Here it is, your exclusive look inside the office of The American Conservative - or at least a part of my desk during lunch. What's interesting here? Well There is the fact that I don't keep my books separated into any categories. There is some David Foster Wallace right near a huge biography of Jefferson Davis. Apparently I can't even keep my volumes of the Encyclopedia of Tariffs and Trade in U.S. History in their proper order and they oddly sit next to a collection of Truman Capote's fiction.

 

In the foreground there is my daily calendar which features pinup drawings from the late 50s and early 60s and a short story collection I'm working through - "Cheating at Canasta" by William Trevor - an amazing collection of well crafted stories by a sure-handed Irish author. Also, you can see my instruction manual for the camera itself. I might get flack for the Huckabee bumper sticker. All I can say is that as a reporter you tend to collect this stuff. On another part of my desk I have both the American and Isreali flags I took from a conference of Christian Zionists.

Looking over the picture it seems that the oddest concentration of books happens on the lefthand side. I have those encyclopedias next to a collection of Antonio Gramci's work, then Dave Egger's "How We Are Hungry" and then Hilaire Belloc's "The Servile State" and a biography of Mikhail Bakunin (which I loved).

When we were Younger. Like My Banker's Collar out of the V-Neck?So you read about my Saturday night. Now the week begins in earnest. I urge you to go to your local newsstand later this week and find the latest issue of the American Conservative. Therein you'll find a review I wrote of James Sullivan's Jeans: A Cultural History of an American Icon.

I've been paid for hard work, I've worked hard until ten at night this week. I'm getting ready. Tonight my ladyfriend returns from Australia. She is not even allowed to take her face cleaning stuff on the marathon flight back.  I cannot believe fate has me staying here in Northern Virginia for nearly 40 hours after her return to the home of the brave. Does she realize she is just in time to see the Mets in the playoffs?

Greg of Faith and Fear in Flushing, a truly amazing blog dedicated to the Mets, captures my feelings exactly.

I will be devastated. And that will be if Jose Reyes doesn't lead off Game One with a triple on the first pitch (and if he does, I'll be disappointed that he didn't come all the way around on the throw). Every strike against us will be the end of the world, every inning when we don't score will augur doom. I will try to keep this tendency in check. Good luck. 

[snip]

I will be careful. Did I write anything that the gods will forward to the Dodger clubhouse? Oh crap, I have to go back and scrub my copy. Um, Grady Little is a genius, J.D. Drew is whatever the opposite of annoying is and Rafael Furcal is the salt of the earth. - Greg from Faith and Fear in Flushing

Yes.  Exactly. Only all of this will be heightened due to her arrival. Tomorrow I will start to sweat and get the sugar high OCD shakes of a fourth grader while I sit at my work desk. My leg moving back and forth in jaggedly precise motions. Will my boss let me listen to the game? Of course she will. Could she deny me water to drink, air to breathe? Could she? No, seriously.

Thursday night. I will leaving right from work to return to New York, to see the ladyfriend. Will the reception be adequate in the car? Will I get home before or after the game is finished. Will God spare me the awful choice that would be pulling up to her home in one of the last two innings. Will the game be tied? Will Paul Lo Duca be down in the count with Jose Reyes on second? Will Billy Wagner be in a tough spot trying to get the last out of the 8th with the bases juiced? Will my ladyfriend (assuming the worst) kill me if I pull up exactly five minutes after the last out is recorded? What if that's when I really arrive home?

Either way, I'm already getting jittery. My grandfather, a New Yorker, was a Giants fan. My grandmother, from Brooklyn, was a Dodgers fan. But those teams left for California. The jealousy of the Yankees stayed and when the Mets sputtered out of the gates in the early 1960's my grandparents were united in their baseball life, as well as in the eyes of Holy Mother Church. I remember watching those late 1980's teams with my grandmother. She'd read the day's paper. Or knit. Or be up and down to make cookies in the kitchen. I'd stomp around in footie pajamas while Doc Gooden fell short of re-capturing his 1985 magic. She'd serve me a bowl of ice cream. And if it looked like the game would end soon, I could stay up and watch the whole thing. I remember cutting Gary Carter cards out of the side of the milk carton.

And now I'm ready to stomp around again and shout for joy, and collapse in despair. And my ladyfriend will be there to laugh at me - to pull me back to the couch after a couple of scoreless innings. She'll yell 'Cmon Wright!" from my arms. She'll complain about pitch calls on Billy Wagner and to repeat in wonder the radar gun readings on his pitches. She'll be right there with me. Even after work draws me back to Northern Virginia, she'll listen to me talk about the games.

For a month I've been dreaming of the following. Reyes and Wright versus Jeter and A-Rod. Delgado versus Abreu. Randy Johnson versus Tom Glavine. Mariano Rivera versus Billy Wagner. The world does not want a subway series. Met's fans want vengeance for 2000. However, there is a problem. My grandfather loved the Giants. My grandmother, the Dodgers. I love the Mets. My ladyfriend's house is Yankee territory.

Looks like thisThis Saturday I went to three parties and I got lost going to all three of them. I still can't find my pipe  - which I last remember seeing in my jacket pocket. Several young ladies in DC were grabbing at it throughout the night. When I wasn't drinking somewhere between one half and two thirds of the bottle of gin at this third party I took it upon myself to spread rumors to the effect that I wanted to be employed at a certain magazine so that I can get into a brutal fistfight in the office with one of its employees. (This is actually almost true. If this particular pundit could see himself on television, he'd want to punch himself in the face. I'm certain he'd forgive me if I did it for him.) I implied falsely to one of the hosts of the party that I thought he might have cocaine. He was non-plussed. I also explained to two people that a great part of what I do on my blog and at these parties is deliberately misleading. I'm only pretending to be a hard-drinker, because it adds character. The gin was spilling out over my left hand as I said this.

At one point I pretended for a few seconds to be trying to sleep under the table. It is amazing how many people I have seen do this - and think it is funny. It is not.  A redhead remonstrated with my roommate and I that I not drive myself home. I said to her,

"It was a joke. A joke."

She said "I know its a joke, but not one you would have made sober." (A cutting reply)

"Well, then you underestimate my capacity for humor." (An oblivious put-down)

I gave a ten minute discourse to someone on the difference between liberal universalist ethics and Christian morality as they relate to our politics. The one person audience said, "I know you are drunk, but this is rather brilliant."  Later, this same person uttered the strange words. "When you were drunk, you promised to give me a ride home." Of course by this point it was nearly five in the morning and I had been sipping on delicious tap water since the gin ran out some hours earlier.

On the way home I thought it was funny how the partisans of tradition party it up. Our bodies hot, and our insults cold. Not a thing about it was lukewarm. And nobody that I witnessed was vomiting.

Wish I Had on Such a Great Suit and ShoesSo, yesterday I had planned on attending a happy hour of peers and colleagues, but as I left work I noticed that the skies looked rather gray and grim. A pitter patter had developed as I pulled into the grocery store parking lot. Ah well, best get this over with, I thought.

I brought my umbrella in hand and went in. I bought groceries and watched them get manhandled by the 'help'. I walked over to the door and saw what looked like a hurricane: Whipping winds, torrential downpour and the parking lot was nearly flooded from it. Everyone just standing there - gaping, thinking "It will pass."

I can only stand a minute of this. So I started whistling to myself the opening part of "Singing in the Rain." I made sure my umbrella was tightly sealed in its strap, lifted my bag of groceries about chest high in my left hand- elbow sticking out and began to stroll out the door. Deliberately twirling my closed umbrella in the right hand and kicking my soggy feet up- as if I were kicking excess sand off my feet at the beach. I looked up to the sky in admiration as people scurried from their cars to the grocery store, shouting curses with their children - all of them beneath their umbrellas.

Yes, I was soaked to the bone by the time I arrived at my car. And yes, I did pull this stunt once before in New York. And yes this absolutely KILLS people. They laugh, cheer or just shake their heads and smile.

I'm a servant in this world.  

Beautiful, no?The United States has been waiting, chest clenched and about to stamp our heavy foot in anticipation for the results of the democratic mingling between Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes. Also the Mexican elections. Suri in a moment.   

The conservative candidate has been declared the winner of the contested Mexican elections. But Mr López Obrador will fight on for "the people". 

The former mayor of Mexico City did not give any immediate public reaction, although in recent days he has made it clear that this is far from the end of the story. In speeches foreseeing the adverse ruling, he has begun to transform his claims of fraud into an active challenge to the legitimacy of the country's institutional order.

Calling Mr Calderón a "usurper", Mr López Obrador has floated the idea of forming a parallel government "of the people to rival that of the political mafia and white-collar criminals". Such fiery talk has some observers talking about insurrection and others fearing a violent rightwing backlash. - Jo Tuckman in the Guardian

We've seen these tactics before by close losers in crucial elections. Although, I doubt the United States will be funding laser light shows for Mr López Obrador as they did for Victor Yushchenko in the Ukraine. Nonetheless, this makes much more plausible the idea that the Mexican government is going to fall apart underneath the weight of its corruption. If you thought the incentives for Mexicans to immigrate to the United States were great now, just wait.

Chris Roach has pointed out that the United States seems to be one of the few nations on this continent that endures the results of contested elections well - imagine Nixon or Gore calling for a parallel government "of the people." You can't.  Somtimes its good to be an American.

More importantly, Baby Suri exists, or at least Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes have received a facsimile of what their child might look like from the Church of Scientology.  

This blog has noted the deaths of two people in its life: Pope John Paul II and poet Robert Creeley. Now, Steve Irwin. It is not just the fact that my ladyfriend intends (or intended) to go snorkeling in the Great Barrier Reef next weekend. It is not just that on my recent cost free trip to Australia I was greeted by a video of Steve Irwin, telling me about the importance of quarantine (No foreign cheese or cultures could be brought into his home country). I did not watch Animal Planet or his show the Crocodile Hunter. Though I did know he used a good portion of his television money to buy land to preserve wildlife. I do not even have 1/100th of his enthusiasm for "wildlife". Who didn't joke to themselves that Steve Irwin would die a painful death because of this enthusiasm? At the same time, who thought it would actually happen? The jokes were only funny because Steve Irwin's character seemed stupid and charmed enough to be invincible. I suppose this was deliberate. I wasn't particularly interested in Steve Irwin, but I wanted to believe in Steve Irwin.

"Crikey, mate. You're far safer dealing with crocodiles and western diamondback rattlesnakes than the executives and the producers and all those sharks in the big MGM building!" - Steve Irwin

Go with God, mate.  

This Guy v. GillespieThis Tuesday at the Heritage Foundation Jonah Goldberg and Nick Gillespie will debate whether conservatives and libertarians can love each other forever. The event is hosted by AFF. The roundtable begins at 7:00 but drinks (and trust me, for this I'll need them) will be served at 6:30. Fair warning to the fairer sex. I will probably not make it ten minutes into this event sober. I will be hitting on you or your friends.

Better Idea than Reading Aloud that Dylan Thomas Poem.Kevin Grace has posted the results of his asking bloggers, friends etc what song they wish to have played at their funeral. It is a wonderful and revealing list.

My ladyfriend who tired of listening to Ryan Adams CD's in my car about 10 seconds into the third song would murder me if she knew but I said "Magnolia Mountain" by Ryan Adams. I wouldn't want it played at the Church, that's not proper. But maybe it could be played afterwards - back at the house where everyone in black talks about everything else. In fact, one of the odder things in life might be to make the mix of songs to be played after you are buried on your IPod (or whatever we have then).  "In case of death press 'play' "would be the title of mine. 

 Anyway, here are the lyrics to Magnolia Mountain:

 
I want to go to Magnolia Mountain
And lay my weary head down
Down on the rocks
On the mountain my savior made
Steady my soul and ease my worry
Hold me when I rattle like a hummingbird hummin'
Tie me to the rocks on the mountain my savior made

Click to read more ...

The Andrew!I'm simultaneously tweaking and making tribute to Andrew Sullivan's various awards.  The first award for which we will be taking nominations is the Andrew Sullivan award. This award will go to commentary that is overwhelmed by a tangential trip into the personal obsessions of the writer. This is a tricky category as some commentators specialize in certain subjects and therefore give their "take" on a story. One must distinguish carefully between an author's specialty where their expertise obliges them - and their obsessions.   Please send in your examples as they come.  More awards will be announced in the future and we welcome suggestions for more awards.

Giving my blog character by giving it obsessions.I couldn't be happier to say that Rachel McAdams legs lead directly to me.  At least if you type that on Google. Not to mention Shakira's legs. Here are some of the things people have been typing into Google and other search engines in order to find my site.  Apparently alot of sites do this - but considering the diversity of topics covered on this site - I thought you might have some fun reading them.  Also, it will ensure that these searches continue to lead directly to me in the future - because I want every person interested in "button down shirt khakis red bull" to come right here.

hedge fund moses wolfson
Michael Dougherty Guatemala
shakiras legs
rachel mcadams legs
"Scarlett Johansson" flabby
xavier park slope catholic
communism china italy
maker's mark finish
never nag your girlfriend
surfeited = suffer
cab driver mansion 5th ave
tampa strip joints
graeme reihan salam
p diddy maintains sexy
tucker carlson seersucker
CLOGS DIOR
button down shirt khakis red bull
donnell rawlings photo ashy larry
dior jacket
christmas dainties

Harper's Magazine will only run one issue this year that contains three or more articles detailing the Fascist threat that Evangelicals pose to America. But no one will act on Chris Hedge's intimation that violence should be used to stop Evangelicals. No guarantees on how many issues will run just one article.

The GOP will lose 1-3 Senate seats but retain a majority in both Houses.  Santorum will retain his seat.

Nancy Pelosi and Howard Dean will be out of their present positions (for reasons I cannot predict) no later than six weeks after the Congressional Elections. Maybe this will happen before the elections.

GOP elites will increasingly fear the populism of their base on immigration and economic matters.

Steve Sailer will start to get respect from more mainstream outlets - until he continues being Steve Sailer. Jon Podhoretz will use some sort of word like "ick" or "slime" in relation to Steve Sailer's character/writings. (Steve will say I'm making easy predictions)

 Democrats will continue to search in vain for a "Contract for America" style campaign, for "ideas that resonate" etc etc etc.

It will be said that Bush received a bounce when the GOP retains its majorities.

My writing will appear in a magazine this year.

So will A.C. Kleinheider's.

Click to read more ...

Presents!Tons of bloggers rely on their newsreaders to pull up Yahoo Oddly Enough stories so that they can quickly link to the story and comment "Heh" - next to their link. This means they are funny guys - and you should read their site everyday. Bollocks!

Here at Surfeited we are concentrated on service - that is why I started adding pictures- and I add handy references to each post.

But why was this filed under "Oddly Enough"?

Italian carmaker Ferrari gave Pope Benedict the steering wheel to one of their Formula One racing cars on Monday, honouring the man in the driving seat of the Roman Catholic Church.

In a private audience in the Vatican, Ferrari Chairman Luca di Montezemolo gave the Pope the souvenir inscribed with the words: "The steering wheel of the Formula 1 World Champion to His Holiness Benedict XVI, the driver of Christianity." - Reuters

Instead they should have a new news category, for "Entirely Appropriate Acts of Devotion for One's Station in Life".

So sorry for the light blogging. It is summer. What can I say?

To make up- I missed an important anniversary for all Francophiles - which is the 20th enniversary of the sinking of the Rainbow Warrior. Yes, France, sunk a Greenpeace activist ship. Tragically, one man died.

All in all this is a great reason to love those stiff-necked French.

Schoolboy bashes teacher with baseball bat

"My emotions are all warped and I can't get by without being violent," - the Boy with the Bat.

For a boy who hits a teacher with a baseball bat, he certainly has a grip on the state of his soul.

The temptation for a blogger with a story like this is to either laugh (which is wrong) or tut-tutt (which is also silly).

Why do news agencies report this?