by John Walters
Tweet Me Right
Redactions and Reactions
The Mueller Report has more than 300 redactions, such as the one above. So maybe we’re not getting the entire story? I’ll wait for the Director’s Cut DVD.
And yet we still know that the president said, “Oh my God. This is terrible. This is the end of my presidency. I’m f888ed.” Which is precisely what innocent people do.
Here’s Maggie Haberman of The New York Times (whose reporting on almost all the skulduggery of the past 2 years was validated by the report) on the corrupt culture of this White House.
Sarah Smile (Except Rearrange The Letters of The Second Word After You Omit The “m”)
Meanwhile, the report showed that Sarah Sanders prevaricated in 2017 when she told reporters that “countless FBI agents” had told the White House that they no longer had faith in former FBI director James Comey. Sanders brushed off the lie as a “slip of the tongue” and then went early Eighties power chord-happy supergroup by saying it was “the heat of the moment.”
From now on, if there is a now on, every follow-up to Sanders in the press room needs to be, “Was that a heat of the moment answer?”
You C*nt (ellipses) Say That
UPDATE: You can still read what I wrote below, but I had a good talk with a friend just now. A writer dude, but not a sportswriter. He pointed out, and he’s right, that it would have been much better to write my two ex-colleagues privately, ask them why they feel it’s okay to type that word, and to turn that into an MH discussion. And he’s right.
So yes, I could have handled the entire situation better and for that I apologize. At the restaurant in the past year or two I’ve noticed millennial servers using the F-word so casually, in public, and it just makes me want to get into my buggy and horse-whip my steed right outta there. Seriously, though, you may not care but many of us think the use of that word casually is just in extreme poor taste. Not much more to say than that.
Yesterday I found myself in a ton of hot water with (largely millennial) Twitter for admonishing a pair of my former SI colleagues, Jeff Pearlman and Richard Dietsch, for using the f-word on Twitter. Oh yeah, I got ratio’ed big time. You’d have thought I advised tweeps to eat smart, sleep, and exercise, that’s just how mad people were with me.
Twitter: a place to freely express ideas and opinions, unless I don’t like yours, in which case go f*ck yourself.
The tweet, so we’re clear:
First, I was taken down for having the gall for telling someone else what their boundaries should be (which is not what I did; “to each his own”). Next, I was slammed for being a hypocrite because I’d sent out a tweet not long before with the f-word in it (the difference, which no one seemed to appreciate, is that I was highlighting something the president had said and hence it was actually there to make the point of how poor that looked).
Finally, I was slammed because I had “subtweeted” Jeff and Richard, which is a greater sin than all the f-bombs that might ever be dropped. Mike Golic Jr. tweeted something to the effect that “neither is being above the age of 16 and subtweeting someone (a good look).” I’d clap back that being above the age of 16 and still owing daddy for every job you’ve ever had is no better a look, but hey, who wants to start two Twitter wars in one day.
Is it possible to return to the original point? You wanna say the F-word wherever you like, fine. You want to be a writer of some renown and then use that word in print? You can, obviously you can. And a lot of younger people are going to think you’re cool. But I’m not. And that may matter to nobody on or off Twitter. But Jeff and Richard have known me for awhile, and I hope they realize that I criticize the action, not the person. And as someone who cares about writing every single bit as much as they do, I thought they should know. And, as opinions are like assholes (oops, can I print that?), they can take it for as much or as little as they think it’s worth.
Like so many arguments I find myself in (and I find myself in a lot), the moments return to something from either Seinfeld or Curb. This moment took me back to this scene.
The point being, or as Larry was trying to make (because earlier in the scene, not shown here, the f-bomb and other salty language is being used) is that we’re not arguing over the principle of offensive language, we’re arguing over what is offensive to you. And so yeah, much of this is generational, but just casually using the f-bomb in public is not offensive to a lot of people (a lot of those same people grew up thinking Saved By The Bell was a great show, too) but using the c-word still is. Larry’s reaction is like, “Oh, you get to draw the boundaries?”
For the record, Jeff or Richard or anyone can write whatever they like, of course (I’m not following either of them on Twitter any more and I think they’ll survive). I say what I say on Twitter because I believe in it and because I actually care. Being popular or well-liked by people I’ll never meet in person is hardly a priority.
Meanwhile, I did a clap-back this morning referring to POTUS and I doubt anyone got it.
Three renowned professional climbers perished in an avalanche at Banff National Park. American Jess Rosskelley, who in 2003 at the age of 20 summited Everest with a team that included his father, John, was lost. So were two Austrian climbers, David Lama and Hansjorg Auer.
All were sponsored by North Face.
The trio were attempting to climb the east face of 10,800-foot Howse Peak on the Icefields Parkway, which lies outside the monitored area for avalanches within the national park. Jess’ father, John, had made the climb successfully in the Seventies.
I’m sure I’ll deal with Susie B. about this in the comments, so to head that off: for me there’s a difference between dying while doing something you enjoy, understanding and appreciating the inherent risks, and dying due to your need to post a pic on Instagram. And if doing something you enjoy is posting selfies on Instagram, weeeeeeeelllllllll…..
Make America Kate Again
The New York Yankees just found a way to shorten baseball games: they are dumping Kate Smith. Or at least her seventh-inning stretch recording of “God Bless America,” which they had been playing since just after 9/11. The song had survived the razing of the original Yankee Stadium, the House That Ruth Built, and been moved into The House That Jeets Built.
The reason the Yankees are dropping the song is almost as stupid as the fact that they were still trotting out enforced in-game patriotism 18 years after 9/11 (don’t get us wrong: we’re all for patriotism; we just don’t appreciate it being spoon-fed it twice at one sporting event…when is the last time you were asked to stand for the pledge of allegiance at a movie theater?). Seems that in the 1930s Smith recorded a tune titled “That’s Why Darkies Were Born,” which A) was intended as satire, B) she recorded with Paul Robeson, a renowned African-American actor/singer who had also been a football All-American and graduated from law school, C) again, was recorded in the 1930s, white actors put on black face and nobody said boo.
It was a different time.
Stupid logic. Beneficial result. We’ll take it.
Hot Child In The City
No, Martina Navritalova did not have a backup career as a pop singer. This is Nick Gilder, a Canadian singer who was invented before the word androgyny was very popular. This song, released in June of 1978, rose to No. 1 in the USA in October of that year and holds the record for longest gestation between release and hitting No. 1 of any record. To think, for example, that Darkness On The Edge Of Town, also released in June of ’78, couldn’t land a single song in the Top 30. Hmm.
The Roman Spring of Mrs. Stone
2 p.m. TCM
From 1961 and not to be confused with Romancing The Stone (though he does)…two-time Oscar winner Vivian Leigh, age 48 when this was released, as an aging beauty who has an affair with Warren Beatty, who was literally half her age (long before Shampoo, he was playing a gigolo). Raaaaaaaa-cy! At the time. And I’ll stop you before you go there, Susie B.: yes, this was the M.O. for half the pictures in Hollywood in the Forties and Fifties as long as the genders were reversed. Added bonus: Beatty, a veritable unknown, plays an Italian with a thick accent. I
Not a classic, but how many chances will you get to view this?