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Thursday, December 18, 2008

Poetry and pragmatism

Dear President-elect Obama,

Hi.  How are you?  I know it’s been a while since we last spoke, but I assure you that I’ve completely gotten over the fact that you didn’t pick me to be your running mate.  The guy you picked didn’t do any damage, so all good, I say.  In fact, I’ve been pretty well-disposed toward you these past six weeks, unlike that nasty Angry Left® I read about in the papers and those Centers for Advanced Criticism kinda blogs where disgruntled Clinton supporters pretend to be somewhere to the left of Joe Hill.  Your cabinet has been meh-to-OK with me so far; I remember that at this point sixteen years ago, Bill Clinton hadn’t gotten around to doing much more than practicing his presidential signature, so I’m glad to see a Democrat taking the transition seriously.  And though I’ll never invite Robert Gates to guest-blog, I’m willing to see him at stay Defense over the short term if (and only if!) you’re really going to withdraw from Iraq.

But we have to talk about your inauguration.  Seriously: Jamie (he’s my son, you know) has been home sick the past couple of days, so I haven’t had much time to read or write, but I did notice two striking things yesterday afternoon when I checked my Internets.  One was that you’d asked poet Elizabeth Alexander to read at your swearing-in ceremony.  Dude, that is, like, absolutely the coolest thing ever.  Way cooler than Maya Angelou or Robert Frost, seriously.  Infinitely cooler than Miller Williams, too.  Good call, Mr. President-elect dude.  Very, very good call.

And then, a few minutes later, I heard this news about Dr. Rick Warren giving the invocation.  My god, man, what are you thinking?  Rick Warren alone undoes all the good of Elizabeth Alexander and Aretha Franklin combined.  Yes, I know you have your talking points, full of the usual stuff about how you disagree with him on some issues but not others, and how your inauguration will be really diverse, and how you are “committed to bringing together all sides of the faith discussion in search of common ground.” (Ye gods!  That’s an actual quote from the executive director of your Inaugural Committee!) But you know what?  When someone tries to strip gays and lesbians of basic human rights and bears false witness lies about the reason why, there isn’t any common ground to search for.  Really.  Don’t bother.  Don’t waste your time and my patience.  If, back in ‘64, LBJ had been sworn in alongside someone in the “faith discussion” who opposed what they used to call “miscegenation,” and who claimed that proponents of interracial marriage were infringing on his right to free speech, we wouldn’t call that “bringing together all sides” and “searching for common ground” today. We’d call it . . . uh, what would we call it?  “Shameful,” maybe, if we were being kind.

Look, Mr. President-elect, I hear you’re a pragmatist.  I can respect that; I’m a pragmatist too.  We ought to get together and talk about Dewey and Rorty sometime.  So I’m not going to tell you that Rick Warren’s homophobia is an affront to human decency.  I won’t remind you that the LGBT community is still hurting, badly, from Proposition 8, and doesn’t need another kick in the teeth just now.  I’m not going to direct you to People for the American Way, who point out that Warren “has recently compared marriage by loving and committed same-sex couples to incest and pedophilia,” and I’m not going to suggest that this is a form of batshit fundamentalist wingnuttery that shouldn’t be anywhere near shouting distance of a Democratic administration, no matter how much the wingnut in question loves him some poor people. 

Instead, I’m going to ask you, on pragmatic grounds, what is to be gained here.  In searching for that elusive common ground, you’ve basically courted the people from those districts that actually went more heavily Republican in 2008 than in 2004—you know, those old white people living in the Smoky Mountains and the Ozarks, the GOP’s only remaining base.  The people you’re “reaching out” to here don’t respect you and never will.  What’s more, many of them will be dead in a couple of years, and they’ll go to their graves clutching their Left Behind books and spitting at the sound of your name and the Muslim Marxism it stands for.  And meanwhile, you’ve alienated pretty much everyone who voted for you.  That doesn’t seem very pragmatic to me. 

Maybe you’ll tell me to calm down, chill out, and remember that this is only a symbolic thing; the question of who delivers the invocation at your inauguration has no policy implications whatsoever.  It’s not like Clinton with “don’t ask, don’t tell,” or Bush with just about everything. Well, that’s true—this is purely symbolic. But that’s my point: because Warren’s appearance is purely symbolic, the insult here is completely gratuitous.  Or worse: because it’s not pegged to any specific policy, and because there is no “common ground” to be found here (see above), the symbolism speaks all the more clearly.  Think of Ronald Reagan kicking off his 1980 campaign by invoking “states’ rights” in Philadelphia, Mississippi.  A purely symbolic gesture—and all the clearer because purely symbolic.

See, with a guy like Gates, you can plausibly argue that we need to transition smoothly and put someone in charge of Iraq withdrawal who knows his way around DoD.  With your economic team, you can argue that we need to transition smoothly from the hell-in-handbasket economy we have now to the purgatory-in-knapsack economy of the future.  But there’s no parallel argument for a guy like Rick Warren: no one out there is saying “we have to transition gradually from the open homophobia and bigotry of the Bush Administration to the utopian egalitarianism of the Obama Administration, and Rick Warren is part of our carefully phased withdrawal from homophobia.  After all, if we move too fast on LGBT issues, we could wind up with man-on-dog situations and people divorcing their spouses for box turtles.” There is no one—really, trust me on this—no one you need to placate with the transitional figure of Rick Warren.

By contrast, the selection of Elizabeth Alexander wins you all kinds of good will among the sixteen Americans who read poetry.  It’s like tapping Bleeding Gums Murphy to be the official saxophonist of the inauguration, and thrilling everyone within KJAZZ’s twenty-eight-foot listening radius.

So, Mr. President-elect, as a fellow pragmatist, my advice is simple: dump this Warren guy.  I hear he’s a friend of yours; all the better!  Part of being a pragmatist at the Presidential level involves dumping “friends” who are wingnutty bigots who piss off nearly every single one of your supporters.  And who, besides Warren himself, will be upset at the dumping?  Well, you may get a severe tut-tut from David Broder, who’s spent the past sixteen years searching for that bipartisan common ground between Dick Armey and Barney Frank.  But that’s about it.  And you can establish some real common ground—namely, between you and your supporters—by having Elizabeth Alexander deliver the invocation instead. 

You say she’s not a minister?  Great!  All the better better!  We could stand a little healthy secularism in Washington right now.  And it would be good for poetry, too – sort of like the lightning that struck KJAZZ’s broadcast tower and boosted the station’s signal so that all of Springfield could hear the work of Bleeding Gums Murphy.

How about it, Mr. President-elect?  Do the pragmatic thing.

Posted by Michael on 12/18 at 10:23 AM
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Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Shoes, cars, despair in general

Did you ever have one of those days when you just didn’t feel like doing anything?  Anything at all?  Even including typing “did you ever have one of those days when you just didn’t feel like doing anything?” I just had three of ‘em in a row.  Of course, I still did some stuff.  But I really didn’t feel like it.

And I can’t blog about the Cheney Administration’s last series of affronts to all that is good and decent, like that loophole in the bailout that requires us to keep tithing directly to our CEO overlords, or their new and hard-to-undo regulations allowing their friends to step up their efforts to poison the planet.  It’s just too depressing.  You know, it’s almost as if they’re trying to make a profit off of environmental and financial disasters!  Somebody ought to write a book about that.  Me, I’m not up to it.  I simply say I throw my shoes in your general direction, you dogs.  Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries.

Nor can I blog about Senate Republicans’ desires to plunge the country into a depression in order to break the back of the UAW.  Somebody else will have to do that.  Instead, I am going to blog about something I can manage: the Dodge Avenger.

I mean, when I think of the Detroit bailout in terms of supporting the UAW, I’m not the least bit ambivalent.  But when I think of the industry . . . well, can I ask what the hell is up with cars like the Avenger?  Jamie and I rented one when we were in Vegas, breaking our streak of six consecutive PT Cruisers, and the driving experience was kind of baffling.  Let’s start with the name: Avenger?  I’ve always thought the weirdest name for a car was the Toyota Cressida.  You know, they already have a Celica—couldn’t they have gone with the “Toyota Troilus” instead?  What kind of literary allusion is that, anyway? Toyota Cressida—a car you shouldn’t necessarily trust? Yes, I know what DeLillo says—these are “supranational names, computer-generated, more or less universally pronounceable.  Part of every child’s brain noise, the substatic regions too deep to probe.” But still.  What or who precisely is being avenged by the Avenger?  Jamie and I drove around Vegas and the Hoover Dam muttering, “by Grabthar’s hammer, by the sons of Worvan, you shall be Dodge Avenged,” and we managed to amuse ourselves.  But at some point between July and now (look, it was really really low on my to-do list, OK?  I had to wait until I didn’t feel like doing anything for a couple of days), I checked out a review of the Avenger, and yes, it appears to suck every bit as much as I thought.  Who designs these hideous things?  Who names them?

And what is to be done?

Posted by Michael on 12/16 at 11:26 AM
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Friday, December 12, 2008

ABF Friday: Flying Home Edition!

I’m so old that I can remember when Republicans loved the auto-mobile industry.  They loved loved loved it and wanted to marry it.  Seriously: they even held their 1980 national convention in Detroit and drafted a platform that included the following:

Americans enjoy greater personal mobility than any other people on earth, largely as a result of the availability of automobiles and our modern highway system. Republicans reject the elitist notion that Americans must be forced out of their cars. Instead, we vigorously support the right of personal mobility and freedom as exemplified by the automobile and our modern highway system.

Yay to cars!  Yay to Detroit!  Yay to personal mobility and freedom!  But even more yay to the most important thing of all, namely, pissing off the DFHs and sweater-wearing wimps and elitist car-forcer-outers who wanted to cut back on our use of fossil fuels and build SUPERTRAINS.  On, Chrysler!  On, Buick!  On, Chevy and Caddy!  Ah, it was another time.  But you young’uns wouldn’t understand.

Sometimes I think Democrats should come out against gum disease, just to see if Arlen Specter or Jim Bunning will block appointments to the National Gum Disease Task Force and if Grover Norquist will form a Gingivitis Appreciation League to frustrate the efforts of the periodontal elitists and liberal PC oral hygienists who think they know what’s best for everyone.

But that’s not why I’m here today!  Today is Friday, and it is an iron law on this blog that some or most Fridays should be Arbitrary.  And so, without further ado:

On my way back from San Diego last month, I had what might have been my best in-flight experience ever.  I fell asleep the moment the plane started moving, of course, because that is what I do; sometimes I even miss the critical instructions about how to use a seat belt.  But when I awoke, I was 35,000 feet in the air and about six feet away from a screen showing the opening minutes of WALL-E.  “Holy Mother of Moloch,” I exclaimed, just a tad too loudly.  Frantically, I flipped through the airline magazine.  No, there was no indication that WALL-E would be shown on eastbound transcontinental flights in late November.  I do check these things, you see, partly because when I travel with Jamie, he wants to know about them even though he rarely wants to see the movie; and when we went to Omaha, he saw that the in-flight movie for westbound flights in early November was supposed to be WALL-E.  Unfortunately, our flight didn’t get the memo, and we wound up being treated to Kit Kittredge: An American Girl, which made Jamie say “?” and made me say “??” Still, Ms. Kittredge turned out to be preferable to Diminished Capacity, the eastbound in-flight movie.  I can’t give you reliable reviews of either film, since I was merely looking at them intermittently, in mild annoyance and with the sound off.  But it did appear to me that Diminished Capacity, despite being co-produced by Chicago’s famous Steppenwolf Theater and boasting a cast that includes Alan Alda, Matthew Broderick, and Virginia Madsen, culminates in a scene in which Matthew Broderick is being strangled to death by an evil sports-memorabilia dealer in a memorabilia show while all his friends look on in horror and do nothing except to keep stadium security away from the struggle.  OK, maybe it made sense with the sound on.  (Best line from a review: “Didn’t we invent film festivals so we could sequester all the star-studded ‘how I spent my summer vacation’ indie film projects and keep them out of our arthouses? Who let Diminished Capacity escape?”)

Now, it’s not as if I board a plane with high expectations of the in-flight movie.  On the contrary: there was a time, and it wasn’t so long ago (not as long ago as the era in which Republicans loved them some auto-mobiles), when it seemed to me that I had been subjected to every single Sandra Bullock movie ever released. Hope Floats, Practical Magic, Forces of Nature, 28 Days, Miss Congeniality—I kid you not, dear readers, I have seen them all.  Intermittently, in mild annoyance and with the sound off, but still.  No, wait, I might have put on the headphones for a bit of Practical Magic.  Self-indulgent aside (but self-indulgent compared to what? this is a blog, after all): my very favorite Long Airplane Trip story dates from 1999, right around the time of Peak Bullock, when I flew from Chicago to Brisbane for the first-ever meeting of the Consortium of Humanities Centers and Institutes outside the U.S.  “Brisbane?” people said.  “That’s like going to the Denver of Australia.” But I didn’t care—I’d go to pretty much the anything of Australia.  I’m not picky.  Anyway, the LA-Sydney leg of the trip was fifteen hours, and during the flight they showed three movies, one of which was the aforementioned Forces of Nature.  Bullock!  Affleck!  Romantic comedy!  Your sickness bag is in the pocket of the seat in front of you!  But that wasn’t the worst part of the trip.  The worst part was that I was seated in the leftward three-seat section of the 3-5-3 jumbo-jet configuration next to a thirtyish woman and an uncontrollable squalling brat.  The uncontrollable squalling was bad enough, but what finally made the seating arrangement intolerable were the constant looks of reproach and disgust I was getting from fellow passengers and the entire crew of flight attendants: obviously, I was an impossibly icy father refusing to help his poor struggling wife with their difficult kid—indeed, indifferently reading a book and not so much as looking their way.  For a while I considered ripping a page from the back of the book, writing “NOT ACTUALLY MY FAMILY” with an arrow, and taping it to my chest, but I finally managed to find a place elsewhere in the cabin, where I could watch Forces of Nature intermittently, in mild annoyance and with the sound off unmolested by a squalling toddler and the visceral disapproval of my fellow beings.

Anyway, as many of you probably already know, WALL-E is brilliant.  It is brilliant moment to moment, and brilliant overall, right down to the brilliant final credits (really, the final credits are brilliant).  It is brilliant in minute gestures, and brilliant in great big sweep.  It even has a brilliant dance sequence (no, not the bit from Hello, Dolly!).  And best and weirdest of all, I had been seized, the previous evening, by the idea of watching the first twenty minutes of Silent Running on the YouTubes before turning in for the night, so all the Silent Running—WALL-E intertextuality was already humming in my head.  So I leaned back (not too far! I don’t like crushing the legs of my fellow passengers) and settled in for a truly rare treat—a smart, well-written, delightful in-flight movie.  Of course, the sensation of sitting in front of a screen with a few hundred other people and being ferried briskly through the air while watching humans sitting in front of screens being ferried briskly around a space station in Saturn orbit was a little weird, but what the hell.

So that’s today’s Arbitrary game: best and worst in-flight movies ever!  And may your weekend be one-hundred-percent Forces of Nature-free.

Posted by Michael on 12/12 at 09:45 AM
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Thursday, December 11, 2008

All My Internet Friends

It’s 6:30 am as I’m sitting down to type this, and I’m awake only because I went to bed nice and early after last night’s Tang Soo Do class with Jamie.  And guess what?  The phone rings! It’s the State College Area School District, letting me know that there will be no school today.  Presumably because the roads are sheathed in ice or something.  Apparently some people have a problem with that.

So winter has officially begun in remote central Pennsylvania, and Jamie will be home all day.  Only four more months of this before the thaw!

And that means it’s a good time to hear some Music By My Friends.

Those of you who have been reading this blog for untold years upon years will surely remember the name of Amanda French, one of the wittiest commenters in what has been, since 1985, a most entertaining comment section.  Yes, well, you knew she was smart and quick with a villanelle just when a hundred-comment-thread needs one most.  But you didn’t know she could write songs and sing ‘em, now, did you? 

The song is called “All My Internet Friends,” which is one of the reasons this post is titled “All My Internet Friends.” You can even click on “lyrics” on the “All My Internet Friends” web page and find out what all the lyrics are.  My, this Inter-net is an amazing thing.  And I would be lying—badly, sure, but what did you expect?—if I said that I don’t know exactly what structure of feeling Amanda’s singing about here.  Which is to say, a little less convolutedly, that I am often very grateful for my Internet friends.

So if you have Internet friends and you like them and they’re kind to you in an Internetty kind of way, why don’t you send this song to them?  That way it can go all around the length and breadth of the Internets and Amanda can become deservedly famous as the person who summed up in four minutes and a sinuous, inventive melody just why it is that we treasure our Internet friends.  And don’t worry about Amanda’s royalties!  Like the song says, “all my internet friends give things away/ They just really like to make stuff even when it doesn’t pay.”

And lest we forget our pre-Internet friends on an icy wintry day:  I know I’ve plugged this guy and his music before, but my old friend Larry Gallagher’s “Disappointment Slough” is a lovely little Nick Drake-y tune that sums up in four minutes and a sinuous, inventive melody all of life and longing.  With nice harmonies.  Though if you prefer Teh Funny, there’s always Larry’s magnum (two-minute) opus, “Ode to the Nokia Ringtone,” now available on a YouTube near you.

Posted by Michael on 12/11 at 07:20 AM
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Tuesday, December 09, 2008

Popcorn time!

Recently, one of the people I’ve met in my travels this semester wrote to me and asked whether I’ve been reading David Horowitz’s blog lately.  “Uh, no,” I replied, “I don’t read FrontPage voluntarily, because its color scheme makes my eyes bleed.” And then there’s the, you know, actual content, which usually makes me wish that the giant enlightened insects with really good musical taste will hurry up and take over our planet already.

But I took a deep breath and clicked, and lo!  My old friend David, co-author of the groundbreaking The Shadow Party: How George Soros, Hillary Clinton, and Sixties Radicals Seized Control of the Democratic Party, the book that finally exposed The Left’s plan to seize control of the government and rewrite the U.S. Constitution, appears to have spent the past couple of weeks dealing with a bunch of nutcases. Yes, He Who is battling the Birth Certificate Obsessives!  The people who believe that B. Hussein al-Obama—born in Kenya, educated in an Indonesian Madrassa, and then schooled in Marxist theory by Frank Marshall Davis—got George Soros to forge his birth certificate so that he could seize control of the government and rewrite the U.S. Constitution!  It’s like a world festival of crazee talk over there in the comment section, I tell you.

And Horowitz is understandably frustrated:

The continuing efforts of a fringe group of conservatives to deny Obama his victory and to lay the basis for the claim that he is not a legitimate president is embarrassing and destructive. The fact that these efforts are being led by Alan Keyes, an unhinged demagogue on the political fringe who lost a senate election to the then unknown Obama by 42 points should be a warning in itself.

All well and good, but I have to say that I find two of Horowitz’s counterarguments kind of weak. The first is this:

Assuming for the sake of the argument that Obama is not a natural citizen of the United States, the question is: what are the consequences of having 9 appointed justices—or more likely 5 of 9 justices—tell 64 million voters that their votes don’t count? Would our constitutional democracy survive such a conflict, and then would our Constitution? Ultimately, the answer to these questions lies with the people. They are the ultimate authority not some abstract Rule of Law because the Rule of Law is in any case ajudicated [sic] and enforced by (highly political) men and women, while the people in its majority have it in their power to destroy the Rule of Law if they so will. The Constitution itself recognizes this fact by giving the people the right to amend it by a two-thirds vote. This is itself a recognition that the Rule of Law is an institution of men and women.

Wow.  Who knew that David Horowitz was such a radical legal constructivist?  Just substitute “the Rule of Law” for “soylent green” in this clip, and you’ll get the full pathos of Horowitz’s argument here:

OK, so let’s just say that political theory isn’t Horowitz’s strong suit.  Neither is spelling.  But what’s really notable here is the premise: assuming for the sake of the argument that Obama is not a natural citizen of the United States.  This is a little like saying, “assuming for the sake of argument that Hillary killed Vince Foster with her own hands,” in the sense that (a) it takes seriously an article of wingnuttery that should be roundly ridiculed and then led out of the room quietly, and (b) thereby constitutes an open invitation to the world festival of crazee talk.

The second counterargument is much tastier, because it involves Horowitz’s efforts to save the unhinged right from behaving like . . . The Left!

Consider the bitterness, the pathological hatred of Bush, the sabotage of America’s war effort by Democrats who believed that his election was illegitimate. Consider the 2 month delay this caused in the transition to the new administration and how that affected our inability to prevent 9/11 (the comprehensive counter-terrorism plan commissioned by Bush arrived on his desk on 9/10).

You know, these are things we really should consider.  I know, in all honesty, that I’ve never really stopped to consider how Democrats’ craven attempts to determine just who won Florida in 2000 affected our inability to prevent 9/11.  But Horowitz has a point: those two months could have been critical.  A look back at George Bush’s to-do list for 2001 strongly suggests that if Democrats had just behaved themselves instead of being a great big pathological bunch of crybabies, the World Trade Center would still be standing today:

February: cut taxes.
April: gut public school system.
June: seekrit energy policy time!  (Dick, Dick’s friends)
July: Crawford—cut back brush
August: more brush.  Congratulate CIA briefer for covering his ass.  Golf.
September-October: craft bold sweeping counterterrorism policy that will prevent attacks on American soil and destroy al-Qaeda forever!!!  Win!!

See?  He was just getting around to it . . . or, more precisely, he would have gotten around to it, if not for Al Gore, David Boies, and the rest of the Defeatocrats who began sabotaging our war effort in November 2000.

Still, credit where credit is due: in taking on the Birth Certificate Truthers, David Horowitz is fighting the good fight.  Badly, sure, but what did you expect?  Praise the lord and pass the popcorn already.

Posted by Michael on 12/09 at 09:10 AM
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Friday, December 05, 2008

Arbitrary but arbitrary Friday

From the Things I Keep Forgetting To Tell You file: when Jamie and I arrived in Colorado in mid-October, Jamie was overwhelmed by the Denver airport.  He marveled at every last feature of it, and exclaimed repeatedly, “Michael, you didn’t tell me that Colorado had all this!” (You should not conclude from this, however, that I don’t tell him stuff.  In Omaha, as we checked into our hotel, he claimed that I had not told him that Nebraska has taxis.  I mean, please.  “Omaha’s a city, Jamie,” I replied.  “You know it has taxis.”) So when we pulled our car out of the rental lot, a mile or two from the airport, I nudged him and said, “check this out.  This is what the airport looks like from the outside.”

It was around 8 pm, so the airport was a good deal harder to see, and we were further away than this photographer was.  But despite the dimness and the distance, the effect was pretty stunning all the same.  “Wow,” Jamie said.  “It looks like a circus.”

I’d never had that thought before.  “Why yes, yes it does,” I replied.  “Or like mountains.”

“Or like sidney,” Jamie added.

“I’m sorry?”

“Sidney,” Jamie said.

“Who’s Sidney?” I asked, because I am thick as a brick.

“No, Michael,” Jamie said, mildly impatient now.  “Sydney in Australia.”

“Oh, holy . . . yes, yes, I understand.  The Sydney Opera House.”

“Yes, the Sydney Opera House.”

Jamie has never been to Sydney.  But he is very observant.

But you know, I don’t want to keep harping on how clever the kid is.  It’s gotta be done sometimes, sure, but there are more important things in life than being able to liken the Denver International Airport to the Sydney Opera House.  Like taking care of your sick father!  Yep, ever since I got back to town on Tuesday I’ve been a wheezing, coughing, whingeing wreck, shuffling from couch to bed and back to couch again.  So on Wednesday, after taking aboard the sorry news that I wouldn’t be able to go with him to our weekly tang soo do class, Jamie went with Janet to the supermarket.  Jamie likes heading off on his own when he goes to the store with his parents, and this time, when he met up with Janet he was carrying a quart of hot soup, which he’d thoughtfully ladled all by himself.

It was delicious, thank you.  And Jamie’s a good kid.

_______

But wait!  One last thing for the weekend.  With all my wheezing and whingeing this week, I haven’t forgotten about reading things on the Internets. This essay by Mark Schmitt is one of the smartest things I’ve read since the election, and it reminds me why I’m going to wait and see what the Obama Administration actually, you know, does before deciding that it has betrayed Every.  Progressive.  Principle.  Ever.  On the other hand, I have to admit that it’s been over a month since the election and Obama has still not fixed a single damn thing around here.  And surely, the composition of Obama’s cabinet is more important than the question of whether the U.S. closes Gitmo and withdraws from Iraq.  Moreover, as Paul Lukasiak points out in comments over at the Corrente Center for Advanced Criticism, “had Clinton won, and she’d made the same moves Obama has, the fauxgressive blogosphere would be screaming their heads off.” Quite true!  We fauxgressive Obamabots have horrible double standards when it comes to pointing out that Obama and Clinton have very similar policies on a lot of issues.  But on second thought, it would be kind of wrong if Hillary Clinton appointed herself Secretary of State.

Have a great weekend, everyone.  Me, I’m just going to have some soup.

Posted by Michael on 12/05 at 06:08 AM
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