If I ruled the world, no columnist would be permitted to refer to a sitting, former or aspiring mayor as “hizzoner.” No, not even if you asked really, really nicely. I’d also ban “Politics ain’t beanbag” and “All politics is local.”
Tomorrow: The ruler of the world takes on driving habits.
I’m so glad the economy is doing better. Now that I’m a subscriber to the Wall Street Journal, I don’t know what I’d do without their periodic Dispatches From the America I Don’t Know and Don’t Recognize. Today’s installment — which I can’t link to — details the latest in yachting trends: freighters.
Yes, these “SUVs of the high seas” are being bought by bored rich people, rehabbed to comfortably accommodate themselves and their trophy wives, and then hit the watery road with such new amenities as a topside basketball court. “industry experts say the demand for the mega-boats is growing in part because of their macho ‘Perfect Storm’ appeal — a big selling point for thrill-seekers.”
I wonder what your average New England swordfisherman — who invented “macho ‘Perfect Storm’ appeal” by going out and dying in same — thinks of this. Astonishingly, none were consulted.
Oh my, but it’s an overcast Friday — threatening skies after a week of Southern California-style sunshine. It re-orders the to-do list, which is fine, because “cut grass” has been replaced by “read three more chapters in ‘The Hot Kid.'” It’s a good way to limp into the weekend, and so to the bloggage:
And I don’t have any, or much. Want to be depressed on an overcast day? Check out the NYT’s story on young girls and AIDS in Africa. Man hands on misery to man…
PATRICE LUMUMBA, Mozambique – They met a year ago on the dirt road outside her aunt’s house, in this struggling township where houses are built from bound-together reeds and the only water comes from wells. Flora Muchave was 14. Elario Novunga was 22, nicely dressed and, Flora said, full of promises.
One stood out: Flora’s family had been teetering on the edge of destitution since her father, a miner, died of AIDS in 2000. Elario said he would change that. “He asked me to have sex with him, and he guaranteed everything I would need,” Flora recalled. “He said he would take care of everything for me.”
He lied. Elario gave Flora the equivalent of about $4 and a baby, whose impending birth has forced her to drop out of sixth grade. Before Flora’s mother died in May, apparently of AIDS, she forgave her daughter for ignoring her warnings about fast-talking men. But she sketched out a bleak future for her only daughter.
“Now,” Flora recalled her sobbing from her deathbed, “you are going to suffer.”
Jeez, let me just open a vein now.
TPM Cafe is sort of like the Huffington Post, with 99 percent less unembarrassed idiocy. It’s only in its third day, but I have hope.
And I have hope for the weekend. We may go sailing among the midges. I hope you do, too.