Category: Sardonic Side

Given the House Speaker’s 180 turnaround from a man for all conciliatory seasons to ambitious, right-wing panderer, shouldn’t his name now be Won’t Weatherford?

Jeb Bush to the right of Marco Rubio on immigration? From “Jeb!” to “Jeb?”

The Florida State Fair missed a big fund-raising opportunity last Thursday. Surely, some local charity could have benefited from an unexpected windfall. All it would have taken was Rick Scott agreeing to a dunk tank cameo.

We’re all for those who help raise money for good causes. Of course we are. That said, anyone else think, almost ashamedly, that some of the means to unassailably worthy ends are kind of, well, weird? Case in point, those images of runners who took part in the Undy 5000 Run/Walk, an awareness-increasing fundraiser for the Colon Cancer Alliance, in Tampa last Saturday. Participants wore underwear as outer wear. Including the guy with Superman briefs over latex shorts.

It’s still OK to just write a check, isn’t it?

Indeed, what’s with the loopy signature of Treasury Secretary nominee Jack Lew? Is it louche, sloppy, Slinky inspired or maybe just written in the loo?

Pro Bass Shops should want a mulligan for the past six months. First it was the flap over incentives Hillsborough County was considering to lure it here. As if Pro Bass would be bringing in the 21st century jobs the county needs. As if Pro Bass shouldn’t want to be in a retail market like this anyway. As if Pro Bass deserved it. Then Pro Bass alienates locals with its ill-advised trademark infringement challenge–since dropped–against Simple Life Outfitters in Valrico. Does Pro Bass not have a PR shop? The timing for an enterprise that ostensibly wants this market and should want to orchestrate a positive debut has been awful. In fact, it’s been Bass Ackwards.

When you’re a Tea Party-Koch Brothers-Cato Institute kind of governor you make it known in no uncertain terms that big government is no ally. In fact, its society-eroding role needs constant monitoring and marginalization. But for Gov. Rick Scott inconvenient exceptions keep popping up–from, say, personal higher-education help via the G.I. Bill to, well, requesting Tropical Storm Isaac aid to, oh, calling on the president to invoke the Taft-Hartley Act to pre-empt a possible longshoremen’s strike. How, uh, ironic.

Just wondering.

Ever find yourself nearly clueless when glancing at “Walter Scott’s Personality Parade” in Sunday’s Parade Magazine? Who are these, well, celebrities? Ever feel woefully out of touch when checking the daily lists of societal notables having birthdays? After Mickey Rooney and Warren Buffet, none of them ring a bell.

It’s sort of like looking at those newly purchased photo cubes that still have the generic inserts of anonymous, beaming visages.

You’re not alone.

* Thanks to Paula Broadwell and associates, “embed,” “all in” and “you’ve got (male)” will never be the same.

* Remember when “socialite” meant one who was prominent in fashionable society? Those were the days.

* I wonder if Derek Jeter has ever uttered: “Hey, I can see the Kelley mansion from here”?

* Hulk, Bubba, Khawam Twins: They just belong in the same sentence.

* Poor Joe Maddon. Works at the Trop, lives next to trollops.

I have family and friends with homes in New Jersey. They took hits ranging from wiped out to new normal. Among them, my brother, who has a house on the Jersey Shore. It surely didn’t dodge a coastal bullet. I called. Both his Philadelphia number and his Sea Isle number. No answer. Several times.  His cell number had changed since he retired, and I didn’t have it.

We contacted my niece. My brother and sister-in-law were fine, she reported. They really didn’t know the exact state of things at the Shore because they were out of town, couldn’t do anything about Superstorm Sandy and, well, life goes on. It would just have to wait. First things first. That’s because they were already in South Bend, Ind., getting pumped for the Notre Dame game, where the Fightin’ Irish would stay unbeaten by edging Pittsburgh 29-26 in triple overtime on national TV. In my family, that pilgrimage, let alone that “Shake down the thunder” comeback win in a magical season, qualifies as a major consolation even within the context of a natural disaster.

“Look for my dad around the 10-yard-line,” suggested my niece.