By Ironic You Mean...

I can't say I'm all that surprised to hear that Governor-for-a-Short-Time Palin used to head across the border to Canada to get her grubby paws on some free health care.

She said in the interview, "I think now, isn't that ironic?"

Um, no. It's not ironic. It's outrageous, perhaps. Hypocritical, obviously. Exploitative, certainly. But nothing about it is ironic.

Jesus Christ.

Did My Eyes Deceive Me?

New Yorkers know well that the subway system hosts a whole lot of panhandlers. I'm not talking about people from, say, the panhandle of Florida. I'm talking about the people who sell, perform, or otherwise ask for cash on the trains.

When you do same commute every day (in my case, it's two different commutes, depending on circumstances), you get to see a lot of the same panhandlers. There's a dapper little violinist who, despite his playing ten hours a day, really doesn't know how to play the violin. There's a saxophonist I try to avoid on the F train. There are several mariachi combos on the 7 train. There are the kids who sell their candy, "not for basketball uniforms, but to earn a little money and keep me off the streets." There's often a blind dude at the 7 to F transfer.

During my evening commute this week, while walking down the steps to the 7 train, I noticed a dude who looked a bit down on his luck. The train was pulling into the station, and he scurried to the back car. I wandered into the second-to-last car and didn't give him another thought.

Until a seriously disabled panhandler staggered into our car. He was shaking from head-to-toe and could barely walk. He was hunched over and held tightly to the various handrails available for support. It was the same dude I saw walking down the stairs, except that this version of him would never had made it up or down the stairs.

He announced that he was going to take up the next ten or fifteen minutes of our time. This is unheard of. Most panhandlers do their thing and move on quickly.

I was listening to music, so I didn't catch everything the man said as he staggered up and down the car, very slowly, but he talked about injuries, mentioned something about 9/11, and offered to help anyone else in the car who might be hungry.

But it was the physicality that was truly remarkable. People get on and off the trains, of course, and over ten or fifteen minutes, you pull through approximately five to eight stops. One woman, wanting to catch the transfer across the platform, reached out to give him a dollar, couldn't get her money in his little bag (which he'd placed on the floor next to a handrail), and laid the bill next to it so she wouldn't miss her train. He worked desperately to bend, holding the rail for dear life, trying to get the bill until another rider grabbed the bill and put it in his bag for him.

This fella was so convincing in his physical performance that I began to question if he was really the same man I saw walking down the stairs at the station. Even now, thinking back, I don't feel so sure. His performance was that good, B&E readers.

He was doing pretty well for himself money-wise in my car, and he was still going on when I got off the train at my stop.

It was downright spooky. And impressive. Cirque du Soleil should totally hire him.

Lady? Check. Baseball? Check. Knuckler?! Check!

What's not to like about this little tidbit, B&E readers? First of all, it's about a woman. I like women. Secondly, it's about baseball. Gosh, I do like baseball. Thirdly, it's about a knuckleball pitcher. I do love a good knuckleball.

When you roll those things into one, you get Eri Yoshida, an 18-year-old knuckleballer in Japan, who might just become the first female professional baseball player. Watch the video. Like all videos in Japanese it's genuinely confusing and oddly compelling.

Man, I'm glad spring training is here.

Even though the Mets star centerfielder and shortstop are being interviewed by investigators about a doctor who allegedly gave out steroids (or something akin to it), and the star closer is out with pink eye.

Really? Pink eye? Jesus, guys, get it together.

Then There's the Real Reason

Harold Ford isn't running for the U.S. Senate against Kirsten Gillibrand. He explains why in an op-ed piece in the New York Times, which has already given him a lot of press in recent weeks.

I've said before that I've got little opinion about our appointed Senator Gillibrand. She's moved to the left since being appointed by our Governor (who also isn't running - Jesus, I go out of town for a few days and return to Paterson in full meltdown mode), which I like, but truth be told, I just don't know that much about her.

Other people flirted with running against Kirsten. Carolyn Maloney, who represents me according to just about every online advocacy group even if I've never had the option of voting for her at the actual polls, was considering a primary challenge. I do like Rep. Maloney. She's usually a reliably progressive vote. I would've happily voted for her in a primary to Gillibrand.

Harold Ford lumps himself together with Carolyn Maloney in discussing the enormous pressure he received to not run from the party machine. And the lack of party support is one thing he cites in his op-ed about why he won't run.

What he doesn't mention, of course, is that he began campaigning in earnest before he made the official decision to run. And there's one striking absence from his list of reasons for not getting involved in the race.

New Yorkers, particularly potential Democratic primary voters, think he's an enormous asshole. Assholes have won plenty of elections, so assholery is not an inherent deal breaker. But he came off as an incompetent, petty, utterly uninteresting, non-resident asshole.

If we New Yorkers didn't hate Harold Ford, he'd totally run. And he is lying by omission in his op-ed.

That Wasn't What I Expected

The missus and I went to a most excellent wedding this past weekend. It's really such a pleasure to see two (or more!) people you love getting hitched.

The couple in question really did it right. It was a destination wedding. Northwest Ohio is, after all, a destination. And there's no better time to visit northwest Ohio than February. It snowed at least a little bit every single day!

But seriously, B&E readers, if I may be sincere for a moment, I couldn't be happier for this couple, and the missus and I were thrilled to be a part of it all. Nice friends, nice family, one near run-in over a table between a hormonal pregnant friend and some angry OSU graduates, delicious Greek food, some kickass processional/recessional music from the missus, lots of laughter, and no serious drama. I'm telling you, B&E readers... it was a great wedding.

So how about that winter road trip? Some of you may have heard that New York was slammed by a pretty decent snowstorm this past weekend. Thursday, in fact. We were supposed to leave on Thursday, and I won the "genius award" from the missus for convincing her to leave on Wednesday late instead. Yes, it was an extra evening in a hotel, but the idea was to get out before the storm hit.

We drove about two-and-a-half hours into Pennsylvania. When we woke up on Thursday morning, I was pretty convinced I'd been a total idiot (again), what with the several inches of snow and near white-out conditions.

But once we got a half-hour or so west of the hotel, it was smooth sailing, and we made it to our destination.

Naturally, it was a road trip. Road trips mean road eating. When you just want to get to your destination, you're limited to what you see when you stop.

Put more succinctly, we ate at fucking McDonald's.

It's been years since we've done that. Or maybe since whenever our last road trip was. But we really don't do the fast food thing. In the past year and a half or so I've largely given up sugar consumption (apart from fruit), and I've been watching the salt intake for some time now.

So when I ordered that Southern Chicken Sandwich, I was expecting a sodium explosion. It didn't disappoint, but salt was the second flavor I noticed.

When I took my first bite, I actually thought something was wrong with my order. It tasted almost like cake to me. It was just wrong. Once I took the second bite, my taste buds had adjusted, and it was all about the salt again.

But Judas Priest, B&E readers: I couldn't believe that first bite. It was really disconcerting. Naturally, I ate the whole goddamn thing because that's what people do when they go to McDonald's (or anywhere else, really). But I was spooked.

I looked up the nutrition information about a Southern Style Crispy Chicken sandwich at McDonald's, and it looks like there are 6 grams of sugar in there. That's actually less than half the sugar there is in other chicken sandwiches.

Still... That first bite was really sweet. And fucked up. I think I can't eat at McDonald's ever again, even on a road trip. There are other fucked up choices on the road, and those fucked up places will get my business.

I sincerely hope that they will not freak me out with their deliciousness.

Binder & Binder Comments

Comments on the old posts continue. Over a year ago, I had some issues with the cowboy hat worn by a lawyer in a shitty commercial that airs on NY1. Follow the link to the old post if you're interested in reading all of the comments (including one from a former employee! Look out!).

But allow me to draw your attention to one in particular. This week, I received a comment from a fella called Greg, who offered a link to his investigative report on Mr. Binder, Esq. He has conveniently embedded the ad in question, so that you can enjoy the cowboy hat in all its glory. Greg's mom emailed Binder & Binder (awesome), and received a reply to her inquiry about the hat, among other things.

Enjoy the hell out of it, B&E readers, and nice work, Greg, for actually pursuing the information.

And according to Greg, Charles "Cowboy Hat" Binder is bald under that sucker. Nice.

Won't You Take Me To... SEPIATOWN??

Those of my six readers who also click on the links to the right (so, then, none of you) may be wondering why Virgil's been so quiet these past couple of years. It turns out there's a simple explanation for why he's been denying so many of us bite-sized nibbles of his that nubile mind of his.

It's called SepiaTown, and it's been a massive undertaking that he launched this past weekend.

Its scope is limited primarily to a few cities right now, but the idea is that eventually, anyone can see what their current location looked like in the days of yore. "Gee, I'm standing at the corner of East 9th Street and Broadway. I wonder what it looked like in 1910." Well, it looked like this.

SepiaTown is a "wiki," B&E readers, which means it relies on user-generated content. If you have old photos, go put them in there. If you know people with access to old photos, tell them to put them in there. The more people that get involved, the cooler the site becomes.

As one buddy said, Virgil has gone and "built a goddamned time machine."

You Left Out Your Biggest Enemy

Steve King, Dickhead of the House from Iowa, says a lot of crazy, and occasionally gets called out on the crazy.

Steve King recently spoke at CPAC, the annual conference brought to you by the ever-reasonable American Conservative Union, which in spite of its obvious anti-union leanings has "union" in its name (branding issues!).

Anyway, Representative Steve King addressed the crowd and defined our enemies. He mentioned, of course, al-Qaeda and the Taliban. And by "al-Qaeda and the Taliban" I mean, "anyone who disagrees with Representative Steve King."

I want to define that enemy. They are: liberals; they are progressives; they are Che Guevareans, they are Castroites, they're socialists. More enemies on this list: Gramsciites -- ring anybody's bell? -- Trotskyites, Maoists, Stalinists, Leninists, Marxists. They're all our enemies.

Yes, well done. Half of America is your enemy, Steve King.

I could go on about how stupid Steve King is, but hell, I'm his enemy, so any cogent argument is easily dismissed by him and his supporters.

But photographs don't lie, Steve King. That comb-over isn't fooling anyone. I hate to break it to you: you're bald. And everyone knows it.

When it comes right down to it, you're just a bald Dickhead. And your enemy is testosterone.

Tiger's Leaked Statement!

Well, B&E readers, if you're anything like me, you're pretty excited for Tiger Woods' first public statement later today. Have I got a treat for you! It's a leaked version of his statement! Who leaked it? I leaked it! How did I get my hands on it? It was never in my hands! It went right from my head to B&E!

So without further ado, here it is, Tiger Woods' leaked statement!

Hi. I'm Tiger Woods. I'm the best golfer of all-time. Arnold Palmer is a pussy. Tom Watson is a total fruitcake. And what is Lee Trevino, anyway? A Latino or Italian? Whatever. And don't even get me started on Phil Mickelson, that left-handed prick. Those guys can't golf. I golf. I'm a golfer. Those guys are just divots in the fairway of my life.

Anyway, I'm Tiger Fucking Woods. And not only do I golf, but I also make a lot of money. A lot. Tons of cash. Seriously. It's a lot of money. Dude, I have a deal with Chevron. It's a fucking oil company. They've got a lot of money too, and some of their money is going right to me. People say that Chevron pollutes and supports military dictatorships in Burma, but fuck those hippies. They're just jealous.

And they're not just jealous because I'm almost as rich as that chick who wrote those weird wizard books.

They're also jealous because I get women. Lots of women. One of them was my wife. I totally got her. Knocked her up too. She's Swedish. Which is hot. I mean, the country is cold but the chicks are hot.

But I didn't stop with her, just because I'm married. Oh, no. There are a lot of really hot women out there. A lot! And because I'm famous and gifted and richer than Dick Cheney, tons of those women totally throw themselves at me. And look, I don't want to be rude. If these chicks want to bang me, it's only right to give them the ride of their lives.

Oh, hell, you all know I'm not just banging these broads because I don't want to be rude. I like women. I really like women. Lots of women.

And I like watching other dudes with women. Especially that guy from Bones. I'd really like to see that guy with some women. Mm... Bones...

Anyway, I got caught. Boy, did I get caught. I was totally nailed. And not in the same way that I was nailing all those broads. That would've been a lot cooler, let me tell you. But no, that's not what I mean at all. I was totally busted.

What can I say? I'm the best golfer ever, rich as Nazis, and can get pretty much any woman I want. Who wouldn't take advantage of that?

So back off, media. Give me some goddamned privacy. Let me get on with my life - and get off with that hot chick over there.

I'm Tiger Fucking Woods.

It's a bold statement from Tiger Woods. He's got real moxie, this guy. Go get 'em, Tiger.

That Shit Was Already Expensive

So this New York councilman has been indicted on corruption charges, and one little detail is getting a lot of attention.

Bronx councilman Larry Seabrook apparently doctored a receipt for a bagel and soda, so that instead of the original $7, it cost $177.

I've bought my share of bagels over the years, and I tell you what: I'm just as shocked by the $7 receipt as I am by the $177 doctoring of the receipt.

Even if he got a fancy shmear, that bagel shouldn't have been more than $3 (and indeed should have been closer to $2). And let's assume that he ran up the bill with a two-liter bottle of soda, rather than the 12 oz. can or 20 oz. bottle that most unhealthy people drink. Being really liberal with prices, the whole thing shouldn't have been even $6.

Councilman, you need to find yourself a better bagelry. You're being overcharged.

She Looks Good

And nothing makes Kirsten Gillibrand look better to me than the continued horseshit coming from Harold Ford. Seriously, that guy is loathsome. Go fuck off, Harold, preferably in a state where you've paid taxes.

Mordant Has an Awesome Name

It's that time again, B&E readers. I have recently received some terrific comments from some terrific readers, and I'm now sharing one of them with you.

Some of you may recall that when the missus and I visited Sweden a few years back, I had a few thoughts about the many Swedes with their many dreadlocks. Well, a fellow called Mordant, if that is indeed his name, took umbrage:

I don't usually post on blogs either and I live in Sweden and what you are talking is utter rubbish..You are a closeminded moron btw. And furthermore I have dreads and a doctorate, I don't see your point! What have you done lately to improve your society. You should go out and do some social work rather than write utter drivel on blog sites!

Well, Mordant, if that is indeed your name it is the most awesome name in the world. Oh, wait, excuse me, Mordant. You said you have a doctorate, so I should be calling you Dr. Mordant. Dr. Mordant, I apologize to you and your dreadlocks. I'm sorry to have insulted you, your dazzling intellect, and your style sense. Please forgive me my trespasses against your person, your higher degree, and your locks aplenty. And seriously, Dr. Mordant, I wish I had your name. It is awesome.

And as a point of clarification, Dr. Mordant. I don't write utter drivel on blog sites. I write utter drivel on MY blog site. Technically, you are the guest here. But hey, since you have the post-college degree and the tangled, matted hair, you can be as rude as you wish to be. On my blog. Please visit any time, Dr. Mordant.

Your name is awesome.

Our Meat Comes From What?!

I'm a real fan of food. Like most progressive, professional, city-dwelling omnivores, I have a pretty good awareness of the food industrial complex, and I therefore attempt to avoid being a part of it, to varying degrees of success.

I've read Fast Food Nation and The Omnivore's Dilemma. I have not seen Food, Inc. but suspect I already know much of its content. I shop at farmers markets, prioritize local meats and veggies, and buy organically if local isn't an option.

All my rules tend to go right out the window when I go out to eat. I don't know where most restaurants source their foods. Although for Valentine's Day last night, the missus and I went to Marlow & Sons, a restaurant that sources its food locally, and our grass-fed sirloins were outstanding.

So yes, in general I believe in conscious eating. Which is why I was rather interested in this article. It's about a teacher at a school with a farm, who decided that it would be good to teach the children at the school about the food cycle by slaughtering one of the school's lambs. She got shit-canned. Which seems pretty fucking stupid to me.

The writer is clearly on the teacher's side. He has, in fact, taken his children to see the pig being butchered for their consumption. And he's been accused by Guardian readers of child abuse. Which also seems pretty fucking stupid to me. Jesus Christ, people. Meat is animals. Being removed from it makes it no less true.

I was sharing this article with a friend, and he sent me this link to Yorkshire Meats, where you "Eat Babe." It's brilliant. Choose a pig, adopt it, name it, visit it, and eat it. The whole process is transparent, and the pig gets a really happy life before it dies. And then you get a whole lot of pork. I seriously love this plan. And if I lived in a home with a freezer, I'd find the equivalent here in the US and do it.

This actually reminded me of what my family did for many years in Kansas. I was a kid and wasn't terribly curious about the whole process, but we split a cow every year with another family. A whole cow was slaughtered for two families. It was a lot of meat. Now, I don't know if the cow was treated kindly (maybe) or was fed grass (doubtful) or what, exactly. But I knew it was literally half a cow. And it lasted us a year.

This is how I want to eat meat now. I want to know that my cow or pig or chicken had a good life while it was alive, and then I want to eat that delicious cow or pig or chicken. I see no reason to separate ourselves from the process. Hell, if meat were more expensive, and if we were somehow more aware of how it's raised and killed, we'd probably eat a lot less of it. And that'd probably be a lot healthier for our nation of fat Americans with our overburdened healthcare system.

Don't Fuck With Robin Hood, Sheriff of Bankerham

Yesterday, a friend in the UK posted a link to her Facebook page for a project she's involved with: The Robin Hood Tax. Go check it out. There's a nice little video featuring Bill Nighy as a douchey banker trying to explain why this tax is a bad idea. (It's not a bad idea, by the way.)

The short of it is that by taxing banks 0.05% on non-consumer speculative trading, billions of dollars could be raised for, well, good things for real people.

So this project launches yesterday and people can vote on whether or not they think it's a good idea. The broad assumption from the people involved is that most regular people will agree with the sentiments. Supporters invite their friends and they outnumber the people who think it's a bad idea.

Well, within hours, people who thought it was a bad idea were voting at the rate of six votes per second. The Robin Hood Tax people thought something was a little strange with this scenario, so they shut down the site for a while to investigate.

This morning, the computer team had traced the IP address for the rapid voter back to... shocker of all shockers... a Goldman Sachs office in London. Goldman Sachs says it's "investigating the matter fully."

My UK friend assures me that the Robin Hood Tax movement will be making its way to the United States before too long. I like simple, good, easy-to-understand ideas. Well done, coalition-of-UK-organizations.

We're a Nation of Snow Pussies

I've been a little under the weather this week (See how I took the snow theme and turned it? That's just the sort of quality writing you've come to expect here at B&E!), so I've been working from home.

This morning I woke up feeling a bit better, but because last night the local news outlets were freaking out about the Blizzard of 2010, I opted to work from home again today, as did many of my fine colleagues.

I finally got a chance for a quick walk right around 5:00 PM.

Don't get me wrong: it was a good snow. It was not, however, a blizzard. Why the hell do we get so fucking crazy about a little snow? Was it seriously that big a deal?

Anyway, the city looks nice during a snow.


I love a Smart Car! Look at the Smart Car in the snow! I have to admit that it looks less Smart!


If you need to rest, take a load off on this snow sofa!


And our neighbors made a snowman! Right outside one of my favorite facades in Sunnyside!


Anyway, it was a fun snow.