Obama asks nation not to panic (Image via Wikipedia)

Authorities called for calm today as word dribbled out across a troubled nation that the beloved Grossblogger blog was leaving True/Slant.com and moving to a new location.

Unrest was reported spreading in many areas of the U.S. and in Arizona as well. The state of the Internet was reported as “shaky.”

The blog has been a fixture at the T/S website for 14 months, which means that many younger Americans cannot remember a time when it wasn’t there.

“First 9/11, then the oil spill and now this,” said a typical American, Lester Flegman of Fond du Lac, Wisconsin. “I can’t take it anymore.”

Ever since it was announced a month ago that True/Slant had been acquired by Forbes and would end its storied existence July 31, sporadic rioting has broken out in communities from coast to coast as the grim realization dawned that Grossblogger would have to find a new home.

Yelling and teeth gnashing were also reported in some neighborhoods.

Today the official exit announcement was officially made by Grossblogger founder and CEO Lewis Grossberger, causing a heart-wrenching wail of utter despair to rise up as if from the bowels of the earth itself.

Asked where exactly the blog was going, Grossberger told reporters, “Somewhere else. Watch my Twitter site (Grossberger) for the announcement. In due time, I shall tweet.”

Asked to elaborate, he replied, “Why are you bothering me? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Pro-Grossblogger demonstrators outside his Manhattan apartment building roared their approval and waved signs, reading, “He’ll Tell Us When He’s Ready!” and “Leave Him Alone!”

One elderly woman, struggling to fight back tears, said, “I will always remember today as the day that America lost its innocence.”

In a live TV address from the Oval Office, President Obama told the nation, “Hey, don’t cry, people. Grossblogger will still be appearing, just at another location. I’m a fan, too, so I understand how you feel.”

On the ABC program The View, Whoopi Goldberg said, “I’m gonna kill myself” and the usually voluble Joy Behar was too distraught to attempt a quip.

Grossberger later appeared on the roof of his building, where he hypnotized a crowd gathered in the street estimated at 250,000 people and told them, “All of you who are on my e-mail list or are one of my sixteen billion Facebook friends, or nine trillion Twitter followers, I will send you a notification when the new blog is ready and I will command you to visit it. And you will obey. Do you understand me? You will obey.”

As one, the crowd droned, “Yes, Master.”

My neighbor (Image via Wikipedia)

I got all excited when I learned that Don Draper’s bachelor pad was in my neighborhood. I’ve never had a leading character from a high-quality TV drama living anywhere near me.

We’ve been told he’s located in the vicinity of Waverly Place and Sixth Avenue so I hustled over there to see if I could ferret out the exact address.

I figured Don would be on (comparatively) quiet Waverly rather than hectic, clangorous Sixth (which the city fathers once tried to get New Yorkers to call “Avenue of the Americas” and failed utterly). He has a lot of dissipating to sleep off.

I’ve always loved Waverly. It wavers all over Greenwich Village, at one point bending so sharply there appears to be an intersection of Waverly Place and Waverly Place.

I also figured Don for a large-apartment-building inmate rather than a brownstoner; he’s the kind of guy who’d need a doorman to run interference for him, make up excuses when necessary, calm down and/or misdirect jealous husbands, hysterical women brandishing guns, that sort of thing.

I found the place in about three minutes: “The Waverly,” 136 Waverly Place.

I just knew.

It had the right look. Old, discreet, fifteen floors, maybe 100 apartments, faded yellow brick façade, just off the corner, southwest side. The lobby’s dark, art-decoish, with a diamond-pattern floor that I worried might pose a danger to Don if he comes in a bit tipsy just after it’s been buffed. It’ll be slippery.

The doorman instantly confirmed my suspicion. “Don Draper?” he said, all innocence. “No, there’s nobody here by that name.” Clearly Don has tipped this fellow well.

His apartment is probably in the back and on a high floor. The further away from the street, the better. Early ‘60s rents being what they are, I wouldn’t be surprised if he got two bedrooms for a couple hundred a month.

Right next door to 136 is Hong Kong Tailor Jack, which will come in handy for emergency clothing repairs. Things do occasionally turn violent in Don’s world. People get punched in the nose. Garments are removed quite hastily and strewn carelessly about.

There’s a subway at Waverly and Sixth but I don’t see Don using it. He’s more of a taxi man.

Then there’s the Waverly Restaurant. It’s not really Don’s kind of joint, too downscale for him to ever eat in. But the place has booze. And it’s very close by. So late some night, maybe the call girl slaps him a little too hard, maybe Bert Cooper tells him he’s failed again, maybe Betty still hasn’t moved out of the damn house, maybe he’s out of gin…Don’t be surprised to see Don, collar turned up, hat brim pulled down, duck across the street for a quick one. Or several.

I write like Grossberger (Image via Wikipedia)

The current Internet buzz is a website called I Write Like.

It’s completely idiotic, useless, fallacious, ridiculous, meaningless—but fun.

For about ten minutes. Then you move on to the next mindless fad. Then you die. Oops, went one step too far.

How I Write Like works is pretty simple. You paste a snatch of your—or anyone’s—writing into the box, click on “analyze” and you’re informed which famous author you write like.

(I’d give you the hyperlink but the damn thing isn’t working. Sorry. But you can find it. You’re a resourceful dude.)

I pasted my latest blog post into the machine, clicked “analyze” and up came: “I write like J.K. Rowling.”

Of course I immediately wondered: What happens if I input some of my other stuff? Will I still write like J.K.?

Nope. Next two tries found me writing like 1. Dan Brown and 2. Charles Dickens.

Nothing but humongous best sellers. So how come I’m not worth $47 million and being interviewed by Oprah Winfrey?

Next, I decided to see who the columnists of The New York Times write like. Results:

David Brooks: David Foster Wallace

Maureen Dowd: Kurt Vonnegut

Paul Krugman: David Foster Wallace

Gail Collins: David Foster Wallace

At this point, I pretty much lost interest in playing with I Write Like. Its limitations and flaws were looming larger and more obvious by the second.

And this was before I read the interview in The Awl (no helpful hyperlink here either. Got to call my tech guy.) with the creator of I Write Like.

Who turns out to be a baby-faced, 27-year-old Russian software developer living in Montenegro. Among other problems, his I Write Like data base has only 50 authors in it.

My favorite part of the interview is when the interviewer, Katjusa Cisar, asks the kid, “What makes you qualified to analyze literature like this?”

Reply: “Nothing, really.”

Image via Wikipedia

President Obama now lacks faith in American voters’ ability to make rational decisions about 60 percent of his waking hours, a new poll has shown.

It was the worst approval rating Obama has given the public since the start of his presidency, when he expressed confidence in the electorate’s ability to assess the running of the country by its political leaders a record 86 percent of his sentient time.

But his approval numbers were even lower for Congress, which Obama has no confidence in 97 percent of the time he is awake, though in his dreams he often has a cordial relationship with it.

The Star Magazine/SciFi Channel Presidential Opinion Poll samples the President’s state of mind 200 times during the day and night to compile its data.

The magazine said irrational opposition to Obama’s health care measure, the burgeoning Tea Party movement and the birther controversy had all worked to erode Obama’s confidence in the electorate.

In recent weeks, the public has lost more points by its total failure to pay any attention whatever to the financial reform bill and its confusion over whom to blame for the Gulf oil disaster.

“Obama used to think Americans were basically sane,” said Dr. Jordan Ramesh, director of the poll. “But now he is finally waking up to the frightening realization that the public is completely irrational.”

Ramesh said a small but growing portion of Obama’s brain would like to go back to Chicago and become part owner of a sports franchise.

Image via Wikipedia

The Catholic Church announced today it was trading Mel Gibson to the Wahhabis, a militant Islamic sect based in Saudi Arabia, a spokesman for the Vatican said.

“Given his expressed attitudes on women and Jews, we feel that Mr. Gibson will be more comfortable in the Wahhabi community,” said Monsignor Gianni Antonelli, the Vatican’s director of celebrity affairs.

Vatican insiders said that Pope Benedict XVI felt the church could ill afford to be associated with the controversial Gibson at a time when it was also receiving bad publicity on the priest-child-abuse issue.

In exchange for Gibson, the Catholics will receive Walid al-Gazar, a talented young actor/screenwriter who was sentenced to amputation of both legs and an arm recently for his Oscar-nominated short film, Babes Without Burkas, plus 160 camels.

Friends of Gibson said Saudi Arabia, where alcoholic beverages are illegal and drug laws carry the death penalty, would provide him a healthier environment than Hollywood.

Gibson, who belongs to a traditionalist Catholic sect that celebrates the Mass in Latin, refuses to eat fish on Fridays and believes Jews have cloven hooves, directed the controversial 2004 film The Passion of the Christ, a retelling of events leading up to the Crucifixion.

Clad in a Go-Wahhabis jersey and baseball cap, Gibson appeared at a brief news conference in Riyadh, where he said he was at work on a script for his next film, Saladin: The Early Years.

“I spent many happy, productive years as an embittered, retrograde Catholic, he said. “And now it’s time to move on.”

Gibson declined to answer questions about the scathing tapes in which he cursed his ex-girlfriend, Oksana Grigorieva so vigorously he had to pause and pant for breath.

Image via Wikipedia

Friday morning I arose to the bracing news that the LeBron James controversy had spawned a brand new controversy even more ridiculous than the original controversy (which, if I understand it correctly, had something to do with a basketball player changing teams).

The new controversy is about—are you ready for this? I’m not sure I am—a font.

A font called Comic Sans.

It seems the owner of James’ old team, the Cleveland Cavaliers, one Dan Gilbert, had written on the team’s website a choleric screed accusing James of betrayal, cowardice, narcissism and being not nice.

That doesn’t matter. What matters is he wrote it in Comic Sans.

Twitter and Facebook went wild. Turns out there are multitudes of people who have deeply felt opinions on Comic Sans. Basically, they despise it. Helvetica they don’t mind. Garamond Italic Condensed gets them only mildly perturbed. But Comic Sans makes them insane. They want to kill Comic Sans.

A few sample screams from Twitter:

LawrenceAugust: Writing a serious attack on someone in Comic Sans is like flipping someone off with your pinky.

louiscalade: stop using COMIC SANS. its one of the UGLIEST UGLIEST FONTS EVER. an eyesore. a design disaster.

jsmooth995: nobody who posts official statements in Comic Sans MS should be running an NBA team

As you can see, there are varying degrees of Comic Sans hatred. The fontamentalists find it despicable and loathsome no matter how it is used. Just a total disgrace. Others merely find it inappropriately frivolous for messages considered very serious, such as, apparently, those involving basketball.

There is even a website called Ban Comic Sans. I’m sure I’ll get around to reading it some day in the very near future.

In the meantime, I’d just like to say that Comic Sans is fine. It’s sansational. It’s a funny font. (The creator, Microsoft designer Vincent Connare, says he based it on comic-book lettering) What could be bad about a font that’s funny? I say we need more funny fonts, not fewer, fonts that make the populace giggle instead of going all pompous and serif-conscious on us. Fonts that don’t have to bend forward to get their comic effects.

I’d also like to say I’m disappointed that when Dan Gilbert was attacked for his outrageous font choice, he didn’t just reply, “Hey, I was being cavalier.” But what can you expect from a businessman?

Yesterday, I never heard of Comic Sans. But now I’m its greatest defender. I am the Joan of Arc of Comic Sans. I’m going to make Comic Sans the standard font for all my documents, including codicils to my will and declarations of war against foreign countries.

Now if I could only figure out a way to get this damn post into Comic Sans.

Image by AFP via @daylife

Exclusive to Grossblogger

As Russia’s sexiest spy, I know a thing or two about seducing powerful men and getting them to spill their secrets, among other things.

American men are easy. You just have to have sex with them and then give them a beer and let them watch sports on TV. While they’re doing that, you go through their briefcase and photograph the papers marked “Top Secret.”

It’s lucky for you Americans that I was caught before I was able to penetrate the U.S. security and defense establishments, which I was working my way up to, having already compromised several mail carriers and a short-order cook for practice.

It was only a fluke that I got caught. A guy who swore he was a producer and promised he’d make me a star of adult films turned out to be FBI. I guess I was naïve to trust him but hey, spying is a tricky game.

(In the event I ever got busted, my handler gave me a cyanide pill to swallow—yeah, like that’s gonna happen.)

I guess I should’ve taken to heart the lessons I learned at the National Academy of Spying in Irkutsk, where the instructors always told us, “Students, trust no one, not even me. I could be a mole, for all you know. Ha-ha! Kidding.”

My lawyer, Sid Fishman, who is kind of cute for an older guy, tells me I’ll probably only get three to five because it’s a first offense and I’m hot. So I’ll be out before you know it.

Meanwhile, jail isn’t too bad. I’m keeping busy writing my memoirs. My agent has already had offers for my story from a publisher and a movie producer (this time a real one, I hope!) I was a little put out because the producer sees it as a comedy but on the upside, he thinks he can get Angelina Jolie. She’s looking for a change of pace.

Just now a corrections officer asked me to autograph her New York Post with my very sexy nude photo on page one. She was like, do I mind that my ex, Alex, sold these topless pictures? I said, no, why should I? After I get out, my ambition is to be a top model and this publicity can only help me. I think I’d be perfect for Victoria’s Secret, don’t you? I’m good at keeping secrets.

Image via Wikipedia

Today we celebrate the anniversary of our nation’s independence and I believe it’s important to think about the struggle that made America the great country it is.

We fought a war to achieve that independence. Unfortunately, the war was against our mother countries, England and its staunch ally, Britain. It’s not good to fight with your mother.

Everyone knew the British Army was unbeatable.

They wore red coats, which made them the finest army in Europe because when you shot them, they couldn’t see they were bleeding so they just kept on fighting.

Even Napoleon had failed to beat them. But George Washington, in his rash and impetuous way, thought otherwise.

The Revolution was George Washington’s war and it was a war of choice. He could have sat comfortably on his plantation, occasionally going off to kill some Indians. But no. Not George. Instead he joined a bunch of trouble-making northern radicals and attacked the British, causing terrible casualties and economic chaos on both sides of–

Excuse me, I have to take this call.

Oh, hey, Bill, I’m in the middle of my July 4^th message here so—What? We don’t? I didn’t… I was just… OK, OK, calm down. I’ll retract. Yeah, OK, bye.

I’m sorry, folks, it appears I misspoke. That was my friend Bill Kristol. He tells me that what I was saying is not Republican Party policy. It seems that we back the colonial side in the American Revolution.

If I gave the impression that I was favoring the other side, that was a poor choice of words on my part and I apologize.

In closing, I want to leave you with some tips for a safe and enjoyable Fourth of July:

1. When barbecuing, do not spray lighter fluid at the guests. It’s fun but dangerous.

2. Never place your bare hand on the grill along with the hot dogs and burgers. It’s unsanitary and someone may eat it.

3. Everyone loves a good fireworks display but keep lit firecrackers and rockets away from your genitals.

4. If it rains, go inside.

5. Always vote Republican.

Thank you and good night.

Image via Wikipedia

1.

James Bond tensed as the man he knew only as Grobodnik walked toward him.

Something was off. Something was not right. Suddenly, Bond knew. Grobodnik—not his real name, of course–had with him a small child, a girl about eight years old. Bond’s hand moved stealthily toward his Walther PPK automatic but before he could grasp it, Grobodnik spoke.

“Hello, Vassily. You remember my daughter, Ludmilla?”

Bond shifted uneasily on the park bench. This was not in the playbook. He would have to improvise.

“Hi, Ludmilla,” he said. The girl nodded shyly.

“I had to pick her up from school,” said Grobodnik. Her mother had a dental appointment. Now what have you got for me?”

Bond looked around to make sure no one was listening. He took a coded document from his pocket.

Grobodnik looked it over. He whistled.

“How did you get this?”

Bond shrugged.

“A lot of digging. A lot of legwork. Some Googling.”

“The location of all the Apple stores in Moscow,” said Grobodnik. Our superiors will be pleased, Vassily.”

2.

“What’ll it be?”

“An iced decaf mocha latte,” said Bond. “Shaken, not stirred.”

Bond looked around the Starbucks. His eyes gazed dully at the chess match on the wide-screen TV. Bialiakov and Klechnoi were heading for another draw. A vast sense of ennui crept over him.

He was tired of Russia. He was tired of being called Vassily. He was tired of his wife and kids and their kids, tired of working as a change clerk in a booth at the Moscow subway, tired of fitting in, behaving like everyone else.

Most of all he was tired of never traveling to exotic locales, never playing baccarat in glamorous casinos, never bedding gorgeous younger women who were later found murdered and never having exciting car chases or karate fights with assassins from SMERSH or the KGB. It was so long ago he had done these things he could barely remember them.

The barista gave him his drink and Bond sat down at a table whose previous occupant hadn’t bothered dumping his trash.

Bond had screwed up and he knew it. He should have gotten out of MI6 back in ‘91 when the budget was cut and the Soviet Union went down and and M died of cirrhosis and that sinister evil genius who was plotting to magnetize the Eiffel Tower, lift it in the air and plunge it into Mount Etna—what was his name again? Dr. Globefucker?—decided to retire from entrepreneurial megalomania and go to work for Goldman Sachs. The spy game had changed.

Everything had changed.

Bond fondled his Walther PPK. He hadn’t fired it in years. It wasn’t even loaded. This way it wasn’t as heavy to lug around all day.

How he would love to slip up behind the barista and break his neck with one lightning-quick move. But why was he torturing himself this way? What was the point? You couldn’t turn back the clock.

Bond reached for the copy of Pravda on the table and turned to the obit page. It reported that Jason Bourne had committed suicide.

A tear fell into his styrofoam cup.

Image by AFP via @daylife

WASHINGTON–The questioning of Supreme Court nominee Elena Kagan by the Senate Judiciary Committee continues today and your faithful correspondent is there getting it all down.

Patrick Leahy: The chair recognizes Senator Sessions.

Jeff Sessions: Good morning, Ms. Kagan. Before beginning my questioning, I would like to commend your posture and your elocution, both of which are superlative. Now then, at yesterday’s session, I heard you say that if appointed to the Supreme Court, you would listen carefully to both sides before making up your mind on a case. Is that correct?

Elena Kagan: Yes, Senator, it is.

Sessions: Don’t you think that would set a dangerous precedent?

Kagan: No, sir. I feel it is the most responsible way to behave on the bench.

Sessions: Well, I must respectfully disagree. It sounds to me like a radical departure from current practice, one that would set the judicial branch of our great nation on a disastrous path.

Kagan: Senator, I respectfully disagree with your disagreement.

Arlen Specter: Point of order, Mr. Chairman.

Leahy: The chair recognizes Senator Specter.

Specter: Mr. Chairman, I have served in the Senate for 28 years and in that time I have seen 14 Supreme Court nominees come before this committee.

Leahy: Yes? And…?

Specter: I just wanted to get that fact on the record.

Leahy: Duly noted. The chair recognizes Senator Coburn.

Tom Coburn: Ms. Kagan, I would like to compliment you on your exemplary courage in coming before this committee and answering our questions. It is inspiring for our youth to witness a display of such pluck and determination.  I have been told that few of them are in fact watching but I choose not to believe such hogwash.

Kagan: Thank you, Senator.

Coburn: However, I must note that in your response to Senator Sessions, you spoke about how you would…um…

[an aide whispers in his ear]

…behave on the bench.

Kagan: I did, Senator. I said I would listen carefully to both sides before making up my mind. I would be fair, impartial and modestly deferential to Congress, the White House and the Boy Scouts of America.

Coburn: Well, you see, Ms. Kagan, the problem is that there is no bench. The justices of the Supreme Court have had chairs since 1815. Currently they are expensive black leather armchairs of an ergonomic design and you may lean back in them or even spin around should you so desire.

Kagan: It was just an expression, Senator.

Coburn: Perhaps it was, Ms. Kagan, but I believe it reflects your lack of experience. Had you ever sat as a federal judge, you would know that in Washington today benches are employed only at bus stops and the sidelines of sporting events such as football and basketball.

Specter: Mr. Chairman, point of personal privilege.

Leahy: Yes, Senator Specter.

Specter: Mr. Chairman, it is my sad duty to announce the death of our great and beloved and incredibly old colleague, Senator Robert Byrd of West Virginia.

Leahy: Thank you, Senator, but actually we acknowledged Senator Byrd’s death yesterday.

Specter: Oh. I thought that was Admiral Byrd yesterday. The admiral was a great explorer of the polar regions and I am reminded of the time he came across a talking penguin. So the penguin says…

Leahy: Thank you, Senator. The chair recognizes Senator Kohl.

Herb Kohl: Thank you, Mr. Chairman. Ms. Kagan, before I begin my merciless grilling, I want to say that you are prettier in person than in your photos.

Kagan: Thank you, Senator.

Kohl: Ms. Kagan, I suppose you are aware that if your nomination is confirmed, you would be the fourth woman and the second Jewish woman to serve on the Supreme Court.

Kagan: Yes, I am aware of that, Senator.

Kohl: Would it not be a crushing disappointment that you were not the first in either category?

Kagan: I believe I could handle it, Senator.

Kohl: I wonder, Ms. Kagan. I wonder if you could. But let me pose a hypothetical question. As all court buffs know, Justice Antonin Scalia is renowned for his scathing wit. What if, during oral arguments, he turned to you and whispered a devastatingly funny quip or sarcasm? Would you be able to maintain the dignity required of a Supreme Court justice? Or would you, in the vulgar parlance of our day, “bust a gut?”

Kagan: Senator, I have thought about that issue and I can assure you I would keep a straight face.

Kohl: I would like to believe you, Ms. Kagan, I surely would. But how can we be certain?

Kagan: There are two reasons, Senator. First, I would always keep Justice Breyer and Justice Sotomayor between me and Justice Scalia so that he would be physically unable to whisper jokes to me.

Kohl: And secondly?

Kagan: I have no sense of humor.

Kohl: All right, well, that is reassuring.

Specter: Mr. Chairman.

Leahy: Yes, Senator Specter?

Specter: I am very tired, Mr. Chairman, and I would like to take a nap.

Leahy: The chair recognizes the right of Senator Specter to put his head down on his desk for fifteen minutes.

Specter: Thank you, Mr. Chairman. Just go right on with the hearing. I can sleep through anything.