Veepy Dearest

One more thing, and then I’m done with Palin, or at least until the next revelation (which’ll could be anything; her husband runs guns for Alaskan secessionists or was Jimmy Jeff’s date at Bohemian Grove – anything). Whatever it is it’s bound to be grubby.

Although Trooper/Sprog/TreasonGate has been great entertainment given the candidate’s expressed religious and political views, the family situation is hardly uncommon. 17 year old daughters do get pregnant (usually by complete dorks and ne’er-do-wells), and especially so when they’ve been kept ignorant of how not to because of a misguided attempt to keep them ‘pure’. It happens. My own sister was a grandmother in her early forties too, a situation which gave me many enjoyable hours of sisterly schadenfreude. Hi Granny!

This time it happened to someone running for veep. Other than the momentary amusement and the justified outrage at continuing Republican hypocrisy, after the first flush of pleasurable derision it’s really no-one’s business, though it does make McCain’s advance vetting look worse than useless.

McCain insists that his VP pick was throroughly investigated and that he knew of Palin minor’s pregnancy before he announced the nomination. He appears to think that makes it all OK.

To me if McCain knew of Palin minor’s pregnancy beforehand, but nominated anyway, that actually makes it much, much worse.

It means Sarah Palin, the woman being projected as future MILF to the nation, simultaneously portrayed as a babe-librarian or a gun-toting survival chick, but primarily marketed by her party as a glossy conglomerate of Ma Walton and Raphael’s Madonna, is a terrible mother. One of the worst.

I know from terrible mothers; I am one. Without going into private family history I can assure readers there’s little you can tell me about awful parenting decisions. That said, I’m apalled.

All of this means that Palin knew very well her daughter was pregnant when she accepted the nomination – and unless she’s been hiding under a rock for the past century she’d have certainly also known that the media, ever hungry for prurient detail, would dive on the story like they would a line of free coke. Even Alaska gets the internet.

She must have known that they’d pry into her child’s private life and even into her pants – how could she not? – yet she accepted the nomination with alacrity. Knowing it would be bound to hurt one of her children, she did it anyway. That’s cold.

Worse still, she and her husband also went on to publicly take any and all decision-making capability regarding herself and her child entirely out of their daughter’s hands.

Not only is Palin making her daughter’s decisions re the pregnancy for her (ie that she will get married and be happy happy happy and photogenic ever after, seemingly regardless of her feelings or that of the putative father) her one criterion for making those decisions appears to be what would advance her political career.

I don’t know about any other parents following this story, but I don’t know one no matter how self-interested, who would so deliberately ruin their child’s future for their own personal advancement.

Parents make some tremendously ill-judged decisions and yes, children suffer because some parents are overly ambitious. But it’s usually a passive kind of harm, not delberate; being elsewhere at important moments, not paying enough attention, fobbing them off with money instead of time, letting them do something dodgy because it was easier than arguing and you’re just so damned tired… but it takes some hardnosed ruthlessness to sacrifice your child’s future to your own interests, publicly, and be so proud of it too.

I certainly don’t condemn Palin because she has five children and I don’t see why someone who does should not be vice-president – neither do I question someone’s ability to do the job because one of those children is disabled and needs extra care. Leaving aside Cheney’s activist vice-presidency it’s not that much of a job and besides, that’s what nannies, schools and nurses are for.

But I absolutely and unequivocally condemn someone who would drag her child through the tabloid mire, deliberately and with malice aforethought. She’s building her own glittering political future on her own child’s ruined hopes.

Nevertheless the right seem in thrall – but then they are well practiced at cognitive dissonance The GOP faithful at the Convention certainly have no problem with it whatsoever. Hypocrisy barely registers. But if McCain and his party think to have secured the undecided, independent woman voter with this transparent ploy then they are very much deluded.

I can’t be the only mother who’s looked at this situation and thought “Jeez, what a complete bitch.”

First Junkie

Cindy McCain field recognition guide

“She was blonde and beautiful. A rich man’s daughter who became a politically powerful man’s wife. She had it all, including an insidious addiction to drugs that sapped the beauty from her life like a spider on a butterfly.”

You’d think the media would jump on a juicy story of drug addiction, dishonesty and outright theft by a potential first lady, wouldn’t you? Can you imagine the furore, the accusations of druggy baby-mamadom, if it were Michelle Obama? She’d be in jail by now and her kids in foster care. But it’s Cindy McCain and she’s blonde and rich – so she’s not and they’re not.

No, blonde rich junkies don’t get pokey, they get put in the White House.

Salon, October 1999:

GOP presidential candidate John McCain’s wife Cindy took to the airwaves last week, recounting for Jane Pauley (on “Dateline”) and Diane Sawyer (on “Good Morning America”) the tale of her onetime addiction to Percocet and Vicodin, and the fact that she stole the drugs from her own nonprofit medical relief organization.

It was a brave and obviously painful thing to do.

It was also vintage McCain media manipulation.

I had deja vu watching Cindy McCain on television, perky in a purple suit with tinted pearls to match. It was so reminiscent of the summer day in 1994 when suddenly, years after she’d claimed to have kicked her habit, McCain decided to come clean to the world about her addiction to prescription painkillers.

I believe she wore red that day. She granted semi-exclusive interviews to one TV station and three daily newspaper reporters in Arizona, tearfully recalling her addiction, which came about after painful back and knee problems and was exacerbated by the stress of the Keating Five banking scandal that had ensnared her husband. To make matters worse, McCain admitted, she had stolen the drugs from the American Voluntary Medical Team, her own charity, and had been investigated by the Drug Enforcement Administration.

The local press cooed over her hard-luck story. One of the four journalists spoon-fed the story — Doug McEachern, then a reporter for Tribune Newspapers, now a columnist with the Arizona Republic (and, it must be added, normally much more acerbic) — wrote this rather typical lead:

“She was blonde and beautiful. A rich man’s daughter who became a politically powerful man’s wife. She had it all, including an insidious addiction to drugs that sapped the beauty from her life like a spider on a butterfly.”

What McEachern and the others didn’t know was that, far from being a simple, honest admission designed to clear her conscience and help other addicts, Cindy McCain’s storytelling had been orchestrated by Jay Smith, then John McCain’s Washington campaign media advisor. And it was intended to divert attention from a different story, a story that was getting quite messy.Read the whole thing.

More from Majikthise here and Kos here.

Don’t They Know There’s A War On?

Yeah, a war against common sense…. from Slashdot:

Kozar_The_Malignant writes

“A laptop containing the unencrypted security data for 33,000 travelers using the Clear system was stolen at San Francisco International Airport on July 26, according to CBS5 Television. The Clear system allows travelers who register and pay a $100.00 annual fee to speed through airport security by using a smart card at special kiosks in some airports. TSA has suspended new registrations in the system, which is run by a private contractor, Verified Identity Pass, Inc., a subsidiary of GE. The laptop was apparently stolen from a locked office at SFO. The company has now decided that it might be a good idea to encrypt the data in their systems. They are in the process of notifying customers that all of their personal data, including name, address, SSi number, passport number, date of birth, etc. has been compromised.

Revenge Of The Euro Tourist

This makes up for all the ugly American tourists who make England and Amsterdam hell in the summer with their arrogance and incessant self-absorption:

This summer, New York is awash with visitors from abroad, who are expected to top last summer’s record number, tourism officials say. Thanks in part to home currencies that are holding strong against the dollar, even middle-class vacationers from Hamburg, Yokohama or Perth can afford to scoop up New York style — the clothes, the hot restaurants, the nightclubs — at bargain prices.

But for New Yorkers trapped on the other side of the currency imbalance, it’s easy to feel ambivalent about the invasion. An infusion of foreign money is welcome in a city faced with a wobbly economy and a possible budget gap in the billions. But even some locals who consider themselves cosmopolitan and internationalist confess to feeling envy, not to mention territorialism, in watching a outsiders treat their city like a Wal-Mart of hip.

Their party is raging just as the hangover has started to set in for Americans. Frictions do arise — especially in a summer of looming recession, where many locals do not feel rich enough or secure enough to travel abroad themselves. (And let’s not even get into their weeks of summer vacation).

“It’s Psych 101 — jealousy,” said Randi Ungar, 30, an online advertising sales manager who lives on the Upper West Side. “I’m jealous that I can’t go to Italy and buy 12 Prada bags, but they can come here and buy 18 of them.”

Oh the poor loves, how they suffer!

Steven Schoenfeld, a 45-year-old investment manager who lives near Lincoln Center, said that he welcomes the influx of visitors, in theory, as a boost to the local economy, but “sometimes you feel like it’s going to become a situation where they stop and take picture: ‘Look at that endangered species — a native New Yorker, with a briefcase, going to work.’ ”

Polly Blitzer, a former magazine beauty editor who now runs a beauty Web site, said she believes that a turf war is going on this summer between free-spending Europeans and locals over the chic bistros, spas, boutiques and department stores that she, a native New Yorker, used to consider her playground.

She said the point was driven home to her on a recent trip to Bergdorf Goodman to help her fiancé select a pair of shoes to go with his tuxedo for their wedding.

Wearing the sort of outfit that usually acts as a siren for department store salespeople — a Tory Burch shift dress and Jimmy Choo slingback heels — she instead found herself waiting behind a European couple in sneakers and bike shorts who “had made such massive purchases that we couldn’t get anyone to give us the time of day for our size 11 ½ Ferragamo party slippers,” recalled Ms. Blitzer, 32.

The Europeans, she said, “brought over bags and bags of shoes” while the salesman wrapped their orders and chatted them up about restaurants and travel. “I didn’t want to do the ahem-I’m-sitting-here thing, but we had to sit there for 5 or 10 minutes while these big spenders small-talked.”

She was always used to first-class service, she said, adding, “But now, there’s an ultra-first.”

Don’t like it up em, do they….

Manhattanites without Bergdorf budgets often find themselves working overtime — figuratively and literally — to keep up with their visiting friends from Europe or Asia.

Jessica S. Le, an executive assistant at an investment banking firm who lives on the Lower East Side, said she recently started moonlighting as a dog-walker, in part to earn extra income she needs to see friends from abroad, who are dining at WD-50 or Suba, or drinking at Thor.

These friends from Europe and Asia “come over and play in New York like it’s Candyland,” she said in an e-mail message.

Does she mean playing in Candyland like the midwestern hicks who stand blocking the Amsterdam pavements, smoking dope and blowing it on passers-by – or maybe she means like the West Coast stoners getting so wasted in coffee shops they can barely walk, let alone ride their tourist’s bikes in a straight line let alone on the right side of the road.

Or does she mean more like the East Coast hipsters who drawl so loudly to each other on the tram about their Mummy&Daddy-funded writing/directing/painting/whatever gigs, pleading poverty while wearing head-to-toe Prada and staying in a posh apartment in Oud-Zuid?

Whatever. Serve ’em right to be poor and treated like dirt by us Yurpeens for a while. Maybe they’ll show a little more empathy in future.