The wrong bulge

Why is it that whenever a politician is busted for sending R-rated photos of himself, it always seems to be the wrong politician? Case in point, Anthony Weiner. I can honestly say that I never looked at him and imagined wanting to see his bulge, nor did I ever wish to see the somewhat scorched-looking torso of Rep. Chris Lee.

Why did these politicians think that sending lewd images of themselves would get some woman hot? Anthony Weiner's political career did impress me - he has a great point of view and great panache, although like many politicians, his debut in politics seemed a little shady. But he clearly has bad judgment if he thought his bulge was going to entice, rather than repel, any female onlooker.

You would think it would be the so-called hot ones who have pictures of themselves scantily clad at the ready. I am not attracted either to Men's Health coverboy Rep. Aaron Schock nor Sen. Scott Brown, two oft-mentioned "hunks" o' government. But if anyone was going to flash a bulge, you would think it would be these two.

Currently, the only politician I am attracted to (now that Tony Blair and Idi Amin are out of office) is Rep. Paul Ryan, or, as I like to call him, "the Dark Lord." Truly, so cute! But so evil, as well. Can't you just imagine his blue eyes boring into you as you (bound and gagged, of course) struggle to moan for help? Just to look at his beautiful, manicured hands is to imagine those hands cutting off your oxygen, just as he is trying to do with America's budget. Where is his bulge? Where is his blue dress? Nowhere, that's where. Phooey.

If anyone has a picture of Paul Ryan naked, and doesn't mind me building a blog post around it (and forwarding it to a small group of like-minded political enthusiasts), please send me a jpeg?

Sunday brunch

A bunch of us cousins went up to Paula and Luther's for brunch on Sunday. We discussed Precious, Nadia's ice cream cone idea, Esperanza Spalding, and book promotion, amongst other topics. I brought flowers and a wheat loaf. For a long time, I have refused to eat white bread - it's kind of like a mental prison I've been locked into from reading too many issues of Men's Health. (If Men's Health were looking for a new name for itself, I would definitely nominate "Worries.") One of these days, I'm going to bring my own crust to a pizza store. Or bring my own host to church. I'm wearing Fred Perry in this picture, and some ratty old cap. I'm not sure what everyone else is wearing.

Paula knows that when I meet up with people, I prefer to go to the movies, so that I don't have to talk to anyone, and can drift off into my own thoughts and the thoughts of the filmmaker, and eat tubs of popcorn, "worries" or no. But every now and then, I do like to gather in a group with people. After the brunch, Alyse, Nadia, Xavi and I walked down Edgecombe Avenue and I broke into the song "Harlem Blues," from Spike Lee's Mo' Better Blues. "Twenty years later and I still know that song by heart.

I'm not sure where this post is going, so I'll stop.