After a long day of nervous waiting -- complete with capricious salivating and nail-biting -- by political pundits, the media and bloggers far and wide, "Plamegate" Special Counsel Patrick J. Fitzgerald, we have just learned, has returned from the federal courthouse with four, count 'em, four indictments in tow. And, suffice it to say, this goes straight to the very top of the U.S. government...

	White House National Security Adviser Stephen Hadley A real wild card, the inclusion of Hadley in the mix...While he worked alongside Condoleezza Rice during the build-up to the invasion of Iraq in 2003, as well as during the White House's planning stages in 2001 and 2002, few longtime observers of the Fitzgerald investigation had ever really pegged Hadley as having much to do with the leaking of Valerie Plame's name to media sources. Though, according to documents, Hadley apparently played a heretofore unknown role in the subsequent cover-up, and has now been indicted for perjury.
	Vice President Dick Cheney's chief of staff, I. Lewis 'Scooter' Libby Libby, of course, had long been speculated to be one of the primary targets of the Fitzgerald investigation, so his indictment for perjury and obstruction of justice pertaining to the cover-up of the Wilson matter will come as no surprise to those who knew all along the degree to which he sought to protect his boss, Vice President Dick Cheney, from being tainted by the grand jury's inquest. And, it seems, in sacrificing himself, he succeeded in saving his boss' hide, as Cheney seems to have safely skirted through the investigation unharmed.
	Deputy chief of staff and top presidential political adviser Karl Rove "Bush's Brain", as he's been called time and again, was, alongside Libby, long determined to be one of the major architects of the White House smear campaign against Ambassador Joseph Wilson. So his indictment for perjury and obstruction of justice also comes as no surprise. Whether or not he will resign later today, and the damage such an action will do to Bush's presidency, remains to be seen.
	White House executive chef Cristeta Comerford Finally, the big gun...an indictment for criminal conspiracy in the effort to reveal the identity of an undercover CIA operative. Though Comerford was only recently hired by First Lady Laura Bush this past August -- a mere two months ago -- anonymous sources within the President's staff have reported that the first female to ever serve as the White House's executive chef had been a longtime problem for the administration. Starting with her efforts to discredit Joseph Wilson for making disparaging comments about the administration's making a deceptively inaccurate link between Iraqi heads of state and the acquisition of Nigerian uranium, sources say that Comerford's name has been revealed on transcripts from journalists Matthew Cooper and Walter Pincus as the primary source of the now infamous leak of Wilson's wife's identity. These sources also add that scribbled within Pincus' notebook were numerous references to "yellow cake" and "flame", which had erroneously been thought to reference Comerford's pastry recipes and sautee methodology. When asked for comment by reporters covering the case moments ago, Comerford was weeping and defiant as she made her way through the White House's front gate, stammering, "I don't know what's going on...I don't know what I did wrong! I did nothing wrong!" Sources had no comment on her strongly-worded denials.

low Expectations: Jean-Paul Tremblay, left; Matt Haber (A/K/A, Guy Cimbalo), right. (The editors requested a photo of the creators of low culture to accompany this article and received this one.)

Walking down the streets of New York's Greenwich Village, Jean-Paul Tremblay goes almost entirely unnoticed. Passersby young and old—and youngish and oldish, as well—walk by him, all but unaware that within their midst is a celebrity, albeit a celebrity of a wired, self-selecting, long tail-chasing, niche-y, early 21st century sort. Nobody knows that Tremblay, who is 29 but looks more like an undernourished 15 year-old street urchin in need of a haircut, a cup of soup, and a hug, is a bona fide celebrity of blogging: A blogebrity.

Then again, they may be walking by because he's merely a B-List blogebrity.

As he walks the streets, occasionally fielding cell phone calls that make him groan theatrically, he stops for a moment to ponder the new issue of TIME Magazine on the newsstand. The cover shows Secretary of Defense Donald Rumseld wearing a Yankees cap, eating a banana, and listening to iPod. "In the old days, I'd probably run right home and Photoshop that shit and make a post out of it," Tremblay says wearily.

"But now... I can't even figure out the joke. I couldn't even tell you where I'd begin."

No matter how many bananas public officials consume in photos, Tremblay cannot bring himself to post about it. Call him a "no-blognik": Lately, he feels he can't bring himself to blog, which has resulted in a pitiable lack of posts on his site as well as a declining profile among fellow writers of free, ephemeral web content.

"Blogger fatigue is very real, and it very really affects real bloggers," according to Dr. Owen Spielvogel, chair of the American Psychiatric Association's gossip- and media-focused Loud Family Institute. "Anecdotal research indicates it affects 1 in 10 real bloggers in a real way. Really."

I mention "blogger fatigue" to Tremblay as he glances at the cover of Time Out New York, which features Wayne Coyne of the band Flaming Lips also, inexplicably, eating a banana, wearing a Yankees cap, and listening to an iPod.

Tremblay sighs.

An autumnal breeze rustles the trees above us. I can almost see Tremblay's eyes misting up.

In this low culture EXCLUSIVE, we asked this young student at Delisle Elementary School in Pass Christian, Miss., to share with us the note that was passed to President Bush this past Tuesday. In greater detail below:

RELATED: 'You are the best governor ever', Guardian NewsBlog, October 11, 2005

Today's Salon features an insightful, probing piece by Rebecca Traister on the humdrum, sorry state of being a Modern American Woman, and the trouble with dating the contemporary early-adult American male – specifically, how today's women are dissatisfied with this "new breed of man: a man of few interests and no passions; a man whose libido is reduced and whose sense of responsibility nonexistent. These men are commitment-phobic not just about love, but about life. They drink and take drugs, but even their hedonism lacks focus or joy. They exhibit no energy for anyone, any activity, profession or ideology."

Traister sagely acknowledges that writers such as Candace Bushnell et al have explored this subject to death, and, as such, she seeks a new hook: What might Ben Kunkel, the author of Random House's Indecision – this month's literary hotcake amongst the city's subway- and nightstand-reading set – have to contribute to this line of discussion? Of the author and his text's protagonist, she asks, "After I finished Kunkel's novel, I was curious about the man who had so precisely drawn a figure whose initial indifference is so painfully familiar. With Kunkel, I thought I might be able to have a safe, objective conversation about the kind of guy Dwight is as his story begins. How did we get a population of Dwights? Will they ever get better? Why do my friends and I continue to date them?"

But why limit Kunkel to a simple, one-track discussion on dating and relationships? We asked him, this literate, Harvard-trained man-about-town, to help our sullen readers with some of their sundry dilemmas. And boy, did he ever!

Welcome, then, to the first installment of our new, groundbreakingly opinionated, and most important, gentlemanly advice column.

ASK BEN KUNKEL

Dear Ben,

I recently left my wife of five years after – for lack of a better way of phrasing it – losing my passion for her. Not falling out of love, mind you...just losing that sense of passion that keeps people together. Lately, however, I have been regretting my decision, and want her back. The problem is, she has taken up reading all sorts of self-help books that seem to discourage exes from reuniting. What should I do?

It can be very difficult dealing with the repercussions of our actions, particularly when it comes to love and the causalities thereof. Do we love for the sake of loving, or do we love merely to stay afloat in this pool of the everyday, the human interactions that define our existence? Hannah Arendt hit it right on the head when she put forth that being female was akin to being imprisoned by one's mind and morality, and that, no matter what we may do to attempt to break free, we – and, it may be said, all of humanity – will forever be subjected to a greater external framework, an ethical morass the likes of which no mere mortal can transcend. Which is why she encouraged her lover, Walter Benjamin, to take his own life. Ever the slattern, she then wound up fucking Heidegger over, too.

Dear Ben,

I recently moved into an elite co-op in Chelsea, and was thrilled to become a part of what felt like a second home, this tightly-knit community of likeminded, intellectually vibrant, book-reading wage-earners. But since settling in last month, I have learned my upstairs neighbor insists on playing his music far too loudly, and usually at moments when I am trying to sleep. I have thought of leaving notes on his door, but am uncertain of what this might do to upset the otherwise tranquil balance of our collective abode. Any ideas?

Noise, and music in particular, can be a source of great asymmetric tension. Historically, one may note, Theodor Adorno espoused nothing but the severest disdain for jazz music, or rather, what he termed "jazz music", but which was, in fact, a series of sounds akin to "big band" music, henceforth confusing generations of Marxists and music critics alike. It was his literal reading of this cacophony, the simpleminded focus on aberrant rhythms and layered ideas, that confounded his aesthetic judgment, and led to a great deal of turmoil in his dealings with his onetime partner in the Frankfurt School, Max Horkheimer. Horkheimer really got down with the horns, the clarinet, the vibrato...all of which conveyed an intricate melding of joy and sadness and expedient physicality. This tapestry of the old and new, incidentally, can be found in the recent works of Radiohead.

The Century 21 Department Store overlooking the wreckage of the World Trade Center at Ground Zero, September 18, 2005. A close-up below:

Not only is Century 21, downtown's pre-eminent bargain-rate clothing store, discounting their prices on designer neckties and Polo boxers, but it seems they've taken to discounting the lives of nearly 2,500 New Yorkers who perished mere yards away from the site of the store's high-quality sale items.

Is there anything remotely funny or clever about "falling" into fashion as we stay the course in Iraq to defend the lives of those who perished that solemn day four years ago, as the city's iconic Twin Towers tumbled mercilessly to their molten demise??

We urge you to boycott Century 21 and abstain from purchasing their fine selection of men's Geoffrey Beene linen shirts.

EARLIER: low culture Exclusive: An Outrage Grows in Brooklyn!!!
low culture Exclusive: The Outrage Continuesâ€'Continuously!!!
low culture Exclusive: The Outrage Gets Outragously Obvious!!!

This post is dedicated to Jean-Paul Tremblay, who was found dead in his apartment beneath a stack of old Nation magazines, surrounded by anti-Bush paraphernalia. Now you're Photoshopping with Jesus, sweet prince.

Bloggers, or 'Web loggers,' may not have invented April Fool's Day (that would be Pope Gregory with his conversion to the eponymous Gregorian Calendar in 1582), but as with so many other things, they have taken credit for improving on it.

As the clock struck midnight on April first, several prominent bloggers created puckish, at times almost humorous, stabs at April Fool's content. As you might expect, many were parodies of other websites and the conventions of the medium. "Bloggers are a world onto themselves," said Jeff Jarvis, who runs the website Buzzmachine.com and who actually called this reporter himself assuming she'd be doing this story. "So, of course, they'd parody their world."

The already heated debate about the proposal for a new West Side stadium for the New York Jets has reached a new level of outrage and absurdity this week with the stunning news that the Jets are to be sold to Pakistan!

Now, I'm sure that the NFL would like to expand into Central Asia, but it seems like a losing proposition to try to impose, top-down, an American-style football regime in an area of the world that has had no experience with it. On the plus side, Gang Green's color scheme matches the Pakistani flag rather nicely, so perhaps there's hope after all.

[Thanks to Lamont Cranston for the tip!]

Today's 'Real Life Workplace' interview is with Agent Jack Bristow, a thirty-five year veteran of the CIA. What sorts of challenges come from working in a high pressure environment where national security is a daily concern?

What's the CIA like on the inside? Read on and find out.

low culture: Thanks for taking the time to talk to me, Agent Bristow.
Jack Bristow: It's my pleasure, I'm sure. I am, however, a very busy man, so let's get down to it.

low culture: Sure, sure. So, in case you don't know, low culture is a careers website. We offer information for job hunters, employers, and the like. I'm interested in talking to you about your work.
Jack Bristow: Fine. But know that some things are classified.

low culture: Right. So, you work for the CIA, right?
Jack Bristow: Classified.

low culture: But you previously worked for an organization called SD-6, right?
Jack Bristow: Again, classified. I cannot answer these questions and if you persist in asking them, I'll have to terminate this interview.

low culture: Got it. Okay, so, you, um, you work with your daughter, Sydney, right?
Jack Bristow: Yes, that's true.

low culture: Your daughter is so hot.
Jack Bristow: Pardon me?

low culture: Nothing. So, is it difficult working so closely with a family member?
Jack Bristow: There are challenges inherent in any workplace. Ours is no different. People occasionally don't get along, alliances and relationships shift or breakdown. These things happen.

low culture: Right, but, you had problems with your daughter for a long time, is that correct? Didn't you kill her mom?
Jack Bristow: What? What sort of interview is this? I'm going to have to hang up now unless you refrain from such inappropriate personal questions.

low culture: Sorry, sorry. So, is it hard working with your daughter when she has to get dressed up in so many different outfits all the time? Does that weird you out?
Jack Bristow: Weird me out?

low culture: You know, do you ever see your daughter done up like a blond Swedish hooker or a Russian astrophysicist and you, like, get wood?
Jack Bristow: Now you listen to me...

low culture: Wait, wait. You misunderstand. I apologize: English is my second language. I'm French Canadian.
Jack Bristow: Really? I was born in Ontario.

low culture: No way! Did that make it hard to get high level CIA clearance?
Jack Bristow: That's classified.

low culture: Oh, right, right. So, your daughter was dating a colleague. Is that strange?
Jack Bristow: Why so many questions about my daughter?

low culture: Have I been asking so many questions about your daughter?
Jack Bristow: Yes, in fact you have.

low culture: Oh, she's just so super hot. What's her email address?
Jack Bristow: Now you listen to me, this is the least professional interview I've ever been subjected to!

low culture: Alright, alright. Is it like yours? I assume it's something like s.bristow@classified.mailer-daemon.cia.gov. Would that work?
Jack Bristow: This interview is over. I don't even know how you got this number.

low culture: Can you just tell me one last thing? One last thing for all the job hunters, employers, and the like? Please?
Jack Bristow: Fine. One question.

low culture: What does she smell like?
Jack Bristow: Whom?

low culture: Your daughter, Sydney. I kind of imagine she smells like soap, but also a little bit of sweaty b.o.
Jack Bristow: What?

low culture: Clean, sporty girl b.o. like a field hockey player. Not gross b.o. like some sweaty freak.
Jack Bristow: Rest assured, you will be disappeared within 24 hours.
[click]
low culture: Hello? Sounds like you're still on the line. Helllllo? Agent Bristow? Jack...? Sydney?

Related: If you have any information on Jack Bristow's daughter (particularly photos), please email low culture. (Within 24 hours at the latest.)

Totally deaf human-person Marlee Matlin deserves to be given the hand gestures for enthusiastic applause and patronizing congratulation upon the news of her appointment to head a new, conservative imprint for Simon & Schuster. Despite Matlin's complete inability to hear, and her limited ability to speak like a normal person, she has not only won a Special Academy Award but also managed to domesticate notorious pussy-hound James Carville. The two have become ubiquitous for their "opposites attract" romance: Carville is the classic Clinton-era liberal while Matlin is completely, defiantly deaf. They both starred in the cult classic K Street and have become poster children for people who have starred in K Street.

Because of Matlin's handicapability, her as yet unnamed imprint will undoubtedly offer its conservative titles in Braille editions. And that presumptive breakthrough, shattering the conservative publishing industry's notorious deaf-glass-ceiling, deserves enthusiastic, visually demonstrative applause.

(I did this one by hand.)

Newsflash from the blogosphere! No, not another update on my stance regarding Paul Wolfowitz's nomination to head the World's (most powerful) Bank...Rather, consider this an update on the updates! It may come as no revelation to you, the loyal readers of this column, but it has come to my attention that this sophisticated web technology allows me to publicly pontificate multiple times daily, which is a major improvement over my last column-writing gig, whereby I was limited to weekly musings on Chechnya or socialized medicine or bankruptcy bills.

And as part of this exciting era of the 24-hour news cycle in which we live, it remains vital to understand that news happens constantly, consistently, and continually. As such, it stands to reason that we need quality, real-time analysis of the world's goings-on, right?

With that in mind, then, I continue to point you, the readers, to the smorgasbord of thought and opinion that exists out there on the world wide web. Since having posted my initial musings on Wolfowitz's anticipated ascendancy to the position of Chief Global Bankman, it has come to my attention that other pundits and news-analysts have also posted their thoughts on this matter. I particularly refer you to one Daily Kos, who, though prone to a bit of foul language here and there, seems to have a remarkable grasp of the dynamics of news analysis.

Furthermore, there is a website entitled Instapundit that is also covering this rapidly-breaking news story. Check it out! Our opinions, like a collective dab of potter's clay, await these opportunities to be shaped and re-formed!

Greetings, fellow moneymen! Today is a significant day on the global monetary front...with President Bush's announcement that he was putting forth Deputy Defense Secretary Paul Wolfowitz's name as his choice to head the World Bank. By "putting forth his name", I mean to say, President Bush is pushing for this Wolfowitz fellow to preside over the banking conglomerate, and not merely his "name". That device is a staple of quality writing, rest assured.

I trust the president's judgment on this matter, and, more significantly, I approve of his choice. I myself once had the privilege of meeting Paul Wolfowitz eighteen months ago, after he presented a lecture at Harvard University's JFK School of Government on the Bush Administration's decision to invade Iraq and topple that monstrous Saddam Hussein figure. There were a number of liberals in the audience that insisted on asking him many pointed questions regarding ill-advised intelligence briefings and bad military judgments, but he deftly brushed aside their trivial concerns with his proclamations that "Evil is as evil does, and Saddam Hussein was and is an evil man." That shut them up, I'll tell you. In Latin, I would say, this is a case of ad reducto absurdum, or, better yet, corpus christi.

But I digress. After his lecture, I made my way to the nearby Dunkin' Donuts on Eliot Street to sample one of their refreshing Caramel Swirl Lattes, a splendid coffee drink the likes of which I haven't seen outside of Cambridge. As I stood before the counter, clutching this caffeinated treasure in my hands, the clerk began to dole out my change and looked up behind me. I turned, and there he was. Deputy Defense Secretary Paul Wolfowitz himself. The architect of the war with Iraq, and Richard Perle's chief partner in Middle Eastern crimesolving. I smiled at him as he made his way to the counter, and, after tugging delicately at the tie around my neck, I noticed I had inadvertently coated my cravat in the gentle white foam of the Latte in my hands.

Rather sheepishly, I addressed him: "Great speech tonight, Mr. Wolfowitz. Really, truly excellent. Remarkable." He, in turn, smiled back at me, and motioned towards the clerk behind the counter. "Don't forget your change, sir," he then said to me, for, in the midst of my excitement at being in the presence of such a mastermind of war and Western imperialism, I had neglected to gather the various coins that the Dunkin' Donuts clerk had been holding out for me to collect.

What an attention to fiscal detail this Wolfowitz fellow had that night! It is for this reason, largely, that I am confident that he will be able to responsibly manage and monitor the world's most significant moneylender and debt creditor. Kudos to you, fine sir, and those that had the courage to nominate you!

Greetings, all, and welcome to my new column for low culture. Since we've already been introduced, I'll just jump right into the fray: we're going to tackle the hot-button issues, here and now!

First and foremost on the lips of pundits on Capitol Hill is the matter of social security: White House aides will have you believe that it's in crisis, and needs to be reformed urgently, while Democratic leaders from across the aisle, such as former vice-presidential candidate Joe Lieberman, are more temperate about this issue. So, tongues are wagging: what to do about this problem?

In my lecturing days, I used to examine the fallibility of this elaborate system of social-insurance in terms of the following analogy: If your house is on fire, you better get out! The students in my courses, after I would spring this on them with great aplomb, would often look quizzically at one another. The confusion and dismay on their university-trained faces was priceless. And then, of course, an outspoken student would inevitably question my analogy: "Professor Preminger, why would you assume going into the argument that the system is inherently flawed? Is there not room for debate on the solvency of the New Deal's greatest social legacy?"

While I was technically a guest-lecturer and not a full-fledged professor, I wouldn't take issue with the phrasing of their questions, and would instead drop the following pearl of wisdom: Social Security, I'd say while putting down my chalk and tugging delicately at my tie (an act which would often leave white marks across my chest), functions as a system of economic redistribution, whereby payments are guaranteed to those who contribute during the course of their lifetime. And what had we learned from the (then-recent) collapse of Polish and Romanian communism, other than that systems of economic redistribution must ultimately result in a subsequent economic collapse that in turn leads to said nation exporting its teenaged daughters abroad to appear in Western pornographic films? Is this the sort of legacy of social security with which we want to be burdened as Americans?

When making this last point, I would always be sure to peer directly at the various co-eds scattered throughout the lecture hall. I wanted them to understand that their livelihoods as future lawyers, doctors, and housewives were in danger if we didn't open our minds to the prospect of, say, privatizing our support network for the nation's elderly. (Also, I should add as an afterthought, women are perfectly capable of being lab technicians, programmers, and construction foremen, just to be clear. I don't want the low culture ombudsman to be over-inundated with anxious remarks from yippity feminists.)

So, returning to the point at hand, social security: is this a net that can afford to catch each and everyone of us, or has this system of public subsidies left the roping on this allegorical net dispersed so widely apart that we will all fall through the cracks someday in the not-too-distant future? And what is under this net, but the vast expanse of the Sea of Lonely Death?

That, my friends, lovers, and countrymen, is a pool in which I don't want to go swimming.

Title: 2 Million Dollar Baby
Log Line: Sequel to the Oscar winning film. A female boxer from the wrong side of the tracks fights her way back from heaven to kill the man who snuffed her out.
Writer: Brian Helgeland
Agent: CAA
Buyer: Warner Bros.
Price: n/a
Genre: spiritual boxing drama
Logged: 2/28/05
More: Clint Eastwood will direct, star, and score. Oscar winners Hilary Swank and Morgan Freeman will reprise their roles

The American Psychiatric Association (APA) has designated a new psychiatric disorder called Paris Syndrome, named for socialite and Reality TV star Paris Hilton.

Paris Syndrome is characterized by an acute sense of empathy towards Paris Hilton, particularly during times of public scandal and embarrassment.

According to Dr. Owen Spielvogel, chair of APA's gossip- and media-focused Loud Family Institute, "It's natural to feel a sense of guilt and shame at the pleasure one derives from the travails of Ms. Hilton. She's a larger-than-life figure, the subject of mockery and contempt. Paris Syndrome is different than mere guilt, something closer to Stockholm Syndrome. It occurs when the individual's superego overrides the giddy pleasure at Ms. Hilton's failures and the individual begins to identify with her. 'What if my personal life got splashed across the internet? What if people openly wished for my death?' goes the thinking. At that point, Paris Syndrome has set in and psychiatric consultation may be the answer."

The APA estimates that thousands of Americans, most of whom work in the media or as bloggers (web-loggers), may be afflicted with Paris Syndrome. There is no suggested course of treatment for Paris Syndrome at this time, but according to Dr. Spielvogel, "It passes eventually and the so-called 'normal' feelings of Paris Hilton hatred return." He also notes that a related disorder—Paris Hilton Fatigue, first designated by the APA two years ago—often cancels out Paris Syndrome. "Once the individual grows indifferent to Ms. Hilton and her assorted sex tapes, utterances of racial slurs, bruises, and hacked personal communication devices. It's likely that Paris Syndrome has passed."

The APA is the nation's oldest national medical specialty society with more than 35,000 members, all of whom hate Paris Hilton.

low culture applauds President Bush's nomination of Nicholas Negroponte to serve as intel chief. As founder and director of MIT's Media Lab, Mr. Negroponte has done much to further all forms of digital media. His 1995 tome, Being Digital is a remarkably prescient distillation of the computer revolution. Most recently, he has pursued the development of a laptop computer that would sell for under $100. While Mr. Negroponte's relationship to the intelligence community is as yet unclear, the President's choice deserves accolades.

There is no getting rid of him. He’s the enigma who came to stay.
- Louis Menand, Mystery Man, The New Yorker, Feb. 14 & 21, 2005.

Enigma my aunt Sally! I am no enigma, I am a man. And since Mr. Menand conveniently forgot to mention a key fact in his little piffle, I must tell you myself: I am still alive.

Of course, I'm not quite as active as I was in the old days: you try donning your top hat and starched collar when you're nearly 100. These days, my monocle is bifocal and instead of examining butterflies up close, I squint intently at my own dark, brown liver spots.

It wasn't always so. Back in the old days, I was quite the playboy! In the '30s, high on all that early New Yorker acclaim (what the limey dame editor of the magazine in its bloated late life would've termed "buzz"), I was everywhere, celebrating the glorious literary life with Joey Mitchell, Bunny Wilson, Dotty Parker, and James "Jiminy Cricket" Thurber.

Oh, the gay times we had! And by 'gay,' I mean it in the old sense of the word: we drank gin distilled in our bathtubs, danced with negro chorus girls, and on occasion, performed oral sex on each other. (We called it 'rhinebecking,' after the quaint little town where Bunny rented a cottage during the summer of '36.)

From the Idiots What Brung You Enron: 2006 Goverment Budget (via AP)

Line Item: Printing Costs, 2006 Federal Budget, first edition: $10 Million.

Funny Lady: Secretary of State Rice on her first day at the State Department, Jan. 27, 2005 (via Reuters)

"Thank you, thank you. What a great audience out there. Really, I'm not just saying that: you're a great group. You wanna know another great group? The U.N. Or, as I like to call them, 'The United Colors of Benetton!'

"Funny thing about the U.N., and this is a true story! I was there a couple of days ago for a big meeting and one of the aides said to me, 'Do you know where Kofi is?' So, I looked her dead in the eyes and said, 'Listen, just 'cause my title says Secretary doesn't mean I'm gonna get you coffee!' Oh, boy! She turned green then red then blue: talk about united colors!

"I'm outta time. Good night folks, you've been great! Don't forget to tip your server."

Take the V.F. poll, at the all new VanityFair.com.

Related: Graydon Rides the Wave, by Jennifer Senior, New York, 12/11/00

(By way of the BBC News):

On Wednesday, 19 January, 2005, the website of the British Broadcasting Corporation's News division ran an infographic and featurette entitled At-a-glance: 'Outposts of tyranny' that focused on incoming U.S. secretary of state Condoleezza Rice's announcement during her Senate confirmation hearing earlier this week that there were six "outposts of tyranny" around the world. The following chart accompanied the feature:

Due to an editing error, the infographic (as featured, above) was incomplete and therefore inaccurate, and we have uploaded a revised, corrected image in its place (attached below). We apologise for any confusion that may have ensued, and thank you for reading BBC News.

We Got Spirit, Yes We Do: "If you love Jesus, cheer real loud!" [via Reuters]

After his landslide defeat by John Kerry, former president George W. Bush returned to his first career as a male cheerleader.

Vice President Dick Cheney, Donald Rumsfeld, and several others in the President's inner circle were arrested on war crimes charges.

Bagels no longer fattening...

Related: Are these the most covered-up cheerleaders you've ever seen?

O, Christmas Tree: The jolly man with the beard said this man was "a bad guy."

Yes, Don and Joyce Rumsfeld had an absolutely stunning tree this year. And the duck was so juicy, it practically melted in your mouth. The party was a lot less crowded than last year—no Powells, no Tenets, no Ashcrofts, or Keriks—but it was wonderful.

Merry Christmas, everyone! And a happy, healthy New Year!

Loud and Clear: They sure look like buildings now.

Ever since low culture first posted about the shocking Cingular billboards that subliminally play upon the collapse of the Twin Towers, numerous websites have commented that we must be out of our minds.

It was a stretch, they argued, to equate the image of cellular phone 'signal bars' with buildings, specifically the Twin Towers. low culture was taking post-9/11 sensitivity to an absurd new height (or low, as it were). low culture isn't funny. Etc.

Yes, it was clearly a stretch. Why on earth would someone think that those signal bars looked like buildings?

Submitted for your approval is an un-retouched Cingular ad that runs in national magazines (above). It sure looks like the ad agency behind it is trying to make a connection between the rigid, parallel signal bars and rigid, parallel buildings.

So, how absurd was the post now? How sensitive? And, tell me, how unfunny? Very: These ads are very, very unfunny.

Earlier: low culture Exclusive: An Outrage Grows in Brooklyn!!!; low culture Exclusive: The Outrage Continuesâ€'Continuously!!!

In the White House's Roosevelt Room earlier this morning, President Bush announced Jim Nicholson, current U.S. ambassador to the Vatican, as his nominee for Secretary of Veterans Affairs. This is the ninth cabinet replacement since Bush's re-election, and as each new cabinet member has been introduced to the media, the announcement game plan's been identical in each instance, as the President peers studiously at his newly-nominated staff members (examined earlier in "Didn't America Vote Against the Gaze?").

Of course, it turns out this "game plan" has been part of a larger "master plan" carefully choreographed by Dan Bartlett and his staff...Here's an exclusive "floor plan" slipped to low culture by a White House operative.

RELATED: White House Roosevelt Room

"Let's just clamp down on this shit, ok?"

Toll in China Mine Explosion Reaches 166

Plane veers off Indonesian runway; 31 die

Typhoon Bears Down on Flood-Hit Philippine Towns

UN Says May Have Spotted Rwandan Troops in Congo

Ukrainian Parliament Votes Out Prime Minister's Government

Holy fuck, that shit's so boring, right? And I don't even know what any of that means, really. Where the fuck in Africa or wherever is this so-called "Indonesia", and why are they flying planes there? While I try to wrap my head around this global primitivism, let me instead focus on this bit of American news (finally!) that came to my attention.

And, yeah, it did most certainly come to my attention because it's American news:

Rumsfeld sued for war crimes over Abu Ghraib

Oh, I totally, totally get this, given I read all the big papers each and every morning...It looks like a consortium of human rights lawyers are trying to bring attention to the various illegalities (mis)used in the Americans' detention of suspects in Iraq. Boy, this shit gets me so angry! I cannot tell you how RILED UP this sort of stuff makes me! And to think we elected this Bush guy for another four years? What is wrong with this country?????

Also: if any alert readers get any more information on what happened with that voting fiasco in Ohio earlier this month, please, please, drop us a line.

(Ground) Zero Tact: Another offensive Cingular billboard, Lafayette St. and Astor Pl.

On November 19, this website published a revelation so important, so earth-shattering, our comments database promptly crashed due to the overwhelming feedback we received.

I am referring, of course, to low culture Exclusive: An Outrage Grows in Brooklyn!!!, about Cingular's insensitive Twin Towers-themed billboard on Fourth Avenue and 9th Street in Brooklyn.

Since then, the post has richocheted around the internet, spread like wild fire, grown like kudzu, and just kept going and going like one of those battery-operated toy rabbits.

If our comments were any indication, America was just as outraged by Cingular's billboard as we were:

"so clearly ... the twin towers"
"Advertising is subliminal. They want gut reactions."
"... those are the Twin Towers..."
"...these are obviously ... supposed to be the towers. i think anyone ... can figure that out."
"When the twin towers were still standing, they were the same size, which is why they called them the twin towers..."

And, most damning of all:

"i work for cingular and thought this was hilarious."

Hilarious, huh? Well, apparently Cingular is upping the ante by putting up not one, but several of these offensive billboards on the corner of Lafayette and Astor Place, a few blocks north of the World Trade Center! Yes, it's true: The outrage continues. Worse yet, the representation of the Twin Towers crumbling, falling apart, appears almost exactly where the towers themselves would appear when looking downtown. Out-freakin'-rageous!

Please, we urge you once again to boycott Catherine Zeta Jones, despite her endorsement of T-Mobile. Boycott her because she married that slimy Michael Douglas! This outrage must be stopped!

Earlier: low culture Exclusive: An Outrage Grows in Brooklyn!!!

"I'm Lovin' It": President Bush meets the future outsourced workers for the only jobs left when he leaves office.

Cingularly Bad Taste: Twin Towers-themed billboard, 4th Avenue and 9th Street Subway Station in Brooklyn

This is outrageous! Outrageously outrageous! In fact, we are outraged!

In a city still reeling from the 9/11 attacks—an event so painful, there isn't a bowl of cereal large enough to drown our sadness—Cingular has decided to put up this tasteless, insensitive billboard on an overpass on 4th Avenue in Brooklyn that shows the burning Twin Towers. This is wrong on so many levels, especially since so many of us New Yorkers were without cellular service on that dark day and could not speak to our friends and family members, regardless of our "whenever minutes" or roll-over plans!

What's worse is that this isn't the first time advertisers have exploited 9/11 to sell a sub-par product. Shouldn't they know better by now?

We urge you to boycott Cingular! Mostly because Catherine Zeta-Jones is incrementally less hot than she used to be. (So, boycott Ocean's 12, too!) This outrage cannot be ignored!

Update: An alert reader and concerned citizen tells us that Ms. Zeta-Jones flaks for T-Mobile, not Cingular. You can run, but you can't hide, Catherine! So, boycott Cingular's non-threatening, pansexual spokescreature, Pit-Pat!

After reviewing the election results by county, the Bush administration is looking into amending the U.S. Constitution to apportion votes by hectares rather than utilizing the Electoral College:

If that fails to pass the stringent process for amending the Constitution, variations such as "1 Bible = 1 Vote" will be considered.

From today’s New York Times:

Wayne Llewellyn, the president of distribution at Paramount, said that the conservative ethos reflected in last week's election results might have hurt [Alfie].

"It could be the mood of the country right now," he said. "It seems to be the result of the election."

But Alfie’s lackluster o.b.o. wasn’t the only thing to come out of this election. A look at some of November 2nd’s lesser publicized consequences:

DVD sales of Farenheit 911 dropped significantly.

The third season of Reno 911? Totally put on hold.

Jonathan Safran Foer’s drunken boast – "I’m so getting out of this fascist country" – now repeated ad infinitum to friends.

David Blaine’s healing powers significantly diminished. Street magic, however, is promised to continue.

I might have, just totally randomly, you know, just hooked up with this other girl, but it totally stopped before, you know… I can’t believe this election.

Syria? That shit’s on.

And remember how I said you should move in with me? It’s just that after this whole election thing, I don’t know if that’s really a great idea. In light of the election.

John Kerry unlikely to become President on January 20. American government largely overrun by crypto-fascist evangelicals.

I’m in love with someone else. Election.

Related: Yes, And the Story of an Old-Fashioned...

Doobie Brother: Dude, don't bogart the platform.

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"Hollywood, with its Jewish roots, did not experience The Passion as a transcendent religious and emotional event, as so many other viewers did. Some haven't forgiven Gibson for even making the film, let alone forgotten his father, Hutton, and his inflammatory statements about the history of the Jews. 'I'll tell you why The Passion won't be nominated,' snaps one industry executive. 'Happily, there are too many people in the Academy who believe the Holocaust actually happened.'"

Will Oscar Listen?, Sean Smith, Newsweek, Oct. 25, 2004.

From the idiots what brung you Rove & Rover

EARLIER, indelicately: John Kerry, Debate 2004: Gay, gay, gay, gay, gaygaygaygay

EARLIER, sanctimoniously: "Mention of Gay Daughter a Cheap Trick, Lynne Cheney Says", Washington Post

We hold these lies to be self-evident...

Several prominent psychologists speculate that if Bush wins the election, the national suicide rate will increase by as much as 35%.

George Bush wrote a poem in high school called "Little Me, in Poppy's Shadow."

Teresa Heinz was a back-up singer for Bob Dylan's Rolling Thunder Revue tour.

As a young man, Donald Rumsfeld used to run numbers with Malcolm X, then known as "Detroit Red."

John Kerry keeps all of his kids' baby teeth in a satchel in his pocket. He rubs them when he's nervous.

The Bush twins were conjoined at birth, sharing a liver. This is why they get drunk so easily.

John Edwards's battle with a childhood illness formed the basis of the 1976 after-school special, The Boy in the Plastic Bubble starring John Travolta.

It has been proven that electronic voting machines are essentially the same technology as the Simple Simon light game.

Condoleezza Rice had a small speaking part in the film version of Hair.

Laura Bush is allergic to most root vegetables.

The Internets are on fire today, man. As they say in Latin, ¡en fuego, hombre!

First comes this excellent article from a newspaper called The New York Sun that not only tells us about blogs, but finally—finally!—explains that "jumping the shark" phrase our 15 year-old cousin always uses. (It has something to do with Happy Days.) There's also an excellent little primer about a show called Oz, which we're definitely gonna watch this week.

The article, by a writer named Eric Wolff (remember that name!), is all about a website called Gawker, which we plan to check out after we have our morning coffee! It also answers the age old question: Who gives the best soundbites, Condé Nast editorial assistants, or 'cyber-hostesses'? (It's a draw! They both bring the noise and the bite!)

Then there's this Tom Scocca piece from The New York Observer about a guy who runs a site called The Minor Fall, The Major Lift (definitely gotta check his stuff out) who was once annonymous but is now going by his real name, Alex Balk! Plus, he's now writing for The New York Times! Like other bloggers! (Memo to self: Pick up the Times this weekend on the way to brunch!)

What's exciting about this (and warrants all these exclamation points!!!) is that we can now see that far from being an annonymous wag, this Balk fellow was actually hiding in plain site all along, submitting to a website called McSweeneys and playing along on the Slate News Quiz with Emmy-winning TV writers and producers! Next Major Lift, Hollywood!?!

Phew! This entry has fairly knocked us out (we topped off our exclamation point quota in the second paragraph!), and now we're off to go figure out how to get one of these blogs set up. Our 15 year-old cousin is great with computers, and we think the "domain" JackieHarvey.com is still available!

As they say in Latin, Excelsior!

Once, years before a hyperbole-prone Graydon Carter pronounced "the end of the age of irony", the more astute Tom Lehrer remarked that Henry Kissinger's 1973 Nobel Peace prize rendered political satire obsolete.

One wonders what Tom Lehrer thinks of today's announcement that the the Nobel Prize in Literature was awarded to the perverted Austrian novelist Elfriede Jelinek. While not an act of cosmic irony on par with Kissinger's Peace Prize, it is, if nothing else, the last nail in the coffin for kinky books. Even if you are inclined to enjoy nauseating, degenerate art-smut like this (and if you are, you should be ashamed), you have to acknowledge that the authors of these nasty things should not be rewarded for writing and promulgating them. Most of Sade's horrid output was written in prison, and rightly so. Georges Bataille published the shockingly perverse "Story of the Eye" under a pseudonym and spent his wretched life as a creepy librarian, unwilling to face the well-deserved umbrage that even his fellow Frenchmen would have unleased upon him had he taken responsibility for his "work."

Of course, we here at low culture regard this kind of cultural output as not merely beneath contempt, but in fact a danger to our American way of life and values, the sort of pernicious decadence that leads to the downfall of great civilizations. But even if we did care for this kind of thing, isn't it a fundamental element of these naughty books that they and their authors are "transgressive", that they are breaking the rules of society? And shouldn't society respond to transgression with censure and condemnation, not fancy medals and prizes? Indeed, in a year in which the world was appalled by images of grotesquely sadistic acts, is it not poor timing -- if not a bit perverse -- for the Swedish Academy to award its Literature prize to a pornographic writer who celebrates perversity?

Posting today's gonna be lax. "LAX", in fact! In honor of tonight's premiere episode of NBC's hour-long drama starring the forever-relevant Heather Locklear and the forever-handsome Blair Underwood, we're throwing aside creativity and getting a bit—you guess it!—lax!

According to the press clippings for the show, it "explores the behind-the-scenes dramas and conflicts of both travelers and staff transpiring daily at the bustling Los Angeles International Airport." The show's characters are jockeying "to be named the new director of the airport while working together to solve everything from bomb scares, to VIP arrivals, drunken pilots and roaming pets—all beneath the din of a frantic "hub" with spokes that touch all corners of the world."

We have such high hopes for this show we're already holding our breath for the inevitable Law & Order/C.S.I.-esque spin-offs. To wit:

"SJC": Slated for a mid-season replacement slot. Covers the trials and tribulations of customs agents working at San Jose International Airport, in Northern California's little-known but most-populous city, as shady foreign businessmen try to steal trade secrets from Silicon Valley's bustling computer and technology industry. This series, incidentally, is set in 1996.

"EWR": Another mid-season filler. For those of you not well-versed in our nation's many lesser-known airports, EWR refers to New Jersey's Newark International Airport. This gripping boardroom drama concerns the NY/NJ Port Authority's efforts to bring the consumer-class convenience of budget carriers such as JetBlue to little ol' Newark. "You know how much traffic we're losing to goddamned LaGuardia? We've got fucking Song and that's it," series lead Eric Roberts repeatedly barks to his underlings in the well-received pilot, which is, somewhat notably, the first drama about airports to feature heavily-excised language.

"EYW": Air travel doesn't come easy when you're located amidst miles and miles of waterfront property with docks and piers extending as far as the eye can see...and the staff at Key West International Airport knows this firsthand. For years, a battle has been raging between local boat-rental companies and the cozy airport's ringmasters, but that battle just got a little more even with the arrival of drug baron Raoul Mendoza and his posse of depth-charge-dropping small-bodied Sandpiper aircraft.

"IND": If there's one thing flight mechanics don't like, its a nasty labor dispute. And when the fictitious USAirlineways, which is in no way related to the real-life USAirways, files for bankruptcy and threatens to reduce its nonstop service between the titular Indianapolis International Airport and Boston, Pittsburgh, Charlotte, N.C., and Philadelphia, these laborers get mad. But what they don't know is that USAirlineways' chief labor negotiator is from Baltimore, and has carried a nasty Eric Dickerson-related grudge since that fateful day in 1984 when the Colts left his city to head to Indiana. (This pilot currently only exists in script format and has yet to be filmed.)

From our perch in the upper balcony, Conventionist was able to get a strong feel for the enthusiasm with which California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger's speech was greeted tonight - and this is in New York! Conventionist - while we don't generally get involved in political matters - is excited by the idea of the star of Kindergarten Cop taking the stage someday in the near future to run for national office.

And while his accent proved to be a handful to some of the delegates from the so-called "Red States", they still whooped and hollored as the star of Red Sonja spoke of his support for President Bush's getting re-elected.

(UPDATE: Gov. Schwarzenegger did not star in Red Sonja, that was Brigitte Nielsen. And readers have written in to tell us that there is an amendment preventing a foreign-born citizen from running for our nation's highest office. Conventionist still holds out hope that this can be worked out...are you listening, Mayor Bloomberg?)

The Republican Party delegates, as expected, have made it official: President Bush is the party's official nominee for the election. While Conventionist shies away from political matters, as an unofficial rule, we still hope that the race for the White House will be as exciting as it was for us to see the congregation of delegates from Pennsylvania gleefully cheer as their votes were cast, which officially gave the President the count he needed.

Conventionist hasn't been this excited since our on-set visit to Aaron Sorkin's "West Wing", where we had the opportunity to have our photos taken with Allison Janney. (More photos available at BlueJake.)

As expected, Conventionist toured the floor in full force tonight, and, lo and behold, not a single panda was in sight. You can imagine Conventionist's disappointment at this unexpected development...but Laura Bush's keynote address more than made up for this lack of Grand Ol' Pandas.

Conventionist would like to think that, politics aside, all New Yorkers, and, for that matter, all Americans, would be able to rally behind what sounded like a real tour de force to these ears. And while some readers may have problems with Mrs. Bush's husband, it's important to bear in mind that she showed her true colors tonight, and they are red, white, and blue.

Also, Conventionist recommends that all delegates see Radio 4 perform tonight at the Knitting Factory. Doors open at 9:00pm.

Now, isn't that special?

Not since Bono glided through concert arenas in a giant lemon for U2's POPmart tour has stagecraft been so far in the forefront as it is for next week's Republican National Convention.

Today's Times reveals some of the excellent bells and whistles we'll be witnessing when President Bush delivers his speech before literally many, many delegates in New York. (For the President, Special Setup Is Planned at Convention, by Michael Slackman.)

A very special president deserves an extra-special stage. (It goes without saying that if Mr. Bush had participated in this year's Olympics in Athens, it would've been a Special Olympics, indeed.) As the article points out, to create a sense of "special intimacy" (there's that word again!), a centrally-located in-the-round stage will be erected.

What other special theatrics are in store for the convention?

President Bush will descend on a harness from the rafters wearing 25-foot angel wings.

Vice President Dick Cheney will enter dressed as a gladiator and slay an animatronic tiger affectionately nicknamed "Edwards."

The 1.5 million gallon water tank from Cirque du Soleil's O will be assembled in Madison Square Garden so that Condoleezza Rice may lead synchronized swimmers in a routine set to Wagner's "Flight of the Valkyries."

Four cannons loaded with indoor fireworks that spell out "LOWER TAXES" will be fired at the ceiling

Those hilarious stunt-dunking guys in gorilla suits will go buck wild!

The living Beatles—all two of them—will reunite to sing "Fixing A Hole" with new lyrics about Iraq

A CGI-assisted video will show John Ashcroft at the signing of the Declaration of Independence

Donald Rumsfeld will smile for five seconds

Delegates arriving by swift boats and yachts and walking a pink carpet lined with photographers and writers from The Weekly Standard, The Washington Times, and The National Review asking "Who are you wearing?" and "Do you think Britney is rushing into marriage?"

Live, via satellite, Jesus will bless the delegates

Twenty uniformed members of the armed services will form a pyramid, and a trained elephant will lift a veteran of the Iraq war out of his wheelchair and place him on the top so he can wave an American flag with his remaining arm

A (taped) speech by Ronald Reagan about how much he loves America and apple sauce and swimming and how his male nurse is stealing from him and someone is coming into his room and using his phone and can he have some more apple sauce please, mommy?

Paris Hilton and Haylie Duff will speak together, putting an end to any rumors that they're in a feud

Alan Keyes will deliver a speech ten times better than what's his name's and then sing Outkast's "Hey Ya" with new lyrics about compassionate conservatism.

Karl Rove will sit behind an enormous green curtain doing... things. Don't worry about what he's doing. Really—it's fine.

Donald Trump, closing the convention by pointing at John Kerry and saying "Ya fired!"

And, if that's not all, it's free bat day! Well, for the cops outside it is.

According to ScriptSales, Tina Fey and her agency, Endeavor, have just sold Curly Oxide and Vic Thrill for mid-six against seven. (Which anyone who's seen Adaptation. knows is 'industry speak' for "I know industry speak.") The story of "[a] Hasidic Jew and a grizzled rock musician [who] form a band," was inspired by a report on NPR and will inevitably star Adrien Brody (in a furry hat) and Colin Firth (in a name tag, since no one knows who the fuck he is). And the best part? While delivering some scripts upstairs, we heard that Brett Ratner might direct it!

As that last sentence hinted, we just started our new day jobs in the mailroom of the mailroom at Endeavor. (We couldn't get into the mailroom proper without M.B.A.'s.) It's a little thing called workin' your way up the old fashioned way, by being abused, and humiliated - and urinated upon - for years. It's awesome, and a great use of our combined $245,000 educations. (How's that for a mid-six against seven, huh, boss?). And, we actually managed to scoop a copy of Curly Oxide and Vic Thrill's first-act outline from the main fax machine before Hector, one of the senior mailroom guys, busted us. We're gonna do our best to score the other two acts when Hector goes on his 3 PM Jamba Juice run, and, yes, that's Pacific Standard Time, for all of you who think anything of note happens in New York.

In the meantime, check out this exclusive Tina Fey comedic buzz...

From left to right we've got whoever the fuck these people are, Daria Werbowy, Natalia Vodianova, Gisele Bundchen, Isabeli Fontana, Karolina Kurkova, Liya Kebede, Hana Soukupova, Gemma Ward, and Karen Elson. (AP Photo/Courtesy Vogue, Steven Meisel)

September approacheth! The all-important ninth month of the year, the introduction to the fall fashion season, when Vogue annually releases their most important issue ever, with all its concomitant power to make or break fashionistas everywhere. And now, here it is: the cover image for their much-anticipated September 2004 issue, and, hold on a minute and put away your excitement stick, because there are f