The Scout Report

Wall Streeters Offered Defenestration Kits: 10.12.08

The Scout Report editorial board was reminded of the 1618 Defenestration of Prague (left, click for larger image), while watching things go terribly wrong on Wall Street from the safety of the bunker it shares with Dick Cheney [HAL 17.41 -1.53 (-8.08%) Oct 10 4:01pm ET] at an undisclosed location. TSR's chief of protocol enforcement and downsizing—Mrs. James Peregrine Leger-Demain IV—is familiar with defenestration (the act of throwing someone out the window), as it is the preferred method of attrition at TSR. Not only is it not easy to achieve from a bunker, it's almost impossible to perform in a modern skyscraper, which is hermetically sealed with non-operable, double-glazed, laminated, window units.

Controlled tangent. Fire and rescue departments in the U.S. have equipment for what they call "penetration-deterrent windows" and what Mrs. IV calls "a temporary inconvenience." The tools include axes, hooligan tools (just what the name suggests), and pike poles. Always drinking from a glass half full, Mrs. IV has assembled defenetration kits for sale in handsome and sturdy canvas bags. [Date of Defenetration (DoD) can be monogrammed on the bag for an extra charge]. Kits will be available while supplies last from TSR interns in front of 11 Wall Street Monday morning. Look for the sign: "No money-back guarantee below the fifth floor!"

 

Palin's Skool Daze: 9.9.08

SPOKANE, Wash. (AP) — Republican vice presidential candidate Sarah Palin attended five colleges in six years before graduating from the University of Idaho (Moscow) in 1987. She began college at University of Hawaii (Hilo) before transferring in a couple of weeks to Hawaii Pacific University, a private, nonsectarian school in Honolulu. She attended only as a freshman during the fall of 1982. From Hawaii Pacific, Palin transferred to North Idaho College, a two-year school in Coeur d'Alene, about 30 miles east of Spokane. She attended the college as a general studies major for two semesters, in spring 1983 and fall 1983. From North Idaho College, Palin transferred 70 miles south to the University of Idaho, the state's flagship institution. She majored in journalism with an emphasis in broadcast news. She attended Idaho, whose mascot is the Vandals, from fall 1984 to spring 1985. She then returned to Alaska to attend Matanuska-Susitna College in Palmer in fall 1985. Then she returned to Idaho, for spring 1986, fall 1986 and spring 1987, where she graduated. Whew!

Controlled tangent. TSR wonders what Governor Palin's parents thought about this itinerant matriculation. If she had been looking for a school that taught "intelligent design," she could've transferred among the 200-plus Christian colleges in the U.S. for decades, thus sparing the nation a collective cringe.

Jarring juxtaposition. Mrs. James Peregrine Leger-Demain, IV—TSR's protocol enforcer—was shocked at the uncanny similarity between the names of her children and Governor Palin's.

Sarah Palin's children: Track (named after high school track meets), Bristol (after Bristol Bay where they did commercial fishing), Willow (after a community in Alaska), Piper (just a cool name) and Trig (Norse for “strength").

Mrs. IV's children: Driveway (where she learned to ride a two-wheeler, pictured), Pee Dee (after a river running through the Carolinas), Waxhaw (after a community in N.C.), Chigger (just a cool name, not the parasite), 雞尾酒 (Chinese for "cocktail").

UPDATE: 10.2.08  NAMES TO NOWHERE. Parents, you no longer have to be as clever as Governor Palin or Mrs. IV to guarantee that your children grow up to be meth-lab entrepreneurs at an outpost near the Russian border. Let Poli Tsk Tsk Tsk's Sarah Palin Baby Name Generator do it for you. No need to limit this to the newly born. The governor herself could and should become Claw Washout Palin. John McCain would and should become Steam Fangs Palin, and, of course, Barack Obama would just add Palin. 

Greenwashing the Democratic Convention: 7.15.08

No one's more eco-conscientious than the good editors at TSR. We recycle, reuse, and whatever that third "R" stands for. We're even somewhat alert politically, which means we have an interoffice pool for betting on how the Democrats will blow the presidential election in November. Today, the cringe-o-meter points at the convention. Leave it to the Democrats to bring the food police up the mountain in solar-powered gondolas to mile-high Denver.
    Our beloved nattering nabob of negativism, that silky pugilist Maureen Dowd sounds the warning. "[Obama's] already in danger of seeming too prissy about food—a perception heightened when The Wall Street Journal reported that the planners for Obama’s convention have hired the first-ever Director of Greening, the environmental activist Andrea Robinson. She in turn hired an Official Carbon Adviser to “measure the greenhouse-gas emissions of every placard, every plane trip, every appetizer prepared and every coffee cup tossed.”
    The “lean ‘n’ green” catering guidelines, The Journal said, bar fried food (right) and instruct that, “on the theory that nutritious food is more vibrant, each meal should include ‘at least three of the following color s: red, green, yellow, blue/purple, and white.’ (Garnishes don’t count.) At least 70 percent of the ingredients should be organic or grown locally, to minimize emissions from fuel during transportation.” 

Controlled tangent. Will the proceedings begin each day with mandatory jazzercise? We think that instead of a flag lapel pin, everyone should wear a pin that lists his/her Body Mass Index (BMI). Delegates with a BMI over 25 will have to attend humiliation seminars. Of course, if you're a limousine liberal, you can purchase indulgences, uh, we mean, carbon offsets, and drive your SUV to the convention guilt-free. Those East Coast delegates who are riding bicycles to Denver had better get on the road.

Revealing digression. According to The New York Times, local caterers are reluctant "to participate because of stringent rules on what delegates will be eating, down to the color of the food..." TSR wonders what those struggling, middle-class Denver vendors think about all this high-mindedness. Might they be more interested in the color of money during this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?
    The WSJ goes on to report: Joanne Katz, who runs the Denver caterer Three Tomatoes, will take one for the green team by removing her fried goat-cheese wontons with chipotle pepper caramel sauce from the menu. But she questions whether some of the guidelines will have the desired earth-saving effects.
    Compostable utensils, she says, are often shipped from Asia on fuel-guzzling cargo ships. As for the plates: "Is it better to drive across town to have china delivered to an event and then use hot water to wash it, or is it better to use petroleum-based disposables?" she asks.
    The convention's greening gurus say they're doing the best they can with the most current information available. Hmm. Wasn't that the rationale used to explain the Iraqi War?

Mother's Day Revelations: 5.10.08

What distinguishes TSR from other news organizations is its probing forensic methodology, which has been so successful finding meaning where there is none through revealing digressions, controlled tangents, and jarring juxtapositions. For example, the entire staff has been tirelessly investigating the YFZ (Yearning For Zion) Ranch in Eldorado, Texas, home to a hive of Mormon polygamist fundamentalists who might have delivered Texas for Mitt Romney, if they were allowed to learn to read or have last names. While the mainstream media have chosen the sisyphean route of constantly interviewing YFZ's monosyllabic members about home on the range, TSR has held steadfastly to its governing principle: How else to judge a book than by its cover. First, we examined the native dress and customs of this inscrutable tribe and uncovered the origins of the women's hair style. Here are the pictures to support our findings:

Holy Woodward and Bernstein! Alice Nelson is the sartorial role model for the cult. "My God, it must be like looking in a mirror for Alice," exclaimed Mrs. James Peregrine Leger-Demain, IV, TSR's chief of protocol enforcement, after recovering from her AHA! seizure. Need more evidence? Now retired from acting, Alice [Ann B. Davis] lives with fellow parishioners near San Antonio, Texas(!), where she is involved in prayer, Bible study, and charity work.

Controlled tangent. "The puff-sleeved, pastel dresses worn by the women in the sect are a combination of original 19th-century wear and 1950s clothing that was adopted when the church took a conservative turn, according to Janet Bennion, an anthropologist who studies polygamist women." Professor Bennion is an associate professor of anthropology, specializing in alternative sexuality in nontraditional religious movements in the Intermountain West, specifically among Mormon fundamentalist polygynists. Well, this gives new meaning to the term "narrow academic proto-sub-specialty." Since every member of the TSR's editorial board falls into one or more of Professor Bennion's areas of expertise, it has contracted her to be its resident polygynichiatrist.   

 UPDATE: Since we first posted the results of our investigation, we discovered that YFZ women are not chained to their sewing machines. Fundamentalist Polygamist Mormons have their own online store: FLDS ClothingDress Store. "There are $65 "teen princess" dresses that stretch from ankle to wrist, long pajamas and matching robes, all sewn by the mothers themselves, even some in Arizona's own polygamist enclave of Colorado City."—Source: The Arizona Republic. Regular Mormons can purchase Temple Clothing & White Apparel online, too.

Roster for the Choir Invisible: 9.26.07

About a year ago, TSR heard about a yet another magazine launch. Normally, we would have quipped, "A fool and his money are soon parted." This launch, however, piqued our morbid curiosity, so to speak. The magazine is called Obit, and it's quite a risky venture. First of all, it's made out of paper and sent to subscribers via the USPS. Then we read somewhere that the publishers got the idea when they observed someone moved to tears while reading the obituary of Bob Keeshan, a.k.a. Captain Kangaroo. Despite the inspiration, the magazine is rather interesting, but there are some glaring omissions on the Web site.

 TSR has lost its role models: Nan Kempner, Kitty Carlisle Hart, Pat Buckley, Brooke Astor. But if it's Mother Teresa you're looking for, Obit's got her.

Revealing digression. There are hundreds of death-related sites on the Internet, and some make good reading. Our favorites include: The Blog of Death and Taphophilia, "a repository of morbid curiosities." Dead or Alive has lots of relevant, historical information. For instance, Samantha is dead, both Darrins, Uncle Arthur, Endora, the Tates, Aunt Clara, the Kravitzes, and most recently, Esmerelda, a.k.a. Bernice on "Designing Women"...actually the entire "Bewitched" cast except for the twins who played Tabitha and Dr. Bombay. Least favorite death site: Boomer Death Counter, "the next U.S. baby boomer will die in 52.2 seconds." Fine, as long as it's not one of TSR's beloved boomer editors. What's that about anyway?

Jarring juxtaposition. "Cemeteries are just for humans." Indeed, and death is the great equalizer. As everyone knows, Leona Helmsley died and went straight to hell. Although she stiffed two of her grandchildren, she left her Maltese mutt, Trouble, $12 million. Her will stipulates that when Trouble passes, she is to be buried alongside Mrs. Helmsley in the $1.4 million family mausoleum at Sleepy Hollow Cemetery (left). Not gonna happen. New York State law prohibits animals from being buried in cemeteries for humans. No exceptions.

Advertisement. You may have found during your time of grief that words elude you completely. You have so much to say, you just don't know how to say it. LovingEulogies.com offers fill-in-the-blanks instant eulogies for only $19.95. Custom eulogies from $29.95.

The Fish Were Jumpin', and the Cotton Was High: 9.25.07

Summer came in like a poke in the eye with a sharp stick and went out like a light. TSR took the whole season off so that the staff could take care of personal matters, such as rehab, court-ordered community service, and, in one case, Vacation Bible School. In August, everyone decamped to the TSR cottage (left, click on image for a better look) on eastern end of Long Island to regroup. Bonding and trust exercises included menu planning, grocery shopping, meal preparation, cocktail mixing, and eating. The midday repast stands out, because it involved the perfection of the company's coat of arms: the BLT (right). In a group sharing session, the editorial board agreed to drop the L ingredient in order to concentrate on the B and T. TSR has a modernist-minimalist sensibility; therefore, it viewed the L as an unnecessary ornament—a moist, limp distraction from the structure of the lightly toasted bread; the ripe, throbbing tomato; and the crisp, dry-cured bacon. Recognizing that a structure is only as robust as its details, the group voted to make Duke's Mayonnaise its official BLT mortar. Sadly, the BLT is a seasonal delicacy, and the board was at a loss as to how to sustain its members during the root-vegetable months. As usual, Mrs. James Peregrine Leger-Demain IV, TSR's Chief of Protocol Enforcement, saved the day with her orange-glazed parsnip recipe, which the entire staff voted to share with its hungry readership.

• Pity's Parsnips
• 2/3 cup fresh, organic, hand-squeezed orange juice
  2 tablespoons honey (Tupelo would be nice)
  1 tablespoon mirin
  1/2 teaspoon soy sauce
  1/4 teaspoon ground ginger
  1 tablespoon butter
  3 cups thinly sliced parsnips
  
  In a small Wedgwood bowl, stir together the orange juice, honey, mirin, soy sauce, and ginger. Put aside. Now, in a medium copper skillet, melt the butter over medium heat. Add the parsnips, stirring occasionally for about five minutes. Add the orange juice mixture and continue stirring until the parsnips are tender, another five minutes or so. Wash down with a Tuscan red.

The Long and the Short of It: 6.15.07

"They got little hands and little eyes, And they walk around tellin' great big lies, Don't want no short people 'round here."—"Short People," misunderstood 1978 song by Randy Newman.

Zut alors! Americans are getting shorter, according to Paul Krugman in his op-ed column, "America Comes Up Short," today in the New York Times.

The data show that Americans, who in the words of a recent paper by the economic historian John Komlos and Benjamin Lauderdale in Social Science Quarterly, were “tallest in the world between colonial times and the middle of the 20th century,” have now “become shorter (and fatter) than Western and Northern Europeans. In fact, the U.S. population is currently at the bottom end of the height distribution in advanced industrial countries.”...The Dutch are now the world’s tallest people, almost three inches taller, on average, than non-Hispanic American whites. The U.S. ended up in 20th place, below Poland, Portugal and Hungary, but ahead of Britain.

Revealing digression. It gets worse. The study finds that rich Americans are shorter than rich Western Europeans. This revelation has caused an increase in the free-floating anxiety that is the default mood permeating The Scout Report offices. The refrigerator is stocked with serotonin jello shots, which, when consumed collectively, temper the  "morning terror, to say nothing of abstract furies and desultory lusts for strangers." Currently, the TSR intern is researching the definition of "rich." Meanwhile, as a diversion, the rest of the editors are compiling a list of short Americans whom we love. So far, Leslie "Brother Boy" Jordan (4-feet-11), Verne "Mini-Me" Troyer (2-feet-11), and Danny "Throw Momma From the Train" DeVito (5-feet-0). We invite our readers to submit their favorites, but Tolkien dwarfs are not eligible.

Jarring juxtaposition. Following Krugman's commentary today is one by David Brooks, which has the potential to render the Komlos-Lauderdale study irrelevant. (TSR assumes that the irony of pairing these two editorials is lost on the Times.) In "The National Pastime," Brooks laments what he believes is the inevitability of a genetically engineered human race and cites the proliferation of online gene pools as ominous evidence.

At this very moment thousands of people are surfing the Web looking for genetic material so their children will be nothing like me. They are looking through files at sperm bank sites with Jetson-like names such as Xytex, which have become the new eBays for offspring...They allow you to browse through page after page of donor profiles, comparing weight, noses, personality and what one site calls “tannability.”...When given this kind of freedom of choice, people seem to want to produce athletic Aryans with a passion for housekeeping. There is tremendous market demand for DNA from blue-eyed, blond-haired, 6-foot-2 finely sculpted hunks who roast their own coffee...In any case, a Harris poll suggested that more than 40 percent of Americans would use genetic engineering to upgrade their children mentally and physically.

    Granted, the Xytex Web site is a little creepy and did frighten the already rattled TSR staff, with its "Creating Families Through Innovation" tagline and tinkly rendition of the first few bars of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star." On the other hand, won't the ability to predetermine height solve this slowly developing, but no less insidious, anthropometric crisis. If not, could human shrinkage be the new global warming? Consider the havoc a race of shorter humans could reek on the fashion and design industries in, oh, say, a thousand years.
    Meanwhile, while TSR sees the gene pool roiling with possibility, Brooks frets that if nature triumphs over nurture, "You could have two lesbian bikers giving birth to Mitt Romney." We have no idea what that means, so it's back to the kitchen for another serotonin jello shot.

TASER C2, Personal Protection in Designer Colors: 5.22.07

Who among us hasn't found herself alone in a dark, underground, parking garage in the middle of the night? It must be fairly common, because it's often the setting for a gruesome homicide in many a slasher movie. The ubiquitous garage of death is also the predominant image on the TASER Weapons Web site (image above). The TASER, as you know, is an electroshock weapon enjoyed by law enforcement, corrections officers, and Claude Van Damme. It incapacitates a "threat" [quotations needed] by administering 50,000 volts up to 15 feet, "with more stopping power than a .357 Magnum. Absolutely the best non-lethal protection for your home, business and auto," according to the manufacturer. In other words, it's bullets that kill people, not electricity, unless, of course, you step on the "third rail" or are on death row.
    Now, there's a new consumer model called the TASER C2. It no longer looks like a gun and comes in four designer colors—pink, blue, black, and silver (pink shown here, although it looks purple to us). The Scout Report, in support of Second Amendment Lite, has provided each employee with a TASER C2 and holster in the color of her choice. Since TSR editors spend a lot of time alone in dark, underground, parking garages in the middle of the night, as well as unlighted basements and attics, we feel that the TASER C2 is their best defense, until the manufacturer comes out with a lethal version.

Revealing digression. TSR staff is a bawdy band of genteel snarks, oxymorons every one, so it seems natural that it would a adopt a motto—never an oath—to express TSR loyalty and, by extension, somehow justify the purchase of all those TASER C2s. Eventually, this cri de coeur could be downgraded to an informal toast and used to jump-start the daily editorial binge drinking, or perhaps it'll devolve into a hybrid, such as a toasting cri. Semper fidelis was taken, and, besides, it's too earnest. A good toasting cri needs some alliteration, but not too much ("rubber baby buggy bumpers"), and a lot of rhythm, in case TSR gets that long-awaited cabaret license. Predictably, that festive Musketeer shout-out came to mind: All for one, and one for all. A great buzz enhancer if ever there was one. Next, the TSR editorial board explored multilingual options, as a way to assume the appearance of worldliness without actually going anywhere. It's got a Gauloise poutiness when hissed in French—Un pour tous, tous pour un. Positively operatic in la bella lingua—Uno per tutti, tutti per uno. But alas, when belched in German, the ear hears only an unfortunate forced-march, Invade Poland!, dirge—Einer für alle, alle für einen. Egads.
    The board finally decided to go with Latin, because it prefers a dead language to most of the living ones, and it looks impressive on a coat of arms or diploma. Who among us doesn't like the sound of Totus pro unus, quod unus pro totus. It tickles the vocal chords and can be used as a warning prior to firing the TASER C2. Furthermore, it's less restrictive than, say, something like E pluribus unum, which has an uncomfortable sectarian ring to it. Full board approval is needed before the toasting motto can receive official confirmation. The voting will take place during TSR's First Taser Festival next month on a remote farm in the Hamptons.
   

Jarring juxtapostion. "All for one, and one for all" is also, as unlikely as it seems, the unofficial motto of Switzerland. You'd think they'd yodel something like, "Neutralität und Uberpünktlichkeit!" Neutrality and punctuality.

Everything is gay, except burkinis: 5.3.07

The Scout Report's vigilant Caribbean correspondent, Shawn Stein, contributed to this post.

Let's play "Pyramid." (Okay, It wasn't "Jeopardy," but it won nine Daytime Emmys for Outstanding Game Show in the '70s.) Topic: Things That Are Gay. William Shatner: A car that lesbians drive. Contestant: SUBARU! Shatner: The gay Ivy League school. Contestant: YALE! Shatner: Gay saint. Contestant: ST. SEBASTIAN! This imaginary game-show topic was inspired by Boston Globe columnist, Alex Beam, who apparently emerged from a coma last week only to discover that everything he valued turned gay in his absence—his Prius, Jack Russell terrier, and the real shocker, women's tennis. (He apparently doesn't follow golf.) Beam wrote a column recently called, "Gay People, Give Me Back My Stuff," which has been reprinted and circulated all over the place. For instance, he outs chanteuse, Judy Garland, as a gay icon. TSR hopes that Liza and Lorna don't get wind of this wild speculation.

Controlled tangent. The country's most ostentatiously outed "gay American" and former governor of New Jersey, Jim McGreevey, will be entering the seminary to become an Episcopal priest. Before he starts his journey to become a Gay American of the Cloth, there's the matter of his increasingly nasty divorce and battle over custody of five-year-old Jacqueline. TSR will not report on the issue of "sleeping arrangements" or make any effort to learn what a "parenting coordinator" is. However, we are concerned that this story might overshadow the Alec Baldwin-Kim Bassinger death match about which we love hearing every sordid detail and voice mail. Speaking of sordid, read Dina McGreevey's Silent Partner: A Memoir of My Marriage.

Jarring juxtaposition. TSR was pleasantly surprised to learn that there is such thing as a burkini, beccause it fits perfectly with this post's theme: "It's All About Me and My Needs." Miss Manal Omar wrote an editorial about how she was the victim of "more than a curious glance" at a pool in England, because she was wearing a five-piece, Islamic-style swimming costume. "Very Grey Gardens," quipped TSR's senior design and arts editor, Pridie Nones.

Related story:
Burkini Covers Muslim Women at the Beach.

Earth Day: 4.22.07

Happy Earth Day 2007, or as it's called at The Scout Report headquarters, Fiddling While Rome Burns. Before the accusations of cynicism start pouring in, let it be known that TSR is all for increasing public awareness about how the lack of public awareness and, therefore, public concern has created the environmental pickle we're in today. However, the band-wagon jumping of the past week by the mainstream media has been a cringe-inducing study in collective fiddling. Even the cynics at TSR welled up a little in frustration. The message seems to be: Buy a canvas shopping bag, eat some organic chocolate, wear bamboo bloomers, and save the planet.

Revealing digression. Every consumer-driven publication is vying for eco-cred, including Conde Nast's Vanity Fair and Domino. Of course, their green issues are printed on paper, but they are, after all, glossy print publications. Wallpaper*, the "International Design Interiors Fashion Travel" magazine with the cool covers, has undertaken a experiment this month called EcoEdit. An all-electronic supplement, it features glamorous, yet environmentally friendly, designs from around the world. Of course, being Wallpaper*, its creative minds upped the ante for eco-cred by presenting the exclusively visual content without benefit of photography. (You can't get away with that but once.) "Rather than flying the designs [sic] around the world, or sending photographers off to shoot them, we have chosen to represent them with these stunning illustrations instead." Frankly, the illustrations by Hort are stunning. Wallpaper* gives good fiddle this month.

For those who are serious and wonkish but have short attention spans, we refer you to The Week, which is publishing this week's magazine in an electronic version only...for this week only. For a brief briefing on climatic change, read "Global Warming: The high-tech solution." It doesn't take but a minute, and you'll have plenty of time to shop for unbleached, linen, shower curtains and buy the Lexis RX Hybrid.

Controlled tangent. Wikipedia, that useful, prudent, and free online encyclopedia, is not usually associated with humor and irony, so we assume that the presence of both in its Earth Day coverage is unintentional. "The first Earth Day is commonly credited with creating environmentalism, and/or giving a tremendous boost to the pre-existing conservation groups and the relatively new and radical grassroots ecology movement, as well as spurring the growth of environmentally sensitive spiritual paths such as Wicca and Neopaganism." TSR hadn't realized that these movements had taken off since 1970. We can hear the Geico caveman saying, "What?"

Jarring juxtaposition. Just when we thought we'd gotten too cynical, TSR visited the official Earth Day portal of the U.S. government, and realized we just can't keep up. For instance, consider the introduction's stunning inanity: "Earth Day is a time to celebrate gains we have made and create new visions to accelerate environmental progress. Earth Day is a time to unite around new actions. Earth Day and every day is a time to act to protect our planet." On the other hand, the site offers original and innovative advise: save energy, use less water, and recycle. Boy, that'll keep the polar bears in ice caps for generations to come. For a reality check, read how the Bush Administration tried to muzzle NASA's chief climate scientist when he tried to speak out about global warming.

My Baby Didn't Make It: 4.17.07

"Loner" Kills 33 at Virginia Tech

After waiting all night for information about his daughter, the father finally found out this morning that she didn't survive. He told reporters, "My baby didn't make it." My baby didn't make it. The intimate words of one father are more heartbreaking than a hundred candlelight vigils or scripted condolences, however well-intentioned.

Revealing digression. BLACKSBURG, Va. (AP)—The gunman in the Virginia Tech massacre was a sullen loner who alarmed professors and classmates with his twisted, violence-drenched creative writing and left a rambling note in his dorm room raging against women and rich kids.

Jarring juxtaposition. "Glock has just announced the introduction of a new compact version, called the Model 19. The Glock's remarkable record of success in just four years is matched by its even more remarkable design. Glock's only condescension to conventionality is the pistol's method of operation. Short recoil operated, the barrel is locked to the slide by a single lug which recesses into the ejection port." For sale: Glock Model 19 9MM semi auto pistol. $499.95.

Unsmiling Shetland Pony: 4.11.07

Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.
1922 - 2007

"When a Tralfamadorian sees a corpse, all he thinks is that the dead person is in a bad condition in that particular moment, but that same person is just fine in plenty of other moments. Now, when I myself hear that somebody is dead, I simply shrug and say what the Tralfamadorians say about dead people, which is 'So it goes.'"

Slaughterhouse-Five

Happy Easter!: 4.8.07

Easter, a.k.a. the End of Lent, those brutal 40 days and 40 nights during which the Christian faithful do penance through abstinence and good deeds in preparation for Easter.

Controlled tangent. Truth is, this ritual is merely a symbolic nod to Christ's ordeal in the desert when Satan tempted him thrice, because no real sacrifices are made, and observers get Sundays off to ensure there is no abstinence-induced stress. In some circles, Lent is also know as Anorexics Get a Free Pass.

Revealing digression. Because the Easter Egg is omnipresent this weekend, The Scout Report's decorative-arts editor insists that some mention be made of the only Easter eggs that matter, those laid by the House of Fabergé. As everyone knows, the first one was commissioned in 1884 by Russian Tsar Alexander III as a surprise Easter present for the tsarista. This annual egg-giving continued until Alexander's rather obtuse son Nicholas II ascended the throne and proceeded to make one faux pas after another, not the least of which was a speech denouncing the "senseless dreams" of those who favored democratic reform. That came back to bite him. Then little tsarevich Alexei got the hemophilia, prompting the appearance of that dreadful peasant and so-called healer, Rasputin, who distracted the tsar from some rather serious imperial problems involving world war and revolution. Long story short, it didn't end well for the Romanovs. And yet, the Fabergé egg will live on forever. Please take a moment and share your "moral of the story" below in Comments.

Send a Fabergé egg e-postcard to friends today. 

Forbes' Fabergé egg collection to be auctioned off at Sotheby's this month.

It Should Stay a Secret: 4.6.07

Did A Course in Miracles become too time-consuming for the Short Attention Span masses ISO of inner peace? It's got workbooks of all things, an archaic device most of us haven't encountered since junior high. This is one explanation for the phenomenal success of The Secret by Rhonda Byrne and published by (apparently named without an ounce of irony) Beyond Words Publishing. There's supporting evidence for this theory. The Secret is not so much a book but a multimedia, entertainment, marketing juggernaut. Its wisdom is dispensed in hardback, audio CD, audio download, DVD extended version, and a sensory-overloaded, interactive Web site, where customers can shop The Secret Superstore. The bottom-line beauty of all this is that one need not be able to read to experience the rapture. As a matter of fact, many of the testimonials on Amazon.com begin with "We preferred the DVD."

The Scout Report's inhouse metaphysician is the only staff member qualified to post a review, but she's on a reading strike at the moment. Therefore, we recommend that you take a look at Ruthless Reviews.

This post may be updated later.

Miracle?: 3.30.07

Filed by Mrs. James Peregrine Leger-Demain, IV
The Scout Report's Hamptons Bureau Chief and Advocatus Diaboli

Aix-en-Province, France. Sister Marie-Simon-Pierre claims to have been cured of Parkinson's Disease from beyond the grave by Pope John Paul II, who also suffered from the degenerative neurological disease. Her rattles stopped after Sister Marie prayed to the pontiff during a sleepless night on her straw mat. A "voice" instructed her to write the late pope's name on a piece of paper. When she responded, she was able to write with a steady hand. Praise the Lord! It's a miracle, which is defined as a healing that is permanent and defies medical explanation. In secular circles, this is often called a myth, legend, or astonishing coincidence.

Revealing digression. In order to beatify John Paul II, the Vatican needs evidence of miracles he performed. Church authorities will now determine whether the nun's healing constitutes a proper miracle after reviewing her medical records. More information about this "believe it or not" story can be read in Totus Tuus, a bulletin devoted to the canonization of John Paul II.

To beatify or not to beatify is at the sole discretion of the reigning pontiff, Benedict XVI. It has been reported that the Holy Father did not approve of his predecessor's liberal beatification policies, but he waived the five-year waiting period before the canonization process can begin and placed John Paul II on the fact-track to  sainthood.

Controlled tangent. The last religious icon to get on the fast-track to sainthood was Mother Teresa, who died in 1997. She's been residing in the beatified zone since 2001, awaiting discovery of another miracle to qualify her for canonization. The only miracle this reporter sees is the one in which a person can win the Nobel Peace Prize for running a Dickensian orphanage, forcing conversions to Catholicism, and accepting donations from the likes of the ruthless Duvalier family of Haiti. Christopher Hitchens chronicles Mother Teresa's "good works" in his incendiary expose, Missionary Position: Mother Teresa in Theory and Practice.

Jarring juxtaposition. Boxing promoter Don King got a front-row seat at a general audience with Benedict XVI in March at St. Peter's Square. King, who served four years in prison for manslaughter, was able to hand the pontiff a gift of a gold and green boxing belt, apparently unaware that green is not a papal color. "It was a deep spiritual experience," King said.

Who's Garish?: 3.16.07

The Scout Report celebrated its most revered holiday yesterday, the Ides of March. Et tu? The banks and markets remained open, but they did so at their own peril. You'd think after 2,051 years, one could buy a card somewhere.

We so don't get huh at TSR. She doesn't like the word "blog," but she's okay with André Leon Tally dressing Jennifer Hudson like a Romulan ho for red-carpet humiliation? There must be a difference between "garish-sounding" and "garish-looking." Too subtle for the TSR prêt-à-porter staff. Could it have something to do with Monsieur Tally's infamous quip, "Miss Anna don't like fat people"? Very Ides of March, now that we think about it. 

ANNA Wintour is as picky with words as she is with her wardrobe. According to one Vogue-er, "They are expanding the Vogue Web site and getting more involved with the Internet. But Anna hates the word 'blog' so much, she refuses to call anything on her site a blog and has charged her staff with coming up with a new word that isn't as garish-sounding. She wants it ASAP - in time for launch." However, a source close to Wintour said, "Anna just doesn't want people to refer to stories as blogs, because they're not. It's an improper use of the word." A rep said, "Anna has nothing against blogs."—Page Six