Crabby Golightly's Open Salon Blog

U.S. Military Scapegoats WikiLeaks

Thu, 5 Aug 2010 16:08:02 -0400

WHOM DO YOU SERVE?

By Elizabeth C.

THE HIGH-STAKES GAME OF GOTCHA BETWEEN WIKILEAKS AND THE U.S. has given Americans an unvarnished glimpse into our military bureaucracy's killer instinct and the risks that comes with threatening its supremacy.

Barely four years old, the whistleblowing organization has proved a gallant David against earth's Goliath states, spilling secrets of nations engaged in war and of corrupt officials enriching themselves at the expense of unknowing populations.

Read Quotes From Julian Assange, The "World's Most Dangerous Man

What Makes Bradley Manning Tick? The Psychology Of Whistleblowers

Last week, in collaboration with three of the world's most prestigious publications, the new media outfit released 91,000 documents detailing the Afghanistan war at the grass roots level. "This material shines light on the everyday brutality and squalor of war," WikiLeaks founder Julian Paul Assange said of the documents. "The archive will change public opinion and it will change the opinion of people in positions of political and diplomatic influence."

The trove reportedly showed that civilian casualties are much higher than previously believed, that Pakistan’s police collude with the Taliban, and that the U.S. military may have a secret “hit” squad targeting suspected terrorists.

Since then, the U.S. media have widely reported that the documents hold few if any shocking revelations about the ground war. And President Obama himself said: “The fact is these documents don't reveal any issues that haven't already informed our public debate on Afghanistan.”

Yet U.S. officials seem hellbent on implementing a secret military idea to destroy WikiLeaks. They’ve detained a volunteer WikiLeaks editor at a New York airport for three hours and confiscated his cell phones, and have accused WikiLeaks editor Julian Paul Assange and his staff of having “blood on their hands” for revealing U.S. sources in Afghanistan.

President George W. Bush’s former speechwriter and Washington Post columnist Marc Thiessen calls Assange a "criminal" and now aggravates for U.S. authorities to charge him with violating the Espionage Act.

And Michigan Rep. Mike Rogers demagogues that suspected leaker Pvt. Bradley Manning, in military custody awaiting possible trial on 12 offenses, should be executed if found guilty of leaking classified documents -- an idea that's being called absurd.

These choreographed attacks on WikiLeaks follow recommendations by a senior Army analyst two years before the release of the “Collateral Murder” video.

Senior Analyst Michael D. Horvath wrote in a counterintelligence investigation of WikiLeaks that the group’s “center of gravity” – its sources’ trust -- could be damaged or destroyed if leakers were identified, prosecuted, forced out of their jobs or exposed. The classified document was on WikiLeaks' website.

Since the release of the damning video in April, Americans have witnessed WikiLeaks sources or employees identified, prosecuted and exposed.

In recent weeks, the admittedly confrontational Assange seems to have tempered his remarks in press outings. The man who likes “crushing bastards” says it is not his intention to judge the validity of America’s wars, only that they be waged humanely. He's smart and correct to say that.

But in a nation where the listless media provide anemic counterbalance to the “official” line, WikiLeaks is demanding accountability from those who claim to be working in our interests.

Despite the drumbeat of fear, the full consequences of the release of the 91,000 documents won’t be known for years.

What Americans now have to ask themselves is, by pursuing WikiLeaks, is the military serving the country's best interests -- or its own?

Haters, Why You Gotta Begrudge A Girl's Vajazzler?

Mon, 1 Mar 2010 14:03:08 -0500

WHAT'S WRONG WITH A GIRL WANTING TO FEEL ALL SPARKLY AND PRETTY? Or have things turned so upside down that fabulosity belongs only to the purview of boy skaters and vampires?

The Vajazzler is the glittery euphemism for applying glue to a Brazilianed pubice and then affixing tiny bedazzling rhinestones. It’s been both hailed as recreation for "Glittertwati" and dismissed as "a real hood rat ghetto sort of thing. Or a J Lo thing, which is maybe the same thing." It's also been called the modern merkin.

The trend went meta after Jennifer Love Hewitt cooed about her hot pink pretty twat while visiting a talk show.

Now wags are squawking eeeewws and boos because they think it’s:

A) A waste of money;

B) Raises doubts about a girl's sanity and level of desperation; and/or

C) Worse, a pathetic attempt at pleasing men.

"I can't blame this on anybody but the women too stupid and brainwashed to know that this is a form of MUTILATION," laments Gawker commenter Topsy, whose political consciousness’ was no doubt been raised by women’s studies.

She continues her pedantic rant: "Ladies, YOUR VAGINA IS PERFECT THE WAY IT IS. Unless you have some kind of infection, a woman's vagina looks, smells, tastes and feels perfect in it's natural state.” Which itself provoked an hilarious exchange about the sexual politics of muff management.

And Autoclavicle outright rejected the practice with a saucy:

"That's $50 in addition to the wax? Pfft. I could do it myself with some super glue and rhinestones. Maybe even throw in a few googly eyes too, so the guy has zero doubts about my sanity.

Of course, the men chimed in too. "If I can speak for all straight men, we are so universally thrilled with a vagina that doing *anything* to adorn it seems like a complete waste of time & money ,’’ wrote TheRant who proves to be both self-absorbed and condescending with his flippant closer: “ Why not read a book instead?”

And someone (or some two) commenting as EastandWest panned, “Just sprinkle some glitter on your hoo-ha and call it a day."

All of which brings us back to this: what’s wrong with a girl wanting to feel pretty as long as she’s doing it to please herself?

How’s it different from getting some highlights or her nails done or a new blouse at Anthropologie? Granted, some dancers and strippers and even wives will partake for profits. But look at the spring in this blogger's step! See the joy in Love Hewitt's smile? Hell, if I wasn't an old with such a hairy mound, I'd try adding a little bling-bling myself.

Now why you wanna hate, players? Let the vajayjay's bling shine!

Getting Catty: Vintage Mainzer Cat Postcards

Tue, 1 Sep 2009 07:09:50 -0400

IF CATS RULED THE WORLD

By Crabby Golightly

BLAME IT ON THE STARS, BUT THERE'S A HEAVY DOSE OF VITRIOL IN THE AIR, SENDING OFF A STRONG STENCH OF CATTY.

Thus, there's no better excuse to introduce you to the Mainzer Dressed Cat postcards first published circa 1940s by the Mainzer Publishing Co. of Long Island.

The brightly colored postcards drawn by artist Eugen Hartung depict felines in human settings to humorous affect.

These paper treasures sell for anywhere from $4 to $15 a piece on Internet postcard websites.

Looking at them reminds me that at heart we are all just furless animals, some with the ability to claw our way to the top. And sometimes hanging out with each other is as much fun as pulling teeth.

But, surely, we can just as easily play nice, take in a show together, learn from one other, help each other across thes street, and pose like one big happy family now and then?

'A Real Life "Momma Mia!" Who Are Parents Of The Jackson 3

Mon, 31 Aug 2009 16:08:12 -0400

A CLIFFHANGER

By Crabby Golightly

AS THE INEVITABLE CONFIRMATION COMES THAT MICHAEL JACKSON DIED OF AN OVERDOSE OF DRUGS, I find myself wishing that such finality was immiment in the question of who really are the parents of his children.

On its face, the answer is obvious. Michael Jackson was, and a supernaturally good one at that, at least according to public pronouncements from friends and family. I have no reason to doubt the truthfulness of those statements other than the odd video that surfaced after his death in which his children are miked and repeat lines that seem rehearsed. "Daddy, thank you for my birthday cake and I love you so much, and, and and, uh, I love my daddy so much. You're the best daddy in the whole world," Paris says to the camera.

Sadly, the pop star who was both "father and the mother" to three children is now dead, opening the Pandora's box of who their biological parents really are.

So far mentioned as possible sperm donors are Jackson's dermatologist Arnold Klein, the children's godfather Englishman Mark Lester, and just today Macauley Culkin emerges as a potential sperm donor. And then there's of course Jackson himself.

"They are all his children," MJ's brother Tito told U.K.'s Daily Mirror. "Blanket is Michael's, I can tell. Those eyes don't lie."

On the maternal side, there is less mystery, at least in the case of the two oldest children, Prince, 12 and Paris, 11. Debbie Rowe claims to be the mother, and the Los Angeles County Superior Court has granted visitation rights to her since since Michael's death.

Less convincing are the claims by one Claire Cruise who says she's mom to all three of MJ's kids -- along with a fourth -- Connor Cruise -- whom she contends Michael gave away to actor Tom Cruise because of his skin color. Whew. That was a mouthful. And doesn't that make you wish for the day when the press felt the need to corroborate statements before they printed them?

Adoptees prove that biology isn't everything. But when the person you called daddy dies and leaves you orphaned, we feel certain that the real mystery isn't quite as enthralling as that painted in last year's Momma Mia!, a movie with a similar storyline.

We don't know yet if we'll ever find out who the biological parents of Prince, Paris and Prince II really are, or whether the story will have a happy ending.

All we can say for sure is, if a movie was made exploring MJ's children's parentage, there would be no mystery over the background music.

Mad Men Recap: The Highs & Lows Of Money & Self-Medicating

Mon, 31 Aug 2009 08:08:10 -0400

HIGH HOPES

By Miz J

TONIGHT, PEGGY'S PULLING NO PUNCHES. And neither is my Long Island iced tea…whoo. Need to ease up on the rum next time. Damn.

It's Friday afternoon at Sterling Cooper, and our two newly-appointed Heads of Accounts need the creative team to stay over the weekend to dream up some new Bacardi campaigns. You know, while the two of them slither around at Roger Sterling's country club soiree, actually *drinking* Bacardis.

"They hate creative," Peggy complains, resigning herself to her fate.

The next day, Peggy, Smitty and Kinsey hunker down to try and figure something out. Smitty and Kinsey lock themselves in Kinsey's office, and soon enough they realize they have *no* ideas. It's at this point that they don't call upon Peggy, but Mary Jane. Kinsey's hipster ass calls up one of his rebel-without-a-cause Princeton buddies, who's slangin' dope instead of working a 9 to 5. Jeff sits in on the "creative session" and chides Kinsey for never calling. You know, it's just a dime bag, not a therapy session, guy. Leave your number and a "free sample," and I bet he'll start calling your ass all the time.

Elsewhere, Roger's grand country club party is going well. That is, if you love crashingly dull work functions where you have to look like you're having fun even though it's hot, you're uncomfortable and you don't want to talk about work on the weekend. But, hey, open bar! That'll cure what ails ya.

Back at the Draper residence, Sally's getting sick of reading to Grampa Gene, so she decides to steal a little finder's fee from his wallet. Naturally, old Gene thinks Carla took it, resulting in several uncomfortably tense hours in that yellow-and-plaid kitchen. Eventually, Sally tries to right the situation by pretending to "find" the money on the kitchen floor. Naturally, everyone sees what just happened, but it's never mentioned or discussed.

I pity those Draper children. It's weird, but every time a scene at Don's house begins, I feel an urge to refill my drink.

While everyone else is suffering at the office or on the green, Joan is hosting a dinner party for her fiancée's co-workers. Things hit a wall when everyone discusses the hospital where they work, and Joan isn't up on the lingo. So there's an awkward silence that Greg suggests she fill with the sounds of her accordion. Did you know Joan plays the accordion? She clearly wishes that you didn't.

Meanwhile, Kinsey and Smitty got nothin'…except maybe the munchies. Jeff throws out a few ideas, but they suck. Peggy gets a whiff of what's going on and swings by. Jeff is hitting on her relentlessly: "What’s your name, sweetheart?"

"My name is Peggy Olson, and I'd like to smoke some marijuana." She’s getting bolder this season for sure. After a terrible caterwaul between Kinsey and his Princeton buddy-turned-pusherman, she laughs and says, "I am SO high."

Eventually, she strikes idea gold and tells the boys to go home, because she can totally take it from here, and all they're gonna do is keep singing and smoking, so. Thank you and goodnight.

Peggy's new secretary Olive has been watching over her all day and tries to warn her against doing what the boys do. It's very clear at this point that we're about to see a new side of Peggy: "I’m not scared of any of this." AWESOME.

Back to the country club. This has got to be the world's longest fucking garden party. I hope Don has sucked all the whiskey out of the open bar, because, if I were in his pointy, painful dress shoes, I totally would have. Pete and Trudy dance their asses off, but everyone else is pretty much over the whole scene. I mean, once you see Roger Sterling do blackface, that's got to be the apex of bad taste for the evening. Everything else after that is an amateur act…even when Mr. Big Time Client tries to hit on a very pregnant Betty Draper.

Things are winding down, and plaything Jane is WASTED. Oh, I know the feeling. Don and Roger exchange words, and Don, sick of it all, goes to find Betty. For once, he's figured out that he can go to her. Let’s see if that lasts.

Too bad there's no open bar at my place. Oh, wait, yes there is. It's called the fridge. Excuse me.

Miz J, who works in advertising, is a regular contributor and resident expert on all things Mad Men at Crabby Golightly. Check out her blog at Miz J