little ovoid one

J.: Labradoodles require a lot of energy. Over the weekend, he likes to walk ten miles a day.
A.: I wish Gracie liked to walk. The first thing I'll do in the new house is build the rest of the gate, so she can play in the yard.
U.: Won't she be able to slide under or through the gate?
J.: She's kind of big.
A.: Yeah, that's a good point. She is big.

Later, I showed U. a picture of Gracie.

U.: I don't think she'll be slipping through under the gate.

qualifications

J.: I grew up right near Mexico. That makes me an expert in foreign affairs.
A.: I can see the projects from outside my house. I'm an expert on poverty. [Pointing to Gracie] I'm also an expert on obesity.

Our Washington

Leonard Downie Jr. eloquently sticks up for our city. An excerpt:

Large numbers of Washingtonians have dedicated much of their lives to real public service that does not involve the ego trips, trappings and hypocrisies of elective office.

It's a great article overall, and much more classy than what I was going to blog the other day:

F* small town America. How dare you people come to my (adopted city), make everyone late for work-- that means you, stand-on-the-lefters, as well as those of you that don't understand that your massive, in both quantity and expanse, families, in spite of your size, do not need to take up the entire width of the sidewalks on the Mall, which, by the way, are also bike paths-- but I digress. I can slow down and bike around you, not a big deal. But the way you people accept all sorts of earmarked welfare (Alaska, anyone? Farm bill?) and otherwise benefit from the hard work of the people in this city (see article linked above), and then stab us in the back and go on about your superior small-town values. Well, f* you.

The Times analyzes Thursday's debates... and more

The editorial, the potential impact on women in politics, the other guy, and the analysis of language.

Also, Judith Warner says it brilliantly:

Many of us who’d proudly decided, in our twenties, to pursue edifying or creative, or “helping” professions, woke up to realize, once we had families, that we’d perhaps been irresponsible. We couldn’t save for college. We could barely save for retirement.

For those of us who have hated this period — the wealth worship, the wealth gap, the elevation of everything suspiciously shiny and irrationally bubbly and stupidly ebullient, there should be some feeling of vindication. But it just isn’t coming. A great emptiness — and a gnawing kind of fear — has taken its place.

Schadenfreude is impossible because the fat cats — the ones who bent the rules, the ones who pushed the envelopes, the ones who paid lower taxes because capital gains were most of their income, the ones who opposed regulations on the banking and mortgage industries — are taking us down with them.

Too much to ask

Almost a year ago, I was asking--rhetorically--whether it was too much for mom to be supportive. It was a no-brainer: I'd been offered the job I had wanted for years, at an organization whose mission even she could respect. Instead, her reaction ranged from disrespect-driven delusion (what had I done at my existing job to force myself out) to complete lack of interest and perspective (after all, her complaint-letter assault on Verizon was more important). I am now coming to suspect--even though I truly hate to think this about my mother--that competition is behind her lack of support. It's not exactly competition; it's resentment that she has been shut out of the process and the decision, and it's discomfort in admitting to herself, much less to anyone else, that I can make decisions in my life without her micromanagement.

This is becoming increasingly obvious every time we talk about the house.

Mom: So, everything's set?
A.: What do you mean?
Mom: You got a loan?
A.: Yeah, that's all set. The appraisal came back--it was [$75,000 over what I'm paying].
Mom, derisively: That's bullshit.
A.: Thank you.
Mom: Everything is going downhill right now.

I didn't tell her that in this area, things are coming back up. Well, actually I tried to tell her yesterday, and that was for a less popular area. I'm quite happy to ignore her.

I'm not sure what I expected of her, but I do wish she'd give me some credit. I'm not an idiot; if I were, I would have bought years ago, when everyone and his grandmother were screaming, "buy!" Nor am I blindly optimistic; I know that there's risk (of course there is!); this could be the worst financial decision I ever make, and while I doubt that is the case, there are opportunity costs anyway. I know what's right for me at this stage of my life and I have a decent understanding of this area's real estate market. I'm in no position to try to time the bottom of the market, but at least I know that. I'm excited about this house and I think it will be a good investment. Mom's unflinching confidence in her understanding of just about everything--in this case the local real estate market, which she understands better than the appraiser and the inspector do--is nothing new. It would be nice if she stopped trying to scare me or convince me that I've made a mistake-- I mean, this is nerve-racking enough as it is-- but I know that that's too much to ask. Mom has always been emotionally selfish and it's inconceivable that she would put my needs, to feel good about my decision, for example, ahead of her own. I would like for her to give me some credit, but that's also too much to ask and I'm not sure why I thought for a minute that it was a possibility. She won't like the house when she sees it-- it is attached, it's near the projects, and its bedrooms are small. However, she's not the one that's going to live there, she's not paying for any of it, and it would behoove her to come to terms with the fact that I am capable of making big decisions in my life without her approval.

Increasingly rare in this age of pandering

The controversial concept of personal responsibility.

Mom is back

I called an hour or so ago to tell my mom about the inspection. She picked up, talked about a house she looked at (she's not really shopping; she just likes looking). She told me that it dropped in price by $100,000 in a week, but that she still wasn't interested. This went on for many minutes. Eventually there was a pause.

A.: I had the inspection today.
Mom: Why didn't you say anything?
A.: Because you were telling me...
Mom: Whatever. So how did it go?
A.: It went really well. All the really important stuff is pretty new and in great condition. Unfortunately, the water heater only has a year or so left, but...
Mom: Oh, water heaters aren't expensive and...
A.: Yeah, I'm open to replacing it with a water/energy saving system anyway. Other stuff... the dishwasher is broken but they have to fix it or credit me for it, but I'm not worried.
Mom: Oh, you need a dishwasher.
A.: I really don't.
Mom: Yes, you do. Our dishwasher...
A.: It just takes up space. The kitchen is pretty small...
Dad: Smaller than ours?
A.: Yes. By half. Everything is "smaller than ours."
Dad: Oh.
A.: It's a reality of living in the city. On my income, anyway. Anyway, the layout can be improved.
Mom: When we moved in to this house, the kitchen was practically in the middle of the floor. The oven was...

I had to cut her off. It's been a long day and I'm too tired for a detailed narrative about everything's counterpart in her house, which is where, I could tell, this was going.


A.: Anyway, most importantly, I really like the house. I got to spend a lot of time there while the inspection was happening. I love the downstairs and both yards. The upstairs is just okay but once I settle in and recover financially I can deal with that.
Mom: It's unfortunate that you have no basement.
A.: I consider it very fortunate. Like I have told you, basements here flood. Also, not having one keeps me from accumulating crap.
Mom: I don't know where I'd put all my stuff if I didn't have the basement...
A.: Exactly.
Mom: I told Misha. He said you need to put in another bathroom, especially if you're going to get a roommate. He said, "how is it that two people will share one bathroom?"
A.: There is a half-bathroom downstairs.
Mom: Right, but he was talking about the shower.
A.: Is he for real? I've shared bathrooms and showers my whole life. Which one of us lived for decades in Soviet communal housing? What's going on here?
Mom: That's exactly what I told him.
A.: This is a really good buy. The inspector was telling me...
Mom: What does he know?
A.: Will you LET ME FINISH my sentence?
Mom: Don't believe what the realtor tells you.
A.: First of all, it was the inspector. What's that noise?
Mom: We're watching Glenn. We love Glenn.
A.: Ooh-- watch the Daily Show tonight, it was really funny.
Mom: What's that? What time?
A.: You know the Daily Show.
Mom: Oh, we have more mushrooms. I froze them and will make them when you're here. Such an excellent source of protein.
A.: Mom, we've discussed this. Mushrooms are health but they are not a good source of protein.
Mom: Yes they are. What are they then?
A.: I don't have the energy to have this conversation with you right now.
Mom: Okay, bye.
A.: Bye.


Five minutes later, my phone rings.

Mom: IT'S JON STEWART? YOU TOLD ME TO WATCH THAT?? THAT BIASED NONSENSE? IT'S BITTER, IT'S RIDICULOUS! HE LIES! HE GLORIFIES THAT MAN THAT YOU ALL WORSHIP, WHO HAS TIES TO FANNIE AND FREDDIE...
A.: Actually, mom, McCain's campaign team is the one with ties to...
Mom: THAT'S NOT TRUE.

She goes on. And on. I almost wish I hadn't tuned her out so I could relay the rant in its full glory, but I had my sanity to think about. This would actually upset me more if my parents' vote counted, but they live in Don't-Blame-Me, I'm-From-Massachusetts, so they can rant all they want.

A.: I have to go; it's been a long day. Goodnight, mom.
Mom: Goodnight.

Teach my feet to fly...

I was looking back at my post from a few days ago-- one of many in which mom says something like, "I don't understand how you can live in DC. There's no water." Then I say, "there's a river, mom." Her usual response is something along the lines of "that doesn't count," although she once responded by telling me that the Potomac is so filthy that the fish are hermaphrodites. That is less absurd, however, than Saturday's response-- a flat-out "no! no, you don't have a river!"

Every time I catch a glimpse of the title of that post, I think, facetiously, "I wish I had a river so I... could teach my feet to fly...." and get Joni Mitchell's "River" stuck in my head.

Then, because I'm a free association spaz, I get Joan Baez' "The Water is Wide" in my head. Which by the way also laments the inability to fly. Just pointing that out.

I'd never thought I'd say this...

...but comparatively, Paris Hilton actually makes a better role model in this case:

Liana Imanidze, 71, whose grand home in Tbilisi has a sculpture of Stalin in the backyard and is decorated inside with a replica of his death mask perched on a pedestal, lamented that younger Georgians were ignorant about Stalin, including her own grandchildren, who she complained were more interested in Paris Hilton than in World War II.

From the same article:

But Mr. Ziyadaliev, 64, an avuncular father of two who dresses as Stalin even on days off, insists that business has seldom been better. He is a frequent hired guest at weddings, where he dances to Soviet Katyusha music from World War II.

The benefits of looking eerily like the former dictator, he boasts, include free meals, free car repairs — and free passage through Russian checkpoints.

I heart my bike

I rarely take the metro to work these days, but when I do, I tend to run into the baublehead.

See, I left my bike at work last night so I could go to a dentist appointment afterward, and metro-ed in this morning. As I approached the station, I saw her. You can't miss her, such is her unique demeanor.

I used to work in the same place as the baublehead. I don't have the writing skills to describe her to the unknowing reader in a way that could do her justice. You have to meet her for yourself (after that, you'll need a month to get her shrill voice out of your head). Let me leave it at this: I am not that mean; I don't easily resort to mocking other people's physical appearance (personality is fair game. just kidding. kind of). My point is, she's a baublehead.

I reached the platform only to learn that my train would be five minutes in coming. What if she tried to talk to me! The horror! What to do? I know, I need to call mom. I called home last night to wish my parents a Shana Tova, but just talked to dad. Mom was out at her pilates class.

Mom: Hello?
A.: Good morning. I hope I didn't wake you.
Mom: Oh, no. I've been up. I'm reading Investor's Business Daily. You know, they have things in there you won't find in the papers. I can't believe what's going on. I can't believe how greedy and incompetent everyone is. I didn't see this coming. Selfish politicians! This is worrisome. I just don't know what's happening.

This goes on for about five minutes.

A.: I have to get on the train, mom. I called to ask whether you want my old laptop for any reason? I'll recycle it otherwise.
Mom: I saw on tv that...
A.: I have to go, mom. Laptop?
Mom: Does it still work?
A.: It's slow but it works.
Mom: Sure, dad may be able to use it.
A.: Okay, I'll bring it next week. Bye.
Mom: Bye.

Quiz time: what's odd about this?

The head of Austria's far-right Freedom Party's campaign leveraged the image of Che Guevara. What's next, Che as the honorary spokesperson for the Cato Institute? At the same time, our financial system is teetering on the brink of socialism. Maybe that collider thingy in Switzerland really did turn the universe inside out. At least it's off for the winter.

Even better than the Kottke Letter

Andy Borowitz is Too Big to Fail.

You don't have a river

Mom: I've bought the most beautiful decorations at A.J. Wright.
A.: Do you really need any more stuff?
Mom: It's beautiful stuff.
A.: [Shrug]
Dad: When are you closing?
A.: On Halloween. Did you see the comps and stats that I sent you?
Mom: Yeah, I saw all that.
A.: Are you still concerned that I'm overpaying?
Mom: The comps and stats are irrelevant. There hasn't been an economy like this since the Great Depression. Prices are still coming down...
A.: In this area they're not.
Mom: It's the same situation here, especially in the nicer areas by the river. I was looking and it's hard to find anything really nice. And we live in such a convenient location-- minutes from the express bus, minutes from so many parks.
A.: It's similar here.
Mom: No, no, it's not the same. You don't have a river.
A.: Actually, I do.
Mom: It's not the same!

I'm not sure how this got competitive. I was just trying to reassure her that I'm making a good investment, in a good area, and all of the sudden, she's trying to one-up me. And actually, the river widens and gets beautiful very close to where I live. We've walked in one of the more scenic areas. That's where she first pointed out that the way I walk is not sexy, or rather verbally barraged me about it.

A.: Mom, I'm not going to argue with you about Boston vs. DC. I'm just letting you know that it's a good area.
Mom: You don't have the ocean...
A.: What have you been doing?
Mom: We were dealing with a fallen branch earlier today. Thankfully it didn't hit the car. And then I've been spending a lot of time on the mushrooms. I have plenty for you, too.
A.: I'm afraid I'm not going to take them this time around.
Mom: Oh, that's fine. We'll bring them down when we visit. It'll probably make the most sense to do that when you'll be moving.
A.: Actually, not really. You can come for Dad's birthday.
Mom: That's ages from now. [It's in January.]
A.: Well, it doesn't make sense to come down to help me move, since I'm coming up for Thanksgiving right after I move, and then up for the holidays shortly after that.
Mom: We'll see.
A.: Okay.

Great stuff

On Russia, on how this is no time for subtlety, and on Imposter Syndrome, and on why I love Sarah Silverman:

See more Sarah Silverman videos at Funny or Die

I know, really

Nathan Kottke writes to the New York Times:

To the Editor:

Dear Mr. Bernanke and Mr. Paulson:

My student loans are too big and it is hurting the economy. Can I have a bailout, please? I need $92,000.

Thanks.

Nathan Kottke
St. Paul, Sept. 17, 2008

***
I am thinking about what to submit to buymyshitpile.com. This could make me a very rich woman. I have a lot of shit.

What happens on Main Street affects Wall Street.

With our economy in crisis, the US Government is scrambling to rescue our banks by purchasing their "distressed assets", i.e., assets that no one else wants to buy from them. We figured that instead of protesting this plan, we'd give regular Americans the same opportunity to sell their bad assets to the government. We need your help and you need the Government's help!

Use the form below to submit bad assets you'd like the government to take off your hands. And remember, when estimating the value of your 1997 limited edition Hanson single CD "MMMbop", it's not what you can sell these items for that matters, it's what you think they are worth. The fact that you think they are worth more than anyone will buy them for is what makes them bad assets.

As seen on The Big Picture, where Barry Ritholtz posted an awesome letter of his own:

SUBJECT: REQUEST FOR URGENT BUSINESS RELATIONSHIP

DEAR AMERICAN:

I NEED TO ASK YOU TO SUPPORT AN URGENT SECRET BUSINESS RELATIONSHIP WITH A TRANSFER OF FUNDS OF GREAT MAGNITUDE.

I AM MINISTRY OF THE TREASURY OF THE REPUBLIC OF AMERICA. MY COUNTRY HAS HAD CRISIS THAT HAS CAUSED THE NEED FOR LARGE TRANSFER OF FUNDS OF 800 BILLION DOLLARS US. IF YOU WOULD ASSIST ME IN THIS TRANSFER, IT WOULD BE MOST PROFITABLE TO YOU.

I AM WORKING WITH MR. PHIL GRAM, LOBBYIST FOR UBS, WHO WILL BE MY REPLACEMENT AS MINISTRY OF THE TREASURY IN JANUARY. AS A SENATOR, YOU MAY KNOW HIM AS THE LEADER OF THE AMERICAN BANKING DEREGULATION MOVEMENT IN THE 1990S. THIS TRANSACTIN IS 100% SAFE.

THIS IS A MATTER OF GREAT URGENCY. WE NEED A BLANK CHECK. WE NEED THE FUNDS AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE. WE CANNOT DIRECTLY TRANSFER THESE FUNDS IN THE NAMES OF OUR CLOSE FRIENDS BECAUSE WE ARE CONSTANTLY UNDER SURVEILLANCE. MY FAMILY LAWYER ADVISED ME THAT I SHOULD LOOK FOR A RELIABLE AND TRUSTWORTHY PERSON WHO WILL ACT AS A NEXT OF KIN SO THE FUNDS CAN BE TRANSFERRED.

PLEASE REPLY WITH ALL OF YOUR BANK ACCOUNT, IRA AND COLLEGE FUND ACCOUNT NUMBERS AND THOSE OF YOUR CHILDREN AND GRANDCHILDREN TO WALLSTREETBAILOUT@TREASURY.GOV SO THAT WE MAY TRANSFER YOUR COMMISSION FOR THIS TRANSACTION. AFTER I RECEIVE THAT INFORMATION, I WILL RESPOND WITH DETAILED INFORMATION ABOUT SAFEGUARDS THAT WILL BE USED TO PROTECT THE FUNDS.

YOURS FAITHFULLY MINISTER OF TREASURY PAULSON

Phone calls

A.: Hello?
Mom: I'm returning your call.
A.: Did you get my e-mail?
Mom: Your father read it.
A.: And...
Mom: So, you're coming for New Year's?
A.: There were three held itineraries in there-- I'm also coming for your birthday and for Thanksgiving.
Mom, sweetly: You're coming for my birthday?
A.: Could you check the dates on the itineraries and make sure they work?
Mom: Why wouldn't they work?
A.: Well, you were saying something about Rome in November...
Mom: No plans for Rome. We'll be around.
A.: For all three sets of dates?
Mom: Yes.
A.: Great.

I have to say, I was a little annoyed at dad. I don't send gratuitous e-mails. If I send three e-mails, read them, dammit. Each of them. And no, they don't use gmail, so it's not like the e-mails run together.

A.: Could you do something for me? Could you make sure I can connect my laptop to the internet, unlike last time? I may need to work.
Mom: Why wouldn't you be able to?
A.: I wasn't last time.

Remember? I'd dragged my laptop up-- because she urged me to, so I could stop "hogging" her computer-- but there was no way to connect it to the internet.

Mom: Does your laptop have an outlet for a cable cord?
A.: Probably?
Mom: Then we'll be able to connect it.

I really hope so.

***
I do have to say that mom has been supportive, although still a little bit annoying, throughout my house-hunting process. Two months ago, I sent her the first listing. I warned her beforehand that it was small and butt-ugly.

Mom: It's really small.
A.: I know.
Mom: It's just really small.
A.: Yes, I realize that.
Mom: What about that open house we popped into last year, on the way back from our walk.

Mom loves open houses as much as she loves yard sales and A.J. Wright. Who was I to stop her?

A.: That townhouse was $750,000, mom.
Mom: Really?
A.: Yes.

***
Late last week I sent her another listing.

Mom: Where is it?
A.: Not far from where I live now. Closer to Trader Joe's.
Mom: Like that house we saw last year?
A.: That house was $750,000, mom.
Mom: It was?
A.: Yes, we've discussed this several times.
Mom: I read that prices are reasonable in Virginia.
A.: Virginia is a huge state, mom, with huge socioeconomic variations. Prices have stabilized in Alexandria but this is still a good deal.
Mom: I don't know... I read that in Virginia....
A.: Not this part of Virginia.
Mom: Okay, well, keep me posted.
A.: Will do.

***
A few days later, I learned that I got the house. I called my parents, they congratulated me. Mom fretted about this and that, but overall, she's being supporting. I would like to point out that she has gone several months without saying anything mean. Dare I hope that my visit for her birthday will go smoothly?

decluttering my closet, decluttering my soul

Throughout the painful course of the Have-You-Applied-to-Google saga many of you asked me why I didn't just lie and tell mom that I had, indeed, applied for a job at Google. I answered that I don't like to lie (needless to say, I have fewer scruples about omissions, such as not telling her about the blog); and that I have to stand up to her, or else she'll continue to try to micromanage my life. And no, standing up to her hasn't helped, but at least I don't encourage it.

The same principle motivates me to refuse to accept everything that she buys for me. I don't have unlimited space, and I have a hard enough time decluttering as it is without adding more clutter. I'm as polite as possible-- I'm grateful that she thinks of me, buys things for me... but I will not take them if I won't wear or use them, and I'd rather tell her straight-out than take them and donate them to Goodwill. And yes, sometimes I wonder why I bother, because it's not like mom ever takes anyone else's feelings into account. When I was little, it wasn't uncommon for her to throw gifts back in my face and lecture me about how I had bad taste and selfishly didn't, when choosing a gift, think about making the recipient happy. In the realm of mom's role modeling that I had to unlearn, developing a minimal level of tact was not a difficult thing to do. Developing an ability to throw things about or give them away, on the other hand, I still struggle with.

And so this weekend I struggled. I once again cleaned out my closet, but not as thoroughly as I know I should. "Baby steps," I tell myself. This time I was able to toss into the give-away bags things I couldn't bring myself to part with last time around, and as I did, I thought, "why did I ever take this? I remember in the case of one garment trying to talk my mom out of giving it to me. It didn't fit well at all-- but mom and I have very different concepts of "fit"-- and it was decades too old for me (as well as decades out of style). But while I had the wherewithal to reject things she'd buy at discount department stores, I have a much harder time rejecting things that were once part of her wardrobe. She's very persistent when she wants me to take something... and, sucker that I am, I don't actually like to hurt her feelings.

But having that stuff in my closet, much less wearing it, hurts my feelings. It's a dignity issue-- I shouldn't have to even think about choosing not to wear things that are too big, too eighties and too in-one's-fifties. And not (only) because it brings back memories of my mom's not buying me clothes as a child or teenager. I got family friends' hand-me-downs, and we shopped at thrift stores and deep discount department stores. I don't remember how old I was when this first struck me as absurd because we weren't, at that point, that poor, but I remember one particularly painful experience, where one summer we drove around to various thrift stores to find a swimsuit for me to take to summer camp. There was one I didn't like, that didn't fit; mom said she'd alter it. I can't see now how my mother thought the hours spent on this-- and I still have a memory of the grueling nature of that shopping trip-- could have been worth it. Eventually she gave up, sucked it up and spent $15 at a local department store. I'm not above thrift stores-- far from it-- but I think sometimes it's worth it to go ahead and buy new clothes. My mom, to this day, rarely does. Unless they're from the clearance rack of A.J. Wright.

Even when I was in grad school when my mother criticized me for buying a new suit for interviews, when we could have just gone to Salvation Army. It was just over a year ago that she expressed incredulity at my having bought socks; don't I know, after all, that she has plenty at her house? Just today, she was waxing poetic about a yard she'd come across. She said, "one could furnish one's entire house with the wares at that yard sale," an implication being that it would be foolhardy, greedy, even overly picky to want to choose one's furniture to one's liking, rather than pick from what's dirt cheap.

Remember Gary Shteyngart's moving essay about how his immigrant family wouldn't spare sixty-nine cents for fast food:

My parents didn’t spend money, because they lived with the idea that disaster was close at hand, that a liver-function test would come back marked with a doctor’s urgent scrawl, that they would be fired from their jobs because their English did not suffice.

I can appreciate the trauma behind my parents' mentality. Especially because they did their best, deliberately or not, to instill it in me. I do wish it wouldn't lead my mom to stock up on a bunch of crap she doesn't need, just because it's dirt cheap, in case she needs it at some point. Because that's what she does, and her house is chock-full of it.

So I felt guilty as I sent mom's old work clothes to the giveaway bag, even though that's their rightful place. While I'm determined to make her understand that in some areas of my life, i.e., my career, I'm going to make my own choices and do what's right for me, when it comes to the contents of my closet (and the contents of the giveaway bag), I'm happy to let her believe that she's saving me from the financial folly of buying new clothes.

Some Maureen Dowd and Aaron Sorkin to brighten your morning

Excerpts here:

OBAMA I appreciate your sense of humor, sir, but I really could use your advice.

BARTLET Well, it seems to me your problem is a lot like the problem I had twice.

OBAMA Which was?

BARTLET A huge number of Americans thought I thought I was superior to them.

OBAMA And?

BARTLET I was.

OBAMA I mean, how did you overcome that?

BARTLET I won’t lie to you, being fictional was a big advantage.

OBAMA What do you mean?

BARTLET I’m a fictional president. You’re dreaming right now, Senator.

OBAMA I’m asleep?

BARTLET Yes, and you’re losing a ton of white women.

OBAMA Yes, sir.

BARTLET I mean tons.

OBAMA I understand.

BARTLET I didn’t even think there were that many white women.

OBAMA I see the numbers, sir. What do they want from me?

BARTLET I’ve been married to a white woman for 40 years and I still don’t know what she wants from me.

***
OBAMA They pivoted off the argument that I was inexperienced to the criticism that I’m — wait for it — the Messiah, who, by the way, was a community organizer. When I speak I try to lead with inspiration and aptitude. How is that a liability?

BARTLET Because the idea of American exceptionalism doesn’t extend to Americans being exceptional. If you excelled academically and are able to casually use 690 SAT words then you might as well have the press shoot video of you giving the finger to the Statue of Liberty while the Dixie Chicks sing the University of the Taliban fight song. The people who want English to be the official language of the United States are uncomfortable with their leaders being fluent in it.

OBAMA You’re saying race doesn’t have anything to do with it?

BARTLET I wouldn’t go that far. Brains made me look arrogant but they make you look uppity. Plus, if you had a black daughter —

OBAMA I have two.

BARTLET — who was 17 and pregnant and unmarried and the father was a teenager hoping to launch a rap career with “Thug Life” inked across his chest, you’d come in fifth behind Bob Barr, Ralph Nader and a ficus.

Quote of the Day

- QUOTATION OF THE DAY -

"At this point I should note that for the first time, both the United States secretary of state and secretary of defense have doctorates in Russian studies. A fat lot of good that's done us."
- DEFENSE SECRETARY ROBERT M. GATES, on evaporating hopes for closer ties with Russia

The speech that's taken from--at least as excerpted in this article--is REALLY good.

Case in point

Remember that study that found correlation between cognitive activity, i.e. thinking, and weight gain? Here's some anecdotal evidence in support of the same idea (well, the converse, actually).