October 17th, 2008

As ‘joe six-pack’ remains gripped in brewing political frenzy, debating last minute whether POW John McCain secretly asked Bush to use a condom or if re-arranging the words in Sen. Obama’s name really does spell ‘Oprah’s Bitch,’ I think we’re forgetting the one really important issue in this presidential election…

It’s Candy Crowley’s hair. More so, the fact that she now appears to be brushing it with something other than a steel wool pad. She’s about one town-hall debate away from auditioning for a Pantene commercial. Good for you Candy.


Crowley, just before the bus made contact…

For those of you who are unfamiliar with this rather jolly woman of political commentary, she’s CNN’s go-to gal for everything POTUS 2008. What started off as a rather frumpy, dour-looking correspondent who was better known for getting the President sick by knowingly going onto Air Force One with a head cold, Crowley has now embraced a more dressed-up look. This is a welcome change from the days when she was often times mistaken for a Florida tourist who had shaken loose from the White House walking tour: Being spear-tackled in the rose garden while trying to explain to the Secret Service that you’re a credible reporter is always a little embarrassing. It probably didn’t help that she also had an Arby’s beef & cheddar in her hand at the time.


How America fell in love with a sandwich that resembles a vagina is beyond me…

But Crowley, much like every other talking head on news television, knows the writing is on the wall for one of these two groovy guys. After nearly two years of campaigning, the American public now knows every little piece of available information on Obama & McCain: It’s really become the political version of Match.com, where every search keeps bringing up the same two results and we continue to wonder why we’re paying so much to belong to such a dysfunctional website.

So, what does this mean for me on election day? Well, other than casting my ballot absentee, it says my vote will likely be meaningless thanks to a two-party system that refuses to put strong candidates forward, as well as the self-realization of living in an inherently dysfunctional system created to suppress the middle-class. Talking like this makes me vaguely aware that people were saying this stuff back in the ’60s, so tossing it off here really can’t come across as anything but flip.

I guess it’s just a case of history being doomed to repeat itself. C’est la vie.



Flipping through mid-morning channels on a recent rainy Manhattan day, I ended up stopping on The Today Show, which at that hour would usually require a few stiff drinks to remain watchable. But sitting there, entranced, it became suddenly clear to me that the genius of co-host Kathy Lee Gifford has not only been fully realized, but that her thought-to-speech filter must have a serious case of retardation. This woman is bat-shit insane. It was like watching any Tom Cruise film from the last 10 years: A total car-wreck that serves as nothing more than an excuse to feel better about your life through someone else’s misery.


Exhibit P: As in, plastic surgery…

Thankfully, Gifford will never surpass Cruise in the embarrassment department: He does, after all, carry that all-encompassing Scientology trump card.

The Kathy Lee of the Regis era is long dead: Now resembling what appears to be a botoxed squirrel on crystal meth, Gifford rambles from one topic to another in rapid-fire succession, confusing her co-host and sounding like some divine sounding rod for a much greater force… That is, if the force was an autistic child hopped up on Dexatrim. What’s most entertaining about her shtick is that you never quite know what she’s going to say next. One second she’s commenting on her sex life with hubby Frank, rendering half of the viewing audience forever sterile, and the next she’s lambasting Al Roker by dangling a piece of Ray’s pizza over his head during his weather report. She’s officially the new hot-mess of daytime television, thus dethroning Martha Stewart, who’s defrosted just enough to actually allow her guests to make a cooking mistake without clubbing to death them during the commercial break.


Matt Lauer, desperately caught in one of Gifford’s thread-lift barbs, struggles to freedom…

Just spent some time in New York, which put me again on the Lower East and THOR (The Hotel on Rivington), my favorite spot to stay in the city. I got a killer upgrade offer to the Penthouse, which is thankfully not occupied much these days and I gleefully took it. While their standard suites are already large by NYC standards (with steam showe
rs, heated onyx floors, tempurpedic bedding and REN bath products), the Owners Suite and Penthouse set a new standard for high-design rooms. Over 3,000 square feet on three floors, it includes a floating steel staircase, complete glass surrounding, in-wall whole suite audio, drop-down projection system, Surface Magazine custom furniture and the real kicker: A full-scale open-air rooftop lounge with hot tub, firepit and Phillipe Starck seating.

It’s not just impressive by hotel standards. It’s just plain impressive.

Oh yeah, and if you’re planning a trip to THOR, don’t forget to get room service to send up an order of truffle fries. Amazingly simple, but after one bite, you’ll be dreaming about them for days. Calories? What calories?

The only downside of heading to NYC this time of year is the throng of foreign tourists. They’re literally everywhere. There’s just no escape. If New York was a living body, then those damned packs of tour groups holding hands through Times Square would be the blood clots that slow the city down. Some doctors might prescribe coumadin for this problem, but my solution simply involves liberal use of a cattle prod. I’ve now learned how to say ‘please move, now’ in six different languages.

I’m also in the process of moving, which is unusual feeling after being in my current condo for nearly two years, but I found a fantastic original factory-loft space in downtown San Antonio. All original 1913 fixtures and windows, with vaulted ceilings, a private elevator, custom re-worked bathrooms, sun room and an open floor plan that may or may not be easy to deal with. 3400 square feet total. Once I get things settled, which will be sometime mid-next month, I’ll post up some pics. I’m working on finding (or having some made) large-format pieces of artwork for the walls, as well as the usual humdrum of vetting moving companies and getting written quotes. It may be a pain in the ass, but it’s a much needed pain in the ass. I’m excited about it.

I’ll wrap things up on this post for now, but always keep in mind that my new photoblog is thriving with images from my daily doings, as well as the tried-and-true Twitter, both of which can be found here…

BN PHOTOBLOG

BN ON TWITTER

I’ve also added one or two new images to the Google Gallery, but not too much else.

I promise to get more photos up soon, as my hair length and color is in constant flux these days (right now, it’s cropped and blonde). I’m spending this weekend in Las Vegas, then coming home for a quick jet to Mexico City and Puerto Vallarta. I’ve got a nice selection of Eye Candy lined up for a next-week posting. So little to do and so much time…

Wait a minute: Strike that. Reverse it.

BN

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