All the president's men...

One of whom apparently wanted to firebomb the Brookings Institution.

I've been reading All the President's Men, by Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward. The definitive account of the Watergate break-in and the subsequent hunt for the truth that lead to President Nixon's resignation, it is amazing in it's breadth and detail. But strangely, despite the veritable laundry list of felonies and almost-crimes committed by members of the White House staff and approved by the freaking President of the United States of America, what gets to me the most is the fact that burning down the Brookings Institution was tossed around as a potential game plan by the Watergate conspirators.

This is pretty much how it went down: a member of Henry Kissinger's staff (who, incidentally, also had his phone wiretapped illegally by the White House... you know, no biggie) left the Secretary of State's office to join the Brookings Institution, a policy think-tank in DC. He was believed to have taken some classified documents with him when he left, and certain members of the White House wanted them back. Break-ins were a real popular method of political espionage and sabotage around those parts back then, but the White House needed a way to cover it up. I can just imagine how this goes: a whole bunch of whitebread, clean-cut government officials sitting around a White House office, smoking cigarettes and tossing out ideas. And then some bright soul (Chuck Colson, specifically!) says, "hey, I know, why don't we set it on fire?!"

Apparently his suggestion freaked some people out and they backed off from the plan entirely, but still. I mean, the White House was operating in such a way in which a trusted member of the team, someone who had a DIRECT line to the President, could suggest firebombing an American organization and no one would think twice about it. I am going to repeat this, so you can experience the full import of it: firebombing the Brookings Institution. FIREBOMBING. It's so absurd, and yet terrifyingly possible! I just... I am floored.

Colson went on to deny that he had suggested burning the Brookings Institution down as a way to cover up their break-in (in fact, he jokingly said that he'd actually been talking about setting the Washington Post on fire, because that's just a side-splitter right there) but many sources claimed that he was lying.

I know this shouldn't astonish me - after all, these men were committing crimes left and right. Still, there is something so brazen, so viciously open and brutally honest about planning to firebomb a building on American soil that really drives home the powerful can't-touch-me attitude that these men had. It reminds me of one of my favorite lines in last year's Frost/Nixon, where the now-resigned and bitter ex-President Nixon yells at reporter David Frost, "Well, when the president does it, that means that it is not illegal!" But really, what should I expect? As a source tells Woodward in All the President's Men, "the President is... well, a felon."

All of this is to say: if you haven't read All the President's Men, do it. And then call me, so we can get worked up about the subversion of the democratic process and the importance of checks and balances, law and order, and having a government that respects the laws that constrains it. Good times, y'all.

I don't think cupcakes have an opinion on abortion.

So apparently today, this lovely October 9, is National Pro-Life Cupcake Day. A day when school children should bring brightly decorated cupcakes into classrooms and when their classmates flock to the treats and ask, "whose birthday is it?" They can respond with "NOBODY'S, BECAUSE THE BABIES HAVE ALL BEEN ABORTED BEFORE THEIR BIRTHDAYS." Or something similarly capslocky. And then apparently the cake will go dry in their classmates' mouths (it's magic cake, triggered to automatically dry out by the mention of the word "abortion") and they'll realize the magnitude of the national mistake that was Roe. V. Wade.

Or maybe, because they are children who have been faced with sugar, they will shrug and stuff their faces with more cake.

Listen, I don't care what your opinion is about abortion. But for goodness sake, can't we leave cupcakes out of it? I mean, will no one think of the baked goods?

Story via Jezebel, which obviously has a bias (one that I agree with, but a bias nonetheless.)

Give me Kitchen Aid or give me death.

Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time I was a senior in college, contemplating writing an honors thesis. Eventually it became clear to me that I would not be able to write it and still hold on to my sanity. I came to this realization over winter break and promptly called my roommate back in Atlanta, a little appalled and nervous. Our conversation went something like this:

S: "I don't think I'm going to be writing my thesis."
C: "hmmm, that's interesting."
S: "no, really!"
C: "yes, I heard you."
S: "what, aren't you shocked? Why are you so calm about this? WHY ARE YOU NOT MAKING SURPRISED NOISES?"
S: "Oh, I'm sorry, was this supposed to be news? I knew this would happen."
S: "How? I'm writing the damn thing and I didn't even know! How could you?"
C: "Over the past semester, you baked scones, cakes, chocolate croissants, more scones, tarts, cookies, brownies, and cupcakes. Every time you were supposed to be writing your thesis, you were baking. You even made cupcakes that looked like anatomically correct hearts. THEY HAD VENTRICLES AND EVERYTHING. Clearly, the thesis wasn't going to get written."
S: "..."

And that is how my very observant roommate diagnosed me as a stress baker.

So yeah, stress baking. Apparently I do it. And I must be extraordinarily anxious about SOMETHING, because I have been baking up a storm lately. Some people have requested pictures, so here they are a few of my creations (please excuse the poor quality - if this is food porn, it's clearly of the homemade sex tape variety):


Cupcake kuchen, or cupkuchen, for July 4. I used strawberries and bluberries to get a nice red/white/blue thing going, but none of the people at the party I brought them to seemed to care. Clearly, they aren't patriots.


And then there was the mini peach galette:


It was sort of an after-thought, actually; we had leftover tart dough from a tomato onion tart my roommates had made and some peaches that weren't used up in a peach/apricot kuchen I had made early that week. I wasn't sure what to do for the filling, so it was basically just sliced peaches coated with brown sugar and patted down with butter. I've since done some other, more intentional galettes (apple, mostly) but so far this has come out the prettiest.

Now, this next one has a story (surprising, right?). I have never feared cupcakes, or brownies, or scones. I faced down pan au chocolat with a take-no-prisoners attitude. Even pie dough, with all it's finickiness, doesn't frighten me too badly. But cakes? Especially layer cakes? As far as I can tell, they were created by the devil to confound me. At least that's what I've thought for the past few years, culminating in my spectacular layer cake failure from November, on election night. I tried to make a double-layer chocolate cake with cream cheese frosting. I was going to decorate it to look like the Obama logo! It was going to symoblize the meeting of black and white in this historic election! That last part is bullshit, but honestly, I was a little high on hope and baking fumes.

Well, this is how it looked for a split second (you can see that I cheated and used packaged colored frosting... I'm sorry, baking gods!):


And one second later, all hell breaks lose:


Basically, I'm a Cake Killer. Or so I thought, until I decided to face my fears and tackle a three-layer red velvet to bring to a going-away party for my friend Jing. I did some research, found the best layer cake advice from Deb from Smitten Kitchen, and produced three of these:


Which turned into this:


Which, if you can't tell, is three gorgeous layers of red velvet separated by two layers of cream cheese frosting and spackled with a crumb layer. And, in one of the most triumphant moments of my young adult life (I aim low), all of that became this:


Oooh, I get all weepy just thinking about it. I mean, you have to ignore the wonky writing - clearly I don't exactly have the art of decorating down just yet. Still, pretty cool for my first three layer cake, right?

I've since made a three-layer yellow cake with lemon cream cheese frosting and lemon curd/blackberry compote filling, a few more kuchens, and two (!!) fruit pies. I'm pretty proud of myself, but my roommates are starting to go a little sugar-crazy. Given how stressed out this means I am, I should probably seek therapy. But hey, flour and sugar are cheaper, right?

Wait! I have a quirky hat!

From Refinery29, by way of Jezebel.

For the "streetstyle" obsessed among us, a handy how-to guide to getting your picture taken by Scott Schuman, the Sartorialist.

I'm mostly set (quirky hat, vintage bike, etc.) but I'm not a model or an older rich European man, so I guess I'm out. Oh, and I also don't have any convenient cobblestones to casually pose on while wearing five inch heels, waiting for him to stroll by. Dang it!

More fake than a tan in February

It's still all weddings, all the time at the museum, and I've been wading through piles of gowns writing up document reports and taking photographs of them for the exhibition notebook. All of which is great, especially when I run into antique breast implants.

Or, if not breast implants, than certainly the world's original push-up bra. One of the wedding dresses I handled, a gorgeous cream silk taffeta from 1851 with three-quarter sleeves, a deep v-neck (which was pretty rare - most of the other wedding dresses we have from that decade have a wide bateau neck and cap sleeves), and some crazy diagonal ruching, also had built in breast-pads. The entire chest area was extra thick, with round pads made of cotton batting sewn into the bosom.

I guess the more things change, the more things stay the same. Female insecurity and the need to live up to the expectations of a society that objectifies the female form don't really disappear from century to century. I don't know why I'm surprised - after all, this is the same society that forced women into constricting corsets and advocated removing a rib to make them skinnier. I guess it's just because the big-breast thing seems like such a hallmark of the silicone age.

Of course, I could be overthinking this... maybe our anonymous 1850's bride was just sick of being part of the itty-bitty titty committee and decided to do something about. After all, it's her party, and she'll enhance her chest if she wants to.

Isn't this supposed to be a season of love and giving?

I shouldn't be surprised, I really shouldn't, and yet I am.

A divorced mom in Tennessee was denied the right by a family court to have her lesbian partner and her daughter sleep over at her house at the same time. She and her partner have been together for TEN YEARS. If you'd like to continue to be outraged, read more here.

Oh, America. You continue to astonish me with your combination of awesomeness and rage-inducing absurdity.

This is not a post about Sarah Palin

Is Camille Paglia still relevant? I ask because she has somehow managed to get me UTTERLY PISSED OFF with her self-righteous attitude toward feminism and patriotism. No, wait. Scratch the "somehow." I know how she did it - she wrote an article for Salon.com about Sarah Palin, feminism, and what it means to be a macho woman. And then she went and wrote this little gem:

"One reason I live in the leafy suburbs of Philadelphia and have never moved to New York or Washington is that, as a cultural analyst, I want to remain in touch with the mainstream of American life. I frequent fast-food restaurants, shop at the mall, and periodically visit Wal-Mart (its bird-seed section is nonpareil). Like Los Angeles and San Francisco, Manhattan and Washington occupy their own mental zones -- nice to visit but not a place to stay if you value independent thought these days."

Seriously? SERIOUSLY? People, I am sick and tired of being informed by various members of the media that because I live in a primarily liberal city, I somehow have revoked my American citizenship without realizing it. I'm sorry - I didn't know that the coastal cities of America had actually seceded and were forming their own little country called Bleedingheartliberalstan. City dwellers are just as American as rural folk, and for that matter, Camille, the "leafy suburbs of Philadelphia" are not exactly the heartland.

Moreover, how did we ever get to the point where geography defines our patriotism? The money that yuppies spend at Whole Foods is just as green as the dollars Paglia drops down at Wal-Mart for their peerless birdseed. And FYI - I LOVE FAST FOOD. I don't eat it because I don't want to die of a heart attack, not because I hate America. Why does "the mainstream of America" have to be so damn narrow? Why can't we have a "main-river" of America where lots of different eddies of lifestyles come together in a rush of cultural water? Or am I getting to eco-hippy-dippy for the mainstream?

And WTF? Paglia hates on liberal cities like San Francisco (the leftiest city that ever did left, obviously) but earlier in the column she's all smiles and compliments for Diane Feinstein, SF's former mayor and California's current senior senator. What is up with that? I thought people from San Francisco don't "value independent thought these days." BOO.*

Finally, I want to make this clear: if Paglia thinks shopping at Wal-Mart is what defines a person as American, then fine. I shop at Wal-Mart because I can't afford to shop anywhere else. I'm pretty sure Paglia's beloved "mainstream of America" shops there for the same reason, so I guess that means I win this round of "Who is More Patriotic, You or Camille Paglia?" Who is ready for round two? I call foul for Paglia's use of the word "nonpareil." After all, it's French. That's like an automatic out, right?

*And BTW, I adore Di-Fi. If she weren't even older than John McCain, I'd be writing her name in for President. Of course, unlike John McCain, she recognizes when her time has passed. Thanks Di-Fi, for being made of AWESOME.

When did Kevin Spacey stop being awesome and start being weird?

Kevin Spacey always had that smart-alecky, off-kilter, cute-because-he-might-be-crazy thing going on for him, but man, he is freaking me out lately. I mention this because tonight I watched 21. While normally mediocre films about math-geeks-turned-lounge-lizards (I do love the hyphen) aren't my cup of tea (give me shit blowing up any day), my friend is recovering from major surgery and isn't allowed to leave the house (or, for that matter, wash her own hair) so we made do with what she had at her place. Which was, apparently, Step Up 2: The Streets, and 21. I voted for Step Up 2, obvi, but was outvoted by her boyfriend. Apparently he can't stand redemptive tales of dance, love, and straight-thuggery. Hater.

But ANYWAY, back to Kevin Spacey. 21 was, as I thought, unspectacular. Yeah, Jim Sturgess (sp?) is adorable, and for once the sight of Kate Bosworth didn't give me sympathy hunger pains (but man, someone needs to give that girl a milkshake!) but for a movie all about cheating the Man in Vegas, it lacked the polish and devil-may-care attitude to carry itself off. Also, as mentioned before, Kevin Spacey was FREAKING ME OUT. He was all loud yelling and fast talking, but not in a fun menacing way. Instead from the get-go I was worried about him. Like I kept on wanting to yell at the screen, "no Jim Sturgess, step away from the freaky old guy with the receding hair line! He is too angry and volatile too early on in the script! This can only lead to trouble!"

There really isn't any point to this post. Mostly I'm just concerned for Kevin Spacey, and I want to express that worry. Has he lost his touch? Has his mastery of the fine line between awesome-creepy and stop-looking-at-me-creepy slipped? I've decide to blame his downward spiral on that stupid Bobby Darin biopic. Because that was straight up, total creep-time, and I think he's probably never recovered.

Are people talking about this?

Maybe I'm really late to this conversation (so late that it is ending by the time I come ambling up?) but it seems like people aren't really talking about the original Mrs. McCain. Not Cindy the Malibu Beach Barbie - the Mrs. McCain who lost the title after she suffered a traumatic car accident that disfigured her face and figure.

I was never going to vote for him, but I can remember a time when I liked him. The Carly-Fiorina-birth-control fiasco, coupled with the whole "Obama is a celebutante" campaign line have changed that, and this doesn't help one bit. I guess even "mavericks" cheat on their wives?

Nothing better on a Saturday night that flipping back and forth between True Lies and I Love Money on VH1. Ooh, a Barack Obama speech on CNN!
I don't think I'm cut out for liveblogging anything, even my lame couch adventures.
In other news, Lizz and Isaac came to town, and suddenly I have bangs. Crazy things happen when they visit.

New Seven Wonders?

Okay, so I get the idea of updating the list to reflect a more global understanding of the word "world" (as opposed to a "Mesopotamia is AWESOME" interpretation of it) and, yeah, its cool that it was a show of international democracy, and yes, 6/7ths of the original list no longer exist... BUT STILL. I mean, wrong with commemorating our lost history? Why can't we just let the seven wonders stay as they are, even if we only ever hear about them in history class? I mean, they may all be gone now, but isn't there something great about the idea of kids learning about these fantastical creations that occupy a mythic place in our history? And the fact that they don't exist anymore makes it all the more important that we hold on to what we know about them. I mean, why bother to teach about the Babylonian Gardens or the Colossus of Rhodes if they don't count as wonders? And if we take away their "wonders" status, aren't we hammering the final nail into their coffins of obscurity?

And on a less pretentious note, THE PYRAMIDS OF GIZA STILL EXIST. I mean, thats just a slap in the face of ancient Egypt. They built those babies to last, and now we're saying, "nope, sorry, you may have survived near millenia of sandstorms, various and sundry rulers, multiple religions, Napoleon (the man blew off the nose of the Sphinx, thats all I'm saying), colonialism and two world wars, but you just aren't that wonderous anymore. We'd like that title back, thanks. Mexican pyramids are so hot right now." I can almost here the pyramids of Giza weakly yelling, "I'm not dead yet!"