    "Eating, drinking and carrying on..." -- Adelaide Brennan
Oh hey ... George? In your face, motherfracker. How, piss off and find a copy of the United States Constitution, then read it. Then find someone (not a toady neocon yes-man) to explain to you what it means. Of course, the Republicans are already starting to talk about bending over backwards to give the Tinpot everything he wants. But we'll never see them tried. According to this crosspost from SCOTUSblog, the Supreme's Court above-referenced decision seems to show that "the Administration appears to have been engaged in war crimes, which are subject to the death penalty." On a practical level, though, will these people ever have to face justice for what they've done? Quote of the day. Typical of their gorge-rising spin and histrionic fear-mongering, on the heels of the Supremes' decision we get this from The Empty Suit:
Well, let's start with the possibility that maybe a few innocent people who are wrongly imprisoned at Guantánamo might be put out on the street, for starters. This is rich, too ... coming from the leader of a party who seem to be all for this whole amnesty-for-insurgents thing in Iraq. They seem perfectly willing to offer amnesty to the people who've killed over 2,500 American soldiers and let them keep being out on the street. Just so long as it's not our street it's okay, is it? Better quote of the day, from an actual human being (and a good human being, unlike the one quoted above). From Poppy's journal, talking about her recent fabulous meal at Cuvée (as if there's any other kind there):
Heheheheeeee ... I nearly spat iced green tea all over the monitor at that one. I {heart} Bob Iacovone! Cheese shmeese, he can give me this dish anytime he wants.  Oh my God, it was good. Ardent Spirits and The Cocktailian. Gary and Mardee have a new issue of the Ardent Spirits Newsletter out (because in the midst of all the stuff I'm posting today, we need a drink), featuring at least three new cocktail recipes! Actually, it's not Mary's turn after all. (Via Wes.) A couple of weeks ago, Dick "go fuck yourself before I shoot you in the face" Cheney's daughter Mary, America's most self-loathing, cognitively dissonant lesbian, was interviewed by Terry Gross on NPR's "Fresh Air". I couldn't get past the first ten minutes of it ... she infuriated me so much I wanted to jump out of the car window. I switched off the radio and turned the iPod back on instead. Miriam said I've got to listen to it all, as it gets worse (!), so I probably will later. You probably heard that she wrote a book called Now It's My Turn, for which Simon and Schuster (via their new "conservative imprint") paid an advance of one million dollars (that's $1,000,000.00, in all its count-all-those-zeroes glory). Supposing that all copies of the book sold at the full retail price of $20, and supposing that the entire cover price went to the publisher (they don't, and it doesn't), they'd have to sell at least 50,000 copies to recoup that advance, much less make a profit when you consider how much they actually make with each copy sold. The book has sold fewer than 6,000 copies to date. During the week of June 3, for example, the book sold only 574 copies worldwide. Apparently not that many people want to read her sad, delusional foolishness. Here's a tidbit from TPMCafe:
Don't miss the comments on that post, my favorite hiss-claw comment being this one:
She doesn't need a book deal. She needs some serious therapy. Peeve of the day. I just rode up the elevator with someone who had been working out at the gym adjacent to our office building. In lieu of taking a shower, he instead doused himself with what must have been a quart of cologne ... making him smell exponentially worse. It was a good thing I hadn't had my lunch yet, or the unbelievably vile stench he was giving off would have prompted me to throw up on him. DUMI. Speaking as someone who's almost been turned into a smear on the concrete more times than I care to count by idiots yapping on cell phones while they're driving, I think the above acronym (Driving Under Mobile Influence) should be illegal. Now there's some evidence to back it up -- a study has shown that mobile phone talkers behind the wheel are just as dangerous, if not more dangerous, than drunk drivers, and that more study participants rear-ended cars while talking on the phone than while drunk.
Of course. Hang up and drive, for feck's sake. Happy Fourth of July weekend, everyone! Have a safe and fun holiday, and I'll see y'all next week after the break. [ Link to today's entries ]
Cocktail of the day. It's one of my favorites, the Aviation Cocktail. We've visited this one before, but here's a big of a twist -- according to a new article by Dave Wondrich in Drinks Magazine, the recipe we're used to isn't the original:
That's fascinating, and I had no idea. (That sidebar is also strangely omitted from the online version.) We had to try it. Crème de violette is going to be difficult to find, but for this drink and especially the exquisite Blue Moon Cocktail (substituting for the completely unavailable Crème Yvette), you should get some; you'll find it one of rarest and most exotic ingredients in your bar. It can be mail-ordered from Sally Clarke's in London, UK.
It doesn't get the drink nearly as sky-blue as the Blue Moon does, but it does lend a really interesting, floral dimension to the drink. We enjoyed it, and it's very much worth a try. [ Link to today's entries ]
The Drive. I stumbled across this on YouTube last night, and was glad I did. The New Orleans Video Access Center (NOVAC) is back in business and currently spreading the word about their new one-hour documentary entitled "The Drive," described thusly:
I've said it before, I'll say it again -- a lot of people in this country still really don't get what happened in New Orleans, they don't understand the devastation because they never saw it. They can visualize some water in the house, they might be able to visualize a flooded neighborhood, but they're never going to be able to imagine anything like the Lower Ninth Ward or Lakeview or Gentilly untill they see it. Now, if they haven't gone to New Orleans and seen it up close, they can see it on film. The trailer for "The Drive" is here, and at the above embedded video you can watch the first 15 minutes, as they drive through the Lower Nine and Lakeview. This first segment, along with over an hour of other recently-produced NOVAC documentaries, will be released on DVD tomorrow and is a steal at $4.75. Buy it. Summer cocktails. The New York Times regales us with some summer cocktails (thanks to Vidiot for the heads-up), and apparently there was a contest that I missed, soliciting ideas for the best summer cocktails. D'oh ... I mighta come up with something good. (Like my Nilsson Fizz below.) Some of their contest winners do look worth a try, though ... especially the Gingino (a Campari and ginger beer highball, garnished with limes and crystallized ginger), The Cuke (a cucumber, lime and gin highball -- do NOT use vodka, for Chrissakes) and the L'Alhambra (a punch with fino Sherry, Spanish cava, orange juice, orange flower water and orgeat). I came up with this one a couple of years ago and found it quite refreshing. It was inspired by song, and named after the song's author.
You could substitute coconut-flavored rum for a stronger and less sweet drink, but I think it'd probably knock you on your ass. Screw AT&T. This fucking company has been chasing me for years, and I can't seem to escape them. Now they're gleefully violating my rights on top of a long history of shitty service, and there might not be anything I can do about it. When I first moved here I signed up for cable TV service with a little local company called Jack Barry Cable (yep, owned by the "Joker's Wild" host), who were then swallowed up by Continental Cablevision, who were then swallowed up by MediaOne, who were then swallowed up by the dreaded AT&T. The service was horrid, and compaints about it and/or attempts to have it rectified plummeted me into customer service hell. Between the atrocious cable TV and internet service and how they ripped me off for hundreds of dollars of long-distance phone service (and were nasty about all of it), I swore I would never do business with them again. Now SBC, the local "baby Bell" phone company who provide my landline and my DSL (as "SBC Yahoo! DSL) has merged with the tattered remnants of AT&T, adopted their more famous logo and, apparently, all of their malevolence. You've heard it in the news by now, no doubt -- AT&T's gleeful compliance with the NSA's illegal domestic spying program, according to the EFF's lawsuit:
Yesterday Salon reported the account of two whistleblowers, both former AT&T employees, who say that AT&T has maintained a second secret, highly secured room since 2002 where government work is being conducted, in addition to the secret spy facility AT&T maintain(s)(ed) in San Francisco. Now it's being reported that as of tomorrow AT&T will change the terms of their privacy policy -- your personal information and data is no longer yours, it's theirs ... to do with as they please; or, as the new policy will state:
Or almost any other circumstance that this administration wants to impose, an administration that's actually talking about prosecuting investigative reporters for espionage. Fuck AT&T. I no longer wish to do business with them. I didn't before, and now I really don't. Problem is, my options are limited. Unless anyone out there knows of any alternative for landline service in southern California, I'm stuck with them unless we go for VOIP (Internet-based phone service). A look at Vonage first reveals that we'd lose our phone number, and would have to get another one. Furthermore, Wes is uncomfortable with VOIP's 911 service, which has improved but is still less reliable than landline. We could get DSL from Earthlink or other providers. Then again, what happens when AT&T helps the senators and congressmen in their pocket push for an anti-net neutrality bill, then assert their ownership of the fiber optic backbone and impose horrendous fees on VOIP providers to put them out of business? How long until it's a big Ma Bell monopoly again, this time working hand-in-hand with the most secretive and privacy-hostile administration in memory? So far it seems as if my only options to switch are an independent DSL provider and VOIP. Any ideas? [ Link to today's entries ]
Da foist day o' da summa. It's the summer solstice, the first day of summer, and time for an Anders Osborne song. Download it from eMusic (What, you're not a member of eMusic? All independent artists and no DRM!) and sing along.
Yeah you rite. Singing the praises of homemade hooch. Dr. Cocktail's latest epistle at Martini Republic is a paean to the joys of making one's one boozy concoctions at home, from the homemade bitters made by several wonderful folks (dang, I'm going to have to revist my own experiments in this area) to Paul Clarke's experiments with homemade falernum (I can't wait to read about his latest batch) to my very own pimento dram (a.k.a. allspice liqueur, the description of which makes me blush intensely). On a related note, we had drinks last night (well, natch), but I won't give it a separate "Cocktail of the Day" header because 1) it was just a Manhattan (well, hardly "just"), and B) it contained an unfair ingredient. I did want to give it a mention, though, as to how a "standard" drink like a Manhattan can undergo drastic and wonderful changes in flavor merely by varying the brand of whiskey, sweet vermouth and aromatic bitters you use, plus the proportion. I usually make Manhattans at a 3:1 when using good ol' Martini & Rossi and a good, assertive rye, but last night Wes was feeling experimental and tried something new. The whiskey was Sazerac Rye, the new 6-year-old stuff, which I think is wonderful -- spicy, cinnamony, orangey -- and could drink it all day, despite the fact that one person I know (hi, Louis!) thought it tasted like "mold." (Tsk tsk.) The vermouth was Carpano's Punt E Mes, the most bitter of the sweet vermouths of my acquaintance, kind of like a poke in the ribs with a vermouth stick, except quite pleasant. The bitters were the legendary and long-defunct Abbott's Bitters, incredibly rich and lush with "apple-pie" spices like clove and cinnamon and ginger plus cardamom and more. The proportion of whiskey to vermouth was 5:1, given the power of the Punt E Mes, and the extravagant nutter put TWO big dashes of Abbott's in each drink! All I could say upon my first taste was, "Wow!" This was a one-man brass band of spice, with so much going on it made my head spin (and paradoxically I wanted to temper the spin by immediately taking another sip). You could almost say it was too much, until you thought about all the flavors going on and felt the balance between the spices and the bitterness and the smoothness of the whisky, with the citrusy elements of the rye helping as well. It was like getting to know a Manhattan all over again, and I enjoyed every drop. Like I said, it's a bit unfair as Abbott's is going to be rather difficult to procure. A not-too-close-but-in-a-neighboring-ballpark substitute could be made by using a dash of Angostura and a dash of Fee's Aromatic, or by making up a batch of Robert Hess' House Bitters (scroll down). Pig, pig, pig! Today's feature story in the Los Angeles Times Food Section is about the bustling 24-hour foodfest that is L.A.'s Koreatown, featuring "barbecue pork belly, fiery kimchi, late-night noodles and Crown Royal" (that all sounds great, except for the Crown Royal part ... booooring). My eyes immediately drawn to the "pork belly" part, I see the place that's a shoo-in for our next Koreatown pork outing, yet another hidden mini-mall gem:
The restaurant's at 3465 W. 6th Street (at Kenmore, three blocks east of Normandie), in a minimall called Chapman Plaza, and it sounds perfect. I'm also much more keen on the idea of the "team of young waiters with perfectly spiked hair," instead of that awful sneering bee-yotch who deigned to serve us (barely) at the Toad House a few months back. Yissi HwaRo, here we come. GOP blocks renewal of Voting Rights Act. Yep, you read that correctly. The landmark 1965 act, which enfranchised millions of black voters who were being stopped at the polls by everything from illegal and racist poll taxes to "literacy tests," is now in limbo thanks to Republian congressmen who blocked and postponed its renewal, saying it "unfairly singles out" nine southern states ... who have a historic pattern of racist voter discrimination. Who spearheaded this in the House? Why, none other than "do-nothingest" Congressman Lynn Westmoreland of Georgia, mentioned below as the idiot who never introduced a single piece of legislation in 2 years and who wants to force the display of the Ten Commandments all over courtrooms and legislative chambers, but can't even name them. Yes, that fucking idiot. And what day did he choose to do this? Why, on the 42nd anniversary of the murder of civil rights workers James Chaney, Andy Goodman and Mickey Schwerner in Philadelphia, Mississippi ... three young men who were murdered because they worked for voting rights. [ Link to today's entries ]
"The Green Room is smokin' and the Plaza's burnin' down ... throw the baby out the window, let the joints burn down ... awwww, because it's ..." It's Al "Carnival Time" Johnson's birthday today, y'all. If you're in New Orleans, the party is tonight at 8pm at Vaughan's, Dauphine at Lesseps. Will we still need him? Will we still feed him? Over across the pond, another famous musician turned 64 years of age last weekend, which is a bit of a milestone for him. Although he doesn't have the stature of Al "Carnival Time" Johnson, who wrote one of New Orleans' most famous Carnival songs, he was once lucky enough to have New Orleans legend Clarence "Frogman" Henry open for him and his band back in 1964, and he once recorded an album in New Orleans with Allen Toussaint on piano. That's pretty good. Outrage overload. I had more to post about this week -- the N.O. firefighters who first witnessed the levee breach at the 17th St. Canal and were told to keep quiet about it by Congressional investigators; Blanco's bullshit anti-abortion trigger law, and Atrios' and Kos' and the "fair weather friends" of the liberal blogosphere's bullshit response to it (and to whom I say, "Fuck all y'all"); the cable from the U.S. Embassy in Iraq detailing horrible conditions there -- but I'm in the midst of some serious outrage fatigue. More later, maybe. [ Link to today's entries ]
Why New Orleans Is Still Worth It. Poppy (who's been on fire lately -- God, I can't wait for D*U*C*K to come out, not to mention Soul Kitchen), in a must-read post on her blog:
I'm reticent to post all of this, because I don't want to exceed the boundaries of fair use, but it's just so fucking good ... just read it all. She's nailed it, perfectly. This is exactly how I've felt about New Orleans for a very long time, how I've written about the city, how I've tried to describe the city to people. This helps explain my own verging-on-breakdown mental health status between the landing of Katrina and the day I was able to set foot in the city again and see it, deeply wounded as it was, and to see my family and friends again. I think what I was feeling was grieving, not that different from how one grieves for a person. I had to see that person of a city again, and see that despite near-mortal wounds that it was still alive, even if only 20% alive, before I could calm my spirit and move on. Now I've got another bout of homesickness to get over ... (Don't forget to follow the link to Vitter's letter to Da Paper. God, what an unbelievable prick that man is.) "Dollar Bill" gets the boot. New Orleans' Rep. William Jefferson was removed from his seat on the Ways and Means Committee by vote of the full House of Representatives.
He also claimed to be thinking of his constituents when he had a National Guard truck (soon to be two trucks and a helicopter) take him to his house three days after the flood so that he could retrieve belongings from his house. I'm really looking forward to his "side of the story" about how that 90 grand got into his freezer. It'll be very entertaining. America's dumbest congressman? (Via Steve M.) From the Must-Be-Seen-To-Be-Believed Department ... although the competition for the above title may be tough, Rep. Lynn Westmoreland (R-GA) takes a pretty impressive lead with his appearance on "The Colbert Report." He's introduced no legislation, although he co-sponsored a bill requiring the Ten Commandments to be displayed in the House and the Senate. (Perhaps he wants them there as a reminder, as he can only name three of them. Sorta.) And how does this idiot want to balance the budget? Why, cut the Department of Education, of course. Crooks and Liars has the video (QuickTime, WMP), which you absolutely must watch. Here's a partial transcript:
Emailer Ruth asked at C&L, "Does this guy deserve a $3,300 pay raise?" Only if he uses it to pay for a few years of remedial classes at his old high school. And a new hat. [ Link to today's entries ]
Café Adelaide. Okay, time for a massive dose of food porn. A mere six weeks after the fact (hey, not bad for me), I'm back to recapping the food, drink and music of Jazzfest. We actually left the Fair Grounds a bit early on the first Saturday, after The Iguanas' set, happily eschewing the mobs of Dave Matthews Band fans, but missing out on Etta James, Terence Blanchard, Banu Gibson, C. J. Chenier and/or Ben Sandmel's interview with Elvis Costello at the Heritage Stage (oh well). We had big plans afoot or else we wouldn't have missed out on this, and those big plans were dinner and cocktails at Café Adelaide, not only a favorite of mine since the day it opened, but now truly one of the very best restaurants in New Orleans. I thoroughly enjoyed Chef Kevin Vizard's cooking in the restaurant's early days, but now he's off on his own; under current Chef Danny Trace, it's even better. Every visit to Café Adelaide is a delight, and it keeps getting better; it was a must-visit, as soon after our collective arrival in New Orleans as we could manage. Most of The Fat Pack assembled there for a celebratory back-in-New-Orleans meal, plus a belated celebration of John and Fiona's birthdays (namesakes of Hoskins Cocktail, and happy we were to see them, as they were over from England for the first time in a couple of years). Wes and I were ready for some cocktails, as were most of everyone else, and fellow cocktailian Ti perked up some interest at the rest of the table by sending out one of their nifty wrought-iron trees bearing several little shotglasses filled with Corpse Revivers No. 2. This resulted in at least four full-sized Corpse Revivers being ordered (for the first round), and we were all quite happy. We were even happier when the amuses bouche came out ...  Andouille-Crusted Oysters with Green Salad and White Rémoulade Sauce, good sized serving for an amuse, and just loverly. Perfectly fried, crunchy on the outside and creamy on the inside, and gone in a little over two bites. Put some oysters in front of me and I'm happy. Put some perfectly seasoned and cooked FREE oysters in front of me, and I'm even happier. Add a cocktail or three to that, and ... well. We ordered a flurry of starters, and I only managed to get photos of one of them besides my own. Missed was the Pontchatoula Strawberry Salad, which was baby spinach, sweet onions, spiced pecans, black pepper chère, dressed with a balsamic-molasses vinaigrette and topped with an abundance of local strawberries, beautifully and deeply red, and, being Louisiana strawberries, the best in the world. (A few weeks ago I attempted to recreate this dish on my own at home, and came up with a more than passable version, in my humble opinion; more on that later). Given that crabmeat (especially jumbo lump blue crab meat, and especially if that crabmeat is local) is one of my favorite things to eat, naturally I was drawn to this starter:  Fleur de Lis Blue Crab Tart, made with Des Allemands blue crab, melted leeks, oyster mushrooms, spinach and Bittersweet Plantation cheese. Oh my. My my. Puff pastry holding it all together, crabmeat piled to the heavens, and just a touch of that artisanal cheese that Chef John Folse and his people make in Gonzales, Louisiana. The pastry was light as air, which was a good thing as this was a very generous portion for a starter; anything heavier might've filled me up.  Wes had the Barbeque Wild Shrimp Shortcake, with toasted garlic, crushed lemon, Abita beer cream and classic New Orleans barbeque sauce. Looked fantastic (Wes assured me that it was), but ... did I get a bite of that? No, I did not. (To be fair, Wes didn't get any of the crab tart, either.) Jaws began to drop as the mains came out, and they were being attacked without hesistation, so I had to be fast with the camera. First off, the other ones around my part of the table:  Wes got the Muscadine Lacquered Duck Breast, which came with duck cracklin' cornbread, Muscovy duck confit, kumquats, chicory greens, foie gras sabayon and Muscadine duck sauce. Muscadines are the sweet grapes found all over the South, and make a perfect complement for duck. Just as good as the duck itself was the incredible duck cracklin' cornbread that came with it; it was soft, crumbly and came in a pile rather than in a solid square. Mary was so nuts about this stuff that she pleaded for a side dish of it on its own, which Chef Danny was kind enough to bring out himself. We all got a couple of bites ... man, that stuff's dangerous; i.e., I could eat it all day.  Robin got the Bob White Quail and Foie Gras, which was filled with a Chilton peach & foie gras stuffing, atop tasso braised red cabbage, a Buffalo Trace Bourbon-molasses syrup and itself topped with a sunny side up quail egg. I also didn't get a taste of this one (but boy, was it gorgeous-looking). Robin didn't leave much behind, so I'm surmising that it was just as scrumptious as it looked. I don't usually order quail, because they're so small and generally a lot of trouble, but this was one big-ass quail, and quail preparations here (and at Commander's as well) have always been boneless (save for the legs) and stuffed with something fabulous, making them a joy to eat. [UPDATE: Mary pointed out later, "Please let the record show that I ordered the quail and I did so give you a bite. I said it was the best quail I've ever had, though one hates to use superlatives. But quail is so often dry and thankless, and this was moist and juicy and, oh..." I think I can weasel out of this because Robin had the quail also. I honestly didn't remember getting a bite, but Wes helpfully pointed out, "We were pretty buzzed by the time the entrées came out -- we had two little glasses of Corpse Reviver, because not everyone had one, plus a big Corpse Reviver, plus the Sazeracs as well." Oh yeah, I forgot about the Sazeracs. [UPDATE II: Mary replies to the above: "Nice try, but no. Robin and Diana split two entrées: the veal (I think; some read meat dish that was not pork, anyway) and the duck. Mine was the only quail on the table. I ordered it because Chef Danny told me to and he has long eyelashes." Did I not mention how many drinks I had? Okay, Mary had the quail, and I had a bite, which I absolutely remember, every second of it, because I wasn't drunk at all, honestly!] I don't remember who got this (Mary informed me later that it was Steve):  Speckled Trout and Blue Crab, with butternut squash purée, roasted shallots, Roma tomatoes, sugarcane wilted greens and Louisiana blue crab butter. This looked great; I love trout, and more crabmeat! I would have gotten this if I had intended to behave myself, but I had no intention of behaving. Now, my turn ...  This was Veal with Breaux Bridge Crawfish, a black skillet-seared tenderloin of veal atop stone ground grits laced with Bittersweet Plantation's Fleur de Teche cheese; a big handful of bit, fat crawfish tails, spring greens and a truffled woodland sauce (a veal demiglace-based sauce flavored with wild mushrooms and black truffles, a little red wine and various seasonings). This was fantastic, beautifully put together, seemingly simple yet complex in flavor, and immensely comforting. I love stone-ground grits, with their chewy texture, and I particularly love cheese grits. This is the first time I've had grits with a cheese like this, too -- Fleur de Teche is a triple-cream cow's milk cheese, very buttery, creamy and rich (and with a layer of vegetable ash, if you get it in its original form). The veal was perfectly cooked, the crawfish almost as big as my thumb. This dish made Chuck a very happy boy. Time for dessert.  Creole cream cheese is a New Orleans delicacy which was almost lost to time. Some dedicated local chefs, with the help of the Slow Food movement, helped resurrect it, and now it's easier to find than ever. (As I recall, Dorignac's was one of the last places to carry it consistently; now it's one of several.) It's a fresh, farmer's style cheese, kind of a cross between cottage cheese and sour cream but with a fresh, tangy flavor and, if you let it sit long enough, a whiff of yeastiness. Traditionally Creole households served this for breakfast with sugar and/or fruit, and it lends itself to desserts beautifully. It makes a great ice cream, and of course, the perfect Creole Cream Cheesecake, served here with just a drizzle of caramel sauce. Here's a recipe for making your own Creole cream cheese, provided by Dorignac's longtime cheesemaker.  Mmm, those Pontchatoula strawberries again, this time in Pontchatoula Strawberry Shortcake, with a real buttermilk biscuit, thick Chantilly cream and sprinklings of Dixie Crystal sugar (love it when they call out the local brands). Finally, the dessert that Fiona and I had ...  This was the Drunken Fig and Blue Cheese Tart, with spiced raisins, candied pecans and a tawny Port syrup. I liked the idea of finishing the meal with a similarly-themed dish to the one I started with. A feather-light puff pastry tart base. Just a little sweet, just a little savory. Figs, one of my favorite things. A little tangy blue cheese. That lovely sticky syrup. Happy. And before we knew it, hours had gone by and the meal was over. We were still in a pretty great mood, though ...  and it set the stage for the evening's final event, an adventure with Fiona, John, Wes and myself. We offered them a ride back to their hotel, as it was pissing rain and, though within walking distance, it wasn't the best night to walk. We walked out the front door of the Loew's Hotel (where the restaurant is located), and I handed my ticket to the valet. He nodded, and left to fetch our crappy little blue rental car. A few minutes later he drove up, got out of the crappy little blue rental car and nodded to me; we huddled together under our umbrellas and braved the downpour, hurriedly getting into the car. John first, then Wes, then I walked Fiona over to her door and ran around to the driver's side door and leapt in. We settled in, brushing off the exceess moisture, and I adjusted the seat back to fit my legs. Goddammit, I thought, I hate it when valets do egregious seat adjustments in MY car, when they're only in it for maybe thirty seconds. Then I noticed that something was wrong with the armrest. It wasn't like that before. In fact ... it wasn't something he adjusted. It didn't look right. I looked up at the instrument panel. It looked weird. I looked down at the eyeglasses resting in front of the armrest and thought, um, whose glasses are those? About ten or fifteen seconds had gone by since we got in, then I said, "Um, this isn't our car. Everybody out." Fiona shrieked and giggled, and out we poured back into the pouring rain ... just in time for me to look up at the nice little Tourist Family Of Four who were gaping at us, absolutely gobsmacked. At this point Tourist Wife whirled on Tourist Husband, smacked him on the arm (hard) and wailed, "You SEE?!! I TOLD you they were getting into our car! And you just stood there!!" Oh dear. Poor Tourist Husband. "Sorry 'bout that," I said, but didn't get a word from the put-out little Tourist Family of Four, as they climbed into their crappy little blue rental car. Finally the valet brought our crappy little blue rental car, and that was much better. Fiona and John found this to be hugely entertaining, and I still haven't heard the end of it. "It's the Wrong Car, Gromit! And it's gone wrong!!" I'm always happy to add to the evening's entertainment. [ Link to today's entries ]
Damn Yankees. I don't use that word much. It's too much a word of the Deep South, and I'm not from the Deep South; I'm from south of the South. Then again, I do have to chuckle along with whoever said that a Yankee was anyone from north of Lake Pontchartrain (although I think I have to extend that border up past St. Tammany Parish, now that my folks live on the Northshore). In any case, there's been another rash of northern outsider companies buying out local brands, and snuffing at least one of them out. Our beloved Boudreaux's Butt Paste has been bought out, by Hoosiers, no less. Fortunately the brand will continue as is, and Dr. Boudreaux will continue to run the company locally, increase its production and use the new capital to create new products, and that's a good thing. (I had no idea the stuff was and still is made in New Orleans East; for some reason I had the idea that they were making it up on the Northshore, but I have no idea where I got that idea.) The bad news is that Kirschmann's, the nearly 100-year-old local furniture store chain, has been bought, and the name will disappear.
More bits of hope for the local business: "The Kirschman family is retaining the rights to its name and has not ruled out opening a separate business in the future. [... Company president Arnold Kirschmann] said the Kirschman family does not intend to leave the industry, but plans to pursue a niche market. 'We don't see this as the end of Kirschman's in any way," Kirschman said. "We see it as a change of direction.'" It'll be sad to see Kirschmann's go. I do hope they come back, and don't become another one of the many local business that became part of the local culture and ain't dere no more ... wearing a purple K&B name tag up in the big Schweggmann's bag in the sky. A pitcha is woit' 1000 woids. Via Steve M., the news photo of the day: Why is the man on the left smiling? More importantly, why is the man on the right -- Nouri al-Maliki, the new Iraqi Prime Minister -- not smiling? Which one of them do you think has a better grasp on the reality of the situation in Iraq right now? Oh, the things I miss ... I'm not a regular viewer of WE-TV, the "Women's Entertainment" network, although I must confess I was briefly tempted by the 2-minute preview for their upcoming "reality" series "Bridezillas" that appeared in the main menu of our TiVo last night. Wes may succumb, but I'm gamely fighting against it (I've got too much "Hell's Kitchen" to watch). I'm sad to say, though, that I missed what was apparently the jaw-dropping train wreck that was the finale of the "Mrs. World 2006 Pageant", hosted by none other than Alan Thicke (that should tell you something right there). It's perfectly summed up by Mrs. New Zealand, who walks up to a cameraman at the side of the stage, looks right into it and says, "Fi-AS-coooo." Read through the description at the link, then enjoy the YouTube video in all its glory. [ Link to today's entries ]
Cocktail of the day. This one was a surprise -- oh so simple, yet oh so complex, depending on the quality of the base spirit you use. Wes found this in CocktailDB (love that "random recipe" link), and splurged with a 20-year-old Pierre Ferrand we had nestled in the back of the bar. It was superb.
I don't know who Mrs. Solomon was, but she can come over anytime. [ Link to today's entries ]
Damn Yankees. I almost never use that word. It's too much a word of the Deep South, and I'm not from the Deep South; I'm from south of the South. Then again, I do have to chuckle along with whoever said that a Yankee was anyone from north of Lake Pontchartrain (although I think I have to extend that border up past St. Tammany Parish, now that my folks live on the Northshore). In any case, there's been another rash of northern outsider companies buying out local brands, and snuffing at least one of them out (for the time being). Our beloved Boudreaux's Butt Paste has been bought out, by Hoosiers, no less. Fortunately the brand will continue as is, and Dr. Boudreaux will continue to run the company locally, increase its production and use the new capital to create new products, and that's a good thing. Incidentally, I had no idea the stuff was and still is made in New Orleans East; for some reason I had the idea that they were making it up on the Northshore, but I have no idea where I got that idea. (My friend Michael has a string of Boudreaux's Butt Paste Mardi Gras beads which I coveted shamelessly when I saw them on him in the Quarter on Mardi Gras Day. That trumps my SpongeBob beads I got at Proteus, and even the pair of plain purple beads I caught directly from the hand of Josh Hartnett at Orpheus. Well, almost.) The bad news is that Kirschmann's, the nearly 100-year-old local furniture store chain, has been bought, and the name will disappear from the stores.
There's a bit of hope for that business, though: "The Kirschman family is retaining the rights to its name and has not ruled out opening a separate business in the future. [... Company president Arnold Kirschmann] said the Kirschman family does not intend to leave the industry, but plans to pursue a niche market. 'We don't see this as the end of Kirschman's in any way," Kirschman said. "We see it as a change of direction.'" It'll be sad to see Kirschmann's go. I do hope they come back, and don't become another one of the many local business that became part of the local culture and ain't dere no more ... wearing a purple K&B name tag up in the big Schweggmann's bag in the sky. A pitcha is woit' 1000 woids. Via Steve M., the news photo of the day: Why is the man on the left smiling? More importantly, why is the man on the right -- Nouri al-Maliki, the new Iraqi Prime Minister -- not smiling? Which one of them do you think has a better grasp on the reality of the situation in Iraq right now? Oh, the things I miss ... I'm not a regular viewer of WE-TV, the "Women's Entertainment" network, although I must confess I was briefly tempted by the 2-minute preview for their upcoming "reality" series "Bridezillas" that appeared in the main menu of our TiVo last night. Wes may succumb, but I'm gamely fighting against it (I've got too much "Hell's Kitchen" to watch). I'm sad to say, though, that I missed what was apparently the jaw-dropping train wreck that was the finale of the "Mrs. World 2006 Pageant", hosted by none other than Alan Thicke (that should tell you something right there). It's perfectly summed up by Mrs. New Zealand, who walks up to a cameraman at the side of the stage, looks right into it and says, "Fi-AS-coooo." Read through the description at the link, then enjoy the YouTube video in all its glory. (Thanks, Audrey!) [ Link to today's entries ]
What was that noise Curly used to make when something scary happened on "The Three Stooges"? Oh yeah, something like, "Ngaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" It's going to be a long, stomach-achey hurricane season. Your tax dollars at work, part 8,423,994. Via Poppy, from an AP item in the Times-Picayune but apparently without an online link:
Given that the vast preponderance of evidence shows that the presence of MR-GO to channel the Katrina storm surge is exactly what destroyed New Orleans East and St. Bernard Parish, let's save the taxpayers a lot of money by just saying this bit of common sense: CLOSE THE FUCKING CANAL. Good Lord, what is wrong with these people? UPDATE: Promoted from the comments, Wes offers two illuminating links, and notes this stupefying statistic: "The ship channel [MR-GO] is blamed for eroding one acre of wetlands every 36 hours." *boggle* [ Link to today's entries ]
Bush could have gotten Zarqawi ages ago. I'm still catching up on things that piled up while I was away last week, but regarding the news of a few days ago of the big kill in the Iraq war ... good. They got a big bad guy who killed lots and lots of people. Well done; the bastard deserved it. Pity they couldn't have done it years ago when they had the chance. This Salon piece from last Thursday that enlightens us as to how and why The Decider could have nailed Abu Musab al-Zarqawi as long as four years ago, but let him kill lots and lots of people instead, because it served his purposes: Salon: "As NBC News reported back in 2004, U.S. military planners drew up plans to take out Zarqawi three times in 2002 and 2003, but the Bush administration killed the plans each time. Why? Because, military officials told NBC, the Bush administration feared that destroying Zarqawi's terrorist camp in Iraq 'could undercut its case for war against Saddam.'"
That's one more nail in the coffin of their claims that this war has anything to do with an actual "war on terror" and everything to do with BushCo's obsession over removing Saddam no matter what. The scary thing is that while we may have eliminated Zarqawi, he'll only be replaced, and probably by many more, given the conditions we've created in Iraq. On a related note, here's Molly Ivins:
You may substitute "upset about Zarqawi" for "delighted about Haditha", and please feel free to insert an article and an f-word between "shut" and "up." [ Link to today's entries ]
Good news! I seem to have missed this article in the Gambit four months back, so this came as a pleasant surprise to me. After hearing about the Bistro last week, this announcement, posted in NewOrleans.com's FoodFest message board, is from a relative of the late Neil Broyard, owner of the Saturn Bar, who passed away several months ago:
Yeah you rite! Thanks to the Broyard family for keeping a delightfully weird and wonderful slice of New Orleans culture alive. I don't mind the changes at all -- lack of cat urine smell and a clean bathroom I'll take any day. Just don't make none o' dem fancy Uptown drinks ... I'll take me an Abita. I'm not sure, since I've only seen him once in 28 years and didn't even know him well back then, but I think that Neil's nephew Eric Broyard, the bar's new owner, was in my class at Holy Cross. Awrite, Eric. Da King speaketh! Via Metroblogging New Orleans, here's a letter from Walter Williams, the 2006 King of Krewe du Vieux, perhaps better known as the creator of Mr. Bill:
His Majesty hath commanded. The Emperor's dinner. Just got my new OffBeat, which has one of the best covers ever. To illustrate its entertaining article on musicians' favorite restaurants, the cover photo is of Miss Antoinette K-Doe at Galatoire's with the Ernie K-Doe statue. Man, I want me a poster o' dat. More outrage as thieves steal New Orleans' soul. I read this in the Times-Picayune the other day, and it infuriated me. I wasn't sad, I was enraged and wanted to catch one of these people so I could put a 2x4 upside their head (and I haven't committed a violent act since I feebly but successfully punched a fat would-be bully named Fred who was trying to steal my sandwich in the Huddle at Holy Cross when I was in the ninth grade). New Orleans has been plagued with looters and thieves since the moment the city partially emptied out for Katrina's arrival, but now they're stealing pieces of the city's soul: irreplaceable architectural details.
This kills me. It might sound insignificant to some, but these architectural details are what makes New Orleans New Orleans, what makes it look and feel like no other place on Earth. It's the kind of thing you take for granted all your life, then you miss it when you leave (like I do every day) and when you see it again it's an instant source of comfort. As you'll see in the article, people dealing with the kind of devastation that occurred with the Corps' flood can't afford to have the gingerbread and cornices and shutters custom-remade; it's all they can do to get the house gutted and liveable again. It makes me want to try to find some of this stuff at unscrupulous dealers so I can get it back, have the dealer busted and then give the stuff back. Man. This just burns me. Stewart dismembers Bennett. If you didn't catch "The Daily Show" on Tuesday (and I caught it last night, thanks to the magic of TiVo), watch the segment (via Crooks and Liars) during which Jon Stewart disassembles the bloviating William Bennett on the issue of same-sex marriage. Favorite moments:
Perfect. David Vitter is an idiot. I missed some of this as it was happening, as I was elsewhere for the last few days, but Louisiana's junior senator proves to be an embarrassment and an outrage for saying, regarding the recent massive waste of time in the Senate over the same-sex marriage issue, "I don't believe there's any issue that's more important than this one." Um ... what? You represent the state of Louisiana, you're from the New Orleans metropolitan area (specifically, Metairie), no less, and after what's been happening there over the last nine months, you think that gay marriage is the most important issue? Good Christ, what did we do to deserve this grandstanding fool? (More from Oyster here, here and here, plus Loki and Mr. Clio.) According to what I've read from many people who call his office to challenge him on this statement ... if you get a certain male aide in his D.C. office, he'll hang up on you. Otherwise you're liable to get a young female intern who will first tell you that that's not what he said. When you say you have the quote in front of you, she'll say either that Vitter was misquoted, or that it wasn't what he meant to say, that he meant to say that it was the most important social issue. When you raise the social issues of tens of thousands of New Orleanians and other Louisianians still displaced, people still living in FEMA trailers while battling their insurance companies, the frightening shortage of healthcare in the area, they'll counter that Vitter's "working" on a big bill to provide money for the area, but they won't address the issue -- that he needs to shut his pandering pie-hole about all this right-wing purity and political maneuvering, and concentrate on representing the people and their real issues that he was sent to represent ... although "sent" might be a bit of a stretch. Read this Salon article from 2004 on the widely-disliked Vitter and the road he took to get into the Senate. [ Link to today's entries ]
Hiatus. Gotta go for a few days. Posting will (probably) resume Thursday. [ Link to today's entries ]
Buried outrage of the day. Contributed by Steve M. via email: In [yesterday's] New York Times, there's a story on the front page, but below the fold, headlined "Rise of Lobbyist Shines A Light On House Ties." It's about Letitia Wright, a former aide to Rep. Jerry Lewis (R-CA) turned "queen of earmarks." Interesting story, but after the jump, fifteen grafs into the story (and the middle of a long graf, to boot) you reach this sentence: "The Republican leadership had begun assigning chairmanships in part based on how much campaign money a member had raised for other members." Another Steve replied:
Steve M. again:
[ Link to today's entries ]
Welcome to the Republicans' gay bashing weekend. The Republicans are desperate. They're coming apart at the seams. The country's approval rating of the Republican-led Congress is as low as I can remember, and the presidential approval rating is approaching that of Nixon during Watergate. So what are they doing this weekend? Are they addressing the problems that really concern the American citizenry right now? The war? Gas prices? Katrina recovery? Health care? The economy, jobs, inflation? Nope, they seem to think the most important issue right now is to declare themselves to be the self-appointed protectors of good Christian Americans from the threat of the icky gays. Via AmericaBlog:
Jack Cafferty, on CNN:
Yeah, ooooooh, scary. From the Washington Post:
How do you reconcile "the bill's sponsor... has acknowledged he has far fewer than the 67 votes needed to win passage" with "Snow denied the president was acting out of 'political expedience' and insisted he was taking up the issue because it was 'politically ripe'"? Wes asked, "How can you tell if it's too "politically ripe" and you should just make banana bread?" Bastards. It's truly repugnant. (If these self-proclaimed "pro-marriage" people really put their money where their mouths were regarding "saving" and "preserving" "traditional marriage," they'd introduce a constitutional amendment banning divorce, which is a far greater threat to the "institution of marriage." Why don't they?) Oh, by the way ... The lame duck (who, remember, is "a uniter, not a divider") went on to say:
Georgia points out, "The President couldn't have made his position any clearer. Courts should not be overturning the will of the people when it comes who should and should not be allowed to marry. Now, which enterprising White House reporter will ask whether the President thinks that Loving v. Virginia should be overturned?" One who has the spine to do his or her job? (I.e., not one, I expect.) [ Link to today's entries ]
Bad news. Just in, via an email from Mary -- a local food writer has just reported that The Bistro at Maison de Ville, one of the best restaurants in New Orleans (and one of my favorites), has closed forever. Goddammit. They just reopened, right after Mardi Gras! Chef Greg Picolo makes some of the best food in town, and maître'd Patrick van Hoorebeek (also one of the best in town, if not the best) is a local icon as well as being the King of the Krewe of Cork, which is based at the Bistro as well. I also keep thinking about the Bistro's greater importance in the New Orleans restaurant scene, as their past chefs are Susan Spicer of Bayona, Dominique Macquet of Dominique's and the late John Neal, founder of Peristyle. This might be a sign of the times, which makes it even sadder. The Bistro had a high provile primarily among locals, and if any place -- even a small one -- can't turn a fast profit, it's going to be gone. Now, the hotel's web site says this about the Bistro:
I called the hotel, and asked the lady who answered about what was going on. "The website says the Bistro is closed for the summer, but I'm hearing reports around town that it's closed forever. Which one is true?!" She would only confirm that the Bistro was closed for vacation, and said she didn't know about anything beyond that. I don't know whether I can take any hope from that, but Chef Greg, Patrick and the staff are still out of work, unless "vacation" means "paid vacation," and I wouldn't count on that. This is so very disapppointing. Wes and I had a fabulous meal there a few weeks ago, and were going to go back there again before we left, but didn't get the chance. That day was, of course, the day I forgot to bring the memory card for my camera, so I have no pictures of what may be our last meal there. I'll write it up in due course. "Please tell the hotel management," I said to the lady on the phone, "that I'm a New Orleanian and I speak for several more when I implore them to reopen the restaurant as soon as possible. We would be devastated if it were gone forever." Army Corps of Engineers confesses ... kinda. After spending nine months trying to blame everyone but themselves, the Corps has this to say (read the whole article, but here are the highlights):
And finally ...
Walk around the block ... count to ten ... don't break anything ... Hansen's Sno-Bliz! The Gambit has a terrific article about Hansen's Sno-Bliz, the best sno-ball stand in town (in their restaurant review section, no less!). Miss Mary and Mr. Ernest may have passed on, but their granddaughter Ashley is carrying the torch for her family and her city.
This bit was especially heartbreaking:
I'm so glad she watched. LONG LIVE HANSEN'S! Mid-City: Revival and Rebirth. This, also from the Gambit, makes my heart soar:
[One more time, a reminder of that image that puts a huge lump in my throat every time I see it:]  Back to the story ...
I cannot wait to get back to Liuzza's, and so many more places. Our planned trip back home in July is looking bad due to finances and inexplicably high airfares (in July, one of two months when no sane person would fly to New Orleans, they should almost be paying us to go!). I'm really ready for cheap and readily available teleportation technology. I heard the Mid-City festival was great; I wish I had been there. (Goddammit, I've never been so homesick in all my life.) And Brocato's reopens this month!! The Delachaise. Wes and I have been fans of The Delachaise ever since Cary at Vive la France on Royal Street turned me on to it a couple of years ago. Really nice space, very long bar with an excellent selection of beers (bottled and on tap), wines by the bottle or glass and spirits, plus they do a fair shake at cocktails too (it's the only bar where I've ever seen a bottle of Regan's Orange Bitters, and right up front next to the register, if you please). Besides libations they also offered a small but yummy menu, which was recently taken over by Chef Chris DeBarr (who's also Poppy's hubby). He'd been the chef de cuisine at Christian's for a while (I hadn't been there in a good long while; sadly, they haven't reopened since the flood) and this is the first time he's the head chef, putting out his own dishes -- I really, really wanted to get there while we were home. Besides what I'd been hearing, I was also very encouraged by this bit from New Orleans Magazine:
Oh, yeah you rite. My kinda place. We went Friday night after the first day of Jazzfest, and went late; fortunately, the Delachaise serves food until late late. Sadly, one thing put a big crimp in our evening there -- Wes had started feeling ill earlier in the day. It was weird; he had just gotten over a cold, and this had similar symptoms but didn't feel like a cold to him. "Aw, you just got da same crap everybody gets when they come here for the first time afta da storm," said our friend Cherie. (Or, as Malcolm at Hanson | King Gallery said the next day, "Ah, Katrina catarrh.") I stopped by da K&B (which has become my generic term for "the drugstore, any drugstore," because it's fun to say) to get him some over-the-counter cold medication, which unfortunately got him so stoned and groggy that I might as well have given him a handful of Quaaludes. Another slight hitch was that the place was packed. Don't get me wrong; this is a good thing. Thing was, the better tables that were more suited for dining were all full, as was the bar, and there were four of us who had to settle with one of those small, round, tall bar tables upon which to balance our plates. Not my ideal situation, but I didn't mind too much -- I was glad to see them busy, I was hungry, and who am I to complain about a packed restaurant and bar in the city right now? Besides, it was Jazzfest, and everyplace is more crowded. I ordered a Lindeman's Lambic Framboise, a lovely Belgian ale that I usually have for or with dessert (aah, life is uncertain; drink dessert first). Deep red, intensely fruity and very nice indeed, served in a flute in my preferred manner. First thing that caught my eye on the long menu of appetizers, small plates and desserts was Chef Pete's Charcuterie Plate. I immediately assumed this was Chef Pete Vasquez of the late and lamented Marisol (never got around to asking, though; I just dove in), so that was our first order. The selection changes daily, and that day it was Duck and Foie Gras Terrine with Prunes.  Gorgeous. (I've got a bunch of photos from what ended up being our last meal at Marisol last year, which I'll post later on after I get through the recent stuff.) Next, we were after something we could split easily, and a sandwich looked like the thing to try: The "Boz" Sandwich:  It's made with Saint-André cheese (a triple-cream soft cheese with an edible rind, very very rich and buttery), prosciutto and arugula, grilled on ciabatta bread. It came with something else I really wanted to try -- Pommes frites that are fried in duck fat. Oh my. Yeah, you ain't losin' no weight today, bra. Rich but not overpoweringly so, the sandwich was terrific. Saint-André is not a cheese I would have expected in a grilled cheese sandwich, and this would probably have kicked the ass of just about every sandwich on Clementine's National Grilled Cheese Month menu, as good as they all are. And those fries were little sticks of heaven. Fries are my great weakness, even crappy old bagged frozen Ore-Ida ones. I'm a hopeless French fry addict, and I really have to watch myself. But fries that are fried in duck fat, oh man. I could eat those every day ... although if I did, I'd probably start quacking before I keeled over from my heart attack. (Aah, screw it. We live once.) I ordered a lovely Grüner Veltliner and proceeded to the next dish, the restaurant's signature dish: Oysters Delachaise.  The oysters are served in a horseradish cream sauce that's delicious -- assertive without flying up your nose and shoving a hot needle into your brain (which I actually kind of like, but never mind), with butter-braised lettuce, crossed strips of perfectly crisp applewood-smoked bacon (and as I've asked before, are there three words in the English language that sound more beautiful together? "I love you" ... "applewood-smoked bacon" ... it's a tough choice) and served atop a thick slice of toasted ciabatta. I loved the butter-braised lettuce in this dish too, which is something I never would have thought of. (The following weekend I got to meet Chris at the Fair Grounds, and he's fond of that touch too.) I'd probably order a double serving of this as an entrée, except that next time I come in I want to try more things from the long menu. Melissa and Cherie got the excellent cheese plate, where you choose two or more selections from a dozen or so very interesting choices (none of which I can remember, unfortunately, because I didn't write any of them down, and it was late, and I had two glasses of wine and was sleepy). There was a manchego and a garlic-scented goat cheese and something else ... d'oh. They came with accompaniments of membrillo (quince paste, usually from Spain), spiced pecans and crusty bread, and even though it was their dish I snagged as much from it as I could. I love cheese courses. I thought we might have to carry Wes out of there, poor thing, but he managed to make it back to the car under his own power, and fortunately it was a five-minute drive to our humble little Uptown abode. There's never enough time to do everything we want to do when we come home -- besides the Bistro, we didn't manage to get back to the Delachaise either. We certainly will next visit, and you should too, especially if you like to eat late. The meal can be as small or large as you want to make it, and you'll like it. A lot. Don't forget to save some room ... today is National Doughnut Day! Good idea, though I'm not a fan of the Salvation Army. Still, any excuse to stop by Krispy Kreme (or Tastee Donuts or Café du Monde, as the case may be). Mmmmm, doughnuts ... [ Link to today's entries ]
Hurricane season starts today. Is New Orleans ready? Stay tuned to NOLA.com's Hurricane Center for articles and updates. Don't miss this 1.5MB .pdf file showing the current status of the levees around New Orleans and vicinity; note the frighteningly high number of red "not complete" dots, denoting levees and floodwalls that are currently unsafe.
Ya might wanna keep some important things handy, like papers, prescriptions, etc., just in case you need to get out fast, 'cause you certainly can't yet trust the levees to keep you dry. Happy ... birth ... day ... dear ... Marilyn ... As Daniel reminded me in email this morning, today would have been Marilyn Monroe's 80th birthday.  "What an utterly adorable, neurotic, sad, sexy woman," he said. Indeed. Was the 2004 election stolen? Hot off the (virtual) presses, Robert F. Kennedy Jr. writes in Rolling Stone that his careful examination of the evidence has convinced him "that the president's party mounted a massive, coordinated campaign to subvert the will of the people in 2004."
Gee, what a coinkydink. Read the entire article, plus the accompanying documents, sources, charts and commentary. May Looka! entries have been permanently archived. [ Link to today's entries ]
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