank you for listening.

OPERATOR: Goodbye.

UNIDENTIFIED CALLER: Oh wait -

OPERATOR: Yes?

UNIDENTIFIED CALLER: Don't tell her I called, ok.

OPERATOR: Ok.

UNIDENTIFIED CALLER: I could be totally wrong about this. It could be her brother for all I know but I don't think so. (Dial Tone) Are you still there?

Hopefully the publication of this transcript will shame the government into taking terrorism prevention a bit more seriously.

Hello and Welcome Again!

Greetings to all. If you've clicked here and noticed a special glow emanating from your computer screen, you should probably shut down. But it may also be the new look we're sporting as we prepare to enter our third (!) successful (!) year of highly erratic posting. Just kidding - Lomblog is back, and this time no amount of angst or bitterness will stop me until I've penetrated the public consciousness as thoroughly as that Jib Jab crap.


As usual, there were many theories about my absence. Some saw it as yet more evidence that God was punishing America. Others speculated that I was still licking the wounds left over from my recent break-up with Fiona Apple - or as the trade publications called us "Lombaire Faniona." Regardless, I have returned to my natural home with a fresh commitment to providing the kind of subtle, sophisticated, insightful commentary this country desperately needs but doesn't in any way deserve.

I have to admit to feeling a bit adrift in the new year. I regret not being here to provide the last word on the critical events of November, December and early-to-mid-January, when America edged ever closer to a "constitutional crisis" while making entirely too many "gay cowboy" jokes. Perhaps it's because I spent several tension-filled weeks in the Middle East organizing a Friar's Club roast of Ariel Sharon. Of course, it could still happen - Gilbert Gottfried and I check the wire services every day. No matter; the show must go on, as someone fond of cliches once said. So check this space tomorrow for subtle, sophisticated, insightful "gay cowboy" jokes. Until then...

Adieu!

White House Under Siege: A Lomblog Special Report

It was a stunningly bad week for President Bush - perhaps the worst of his presidency since the week before. On Tuesday, American military fatalies in Iraq reached the 2,000 mark. On Thursday, his initial choice for the Supreme Court, Harriet Miers, withdrew after shocking revelations that she may have once held opinions. On Friday, CIA leak investigator Patrick Fitzgerald indicted White House advisor Lewis "Scooter" Libby on charges of perjury, obstruction of justice and making false statements, severely testing the Administration doctrine of "preemptive treason." Meanwhile, the president's poll numbers continue to shrivel up like Rafael Palmiero's testicles.

It's all enough for some commentators to dub this a White House Under Siege.



Now, before I continue with this post, let me apologize to Karl Rove for his inclusion in the above graphic. It was completed before Friday's announcement by the special prosecutor. As Mr. Rove's lawyers are at pains to point out, he is not actually "under siege" but merely "under investigation." Of course, this does not preclude the possibility that he may eventually face besiegement. But for now, Mr. Rove is - legally speaking - happier than a pig in feces.

But on to the issue at hand. President Bush is currently receiving a lot of unsolicited advice from the pundits. Some have suggested he could revive his presidency by shaking up the White House staff, admitting mistakes, reaching out to the center, governing competently and other drastic steps. All I can say is: these people don't know George W. Bush like I know George W. Bush. He is not to be underestimated. He still has more than three years left in his term - more than enough time to come back without doing anything to rattle that third of Americans who will still support him no matter how objectively poor his performance in office.

Honestly, I don't believe the president's political situation is that dire. Already, we are seeing signs of his recovery. The religious right was angered by the Miers pick but have rallied behind the Bush's latest selection, Samuel Alito. Of course, he was not the first choice of pro-life social conservatives; that was Justice Patriarchal McBan O'Bortion. Evidently, ethnic politics elevated the Italian Catholic over the Irishman. But once again, Republicans are showcasing their solidarity with the unborn, both through the court fight and by the increasing number of them actually in the fetal position.

As for the Plame affair, that so far seems a minor distraction at best. The accusations against Libby are nothing to sneeze at, but still, the novelist & neocon avoided prosecution on more serious charges like violating the Espionage Act or killing Natalee Holloway.

You also have to consider the opposition. Oh brother, are they a mess! Sure, theoretically, the Democrats stand to gain a lot of ground. But the party's leadership - Pelosi, Reid, Kanye West - lack both a positive agenda and a headline-grabbing set of indictments. Nearly a year into the president's second term, they still refuse to spell out how they would do things differently - ie. which cronies they would appoint to important positions; how they would cover up the leak of a clandestine agent; what natural disasters they would ignore etc. Is it any wonder they've been rendered all but irrelevant?

Finally, time is on the president's side. The congressional elections are not for another year - several lifetimes in American politics. Lifetimes in which, for instance, millions of Democratic voters could be killed by untreated bird flu. Yes, George W. Bush can make a comeback but only if he follows his own advice and stays the course. If he ignores the naysayers, buckles down, steels himself and doesn't watch any TV except for fishing shows on TNN, he won't ever have to learn that people don't like him. This, I believe, is his road back. If he takes it, it won't be long before "W." once again stands for "Winner" instead of "WTF Has Gone Wrong Now?"

Explaining Myself

On the possible eve of possible indictments, I thought I should take the opportunity to clear up a few things.

My mailbag has been overflowing since I posted my account of the actions that brought me face-to-face with federal prosecutors, and before that, face-to-jowls with Karl Rove and "Scooter" Libby. Many correspondents wrote that my post left far too many unanswered questions, and in fact, prompted a whole slew of new ones. Questions of "why" - "Why did you go to jail rather than reveal your sources, who after all, weren't really your sources?" And questions of "how" - "How can we trust you when you're clearly a total sleaze?" And from our very young readers, questions of "what" - as in "What did you mean when you said that Libby was Rove's 'wingman'?" Ahh, the innocence.

Others offered a broader criticism: that my story reveals how close the nexus between government and media has become in recent years. In the words of one correspondent, if "you and your ilk weren't exactly in bed with the Bush team, you were certainly leaning against the nightstand in a sheer teddy while [Administration officials] gestured for a reach around." Well put.

But perhaps the most poignant response came from a young man who is newly employed in the Washington, DC area:

Dear Mr. Fan,

I am relatively new to the blogosphere but I read your article with mounting interest - interest that quickly became revulsion as the sheer scale of human degradation in our nation's capitol swept over me like a mud bath. Your portrait of so-called "journalists" and high-powered operatives hobnobbing and carousing while our brave men and women fight and die overseas is deeply disturbing. Over all, I found the scenario described so retch-inducing that I actually began to question why I ever got involved with public service in the first place.

Barack Obama

I'm sorry you feel that way, Senator, but glad that you read the blog.

But to the rest of my critics, I can only say this: Don't you people believe in the First Amendment? Or for that matter, democracy?

An important principle is at stake: if reporters are no longer allowed to schmooze with their subjects, how can journalists ever get close enough to perform the time-honored "watchdog" role in case they ever decide to grow some balls? Further, having the trust of your sources is critically important. What's a good way to gain an influential person's trust? Become their willing tool. Of course, people will say this compromises your objectivity. I say there's no better way to prove you lack your own agenda than to advance someone else's.

Being known as the go-to guy or gal when a high-powered individual wants a certain story in the press, be it "Iraq has WMD" or "Tom Cruise has fertile sperm" increases a reporter's stature and enhances his or her ability to make connections. Conversely, there's a word for press people that fail to make the right connections, and that word is poor. And let's get real here: poor journalists without powerful friends don't break the big stories - factual or not.

Oh sure, it's very nice for men like George Clooney to glamourize an era when media workhorses exposed the truth while smoking themselves to death on camera. But those days are gone and not coming back. That was before 24-hour cable news, the Internet and yoga. And though both took place in the Fifties, it was before M*A*S*H. It was before AfterM*A*S*H. A lot has changed.

But I digress. I also believe that asking journalists to testify about their sources will only encourage more government secrecy. Anonymous leaks were essential in major cases like Watergate and the Pentagon Papers. In fact, it was an anonymous leak that made this whole Plame investigation possible in the first place! So let's not throw the baby out with the wife-smearers.

Despite my closeness to the case, I don't know what the final outcome of this whole drama will be. Will the indictments stop with Rove & Libby, or go even higher up - to Vice President Cheney? Or might they ensnare someone relatively powerless, like the president himself? We'll have to wait and see.

For now, good night and good cuticles.

Freedom Rings

Unbeknownst to his many readers, colleagues and purported friends, Lombaire Fan - the creator and proprietor of this blog - has spent the bulk of the past four months in federal prison.



Mr. Fan's imprisonment stems from his still cloudy role in the Valerie Plame controversy. Now he has been released - and the truth can be revealed at last.

Hello readers,

Yes, I've just been released from prison - and not a minute too soon! I can take the loss of freedom, the isolation, the dreariness but a night bunking with Tom DeLay?! I'm sorry - as Daryl Hall & John Oates once sang, "I can't go for that/No!/No!/No can do!" Truthfully, the timing of Mr. DeLay's indictment(s) couldn't have been better - I now have a six-month head start on hosting dibs for the '06 season of The Apprentice.

Some have suggested that being cooped away for four months should have given me lots of time to blog. But you try being the only guy in the weight room with a laptop. I was also a little out of it when it came to current events; I only got to watch CNN's hurricane coverage because so many of the guys in my cell are such big fans of Anderson Cooper. Anyway, I'm glad to be out, and anxious to clear the air about my role in the CIA leak investigation.

So let me share some of what I told the grand jury:

I first learned the name of Valerie Plame in July 2003, when I attended a cocktail party in honor of political humorist Art Buchwald, a Washington fixture who - as of this writing - has still not died. It was shortly thereafter that I learned the attractive, statuesque blonde I had just spent four minutes chatting up was a) married and b) an undercover CIA operative. It was, as they say, quite a defining moment. My quest for bipartisan action on the DC social scene had put me on the verge of a serious breach of both etiquette and national security, one that could've cost lives - most especially my own. I mean, I've been shot down before but never by someone who may have carried actual ammo. I had finally learned my lesson.

But others in Washington were still in need of comeuppance. Like Karl Rove and Lewis "Scooter" Libby.


As top advisers to the president and vice-president, Rove and Libby play a lot of hardball politics during the day. But at night, they're all about hardcore partying. The pair are known as one of Washington's great tag-teams; imagine Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughn, but older, heavier, balder and somehow, even more smug. They may work for different bosses but after hours, they come together for a common cause: scoring. And it really is a team effort: Rove regales his potential conquests with tales of bare-knuckled Texas politics, while Libby buys drinks and notes that Halliburton does a mean job of installing swimming pools.

Now they had a new target in their sights.

"Whoa", said Rove, as he gazed across the room at the shapely secret agent. "Who's that? Daddy of the Grand Old Party's Corporate-Backed Religio-Fascist Propaganda Infrastructure likes."

"Valerie Plame," I answered.

"Hook us up, bro," interjected Libby. "Think she likes poetry? I just whipped off a really pretty verse about aspens turning on the back of this Niger forgery."

I tried to warn them. "Uh, Mr. Rove, Mr Libby, I really think you better back off. I know you two are always on the hunt. But I don't think this woman is fair game."

"Not fair game?! Of course she's fair game!", Rove shouted, as Cokie Roberts' karoake rendition of "Best Of My Love" filled the hall. "I'm the most powerful man in Washington! Getting her to sleep with me should be as easy as.......squashing the Iraqi insurgency!"

"But.....she's a wife and mother", I protested.

Libby smirked. "Oh yeah? Well, so was Sandra Day O'Conner!", he replied, as both broke into hysterics.

"Come on", Rove pleaded. "What's her deal? Donut-bumper?" I assumed the latter phrase was some kind of government code, perhaps a euphemism for women that work in the lower echelons of the federal bureacracy.

"No," I shrugged. "She's an undercover CIA operative. And you see that ambassador guy - the one who looks like a fat Michael Douglas? That's her husband."

A look of disappointment passed across both of their pasty, chowder-stuffed faces. These two were obviously used to getting what they wanted, and now they had to take no for an answer.

"Aww, fuck," Rove grumpily exclaimed. "I guess now I'm going home with Harriet." I still have no idea if "going home with Harriet" is another euphemism or a reference to an actual woman who works within the White House. [Editors' note: As previously stated, Lombaire Fan has had inconsistent access to Internet, print and television news)

Libby ruffled his papers. "I guess I'll have to save this poem for someone else."

Just weeks later, I would receive my first subpoena.

Next: Why I Decided To Come Clean

Guest Post

Today's special guest blogger is a longtime journalistic hero of mine, Carlton Abner. Eighty-seven-years young, Carlton - once called "the dean of the Washington press corps" - recently retired from the White House beat after sixty years covering presidents. But as you'll see here, his grasp of national politics is as strong as ever. - L.F.

When Americans huddled around their television and radio sets Thursday evening, many probably wondered why their favorite Westerns, domestic comedies and quiz shows were being preempted by a nighttime presidential address. After all, the Republic seems to be at point of relative contentment, what with the Russians at bay and the economy humming along nicely. Thanks to his congressional majority and big win over anti-war firebrand John Fitzgerald Kerry, the popular Bush could afford to rest on his laurels. Instead, this humble man from the Texas plains has devoted himself to the most important mission of our times: healing the lingering wounds of the War Between The States.

In his stirring call for Southern Reconstruction and an end to racial inequality, Bush has gone Lincoln one better. Moving far beyond the Emancipation Proclamation, he is asking us to invite the Negro into our homes, churches, businesses, and football stadiums in a spirit of brotherhood that I think will soon become synonymous with the Bush era. If there's a political motive in all of this, I don't see it. Due to the recently-passed 22nd Amendment, the many Negro citizens helped by his program won't be able to express their gratitude in a subsequent re-election campaign. The South, of course, remains solidly Democratic, even if the party nominates a liberal like New York's Senator, Harry Rodham Clinton. So it can only be with an eye toward history, not the polls, that the president proposes this ambitious rebuilding of the former Confederacy.



He is helped, of course, by bipartisan support. Just over his shoulder, sitting atop a black horse was none other than the founder of the Democratic party, Andrew Jackson. What a coup for Bush to win heavyweight backing from one of the opposition party's elder statesmen. And it speaks well of the president's sense of confidence that he was not afraid to share the spotlight with such a towering figure. If none other than Ol' Hickory himself is lining up behind the president, I'm sure we can expect many more endorsements in the days ahead. Perhaps the jazz musicians Mr. Bush alluded to in the conclusion of his address will begin whistlestopping through the Gulf Coast in support of this new legislation. With Count Basie and Duke Ellington on-board, the Bush bandwagon could kick up so much noise in Dixie that even the dead would rise up and dance a jitterbug to the president's new tune.

If there's anything the Administration lacks, it's a clever, memorable slogn that would sum up his plans and their hoped-for effect. Since the president's team is stocked with veterans - like PT Commander Bush himself - I suggest something martial, like "the War on Poverty."

C.A.

A Defense Of Bush

Less than two hours from now, President Bush will address the nation live from New Orleans. And not too long after that, anxious aides will address the president: "For Christ's sakes, don't drink that!" This speech from French Quarter - or as GOP Congressmen will soon rename it, "Freedom Quarter" - culminates nearly two weeks of damage control by the beleagured administration. But should this really be necessary?

Now, regular readers of Lomblog know that I've long been a fierce Bush critic. In fact, I once wrote, "If George W. Bush is elected president, the strong economy of the Nineties will disappear, he will bungle his way through a needless war in the Middle East, and large portions of the Gulf Coast will be destroyed." Pretty spooky, isn't it? What's more, I wrote that in 1989, when Bush was merely part-owner of the Texas Rangers. I guess I just have a way of sizing people up - in the same piece, I predicted that Richard Grieco's film career would go nowhere. However, I also suggested big, big things for Simply Red. Oh, the fickle ways of prophecy.

Anyway, I still think some of the hits the president has been taking lately are unfair.

For instance, all the talk about his famous five-week vacation. He was accused of insensitivity because he biked with Lance Armstrong during Cindy Sheehan's anti-war protests and plucked a guitar with country star Mark Wills during the earliest days of Katrina. But such revelry is far from unusual for a president facing a crisis.

Once again, history puts it all in perspective:



Here's FDR, just hours after Pearl Harbor, enjoying some friendly competion with one of the country's earliest racing stars.

What of "the Great Communicator", Ronald Reagan? He memorably eulogized the Challenger astronauts after they "slipped the surly bonds of Earth", but not before jamming on keytar with the lead singer of Norwegian supergroup A-ha.




And then there was JFK. During the height of the Cuban Missile Crisis, when the fate of the world itself hung in the balance, he was photographed having a three-way with Marilyn Monroe and Angie Dickenson.



Insensitive? I call it "balancing work and play."

A Very Serious Editorial

My fellow Lomblogiacs:

It has been more than three months since I last posted to you. Much has changed in that time. Back then, Martha Stewart was still in ankle bracelets, Tom Cruise was still nominally sane and public calls for assassination were still considered un-Christian. But now we live in a very different world - one that not even Lisa Bonet and Jasmine Guy ever anticipated. Our troops are bogged down in Iraq. High gas prices threaten our economy. The fear of terrorism lurks in major cities all around the globe. And through it all, we are led by men whose incompetence is matched only by their smug evasions of public accountability.

Ok, all of that was true more than two years ago. But now it's even more true.

The forceful winds of Hurricane Katrina have ripped the lid off the American Superdome and laid bare the swampy underbelly of US life, revealing metaphors we never thought possible. Like the terrorist attacks four years ago, a horrific tragedy has enlightened us all to the true nature of this nation's security. We've once again learned that for all of our military resources, solid infrastructure and government protections, we don't really have much in the way of military resources, solid infrastructure or government protections. And the knowledge of just how vulnerable we are to Mother Nature's WMD will color much of what we do from this point forward.

Let me give you an example. I popped in a DVD of The Wizard Of Oz this weekend, a film I must have seen countless times before but suddenly viewed in a whole new light. I couldn't help but think: if a tornado hit Kansas today, the Bush administration would squabble with the state's female Democratic governor, Dorothy would perish before aid arrived, and Toto would consume her remains on live TV. Pretty sobering, isn't it? Oh, perhaps I shouldn't have shared this tidbit with my niece but hopefully my candor will be an example to others with babysitting duties during this tragic time.

Yes, the implications of Katrina will ripple through the American body politic for years to come. In fact, they're already rippling. George W. Bush's already thin reserve of political capital has been reduced to a point where Republicans lack even the moral authority to make Chappaquidick jokes. Environmentalists and other proponents of climate change theory claim vindication, as do millions of elderly Americans who refused to switch it from the Weather Channel. Many wonder if the anti-government backlash of the past few decades has gone too far when ordinary citizens who could've been rescued by FEMA found themselves at the mercy of fate and Sean Penn's nautical skills. The news media has turned over a new leaf, daring to ask questions and express outrage on behalf of people who are outside their target demos. Even cable news has redeemed itself - aside from Geraldo and Larry King, who are the very definition of "irredeemable."

Still, a simple question haunts many of us. No, not "how much does judging Arabian horses pay anyway?" but a broader one: How could this happen? How, in a country with this much wealth, this much power, this many Neville Brothers can we allow New Orleans to sink? I'm not sure but I think it has something to do - metaphorically at least - with having a leadership of wealthy, powerful people who can't be bothered to leave their ranches or even turn on the TV while other people are being flooded out of their homes. Or perhaps I've been on vacation too long.

Whatever the case, there is one bright spot.

The unity that eluded us during two national elections has arrived at last. For no longer are we "red states" and "blue states", but just one bankrupt, nature-battered, militarily-depleted, strife-ridden, black-and-blue state of disaster.

Three more years!!

Stripped Throat

Well, the most closely guarded secret of the late twentieth century is now out - Hal Holbrook is still alive! And so too is the man he played in the 1976 blockbuster All The President's Men. By now you've all heard that former FBI Deputy W. Mark Felt - or as his friends call him, "Deep Throat" - has finally stepped out of the shadows to bravely acknowledge that his family needs money. He did so in the perfume-scented pages of Vanity Fair, though he still declined to pose in Vera Wang. Nonetheless, this is a major revelation that has turned Washington upside down. Suddenly, everyone is called back to an era when investigative journalists were dogged and unflinching, corrupt government officials were held to account, and Robert Redford's face was forty percent less craggy. "Memor-ies" -- wait, that was a different film.

Longtime Watergate-watchers always had Felt high on the list of possible Woodward & Bernstein sources. But firming up that guess was something of a challenge. After all, what man his age hasn't been known to leak?

Now Felt himself has made it official, and a vaunted Washington guessing-game has come to an end. It was all a bit anti-climactic. Like many others, I had been anxious to learn the truth about "Deep Throat" ever since childhood, when I got slapped for asking at the dinner table. It became a fun pastime - watching hours of repetitive cable documentaries on the Nixon years just to figure out which aging GOP hack was secretly a man of honor. This week, the answer came back: none of them. For fans of surprise, that's somewhat disappointing. On the other hand, we have further assurance that "the system still works" and major stories are continuing to be uncovered by fashion and entertainment mags.

There is still room for doubt though. As many of his critics have charged, Mark Felt is not a hero. In fact, he's been known to embellish his role in history a time or two, to the great embarrassment of a certain major publication.

Here's the Washington Post front-page header for June 11, 2002:



And for June 4, 1997:




Of course, not all these stories are the kind Mr. Felt would want to leak out:




So is there a reason Woodward, Bernstein and the Post allowed themselves to be scooped? Is "Deep Throat" really "Deep Throat"? Will we ever know the truth? I'll tell you in thirty years.

Celebrity Blogging

First off, my apologies for the lack of recent posts. I've spent the bulk of the past week trying to arrange a return visit to the Cannes Film Festival. Unfortunately, I have outstanding debts at most of the local cheese shops so this was not possible. Don't feel too bad; I'm not the only American who's the victim of fairweather French. I understand the only way Michael Moore could get in this year was by posing as Roger Ebert's decoy. Tell est vie. At least we're both on a diet.

Another consolation: star-packed film festivals near nude beaches on the South of France no longer represent the vanguard of the entertainment industry. Blogging is where it's at. Yes, you no longer have to work maintenance at a rehab clinic to read the daily thoughts of prominent entertainers. Among those following the blog-path blazed by true pioneers like myself and David Berkowitz are Tom Green, Ru Paul, and everyone's favorite comic gender-bender, Dave Barry. The trend is sure to continue as the Internet grows and more big names get placed under house arrest.

Now celebrities sounding off, diary-style, is really nothing new. You could say the blogging form itself began with the liner notes to Frank Sinatra's 1956 All Alone And Feelin' Reflective LP ("Time: 1:43 am. Activity: Eating bacon and eggs off a whore's ***. Soundtrack: The Nelson Riddle Orchestra. Mood: Top O' The World"). And of course, the late Hogan's Heroes star Bob Crane was the world's first video blogger:



Contemporary celeblogs range from cheap device for movie promotion to cry for help. Here's a sample of Rosie O'Donnell's blog:

oprah is a hybrid human
i am sure
decades from now
they will exhumne her remains
and find the dna
of the rest of us
in the future
evolved

Pretty chilling, isn't it? It's as if Anne Frank's basement had broadband.

Then there was last week's debut of The Huffington Post. Following her success as failed gubernatorial candidate's wife and failed gubernatorial candidate, Arianna Huffington has created a blog consisting entirely of posts from her famous friends. What a great idea. There are just so few venues for the already well-known to express an opinion. Finally the blogosphere is opening up to people whose only prior outlets were TV, movies, radio and major publications. Viva Democracy!

I hope I don't sound bitter. I'm not resentful of the Hollywood glitterati poaching on my turf. I know that when this whole blogging craze dies down, they'll go back to their wealth, fame and adoring public, and I'll still have a body of work I can be proud of, assuming I delete two-thirds of my archives.

Up Next: White House Demands Newsweek Retract Down Arrow



Lomblog, brought to you by Praxil© Anti-Depressant Medication and Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, now playing

Advertising Acceptance

As much as we evoke the effortless spontaneity of children at play, the actual production of this site is both expensive and time-consuming. My travel budget alone would break the back of Jeff Gannon's wealthiest john. We also lack prominent financial backers, unlike so many other blogs that rely on the helping hands of media conglomerates, wealthy political allies and parents who still speak to them. All we have is you - and that's not enough.

That's why Lomblog has reluctantly agreed to accept regular advertising:



Don't worry: these ads will be as inconspicuous as possible, appearing only at the top and/or bottom of every post. They will not affect the content of the blog, only the way it appears on your screen. Nor will there be any toning-down of our anti-establishment edge. If you know anything about me, you're aware I can't resist biting the hand that feeds me, especially if that hand contains a tasty morsel of wholesome goodness manufactured by Nabisco®.

So the sponsorship will cause no conflict; my work will continue to be published unexpurgated and unverified. And without the pressure of trying to round up cash every week, I'll be able to focus on all the big stories of the coming months: the close of the Cannes Film Festival, the Michael Jackson trial, the Tom DeLay controversy, and last but not least, the opening of the final Star Wars film.

Granted, I'm not a big fan of the series as a whole, but this is a major event. Call me a nerd if you must, but I'll be in line first thing Thursday morning with a creamy BLT and a heart beating extra fast from anticipation. Maybe some of you will join me.



Lomblog, brought to you by Mellman's All Natural® Mayonnaise and Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, opening May 19th

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A Personal Note

As you know, Lomblog often highlights the foibles of the famous and powerful. Largely this is the natural outsider iconoclasm that makes me a hero to so much of Y Gen. It's also the simple fact that aside from Tommy Lee and Kim Jung Il, very few of these subjects were personal friends. Not until now have I faced the difficulty of writing about a close pal's very public crisis.



Yes, many have had a field day mocking the explicit voice mails of Insider host Pat O'Brien, formerly of Access: Hollywood. I've stayed mum, not just because I've had my own inappropriate brush-up with infamy, but because Pat is one of my oldest and dearest H-wood friends. Truly, at every difficult point in my LA existence, he's extended a helping hand and words of encouragement. Whether it was the breakup of my first marriage, the breakup of my second marriage, or my various stints in rehab, Pat was always the first one there to put an arm on my shoulder, lean in and say, "Hire a hooker, get crazy, get some coke". It was so reassuring to hear in those familiar nasal cadences that have made him America's #1 conduit of news and information absolutely no one needs. And he did it all without asking for anything in return, besides friendship and ten minutes alone with my girlfriend.

That's the kind of man Pat-O is: not an infotainer but an infogiver. Or something like that.

In addition, Pat has always been the consummate professional. No matter how mind-blown on coke, he always had it together enough to march into a studio, stand alongside the likes of Nancy O'Dell and deliver the news that "Vin Diesel is packing them in Fast And Furious at the box office" or "Tom Cruise proved this weekend that beating him at the box office is a Mission: Impossible." There hasn't been journalistic commitment like that since Walter Cronkite covered the Kennedy assassination while wiped out on ether. And while I would never endorse drug use as a creative stimulus, I certainly preferred the harder, edgier O'Brien Access to the saccharine, commercialized version hosted by Billy Bush.

That's why I'll be there to help Pat in any way I can, provided it isn't over the phone. And I encourage the rest of you to approach him with a forgiveness born of fellowship, understanding and just a smidgen "There but for the grace of DELETE go I." Remember, all of us are just one drunken escapade away from facing the ultimate punishment: an hour with Dr. Phil.

Coming: Al Queda Fugitive Captured In New Mexico



The story of Jenn'afar wil-Banqs - a terrorist who sought to break the heart of the infidel

Pyong-Yukks

From time to time, Lomblog presents reports from overseas correspondents. This week's edition of Lomblog International is excerpted from the foreign policy/Eighties hair-metal newsletter, The Gunnar-Nelson Report. The author writes to us from the North Korean capital where the activities of Kim Jung Il's government continue to arouse suspicion.

Greetings from Pyongyang,

You may have read that North Korea is again conducting nuclear tests. But what really has the capital city buzzing is a speech by the country's First, Second or Third Lady - no one is quite sure - Kora Il-Jung. Virtually all members of the state-sponsored press agree she tickled more ribs than an electric truncheon.



The following transcript from this year's NK Correspondents Dinner & Loyalty Swearing reveal why some are calling Kora "the first concubine of comedy":

"Gentlemen and gentlemen, I've been attending these dinners for years and just quietly sitting there. That's because my unswerving devotion to Dear Ruler demands total silence."

laughs

"Dear Ruler always says he's delighted to come to these dinners. Phooey. He only eats with the press 'cus he can't execute on an empty stomach."

big laughs

"Of course while he's off, I like to watch Desperate Housewives."

guffaws

"If those women think they're desperate, they ought to try living in North Korea. Can you imagine if that show were produced here? Teri Hatcher wouldn't have to starve herself!

huge laughs

"I'm the real Desperate Housewife. Seriously, I have no free will."

laughs

"Can you believe it? There are people who say my husband is the world's most evil man - and he hasn't even held them as sex slaves!"

loud guffaws, applause

"But the Great Leader and I are complete opposites. I'm quiet; he's Stalinist. I'm introspective; he's murderous. I can't pronounce 'nuclear' and he can't stop proliferating."

loud laughs, applause, standing o

"Still, he's grown a lot since I first met him. Can you believe that when I was first abducted from a state farm by his family's henchmen, he didn't even know which end of the cow to milk?"

laughs

"Of course it's even more difficult now that they all have three heads!"

loud laughs, whistles, applause, standing o

"Seriously, both of us would like to thank you for inviting us - as if you had a choice!"

laughs

"Thank you also for staying in total thrall to the People's revolutionary agenda."

applause

"See you next year - if you're good!"

laughter, loud applause

POSTSCRIPT: The whereabouts of Kora Il-Jung are currently unknown.