Too Little, Too Late, Mr. President.

Seventy-one days after the initial explosion on the BP Deepwater Horizon and the United States is now prepared to accept assistance offered by at least twelve nations who have a little more experience with disaster.

Seventy-one days that could've seen a collaborative effort contain a considerable amount of the mess that's now befouling (and befowling) the Gulf Coast.

Seventy-one days while the Emperor fiddled around with Paul McCartney and varying tee times.

Seventy-one days.

The Obama administration's moratorium on offshore drilling was announced May 6th. Since then we've seen a migration of rigs to Brazil, more every day, taking countless jobs with them, and enriching whom? Hmmm.

A federal judge enjoined the moratorium, declaring its basis to be arbitrary and capricious, but the Secretary of the Interior thumbed his nose at the Injunction and said he'll just enforce the moratorium another way.

We continue to pump untold sums into Haiti, a literal third-world nation, and the Emperor fiddles on as the Gulf South slips inexorably toward a third-world status of its own.

What smells bad about this picture? Let me count the ways: 20 Billion, 40 Billion . . . .

Mr. President, Call Off the I.R.S.!

Home again, home again!

And already emailing the Young President.

It seems that the I.R.S. will tax BP's restitution payments made to those affected by the Gulf oil mess at the same rate as ordinary income. What a nice little windfall for empty government coffers at the expense of people losing their livelihoods, cultures, and property!

Having recently flown over the Gulf a couple of times and personally witnessing the vast expanse of that abomination, I can attest that there is no easy fix on the "horizon" (pardon the unpleasant pun).

And with all the new info we peons get day by day (such as the government was made aware of problems with the Deepwater drill site as early as February of this year, yet took no action), and tropical weather brewing in the Caribbean and Gulf, a certainty is coming into focus: as a region of the United States of America, down here in the Gulf South we're screwed.

Without even getting a teeny weeny smooch. Or even a Value Meal dinner at McDonald's.

So, I'm joining in FairTax.org's mass email effort to ease a little of the pain facing all those folks whose lives have been irreparably damaged: Mr. President, CALL OFF THE I.R.S.!!!

Here's my version of the email template:

Re: IRS Reg to tax oil spill payments: Gulf South v. NYC

The people and economies of the Gulf Coast states have suffered enough because of the catastrophic oil spill, but the worst may not yet have been seen. It is neither
fair nor just that the IRS will now tax the relief checks paid out to residents by British Petroleum.

I begrudgingly accept that the Gulf South isn't as important to you or your administration as the northeast; nonetheless, please direct the IRS to forgo any taxation of these relief payments as was done in New York after the 9/11 attack.

Mr. President, this is the right thing to do for our fellow countrymen.

Please act now to direct that these payments go untaxed so that those who have been so hard hit are not asked to give more out of empty pockets next April 15th.

The magnitude of this disaster justifies this compassionate exception to the rules.

(For clarity, Sir: "com·pas·sion (km-pshn) n. Deep awareness of the suffering of another coupled with the wish to relieve it. See Synonyms at pity." Emphasis mine.)

Most sincerely,
MoogieP

You can send yours here, if it strikes your fancy. Let 'em have it!

End of June

Posts may be scarce for a few days -- the next big wedding on the calendar is coming up! At least we don't have to pay for this one! Or, at least, for all of it.

Hold down the fort, will ya?

He Really Should Take Up Yachting . . . .

And I thought he threw like a girl.

Make him stop!!!!!



Can't you just hear the other leaders of the free world giggling behind his back at various summits like those guys who are filming him on the practice range?

Egad.

Musings and Injunctions

I've got a good post in me somewhere, but this isn't gonna be it.

So, I'll indulge myself in a bit of indulgence.

The spider web is really there, I promise -- you just can't see it very well. There's been a new one every morning for a week and I finally remembered to take my camera out with the dogs. Ya gotta admire the creepy little eight-legged skudders that build them, but ya don't have to like 'em. And I don't. (You can actually see the web if you click on the pic to enlarge it)

This morning, a full day before a ruling was expected, U.S. District Judge Martin Feldman enjoined enforcement of the White House's half-year long moratorium on deepwater drilling in the Gulf of Mexico, finding the Executive Order to be arbitrary and capricious -- one of those good ol' legalese fall-backs. And bless him for it! There are tens of thousands of folks out of work in the Gulf region, and only a fraction of them actively work on the rigs -- transport operators, vendors, motels, restaurants have been affected, and on and on and on. And several rigs have already packed up and headed for Brazil, but that's another stinky story. The White House promises to appeal the ruling. But I don't find the White House appealing in the least.

And, finally -- that cake! That was the birthday cake for my friend Barb on this day in 2004. It was the most decadent thing I've ever wrapped my tongue around! Today is still Barb's birthday -- although she celebrates in Chicago now -- but the fabulous french bakery that produced that beauty didn't survive Katrina. I miss you both, Barb and Maurice's!

Can't you just taste it!!!

Daddies' Day 2010

UPDATE: I just found this picture of my Daddy in uniform! So, here's Mama and Daddy on their wedding day, December 28, 1952. He does the uniform justice, if I do say so myself!

I wasn't going to do a Fathers Day post today, but after reading last year's entry, I deemed it worthy of a repeat, with a little update.

My Daddy ("Boompie") turned 81 in April and is still rockin' and rollin'! Doesn't he look handsome and happy at Shay's wedding?

And, of course, Pepper is still father to 3 and grandfather to 3, but he is now also father-in-law to one and father-in-law-2B to another! Ain't it grand how families continue to grow!

So, Happy Dad's Day to one and all out there who are fathers, had fathers, or will someday be fathers! Hope you don't get a tacky tie, and hope you get to watch all the golf your little hearts desire! (I even sucked it up and recorded the entire broadcast of the U.S. Open for my Pepper-in-transport. Happy Day, Baby!)

And a special Happy Day to The Son (pictured above with 2/3 of his offspring) who is spending his Father's Day at annual training far, far away from his kiddos. Stay hydrated, kid!

Sunday, June 21, 2009
Happy Father's Day!

Today I'd like to honor the fatherly progenitors of our particular clan: Boompie and Grandpa.

Boompie would be Moogie's father, still kickin' and driving at 80. That's him holding Maxie, the dachschund, circa 1959. Boompie served 20 years in the Navy Reserve, but I couldn't get to the box where older family photos are stashed in what we lovingly refer to as "the attic room" to find a pic of him in uniform. Mama was beautiful -- she's lived in heaven since 1977 and she moved there entirely too early. Am I cute in that picture, or what!

The dashing young Corporal is Grandpa, my father-in-law. This is probably my favorite picture of him. He lied about his age and joined the Army Air Corps at the ripe old age of 16 (which caused all sorts of problems down the road when age needed to be verified for VA stuff!) and headed for Burma during WWII. He left us way too early, too, in 1990. I still miss him.

Boompie and Grandpa taught me lots of things.

Boompie taught me how to distinguish between a Cessna and a Bonanza, and how to shoot a pellet gun out of his bathroom window to chase squirrels away from the birdfeeder. Grandpa taught me how Solitaire can be a sport and where to find beer on Sunday in Hot Springs. They both are among the most intelligent men it's been my pleasure to know.

So, here's a happy day to all the fathers out there. And as a blog-buddy says: Call yer ol' man!

(On a Musing note: that pic of the pre-school Moogie has a caption on the back, in Mama's elegant handwriting, that identifies all of us, and notes that it was taken in our house on "LeFever Lane." That just makes me think of the old test of how you find out what your stage "stripper name" is. You know -- take the name of your first pet and combine it with the name of the first street where you lived that you remember. That would make me "Maxie LeFever." It could work! Well, it could have worked a few years and pounds ago. I guess Maxie LeFever will not be working Bourbon Street this Father's Day!)

Is Moogie's Imagination Off the Leash -- or On Target?

You might recall that Moogie (aliases, Mrs. Peel or April Dancer) is a deep mole in some liberal fundraising organizations.

It looks like my cover might be about to be blown! I received this email today:

Supporter Number 10284611X Supporter Name MoogieP Supporter Contribution Status as of 05/12/2010 Pending

Dear Moogie,
We were reviewing our supporter records and saw that you had not yet made an online gift to the DSCC. The November elections feature a huge and ever-shifting map.

And Karl Rove's American Crossroads group just announced on Friday that it is
turning the full force of its fundraising machine against no fewer than eleven
Democratic candidates.

The DSCC is counting on every one of our grassroots supporters to defeat Republicans and defend President Obama in November. We can't win without your help. Would you consider making a contribution today? Even $5 will make a difference in races from coast to coast.

Please click here to make a gift of $5 or more to the DSCC.

When you give to the DSCC, you'll become part of a powerful grassroots force that has helped elect 14 new Democrats to the Senate since 2006. There is no path to
victory in November without the support of committed Democrats just like you.
Please consider making an immediate donation.

Thank you.

J.B. Poersch

P.S.: Even a gift of $5 will make a difference in November.
Please become a supporter of the DSCC today. We need your help to win in
November!

Paid for by the Democratic Senatorial Campaign Committee, dscc.org,
and not authorized by any candidate or candidate's committee.

Soooo, they're keeping records and realized that Moogie hasn't fed the kitty yet while accepting all their fascinating emails just brimming with "strategy" -- and panhandling.

Do you suppose they'll cut me off or, heaven forbid, stop sending me "personal" emails from Organizing For America or -- gasp! -- the Young President himself!?!?!

As long as the black helicopters and guys wearing sunglasses and squiggly cords coming out of their ears stay away, I'm good, and the mission continues.

If I disappear, send cookies to Gitmo or Sujiatun prison camp, and tell my family I love them.

(To get a secret message to Moogie in confinement -- the password is "Wolverine!!" And a working knowledge of Chinese might be valuable.)

Saturday's Stolen Video, Part Deux

I've noticed a trend in my postings lately -- lots of thievery involved!

Just call me malleable -- the government's example must be getting to me: ask, and if you don't receive, take!

Herewith, today's second (and I'm not promising it's the last!) pilfering from Moonbattery --



Heh. Don't you just love the little jig with Ellen?

Wait -- was that a racist comment?!?!

Saturday's Stolen Video Confirms the "Relevance" of the U.N.

Yet another confirmation that the U.N. is a powerful, awe-inspiring organization.




And, once again, those inclined to believe the U.N. still has any relevance or influence in this world should inquire of Moogie about the excellent beachfront property she has for sale in New Mexico. Cheap.

Stolen from Moonbattery.

Watch Out, Beyonce!

A friend just sent this to me.

The last post was about "putting a ring on it," and this one is a "mature" variation on that!

Enjoy!

Super Bling, Baby! Part XLIV

Presented last night at the historic Roosevelt Hotel in a private ceremony closed to both the public and the press.

Drew Brees and his adorable wife, now expecting their second child, pulled up to the hotel in a horse-drawn carriage. Pretty apropos for a team once considered a Cinderella.

But, as to the rings themselves? Now THAT'S what I'm talkin' 'bout! A Super Beauxl Championship ring with a serious New Orleans flavor.

Who Dat sayin' New Orleans ain't afraid to display a little ostentation!

Bling, baby, bling!

If one wears such a ring and lifts one's arm from time to time, one probably gets enough weight training to skip a day or two of weight training!

(Remember in the olden days when girls with tiny fingers would wear their boyfriends' class ring around their necks on a chain? I wouldn't advise that practice with this ring -- it could lead to a bad case of muscle spasms -- or whiplash!)

Voluntary mini-training camp, over -- countdown to pre-season, begun!

Geaux Saints!!

UPDATE: The Saints organization is raffling off one of their blingy rings with proceeds going to Gulf clean-up and recovery efforts. Just thought I'd mention it. Sorry, you won't have a chance to win the ring -- that's MINE!

Too Frightening to Contemplate?

I just ran across this at Chicks On The Right. The post originally ran back in March as the healthcare debacle was winding down, and documents our IRS in action.

I think the poster bears re-running today in connection with the Gulf mess.

And maybe again near Halloween -- it's definitely scary.

For Every Little Red-blooded American Girl

Stolen from a Facebook friend.

As long as Anderson Cooper stays away from her, she'll be all right!

No, wait . . . .

This Brave-ish New World

Remember when the abbreviation "Hi-Fi" referred to high fidelity music reproduction instead of a large amount of dietary fiber?

Where did we go wrong?!?!

An Award That Defines Irony

Leonard Pitts, the Miami Herald columnist (whose columns often make my skin crawl) nailed it on the Helen Thomas issue. You remember -- the Helen Thomas who advocated that Israeli Jews "go home" to Poland or Germany or wherever.

In yesterday's column, Pitts said:

Here's some bitter irony for you.

Back in April, I received the Helen Thomas Spirit of Diversity award. Yes, diversity. And yes, Helen Thomas, the legendary White House correspondent who recently nuked her career — and legacy —by telling a rabbi, following a Jewish heritage ceremony at the White House, no less, that the Jews of Israel should, in effect, go back where they came from.

Life sure takes some funny bounces. Two months ago, I was honored to receive an award in the name of a woman who has asked combative questions of every president since John F. Kennedy. Two months later, receiving a Helen Thomas award in the spirit of diversity feels not unlike receiving a Kim Jong Il award in the spirit of diplomacy.

Emphasis mine.

"Kim Jong Il Spirit of Diplomacy Award." Good one.

Now, THIS is What Continuing Legal Education Should Look Like!

This seems as good a time as any to post a few pics from our recent trip to St. Pete Beach for our Multi-state Labor and Employment Law continuing legal ed conference. As usual, the sessions at the conference were worth the trip. I even got a lot out of the session with the AFL-CIO lawyer, who managed to stay alive in a roomful of employers' lawyers that he pounded with tales of the magnificence of the current administration and its mission to give the unions whatever the heck they want. Watch out -- EFCA is coming back! Do you think Blanche Lincoln will cozy up to the unions after they gave their all to unseat her in the Arkansas senatorial Democratic primary? I'm guessing not!

Anyway -- we were at the Don Cesar -- a beautiful old art deco resort that F. Scott and Zelda used to frequent. You could easily picture them floating down the ornate lobby, cocktails in hand.

Our friends, Doug and Toni are in charge of interesting cuisine and places to see on these annual excursions, and they didn't let us down! (You might recall last year's The 2009 Barbecue and Mexican Food Tour of the Texas Hill Country.)

I have dubbed this year's trip the 2010 Tapas, Grouper, and Lamppost Tour of the Greater St. Petersburg Area.

Everywhere we turned, we were faced with tapas, Cuban cuisine, and grouper! I probably O.D.ed on fried foods -- but they weren't heavy-fried; very light. I loved the sauteed garbanzos, grilled shrimp, and pork everything at Bella Habana -- and ya gotta admit that it's hard to beat 2-for-one Mojitos! The old "under new management" bugaboo came out to bite us, though, because the first 4 things we ordered "weren't available yet." Nonetheless, our waiter looked and smiled like a young Mario Lopez, and there was live music on the deck with an onshore breeze, so we had a pleasant evening anyway.

Finding interesting things to do that didn't include bathing suits, sand, or watercraft proved a bit more problematic in that part of Florida (our waitress in the hotel bar recommended a couple of movie theaters and shopping malls -- geez!), but we soldiered on and came up with some pretty cool spots.

There were fascinating artsy galleries in Pass a Grille (see the "Flies on a Wall" above); a wonderful old defunct casino, now used as a special events center, brightly landscaped yards on an arts walk, and a terrific hole-in-the-wall bar that was ideal for people-watching on the beach in Gulfport; and my very first ever trip to a dog track! Man, those hounds can move! And, if you want to know where the retired folks wearing mismatched clothing and black socks with sandals are on a Saturday night in Tampa, check out the dog track -- they're sitting next to the young, generally underdressed (or, at least under-covered!) twenty-somethings looking for entertainment on a budget.

It was a wonderful, relaxing getaway, and a nice opportunity to see old friends from all over the country that we've been doing this with for more than 15 years now. I hope the program can recover from its financial slump and scare up a new sponsor since we lost our sponsor after this year. Darned economy! It's so nice to be able to get all those required hours in during one trip.

But, as always, it was good to get home to the pups. We were hardly even "punished" -- for long. Sorta.

A Reminiscent Saturday Giggle

I've been reminiscing about our Wendy Girl and reading old posts this afternoon. Since it's so danged HOT today, and since I had to get up so danged early this morning to make it to the change of command at Belle Chasse in time (who holds a change of command at 0900 on a Saturday?!?!), I think I'll indulge myself with a little re-post from October of last year. It made me laugh, so maybe it will tickle your funny bone, too.

Kinda Like What the Mainstream Media Spoon-feeds Us


I overheated my brain over the weekend, so today's post will be fluffish. Plus, my future son-in-law just cracks up every time he sees this box -- he even took a picture of it once so he can crack himself up at home -- so I thought the photo on the box might crack up other folks, too.

We have a geriatric beagle who, despite her age, is constantly on the hunt. The hunt is for food. "Food," in Wendy Whiner's mind, needn't necessarily be edible, and she'll take it where she can get it.

Hence, she is known, for polite discourse, as a poop eater. That is not precisely the phrase my husband uses, but you get the general idea.

Yes, you read that correctly -- she eats poop. Often. With gusto.

Since the consumption of one's own -- or someone else's -- poop can be detrimental to one's health (and, observing the process can be detrimental to the observer's gag reflex), the practice is one that is to be discouraged. "Scooping" is not the answer -- a wily beagle can always find a way to beat the scoop.

So, the product pictured above has been stocked in our house for some time and used according to package instructions to try to break Wendy of her between-meal snacking habits. It claims to "help stop your ... dog from consuming its own feces." How is this miracle product supposed to work, you may wonder? Once consumed, it moves through the digestive system and discourages the dog from wanting to re-eat the by-product because it makes the poop taste bad.

Yep -- it makes the poop taste bad.

Foolish me -- it never occurred to me that poop could taste any way but bad.

For all the unpleasant imagery that it evokes, does the product work well?

Not when one lives with a determined beagle who has a poop monkey on her back.

I'm with the chihuahua on the box, however. Is that a great face, or what! Kinda the same expression I had on my face last week when the Nobel Peace Prize was announced.

Aw, come on -- you knew I had to get in at least one political dig, didn't you? And the dig is pretty much about the same subject matter as the rest of this post -- the knee-jerk reaction to both is "Ewwwww."

The Spring Has Sprung

Remember this photo of the "spring" next to Moogie's Mansion? Well, guess what. It's apparently moved to one of the water meters leading to Moogie's Mansion. Not quite as fountainy, but steady.

I've called the Sewerage and Water Board about it several times, but didn't expect much action, nor gave it much more thought except in the mornings when Pepper has to straddle it to get into his big ol' truck.

Until this month's bill arrived. Then -- whoa!!

Ordinarily the bill for that meter runs about $18 for water/sewer and $12 for sanitation. The bill for this month ran a little higher. The total (including the sanitation fee) was $432.00!!! For 600,000+ gallons of water used!!!

So Pepper suggested that, to protect him from suffering a stroke, I should probably call the Sewerage and Water Board back. Which I did. And I talked to a remarkably pleasant woman named Gowandy. Yes, I asked her to spell it.

When she asked how she could help me, I replied that I was afraid the meter had been misread based on our usage history. She looked up our account and said, "Wow."

Then she asked whether we had suffered a broken pipe or leak in the yard.

A broken pipe or leak that wasted 600,000 gallons of water.

I replied that there is no leak in the yard, but that there is one at the meter. And, I added, I doubt whether that wussy little leak would generate 600,000 gallons of water.

So, she explained the procedure to me -- apparently this phenomenon isn't uncommon in the least. Go figure! And here is where the New Orleans flavor kicks in: they will send out someone to inspect the leak and check the meter, but we have to send in a payment. Not the whole $432 -- we're just supposed to send in what we would ordinarily pay, like $18.00, and there will be no late charge (which I will believe when I see it!). But, we also need to send in a separate check for $12, payable to the City of New Orleans, for the sanitation fee. We can even send the separate check in the same envelope, but there must be a separate check.

Knowing how accounting works in Orleans Parish, I didn't even ask why there was a need for a separate check. I really didn't want to know.

So, the wheels have been placed in motion -- we shall see when the Sewerage and Water Board inspectors show up.

Any bets?

A Clean Red-Letter Day

We made it to 32 years! That's Moogie, then-Major (Captain? Who can remember!) Pepper, the Son at age 6 1/2, and our posse.

And I'm currently much closer to that 1978 size than I was this time last year!

We're past the days of elaborate anniversary gifts because someone's going to find us someday, dead and dried up under a pile of the treasures (read: "junk") we have already, but my sweet, thoughtful Pepper is taking me out for cocktails and a lovely dinner at Cafe Adelaide tonight. No dishes for me!

What little sweet, thoughtful thing am I doing for him?

I cleaned the house!

I may not have ever mentioned it, but among Moogie's biggest claims to fame is her championship classification among the world's very worst housekeepers. I'm so darn allergic to dust and dust mites, and I dread those allergy symptoms so very much, that I put off the heavy-duty cleaning until the house is really dirty (and practically guaranteed to make me sick). Having a black lab who sheds hair like Pig Pen in the old Peanuts cartoon strip shed dirt doesn't help, either.

And losing Wendy.

Since we lost her, I've noticed how gross my kitchen floor gets! I recognized how much she "hunted" in the kitchen when she was with us (it kinda used to irritate me), but I guess I never appreciated just how much she "cleaned up" for me in the kitchen. A poof of flour could barely hit the hard wood before she was there, Wendy-on-the-spot, to "hoover" it up. "Hoovering" is what the kennel folks called it when she would keep that nose to the ground, hunting for any stray morsel of anything edible, and sucking it up.

Bouie and Rosie are no good at hoovering. I guess they deferred that job to Wendy for too long to take it up now. Bouie will scarf up meat-type stuff that falls overboard, but he's not that much into veggies or anonymous scraplets of stuff like Wendy was. Rosie, being mostly blind and usually deaf, loved summer squash in her heyday and would yap at me as I was preparing it until I gave her a piece, but these days she just can't see what's going on as she wanders around the kitchen.

Anyway -- Moogie's Mansion is clean! Plus, the termite guy came today and we have NO active termites! That's always a good report in southeast Louisiana!

Okay -- you got me. The termite guy's impending visit also contributed to my whirlwhind of domesticity. I mean, that guy has a high-powered flashlight, and he looks in the corners and behind the drapes!! But a clean house is also nice for one's husband of 32 years to come home to.

So -- I think maybe we'll have a little prosecco in the parlor tonight in fancy glasses so we can enjoy dustless carpets and furniture while it lasts.

Here's to the next 32!

Familiar, "Familiar," and Fond Adieu to Rue

I'm sitting here on a Sunday morning listening to the church bells chiming their golden-toned hearts out a few blocks over from Younger Daughter's house. Her sweet big dog (half lab, half Golden) and my little blind-and-usually-deaf shih tzu are lolling around on the cool tile floor while I pound on the keyboard before heading out to lunch with she-who-should-be-my-sister-if-I-had-siblings. We'll call her Diane. Since 2008, she has lived half the year in Little Rock and half the year based out of Hong Kong while she accompanies her husband as he travels the Pacific Rim with his kinda complicated job.

And it struck me.

Dang. The last few days have been just about nearly perfect.

I have gotten to spend a lot of time with Diane as we prepared to co-host a pre-wedding party for another of our friends' child, had lunch with my Daddy (and will get to see him again before heading south tomorrow), enjoyed my children's company, drove short-cuts and traffic-avoiding routes by reflex, laughed until I couldn't breathe, and enjoyed visiting with a whole houseful of friends at the party at one time.

I got to live, albeit briefly, the little things we take for granted until we move far, far away from "everything familiar." Little things that we recognize we miss when we return to them, even after we've lived far, far away long enough for there to become "familiar."

There's nothing like becoming the friend of an adult child (although, giving up the role of unsolicited-advice-giver is a little tough and takes a lot of practice. I'm still trying to master that one). I've always been close to my kids, but becoming their confidante and drinking buddy, being among the first they think about inviting to go to a movie or shopping, and watching them become willing friends to my friends is nothing short of solid gold. But now I don't want to go home to the "new familiar."

Except -- the "new familiar" is where Pepper and Bouie are, and they still need me in addition to loving me. And it's really good to be needed, too.

(Well, and, I miss them, too, I guess.)

So, the past few days have been just about nearly perfect, except I didn't get to see the grandkids because they went to the beach with their Mom and another grandmother, and Rue McClanahan passed away.

Sweet dreams, Blanche. And stay out of the oil, little ones! Moogie will be heading back to the "new familiar" if you need her.

Random Friday Thoughts

It's hot. I mean, it's hot and humid and I feel the crankiness factor ratcheting up.

I've got to find a long-term project that I can work on indoors in the pleasant splendor of un-green, southern, air-conditioned, de-humidified comfort. And my activity can't involve oil spills or fouled waterfowl.

I read about a race for some minor state-wide office in Arkansas in which an old head is being faced down by a young upstart. The youngster, in trying to paint the old incumbent as past-his-prime, described him as being on the "trailing edge of technology." While I usually stand up for the geezer, that's a pretty good slam.

It's Hurricane Season 2010 + 4 days. So far, so good.

I fear the "good hair days" are past us for this summer.

Starring Joe Sestak as "the John"

Yep. This is a better depiction of this odd couple than Heckle and Jeckle.

Heh.

Victoria Jackson is Right!

Remember this post? The one in which Victoria Jackson sings a clever song about there being a communist in the White House?

She was right. I know it for a fact.

How, you say, do you know it for a fact, Moogie?

Okay. I'll fess up.

I always wanted to be The Girl From U.N.C.L.E. or Mrs. Peel (of "The Avengers") when I grew up. My aspirations and inclinations toward espionage seem to have compelled me recently to become a "mole" in several liberal organizations so I can keep up with their shenanigans. One of those organizations is a particular political party fundraiser that counts the Young President among its membership,

Hence, and unfortunately, I receive several emails daily seeking monetary donations so they can "continue to keep pace with the Republicans." I mean, these folks are relentless money-grubbers! Today's offerings included this:

In appreciation of your support, we're offering a limited-edition poster of President Obama from renowned artist Anne Savage with a gift of $35 or more to the DSCC. "Out of Many, We Are One" has been featured in numerous publications including Time magazine, and pieces together faces of thousands of Obama supporters into a stunning mosaic of our president. "Out of Many, We Are One" perfectly captures the diversity of Americans who stand behind President Obama. It is truly a remarkable, one-of-a-kind work.

This is the poster:

"Remarkable," indeed. Folks, if this isn't the very definition of "communism" in graphic form, I'll eat my hat. I'll eat my hat smeared with liver baby food. (And if the very thought of liver baby food doesn't make you gag, there's something wrong with you!)

Do they really believe we're that naive? They might as well re-title the poster, "Out of Mao, We Are One."

There ain't no "e pluribus" there -- just the "unum."