A Little of the Old In and Out

In: Naomi Campbell's left breast, which, as it happens, just slipped out of her Rosa Cha swimsuit top (Ka-Pow!) the other day. That doesn't make her a bad person. The Corsair says: God bless her mocha colored dirty pillows. Here's how The Sun described the saucy milk chocolatey confection:

"FOR someone who claims her privacy is important to her, Naomi Campbell has a funny way of showing it.

"The supermodel wore a teeny-weeny bikini at a fashion show in Brazil � so it was no surprise when her left boob popped out."

Now, if only she was carrying a pint of lager. For Naomi, a stout bock, which, on occasion, by the by, the ladies have said of me (Ka-Pow!).

Out: Jean Paul Gaultier. I'll let Reuters tell it like it is:

"Slices of fresh bread overlap to form the cascading train of an evening gown. Baguettes sprout like a skirt from a wicker basket in the shape of a corset, where two brioches perch like women's breasts.

"The mouth-watering creations are just two of the outfits in the exhibition 'Pain Couture by Jean-Paul Gaultier,' in which the irreverent French designer has conjured a surrealist wardrobe made entirely from bread."

Now, we all know the old canard that "artists" who can't do shock, (cough, cough, Madonna cough, cough) but what is it about the French and these silly experiments?

Can someone tell me why the French aesthetic tastes have to be so goddmaned wierd? (Ed. Note: This Grappa wine hangover has made me strangely conservative, quite curmudgeonly even, this afternoon, so if you like your Corsair more liberal, check me out here. Do not go any further. Danger, Will Robinson.I am in the throes of a fierce Grappa hangover) If someone tried this stunt in America, they would either get short shrift on the Food Network, or be dashed off to an underfunded institution for the mentally deranged. Croissant corsets, my word! (The Corsair affects the tone of Victorian gentleman) Damned cheek, this Gaultier fellow, a rummy pom, whot! And yet, in France, this is considered charming, witty even:

"Through trial and error, the team succeeded in producing technical marvels such as a solid bread kilt and a swinging short dress consisting of rows of wafer-thin biscuits."

What-the-fuck?!

In: Monica Meadows, the model who got shot in the NYC subway a few weeks ago. According to the Enquirer, because enquiring minds want to know:

"The aspiring actress -- whose biggest claim to fame was a bit part on TV's 'Law & Order: Criminal Intent' -- is now solidly on the celebrity fast track after being shot and wounded on a crowded NYC subway.

"... in the three days following the June 1 shooting, 23-year-old Monica received more offers to appear in the theater and on TV than in the entire 18 months since leaving Colorado to audition as just another unknown wanna-be in the Big Apple!

"'It's been overwhelming,' said the 5-foot-10 brunette beauty, showing off the gauze dressing covering the hole from the small-caliber bullet that tore through her left upper chest."

Out: There is something rather subservient and "daddy worshipping" about this particular brand of paleoconservatism (TM) that Pat Buchanan and Peggy Noonan whore out, especially Noonan. Check out her piece on Reagan's funeral (link via Wonkette):

"The sun was strong, like a presence. It bathed the women in glow. One was standing straight, with discipline. Her beige bouffant was brilliant in the sun. I approached, and she turned. It was Margaret Thatcher. It was like walking into a room at FDR's funeral and seeing Churchill.

"The cortege was coming toward the steps. We looked out the window: a perfect tableaux of ceremonial excellence from every branch of the armed forces. Mrs. Thatcher watched. She turned and said to me, 'This is the thing, you see, you must stay militarily strong, with an undeniable strength. The importance of this cannot be exaggerated.'

"To my son, whose 17th birthday was the next day, she said, 'And what do you study?' He tells her he loves history and literature. 'Mathematics,' she says. He nods, wondering, I think, if she had heard him correctly. She had. She was giving him advice. 'In the world of the future it will be mathematics that we need--the hard, specific knowledge of mathematical formulae, you see.' My son nodded: 'Yes, ma'am.' Later I squeezed his arm. 'Take notes,' I said. This is history."

This is bullshit, quite frankly: and I'll tell you why (Ed. Note. I am hung over, so very hung over, so if you are not into "rant mode from blogger with headache" be well advised skip over to another entry, like this). Noonan's prose is suffused with so much Daddy worship, so much nostalgia for the days of yore, the bare ruined choirs of the Catholic Church, that she sounds like bad Waugh.At any goddamned moment one expects Lord Sebastian Flyte to crash the fucking procedings with his teddy bear Aloysius in tow and some top drawer Moroccan brandy.

I can respect the conservative search for wisdom. I truly do. Liberals just cannot wrap their minds around the fact that public schools are a joke, and that if anyone learns from them, anything of value beyond "aqua cetiline welding" or "woodwork," it is probably by accident. Public schools exist to train the next generation of servants. And the teachers unions are out mostly for pay raises. And any political dialogue on the subject usually degenerates into chat of "repairing buildings" or putting "cops in schools." Sweet. Liberals are allergic to any question of curriculum because they do not believe in any absolute truths, except, touchingly, a nebulous concept of "love." Conservatives have strong curriculum proposals. But, of course, when this search for wisdom degenerates, disintegrates, you get gasbags and moral scolds, who are more visible on the media landscape than the virtuous conservative.

I also respect the liberal search for sophistication. Visit the Upper West Side, the world capitol of liberalism and you can see -- especially in summer -- how beautiful it is to be liberal. There are ethnic restaurants everywhere (as opposed to the frosty Upper East Side, where ethnic diversity is limited to ethnic servants going in the service entrances), lots of kids, lots of dogs, and a sort of air of Buddhist detatchment and accepting vibe luxuriates in liberal towns, like, say Northampton, Massachusetts. There is no ultimate truth, just surf reality with improvisation and love. And travel to strange and mysterious cultures and partake of their particular "realities". Naive, yes, but pretty, and, of course, sophisticated. Liberals are far more sophisticated than conservatives.

In my life I try to take the good from both sides of the political spectrum and call each on on their bullshit ... when I'm not blogging about trite celebrity gossip, that is.

But Peggy Noonan represents a paleoconservatism that I do not respect.

All this talk of "Military supremacy," "hard specific knowledge," "mathematical formulae," "undeniable strength," "ceremonial excellence" and, of course, the favorite word of Brylcreemed paleoconservatives, the all-purpose "history," as in -- "if history teaches us anything [insert inane and unlearned point in here concerning "power" and "force"]"