Someone Held a Gun To Her Head

Sarah Palin resigns! What's the first thought that comes into your head? It's obvious: she must have been busted doing something really bad, because you just know that you'd have to chop that woman's fingers off with an axe, to get her to let go of power. You'd have to chop off her cold, dead hands...

Though no evidence of Palin's pawprints on a state-sized scandal have come to light so far, there's much to consider in her bizarre resignation speech. It's been reported that her family didn't even know what the Wasilla was happening until she started speaking... and speaking as if she was tripping on acid, speeding on speed, zooming on Zoloft...

And yet I am surprised at the number of blogging heads who seek a hidden, deeper meaning in Palin's strange afternoon. For example, the feeling that she's acting upon this secret plan to put herself closer to the center of political action, meaning, Washington, D.C. Or that she's resigned because she really means that bullshit line about how "we know we can effect positive change outside government at this moment in time, on another scale."

Effecting political change outside of conventional politics -- let's see... well, she is handy with a high-powered hunting rifle, and... political power grows out of the barrel of a gun... so maybe she's going to shoot the President?

UPDATE: To be fair, lots of veteran TV reporters said, in essence, 'WTF'?

It's mystifying. It was a bizarre statement. It didn't make a lot of sense and it doesn't seem to be the kind of thing someone would do if someone was running for President -- Cokie Roberts, ABC

This is very unusual, even bizarre. Governors just don't stop in the middle of their terms when there's no clear reason -- someone on CBS

...if she were trying to do away with the kind of speculation that she says has so irritated her, this not the way to do it -- someone on NBC

Even if this was part of a calculated plan, it's the sheer recklessness of it: I'm Sarah Palin, and I abandoned a high-ranking position of power not even half-way into my first term, in order to push my own power-mad agenda. I want you to trust me to be your President.

And I want to run awaaaaay.

An Old Flag and an Old Joke

The sunburst flag (above) is a flag associated with early Irish nationalism, and more recently, youth wings of Irish republican groups such as Na Fianna Éireann. The flag is first thought to have been used in 1858 by the Irish Republican Brotherhood. The sunburst flag is still used to this day, by both republican groups and the Irish language group Conradh na Gaeilge.

And now, an Old Joke:

Q. What is Osama Bin Laden's favourite dessert?

A. Terrormisu.

Yeeeooowwch!!!

Things Seen Today, Tuesday, June 30th, 2009

After being sans camera for a few months, I am surprised how rusty my rudimentary skills at finding, photographing interesting things, have become. Above, detail of Hamilton Fountain, Upper West Side, NYC.

Faces, billboards, midtown Manhattan.

Delegates were unable to find sufficient votes to force a ballot measure regarding human, orangutan inter-personal relations at the annual general convention. Delegate McKinley was overheard saying "huh?" and delegate Forest Dweller was heard whispering "you need a shower."

Finally, hard at work editing these images, your photogoblogger.

"OK, Enough about me. How about you, what do you think of me?"

It is my duty to post the following, Elizabeth Taylor's statement to the world about the death of Wacko Jacko:

My heart . . . my mind . . . are broken. I loved Michael with all my soul and I can't imagine life without him. We had so much in common and we had such loving fun together. I was packing up my clothes to go to London for his opening when I heard the news. I still can't believe it. I don't want to believe it. It can't be so. He will live in my heart forever but it's not enough. My life feels so empty. I don't think anyone knew how much we loved each other. The purest most giving love I've ever known. Oh God! I'm going to miss him. I can't yet imagine life with out [sic] him. But I guess with God's help . . . I'll learn. I keep looking at the photo he gave me of himself, which says, "To my true love Elizabeth, I love you forever." And, I will love HIM forever.

I think she missed a great opportunity here to tell us something about how she really feels and why Michael Jackson's death is important to her... Incidentally, not to be upstaged by the King of Pop's crafty play for all the headline news when he died last Thursday, TAYLOR COLLAPSED IN HER HOME, SPARKING A MEDICAL OMIGAWD SQUAWKING SOUND IF FEELING UPSTAGED-CRRROOOAAAAKKK!!!!! CROOOOAAAAKKK!!! [AP].

'Marat' model found alive on Upper East Side

When Revolutionary France-era artist Jacques-Louis David painted his harrowing work of assassinated radical politician Jean-Paul Marat in 1793, new evidence suggests he used a mysterious Upper East Side man from the early 21st century as his model.

Spam Poetry for Today, Tuesday, June 30th, 2009

The following 'poem' is taken from an email in my spam folder. Enjoy:

'Nicolas'

Guslar tut wade sung!
cloudy creasy blest.
guile guile.
nature nature.
slush anger wade nature!
bias fibril swan wilt!
handy resole prize fancy.
sleek dyeing bipod.
testae oldage coatee.
coatee creasy droll fusion!
radish cosset tux.
graver infix unlay ebon?
fibril hick ahull egress!
shirt nab droll slush.
tux plague cadre.
loath hick fusty droll.
testae spacer infix plague!
bipod gee tatter shandy!
nitwit waffle embody ebon!
loft tone career sadist!
erven sleek cosset fusion!
daily shirt waffle ebon!

The control you gain,
The power, you rule.

HE DIED REALLY LOUDLY

"THUMBS UP FOLKS AT HOME!!!" — Billy Mays

Forget Michael Jackson, who died Thursday last, for a far greater cultural figure has upped and died on us: infomercial king Billy Mays was found dead at his home in Tampa, Fla. today. Mays probably roared at you recently from a TV screen: he shouted the verities of OXICLEAN!!! and the AMAZING SHAMWOW!!! from the mountain tops, and was one of very few people who induced me to yell at the television. May he roast in peace. Sorry, REST. REST IN PEACE.

You're dying? But I gotta great parking space...

The High Line, a new park on an old elevated railway line — photo from New York Times

This morning, around 7am, I was walking over to the Hudson River on West 17th Street, crossing Eighth Avenue, then Ninth... The neighborhood — Chelsea, of course — was beautiful in the early morning sunlight.

I was heading to the river to take a few photos, and also hoping to find New York City's newest park, the magnificent High Line, open, though it wasn't.

But then I saw an incident: someone had been hurt severely at the Projects across Ninth Avenue, and there was, starting with farthermost vehicle first: a police car, then two ambulances, rear doors open; then closest to me, another car, barely moving forward, just idling...

Medics came running out of the project building with a person on a stretcher, and put them into the second ambulance. Two building workers looked on, shaking heads sadly. The ambulances both took off at speed. The police car then drove away as well.

And the other car? Well, the driver now felt comfortable to drive up a little and... ease his car parking space previously occupied by the ambulances.

Oh, New York!

Mr. Edwards and the Spider

I saw the spiders marching through the air,

Swimming from tree to tree that mildewed day

In latter August when the hay

Came creaking to the barn. But where

The wind is westerly,

Where gnarled November makes the spiders fly

Into the apparitions of the sky,

They purpose nothing but their ease and die

Urgently beating east to sunrise and the sea;

What are we in the hands of the great God?

It was in vain you set up thorn and briar

In battle array against the fire

And treason crackling in your blood;

For the wild thorns grow tame

And will do nothing to oppose the flame;

Your lacerations tell the losing game

You play against a sickness past your cure.

How will the hands be strong? How will the heart endure?

— By Robert Lowell

Politician or Poet?

"To me, and I suspect no one else on earth, there is something wonderful about listening to country music playing in the cab, air conditioner running, the hum of a huge diesel engine in the background, the tranquility that comes with being in a virtual wilderness of trees and marsh, the day breaking and vibrant pink coming alive in the morning clouds — and getting to build something with each scoop of dirt. It is admittedly weird..."

— From a leaked e-mail written by South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford