Category: Shallow

Today marks William Safire’s last Op-Ed piece article for the New York Times, and the paper has set up a lovely multimedia farewell to him online. Even readers are encouraged to get in on the good cheer and offered the chance to “share memories of the columnist.” We thought it might be nice to share some of their moving tributes below.
From Rajivshorey:
Outright thugs in the administration and out of it like Mr Safire are responsible for the utterly venal and criminal policy on Iraq war.
From farmhand07:
Think of all the good he could have done if he had just stayed with selling refrigerators. Instead he used his “salesman” writing style to foist and then prop up the most reprehensible figures in recent American politics. Agnew, Nixon, et al.
Good riddance.
From krome9:
Safire’s logic was sometimes just missing and most times corrupt.
From richeeboyee:
You’re a hell of a liar – good riddance.
From jazztenor:
Mmmmm…interesting illustration by Barry Blitt of Safire’s self-important melodramatic farewell…
Are we to surmise he is jumping into an empty pool?

Dear Sirs/Madames:
I was sorry to hear about the recent loss of your editor, Brigid Hughes. All consolations aside, may I suggest my own editorial services to the rescue?
Much like your former editor George Plimpton, my many urbane acquaintances would describe me as possessing the bonhomie and ruddy good cheer of any chronic tippler, whilst still maintaining adequate compos mentis to run the football pool on a Sunday afternoon.
Unlike Mr. Plimpton, however, who forever played the “professional amateur,” I am a “consummate professional.” Could Mr. Plimpton program basic HTML? I can. Did he boast a proficiency in Excel Spreadsheets and the rest of the Microsoft Office suite? I boast. And I can safely assume that my WPM’s far outstrip Mr. Plimpton on even his best days.
To put it bluntly – I am not possessed of the terminal wanderlust that so plagued Mr. Plimpton. Nor do I possess any aspirations to play the jack-off-of-all-trades: I have no interest in getting in the ring with Archie Moore. I have neither the interest nor the talent to write the Great American Oral Biography. In short I have few, if any, interests – a valuable asset when it comes time to meet the bruising deadlines of a literary quarterly.
If and when I do pursue my acting career, I will serve as a far better representative for The Paris Review than Mr. Plimpton did in the failed Tom Hanks vehicle Volunteers.
When I served as Editorial Intern for Harper’s in the summer of ’97, my dedication to fact-checking the trademarked Index was responsible for the eventual publication of several scathing statistics that concerned federal budget allocations. My recent experience in posting to low culture has presumably prepared me for other things, things of which Mr. Plimpton could only have dreamed. Did Mr. Plimpton post to low culture? I’m fairly certain he didn’t.
As for meeting (and exceeding) the qualifications of your most recent editor, let’s just put it this way: I can urinate standing up.
I am available to move into Mr. Plimpton’s apartment effective March first (when my sublet ends). I look forward to speaking with you about this opportunity.
Yours,
Guy Cimbalo

Excerpted from “The Tonight Show,” September, 1991, on the occasion of the Soviet Republics’ movement toward independence:

To me, democracy means placing trust in the little guy, giving the fruits of nationhood to those who built the nation…Democracy is people of all races, colors, and creeds united by a single dream: to get rich and move to the suburbs away from people of all races, colors, and creeds.
Democracy is buying a big house you can’t afford with money you don’t have to impress people you wish were dead. And, unlike Communism, democracy does not mean having just one ineffective political party; it means having two ineffective political parties. Democracy means freedom of sexual choice between any two consenting adults; Utopia means freedom of choice between three or more consenting adults. But I digress.
Democracy is welcoming people from other lands, and giving them something to hold onto — usually a mop or a leaf blower. It means that with proper timing and scrupulous bookkeeping, anyone can die owing the government a huge amount of money.
Yes, democracy means fighting every day for what you deserve, and fighting even harder to keep other, weaker people from getting what they deserve. Democracy means never having the Secret Police show up at your door. Of course, it also means never having the cable guy show up at your door. It’s a tradeoff. Democracy means free television. Not good television, but free.
And finally, democracy is the eagle on the back of a dollar bill, with 13 arrows in one claw, 13 leaves on a branch, 13 tail feathers, and 13 stars over its head–this signifies that when the white man came to this country, it was bad luck for the Indians, bad luck for the trees, bad luck for the wildlife, and lights out for the American eagle.

“A 40-year-old woman faces charges of sexual assault and contributing to the delinquency of a minor for allegedly supplying drugs and alcohol to high school boys and having sex with some of them.
“Sylvia Johnson, 40, told police she wanted to be a ‘cool mom,’ according to an arrest affidavit…”
– ‘Cool Mom’ Threw Sex Parties for Boys, AP, Jan. 21, 2005.

How to Enter: Using the ‘comments’ area, enter your best caption to the above photo (via AP).
Prize: The best caption, as chosen by the editors of this site, will be posted on the main page.
Rules: Enter as often as you like. No libel, etc.
* low culture cannot guarantee that you have “super-fun”.

Shock and Awe: Fireworks over the White House, top (via Reuters), Independence Day, bottom (via Catastrophe in the Movies)

Ah, Park City in January, otherwise known as the Dance Season – that’s Sundance, Slamdance, and Nodance (now defunct). Those of you foolish enough to brave Park City’s bad hat weather and blue law strictures, however, would do well to catch the debut of Crispin Glover’s What Is It?
That’s right, Glover’s long-awaited, first-in-a-trilogy, what-the-fuck, madhouse will enjoy three public screenings, all followed by Q&A Sessions with the creepy auteur. The film, as per imdb:

The film features a cast consisting largely of actors with Down Syndrome, a snail with the voice of Fairuza Balk, and legendary publisher Adam Parfrey playing “Jealous Minstrel.”
What is it? Indeed. Some help might be gleaned from Glover’s Apocalypse Culture II essay of the same name, in which he blames Steven Spielberg for Columbine, kind of.
The trailer for “What Is It?” is available from Crispin Glover’s official site – it is, however, not safe for work.
After the jump, witness an early poster for “What Is It?” featuring Shirley Temple nude, in Nazi garb. Clearly not safe for anywhere.

Best Actor, White (aka “Drama”):
Leonardo DiCaprio, The Aviator
Best Actor, Black (aka “Musical or Comedy”):
Jamie Foxx, Ray