Buenos Dias, Bobby Jindal! Can you say “Obamania?”

Enough already with the panning of Bobby Jindal’s rebuttal speech!

Let’s face it, anyone speaking after Obama was destined to come off looking like a cross between Mr. Rodgers, a Muppet, and an over zealous tour guide for the National Park Service. Even if a Republican as beloved as say, Ronald Reagan , Alex P. Keaton, or the "Where's the Beef" Lady had given the rebuttal speech, it still would have been received by most remaining viewers like a fart in an elevator.

President Obama’s address would have trumped all other speeches because, as Hulk Hogan once so eloquently stated, Obamania is running wild, Brother! They are naming schools after the guy already, for Christ's sake....in Cuba! "Barack" and "Michelle" are finally going to knock "Jackson" and "Brooklyn" from atop the Baby Name list. How can anyone compete when Obama vows to not only rid our country of fancy drapes, but he is “seeking a cure for cancer in our lifetime?” Cancer. Cure freakin’ cancer!

All I can say is: OMG! Is there anything that President Obama can not do? At that point in the speech, you’d think that Jindal’s advisors would have said, “Okay, it’s a wrap. Let the affiliate stations rerun the Jeffersons,” and call it a night?

Instead, Bobby gave it his best shot. With his slow, southern drawl, he gamely channeled Tina, the Alamo tour guide in “Pee Wee’s Big Adventure.” Just as Tina, slowly and deliberately said “Buenos Dias”, phonetically sounded out “tor-ti-lla” and reminded us that “tor-ti-llas” were a staple of the Alamo diet and made from corn, Bobby reminisced about his parents’ journey to America, Hurricane Katrina where he battled bureaucrats along side a local sheriff.

Unfortunately, like Pee Wee's journey to find the Alamo basement, Jindal’s humble tale ended up being a misguided attempt by the Republicans to stop the Obama Express. In my mind, aside from offering to adopt the Suleman octuplets , proclaiming that he is sponsoring legislation mandating that every taxpayer gets an iPhone, or giving that obnoxious Facebook kid a wedgie on national television, there is not much he could have done to steal Obama’s thunder. 

Glass Houses, Stretchy Pants and Fancy Drapes

I don't know about you, but after watching President Obama’s recent address,  I was left with more questions than answers.  I can’t decide if Joe Biden and Nancy Pelosi a.) just didn’t care about what they were wearing or b.) made a conscious effort to wear the most horrid colors imaginable?

I mean, Joe, god love him, is a man of action (and I of all people should know, as we both represent the 302). Couldn’t he have just scanned down the Congressional Phone Chain and dialed Nancy’s digits to coordinate? Or at least have an aide relay the message that the Vice President will wear a dark blue suit with a solid, electric blue tie from the Donald J. Trump Signature Collection?

In all fairness, Nancy could have hooked a brother up and just sent a quick text, “Am rockin’ puce green Mrs. Roper muumuu. Don’t do blue. I’ll B watching U.” Instead, I was forced to focus on a background consisting of Biden’s bright assed tie and Pelosi’s ugly assed dress.

I'm not sure if it was this cavalcade of Congressional color, the fact that we had "breakfast for dinner" again for the upteenth time, or my inexplicable decision to sit with the kids earlier in the day to watch Nacho Libre, but I just couldn't focus on Obama's speech.  It wasn’t until later when I heard the following sound byte on the news - “This time, CEOs won’t be able to use taxpayer money to pad their paychecks or buy fancy drapes….Those days are over” that I was able to fully digest the hidden message. It was as if a light bulb had gone on, almost as bright as Biden’s tie and I realized the importance of the fancy drapes!

Just as Jack Black's character in Nacho Libre needed a mask and stretchy pants to hide his true identity, CEOs - especially the ones living in glass houses - need fancy drapes to hide their lavish lifestyles…and to shield their eyes from disappointed shareholders, laid-off employees and the angry middle class.  In a strange way, I feel sorry for the CEOs....with the good old days over, it is looking like it has to be Blinds To Go or other some other alternative window treatments now....and that plain sucks.  But I digress...

What is even more ironic is that Ms. Pelosi’s dress looked as if it could’ve been made from fancy drapes - probably left over from the Bush Sr. administration – because the last time I checked, there were lots of fancy drapes in the Capital and in the White House....

To facebook, Or Not to facebook? That is My Question.

I will admit it, I am not on facebook.

It’s a fact that sadly changes my “tech-savvy” web age from “Gossip Girl” to somewhere between “On Golden Pond” and “Cocoon.” I can’t say that it was a conscious choice, that I was making a quaint social statement about how the internet has influenced almost every aspect of our lives. Instead, it was merely an act of self preservation.

Facebook, with all its widgets, updates, applications and lists, is no different than the Wii, QVC, bad TV shows, computer solitaire or ABBA music – it is all compulsively addicting. And I, when it comes to anything shiny and new, would become instantly obsessed just as I did a year ago when my kids got the god damn Webkinz.

It is the only place where it is not just completely normal to log your day in 15 minute increments, but almost expected by providing "status" updates - i.e., Just let the cat out; Watered my spider plant; Something in the fridge smells like ass; etc. Yet, it is everywhere: at the World Economic Forum in Switzerland; on CNN as an interactive feed for reporter/audience Q&A; on greeting cards and t-shirts. Even if you are not on facebook, you know what it is and what it is all about.

Then, just when we are sure that it has infiltrated every possible aspect of life, it will officially jump from computer screen to the minivan bumper – FCBK – glued for eternity as an oval sticker next to LAX, ACK and WOOF or perhaps just used to cover a partially removed Gore/Lieberman decal.

However, I have learned that there is an art to the facebook update. After reading Virginia Heffernan’s article “Being There” in the New York Times Magazine on the subject, it seems that managing all of your social network sites could easily become a full time job. I see this myself, as I recently joined LinkedIn (why LinkedIn and not FCBK you ask? I'll probably post on that later!). One of my connections posted an update that he was "waiting at the bus stop". That was over 2 weeks ago and every time I read it I wonder, is he still there? 

Alas, our house is not completely facebook free.  My husband joined a year ago, so he says, because he was reconnecting with old friends from high school and college prior to upcoming reunions. While I am not sure I buy that explanation, I am amused by his dedication to it. He recently shared with me that he posted his own status update just before Valentine’s Day that asked “Not sure what to get her…Do I go with Apple Bottom Jeans and boots with the fur or baggy sweatpants and Reebok’s with the straps?” He did get a flurry of varied responses offering constructive input, and sadly only a few managed to correctly gauge his sarcasm. In the end, I’m not sure if I will be able to decide to further complicate my life and go for the facebook page or just live vicariously through my husband’s postings. But just in case anyone was wondering, he played it safe and bought me flowers.

No Sex In the Holiday Inn Express

While some blog about their children, music, beaches, puppies, rainbows and unicorns, I just can’t do it. Try as I might to come up with cute anecdotes about my children and family life, after a weekend skiing in VT with the family, I find myself today with something replaying in my head: “There is no sex in the Champagne Room.”

Chris Rock once sternly reminded everyone, “oh, there will be champagne in the Champagne Room, but absolutely no sex.” I have found that Mr. Rock’s altruism is really a metaphor for taking the whole family away on vacation and bunking in outrageously tight quarters. Because with 5 people, 1 room, 2 double beds and a cot…there will be absolutely no sex in the Holiday Inn Express.

The reality is that you can’t think of sex or ever remotely act on it when the kids are jumping on the next bed watching “High School Musical” for the 64th time. Such is life and you will take a quick hug and kiss on the cheek amid the whining, fighting and 2 out of 3 children randomly vomiting from either the excitement and fatigue of a long day skiing or the intense sugar rush from eating a 2 pound bag of m&ms. Despite the lame attempts at scheming by your husband, there are no chance trysts in the 5x5 bathroom, no under-the-covers "special" massages, only veiled and thinly veiled innuendo on the chairlift.

At last, you try to steal a few quiet moments together watching the Weather Channel on the lobby TV with warm coffee and stale bagels from the free breakfast buffet – the kids back in the room, 5 minutes into the 65th viewing of HSM.  You both sit back and begin to enjoy a conversation that does not include the mediation of an argument, reference to Spongebob, or negotiation of any sort. That is when the creepy trucker at the table across from you kills the mood by first trying to get your attention, then announcing to no one in particular, “Woo daddy! Hey there, hmm, looks like Ohio is going to really get hammered today with all that snow.” Good times…yeah…good times.

You Can Lead a Man to the Promised Land, But It Won't Guarantee He'll Give You an Orgasm!

Yesterday afternoon, the Huffington Post featured a blog post by author Ian Kerner, titled “Viva La Vulva.” The article was about the female orgasm and was written by a man. Most of the comments posted under his musings were by, you guessed it, men. I realize that Mr. Kerner has his books to sell and his status as a sexual health counselor to promote, but am I the only one who sees the irony in this?

Leave it to a man to get it all wrong about what turns a woman on. The main problem with the female orgasm is pretty basic: foreplay, or the lack thereof by the men in their love lives. This has nothing to do with, as Mr. Kerner describes, living in a post-SITC (Sex in the City) world, “orgasm regret” or the elusive hunt for the g-spot. To put it simply lads, you have to update your playbooks.

Many men, I will correctly assume, have no move to the hoop. It's a straight shot down the middle lane to the basket. Boob grab, crotch grab and zing, one single shot under the boards to the Promised Land. The vulva and all the wonderful tingly nerve endings that it hides are pushed aside in a horrendous technical foul. When are guys going to stop playing man-to-man and learn to settle down in the zone?

For that matter, women are not cars, guys. You can't stick your key in and expect the Hemi engine to roar. We're more like a vintage '67 Mustang, you have to let the engine warm-up and idle. You have to listen to what she tells you. You'll get her to purr, you just have to give it a bit of time.

The Obama Effect – Are They Bringing Sexy Back to the White House?

It seems a November article on the Huffington Post has touched off a flurry of internet speculation regarding President Obama and his Oval Office sex life. And everyone, I believe, wants to know if the Obamas will have sex in the White House? Has it happened already? Will it happen in just one room or say the Lincoln Bedroom, the rose garden, the oval office, the state ballroom? Will the Secret Service be listening in? Is it better when done on a rug with the Presidential Seal? Or will it be like sex in prison, as writer Amy Friedman described in this past Sunday’s NYT Modern Love column “Kept Together by the Bars Between Us” - “Yes, we did it, every three months in a trailer on the prison grounds, behind walls and gates and lock and key.” How badly do you have to screw up (no pun intended) as a Secret Service Agent to be on Presidential bedroom detail?

Like the world awaiting the election of a new Pope, watching for smoke to come from the Sistine Chapel, Americans are watching closely for an extra bounce in the President’s step as he enters the Oval Office, walks to a press conference or boards Air Force One. We all watch and wait, like Hitchcockian voyeurs, because the bottom line reality is that Republican politician sex is just not exciting. When was the last titillating Republican sex scandal, at least one that did not include tapping in a men’s room or confessions of erectile dysfunction. Historically, when Democrats (Howard Dean and his Vulcan mating ritual references excluded) get it on, it is one rollicking, hot, steamy, freaky, scandal-filled affair. The party can thank the Kennedy men (all of them), Bill Clinton and Thomas Jefferson for that reputation, I suppose...

But, what I love about Barack and Michelle Obama is that as a couple, they seem real. Whatever may go on behind closed doors, be damned. Because out in public, with the cameras on, they seem to be a caring, united front -genuinely affectionate, protective of each other and dare I say in love. In a time of national cynicism and divorce, when many people are staying in and “nesting” to weather the economic storm, isn’t it apropos that such a couple are in the White House. I hope their time in Washington brings them closer together and makes them stronger. I hope it brings us, as a nation, closer together and makes us stronger. So Mr. President, the gauntlet is laid down - bring sexy back and let love rule!

Was Abraham Lincoln Gay? A Penny for your thoughts…

Today, on the website Queerty.com, the question is posed and pondered that Abraham Lincoln was gay. And with this one assertion, Abraham Lincoln has officially “made it” into the modern pop culture psyche. Like all great Americans, some Brits, and celebrities such as Tom Cruise, John Travolta, Angelina Jolie, Orlando Bloom, Clay Aiken, Oprah, Anderson Cooper, Simon Cowell, Jody Foster, Steve Martin, Jenna Jameson, Mike Tyson, Mr. Clean, Capt. Kirk and Mr. Spock,  and the Maytag Repairman – whose sexualities have all been up for debate in living rooms across the nation like parlor games, I suppose for Lincoln it was only a matter of time.

So what if Lincoln shared a cabin and bed for four years with his “mentor” and “loving friend,” Joshua Speed. Does that REALLY mean anything? Of course they had to cuddle, frontier nights were cold and beds were small. Isn’t this really the same male bonding dynamic exhibited in the critically acclaimed 1993 movie “Alive,” in which a South American rugby team resorted to desperate survival measures and Ethan Hawke’s character was given the directive, “Nando, you eat me first.”

What will come out next? That Lincoln was a Scientologist? That his wife, Mary Todd, was really his sister? That he was second runner up in a local “Log Cabin Idol” competition and was forced into law after career aspirations as a showman were crushed? That he had a tattoo of Harriet Tubman across his left thigh? That he was really Hispanic? Should we even really care?

“We can not escape history,” was one of old Abe’s more famous quotes. And while he cannot escape controversy, Lincoln will forever be a symbol of freedom. He delivered us all at our country’s darkest hour and beckoned us to be better, not just on the eve of the Emancipation Proclamation, but for every generation to come. Equality for all races, ethnicities, religions, creeds, nationalities, sexualities and universal beings will be a fight that we will have to continue for our legacy, our children’s legacy and Lincoln’s legacy. In the end, I don’t care if he was or wasn’t gay. But, if I find out he was a Scientologist, I’ll be pretty damn pissed.