Another US Presidential Opera

Following the great success of "Nixon in China," plans are underway for another opera:  "Bush in Germany."  The setting is Heiligendamm, a Baltic Sea resort where George W. Bush and other G8 leaders met in 2007.  President Bush and members of his entourage became ill during their visit, and, in her soon to be published autobiography, Laura Bush suggests that they may have been victims of a poison plot.

With this high drama in mind, President Bush sings the following aria, set to the tune of "I Feel Pretty."  Viewers are encouraged to sing along.

I feel nauseous--

Oh so nauseous.

Next time I eat out,

I'll be cautious.

Wish I felt joy

Like my buddies drinking Lowenbrau.

I had knackwurst

And then bockwurst

And with weisswurst

I was sure I was thrice cursed.

And so nauseous--

One more bite and I was sure to burst!

What did they put in my lunch today?

I know it's something bad that I ate.

Could it be a plot?

Something in the pot?

Has some fiend dropped poison at the G8?

I'll call Cheney.

He's so brainy.

He'll send agents from the land of the free,

Someone who'll take a schnitzel for me!

(Glorious finish)

And then we'll all scram

And get the hell out of Heiligendamm!

Beating Around the Bush

It has come to our attention that Laura Bush has written, and had published, an autobiography. The book has not yet been released, but Pointless Digressions has received excerpts from one of the publisher's galley slaves (note clever word play, for which P.D. is famous).

Ms. Bush's book is titled "Spoken from the Heart," the title "Bushwhacked" having been rejected. It joins a long line of memoirs by ex-presidents, ex-first ladies, ex-hangers on, and ex-wannabes, many of which may be found on a remainder table near you.

One of Ms. Bush's items recalls a visit to the White House by Prince Charles.  She and her staff were puzzled, she writes, when the Prince of Wales requested a glass with a scoop of ice  On receiving it, he produced a flask and poured into it what she guessed to be "straight gin."  To most of us, the reason for this is obvious:  in the Bush White House, the beverage of choice was probably Dr. Pepper.   The Prince, wisely, had followed the dictum of a favorite archbishop who advised "the wisdom of carrying your own flask."  

Ms. Bush also laments the negative labels pasted on her husband by Democrats, as she no doubt remembers the generosity and charity of comments by Republicans regarding President Clinton and presidential candidates Gore and Kerry. 

Finally, she suggests that the gastrointestinal distress suffered by her husband, herself, and members of W's staff during a G8 summit in Germany may have been the result of an attempt to poison the President (an excuse not thought of after Bush Major's up-chuck in Japan).  And she may be right.  However, it should be noted that Bush Minor felt a similar queasiness after viewing Oliver Stone's film "W."

"Laura," he said, "I feel nauseous."

Literary Notes from All Over

This date in 1667, John Milton sells the rights to "Paradise Lost" for ten pounds.  This leads to his great sequel, "Royalties Lost."

This date in 1737, Edward Gibbon ("The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire") is born in Putney, Surrey.  The Duke of Gloucester, to the historian:  "Always scribble scribble scribble, eh, Mr. Gibbon?" Later in life, the historian falls to his knees to propose marriage to Lady Elizabeth Foster.  She bids him rise, and, after some struggling, Gibbon, who has added a few pounds of the fleshly kind, finds he cannot.

And one day back, in 1731, Daniel Defoe ("Robinson Crusoe," "Moll Flanders." "Journal of the Plague Year") shuffles off this mortal coil in London's Ropemaker Street, hiding from creditors. Many of us know how he felt.

George & Will

April 23 was St. George's Day.  Wendy's was sizzling dragon burgers.  

It was also William Shakespeare's birthday.  Shake, as those of us close to him called him ("Hey, what's shakin', Shake?") entered the world at Stratford-upon-Avon on April 23, 1564. You may recall that he said "all the world's a stage," and he made his exit, with his usual dramatic flair, exactly fifty-two years later, also on April 23.  (Duke Ellington once said "God has blessed my timing," and Shakespeare could have said the same.  And possibly did.)

Appropriate celebrations:  a keg of mead and DVDs of several worthy films:  Kenneth Branagh's "Henry V," Olivier's "Richard III," Roman Polanski's "Macbeth," and (and especially) the recent Ethan Hawke take on "Hamlet."  There have been other Shakespearean films, but too often, as in the Leslie Howard-Norma Shearer version of "Romeo and Juliet," the players are twenty-five years older than the characters they are pretending to be (although it is fun to see Basil Rathbone and John Barrymore duel as Tybalt and Mercutio).  

Or, passing all those, you might find a DVD of "Kiss Me, Kate," Cole Porter's riff on "The Taming of the Shrew," and flip thru to Keenan Wynn and James Whitmore performing "Brush Up Your Shakespeare." Sample lyric:  "If you quote a few lines from Othella, she'll think you're a hell of a fella." 

Face it, pal--Shake always had better lines.

The Hooch Monger

Some years ago, Reader's Digest had a running feature called "It Pays to Increase Your Word Power," or something like that.  Possibly the magazine continues to jack up its readers' vocabularies; we don't know, because Pointless Digressions now gets only the National Enquirer and the Watchtower.

However, we do want to help our viewers increase their word power, and so we offer this word de jour:  "hoochinoo."  Hoochinoo is a distilled liquor made by a Tlingit tribe named--wait for it--Hoochinoo (also spelled Hutswunu). Hu nu? 

And, of course, the word "hooch" is derived from "hoochinoo," although how this term became part of the jargon of bootleggers in Saskatchewan and Chicago remains a mystery.

Which brings us to the quote of the day, from that well-known philosopher W.C. Fields:  "A man has to believe in something.  So I believe I'll have another drink."

Bad Tie Day

No one is a stranger to Bad Hair Day, although for many in the provincial legislature it is more often Bad Comb-Over Day.  But our topic today is not what is (or is not) on the top of the head, but what is under the chin; to wit, Bad Tie Day.

None of our elected representatives is voted into office on the basis of sartorial elegance, although that would be as good a reason as any, and better than most; but it seems to our Dept. of Snide Remarks that our esteemed MLAs are as much in need of wardrobe counseling as media training.

Of particular note was the purple explosion recently adorning the shirt front of Health Minister Kevin Falcon.  He would never have gotten away with it in the reign of Bennett Senior.  W.A.C. would have banished him from caucus until he returned with more suitable neckwear.

We are reminded of an exchange in "I Don't Think I'll Fall in Love Today," a duet by the Gershwins:

"Did you choose that cravat?"

"I did that."

"Ouch!  Here's your hat."

True, politicians never have been noted for their fashion statements, most choosing to be conservative even when Liberal, turning up in outfits which would be considered sombre even by morticians.  There have been exceptions:  Pierre Trudeau showed an Astaire-like flair for innovation, and we have it on good authority that Jack Layton is "a snappy dresser."

Possibly the solution for our gang in Victoria is to have a selection of acceptable neckties at the entrance to the Parliament buildings, as they have at exclusive gentlemen's clubs.  "Ah, Minister Falcon--why not try this regimental stripe?  And you might also avoid the Larry King suspenders."

Nine-year-old Author Makes Debut

My nine-year-old granddaughter has written a story.  Quite a good story.  I greet this event with mixed emotions:  awe, pride, and professional jealousy.  Not only does she write better than I do, her typing skills are vastly superior.

I can see the future now:  by the age of 12 she will have written more books than Stephen King and earned more money than Nora Roberts.  I, meanwhile, will continue receiving rejection slips, which have progressed from the coldly impersonal to the insultingly abusive (e.g.:  "What makes you think any editor would publish #$%*& like this, you &*+!$% illiterate?") 

By the age of 15, she will have her own television show and be considered cooler than Tina Fey.

By the age of 17, she will have a wall to herself at Chapters.

By the age of 18, she will have received the Nobel Prize.

I am considering signing my name to her story and submitting it.  Would this be a very bad thing to do?