Happy St. Patrick’s Day, everyone! I’d say something cool and witty in Gaelic, but guess what, I’m too lazy to look it up! Anyway, St. Patrick’s Day is being celebrated at the White House this year Obama style. Meeeesh had them dye all the fountain water green! Love her.
And now, perhaps for the first time ever, a SWTCTW repost. Dearest Madeline found this gem and posted it awhile back, but I think today’s as great a day as any to show it again. I present to you the song “There’s No One As Irish As Barack Obama”!
It’s no “Danny Boy”, but I think I love it. Have a fantastic St. Patrick’s Day! Do something Irishy! Drink something Guinnessy! Get lucky…in the Irish sort of way.
PS- Found this article to make us all sophisticated while celebrating St. Patrick’s Day. (It’ll tell you what Erin Go Bragh actually means, so maybe you should check it out.)
Naturally, I think B looks fantastic. While the article makes it seem like it wasn’t necessarily a campaign decision to let him go gray, I think it was. Every detail of that campaign was discussed and analyzed. They wanted him to have a more experienced look, and it works for him.
Who is this Walt Frazier “No Play for Mr. Gray” joker anyway? Pssh. B is still foxy.
One time, in a real life professional job interview, I actually uttered the words, “List-making is my jam.” REALLY, MALLORY?! You’ll be shocked to hear that I did not get the job.
But list-making really IS my jam, and I probably wouldn’t be capable of getting anything done if not for my beloved lists. For all you haters out there who’ve ever made fun of my ridiculously detailed lists, or of my love for lists in general, know that I am not alone. Leave it to NPR to intelligently analyze my neuroses. In “10 Reasons Why We Love Making Lists,” Linton Weeks makes a list of ten reasons why we all love making lists. (So meta.) For instance:
6. Making lists can help make you famous. Notable list makers include Thomas Jefferson, Peter Mark Roget, Martha Stewart and Benjamin Franklin. “A methodical and wry man,” wrote Franklin biographer Walter Isaacson in Time magazine, “Franklin loved making lists. He made lists of rules for his tradesmen’s club, of synonyms for being drunk, of maxims for matrimonial happiness and of reasons to choose an older woman as a mistress. Most famously, as a young man, he made a list of personal virtues that he determined should define his life.
Though Mr. Weeks failed to mention this, lists are also great for keeping you busy when you’re really, really bored. Just ask my dear friend Amanda, who made lists of all of her high school teachers and all of the people she’d ever hooked up with while bored without a computer at her internship. (These lists, by the way, did not overlap). Maybe list-making should be EVERYONE’S jam.
Yesterday I ushered for a play at the newly renovated Ford’s Theatre (which, according to the website, creepily markets itself as the “House Where Lincoln Died”). The play was called “The Heavens Are Hung in Black,” and was about Lincoln’s life from around when his son Will died until the signing of the Emancipation Proclamation. I did a great job as an usher, taking people to the wrong side of the balcony and acting as though I knew all sorts of cool facts about the Theatre. The best part of the experience, though, was that I realized that Abe Lincoln and I are soulmates. We’re basically the same person.
The evidence? He’s awkwardly tall and gangly. So I am. (I don’t have Marfan Syndrome but whatever.) He loves beards, and so do I. In the play, he makes a comment about falling asleep at the theater as I was falling asleep at the theater. He’s a bad dancer. I am too. He loves nightgowns; I’m wearing one right now. He cries a lot, and I totally cry like once a day.
The point is: I would have made a killer Mrs. Lincoln, and it’s simply too bad that Honest Abe and I weren’t around in the same century to have a passionate love affair and very, very tall children.
Remember that Iraqi reporter who threw his fancy footwear at the (former!) leader of the free world’s head? Ahh yes, Muntazer al-Zaidi! That silly prankster!
Now, as you could have gathered from my liberal bleeding heart wimpy sappy Obama obsessed blog, I wasn’t W’s biggest fan. But, to quote Austin Powers (and I will NEVER EVER quote it again, by the way. I promise.), “Who throws a shoe? Honestly?!”
To commemorate the Muntazernator’s horrible aim (or W.’s cat-like reflexes, which no doubt are a result of his frequent cat naps), the Iraqis in Sadaam Hussein’s hometown, Tikrit, have unveiled a six-foot statue of a shoe. Cool?
Now that is CLASSY. One and a half tons of pure class with a tree sticking out of it. Just in case you are dumb like me and can’t read Arabic, the inscription says “Muntazer: fasting until the sword breaks its fast with blood; silent until our mouths speak the truth.”
Ah, now that is poetry.
Muntazer, by the way, is in jail. He is facing charges of assaulting a visiting head of state.
And please note about the title of this post, I KNOW that you can’t hear a shoe around the world. I’m only making a nerdy historical reference to “the shot heard round the world”. It’s a line from a poem written by Emerson about the start of the Revolutionary War. WOOO LIBERAL ARTS!
Having been accused of only seeing things as a Democrat, I’d just like to announce that I transcended party lines today (take THAT, Mike.) and voted for a Republican. This was a very serious and thoughtful vote that I took, and I stand by my decision. I voted for Republican Congressman Aaron Schock as the hottest Congressional Freshman.
The choices?
Glenn Nye of Virginia, Aaron Schock of Illinois, Jim Himes of Connecticut, Tom Perriello of Virginia, and Jared Polis of Colorado. Nye has solid good looks, and Himes is pretty foxy. But Aaron Schock? RAWR. Very, very…pretty.
See?
And he’s only 27. True story, he’s the first member of Congress to be born in the 80s. Thanks, Huffpo, for the factoid.
I’m back. I’ve come back from an unsuccessful foray into the real world (read: no place to live or a job…but I might have found a place to live. But still no job. That should be interesting. That’s another post.) and I’m back to the la la land of blogging where I can do what I love and pretend I’m getting paid! (Barack, could we speed up that fixing the economy business? I know it’s not going to happen overnight…but I need it to get better so people want to hire me.)
So. Much. To. Talk. About. So we have a new president. AWESOME. (If you don’t want to read one more freaking word about inauguration then just skip to the next paragraph.) Yours truly was there in the throws of things. I got to spend some quality time with Jessica Alba and her husband, Cash Warren. Cash, by the way, was much nicer than she was and not nearly as much of a jerk as Perez Hilton makes him out to be. If I had taken a picture with Jessica, I would have posted it, but I was trying to keep my cool and pretend like I didn’t care that she was a celebrity. Maybe it worked but it was a HUGE mistake on my part, because now I have no actual evidence. Whatev. Barack’s speech was perfect. It was HOPEy, CHANGEy, alluded to our new style of diplomacy, and presented a strong national image and showed he was not going to mess around. RAWR. I made it to a couple balls, but never got to see B and Meesh dance. Wahhh. We arrived just as Biden did, so they wouldn’t let us in. They were going to let us in between Joe and Barack, but guess what. They didn’t. I stood in the cold for forty minutes waiting. You know what made it better though? Walking in and James Taylor was playing. Niiiiiiiiiice. Okay, that’s all I’m going to say about the great inaug. Nope it’s not. I would wear everything Michelle Obama wears. Foxy. Hell, I’d wear Sasha and Malia’s clothes too. Too cute. ENOUGH! ENOUGH.
Barack is going to sign the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act today. It will now be law that women deserve the same pay as men. I cannot believe it took this long. If you want to read the stories that prove we need this legislation, read this NYT op-ed. Hooray!
In other great news, PETA is still batty. I meant to blog about them wanting to change the word “fish” to “sea kittens” but I didn’t. So get over it. Hopefully, you know about that anyway. If you don’t, here’s the deal. Fish have feelings, etc. So when you eat fish, they want you to feel bad about it. Like REALLY REALLY bad. They think the best way to do this is to change the name of fish to sea kittens. I am not making that up. But that’s not even what I am talking about. PETA has a vegetable sex ad that got denied for a Superbowl slot. Vegetable sex. Yeah, I said it and yeah, I know you pervs want to watch it:
Wowie. Thank you, PETA, for grossing me out AND making me feel bad about myself at the same time. And I’d like to see their sources for their information. How do they KNOW that vegetarians have better sex?
Okay, I’m off to stalk le internets and find more goodness for you to enjoy while you work. And I do not work. Really, this is community service. Right, Mom and Dad?
six words to change the world. 