Enrico!

Bad idea. This will cause the learned counselor some squirming, though, he has a small shrine dedicated to Biden Jr in his boudoir, but he has been planning to vote for McCain.

No, just kidding. That would be cool, tho, huh?

Allegedly he’s down to Kaine, Bayh and Biden Jr. Folorn hopes are held out for Fellatio Girl and Sibelius.

Enrico strongly urges him NOT to choose Fellatio Girl. She is pure evil.

Sibelius would be the bold, iconoclastic choice of a loser. She has the wrong genitalia for this election cycle.

No, he needs a white male.

Biden Jr. is probably the most rational choice, from an expertise standpoint. He fancies himself a foreign policy wonk. But, does Delaware even have any electoral college votes? Enrico must research this.

I think he’ll pick Kaine. Both Kaine and Bayh offer the prospect of helping him carry their states. But I think Indiana is out of reach, even with Bayh on the ticket. I think Virginia is a close call even without Kaine, but I think Kaine on the ticket makes a noticeable difference in the odds.

This is it. Back up the truck and load it up. Trichet is awesome, but he is fighting the tide, and those who fight the tide always lose. The dollar’s rally is all about the relative weakness of the euro. I won’t tell you again.

The Rooskis have invaded Georgia (not, as Google News would have it, the one in the western hemisphere). NATO and the EU have to decide whether they are going to cowboy up, or whether they are going to take a flexible stance on which nations are part of Europe.

Putin needs to be chased back across the Caucasus Mountains. If he is allowed to get away with this, none of the “near abroad” states will be safe. Quite soon Putin will be menacing Ukraine, Belarus, Romania, Bulgaria, Lithuania, Estonia and Latvia, and all the stans.

He needs to be humiliated and discredited. This is the ONLY WAY.

Misty May-Treanor attempts to entrap President Bush with a salacious invitation, which President Bush wisely declines.

The Silky Pony has come somewhat clean about his extramarital affair.

This is certainly bad behavior on his part. It doesn’t give one confidence in his propensity to honor his vows and to behave ethically.

This abhorrent behavior is very different, however, from that of Fellatio Boy. Fellatio Boy committed a felony, at least one felony, by perjuring himself in the Paula Jones trial. There is credible evidence that he is a serial rapist. He is certainly a traitor, as evidenced by his sale of US military secrets to the chicoms, and by his gift of the building blocks of nuclear weapons to the troll doll, and he is certainly guilty of accepting bribes, as demonstrated by his 11th hour pardon of Marc Rich in return for bags of loot. The fuckhead morons of the MoveOn.org ilk kept up the idiotic mantra that the impeachment was about sex. This was just a totally intentional, despicable lie, intended to distract people from the felonious conduct.

Too bad for the Silky Pony and his wife.

Enrico was looking at some commercial real estate recently, in a part of Houston with which he is not too familiar. He networked and got connected with a broker who knows that part of town.

I told him about the parcels, and about the investment premise. “I would run,” he said. He meant he didn’t think it would prove to be a successful investment. “Why?” I asked. He said “nobody’s buying right now.”

I thanked him for his time and got off the phone as quickly as possible.

This is a true story.

The BAOT has this article which misses the most crucial, topical, essential point: the wearing of shorts is green!

Everyone knows that many women in the workplace are permanently arctic’d out by the rapacious demands of the woolens-clad male workforce for maximum air conditioning. It is very common for a woman to smuggle in an electric space heater to put beneath her desk to keep the polar bears at bay. From an energy standpoint, this is obviously totally insane. Perhaps the women would maintain that this is an evil male conspiracy to produce engorgement of the mammary papilla sheerly for the entertainment value.

I’m sure that a squadron of economists could produce an analysis conclusively proving that the US could completely eliminate imports of foreign oil if there were a Federal Law banning the wearing of long pants on any day when the average temperature is higher than 72 degrees F. Or, at least, if not banning the practice, stipulating that any state which does not enact such a ban will be deprived of its Federal highway funds.

Enrico does his little bit for the environment by attending all business meetings between April and October inclusive wearing shorts, and by adopting a facial expression intended to convey his disdain for anyone who is not appropriately dressed for the subtropical Houston climate, which is characterized by sweltering heat combined cruelly with withering humidity levels, for an environment completely on all fours with that of a sauna. Enrico can’t be certain that the meaning of his facial expression is really getting through, but he does notice the occasional quizzical expression on the visages of his interlocutors.

Everyone knows that the BAOT does not really print much news or do much true journalism, but you would think that the one area in which their reportage might have some validity would be fashion. Disappointing.

The tallies are in on the first deccenial four city Enrico Hale “Thomas Mann” luxury hotel prize. Contestants included the Milestone, in Kensington, in London; the Hassler, in Rome; the Hotel Adlon, in Berlin; and the George V Four Seasons, in Paris.

Not much of a contest, really, as it turns out: the George V Four Seasons totally runs away with it. The location is absolutely unbeatable, the staff are angelic superhumans, and the accomodations are so comfortable that it has been hard to get the family to leave the suite.

I have to give second place to the Milestone. The staff were lovely, the accomodations top notch, and I think if I had asked them to walk my dog and bring the the poo back to me in a little bag, they would have consented with a smile. Great location. No better concierge service have I ever encountered.

The Adlon is just edged out by the Milestone. This was my first trip to Berlin. For picturesque and iconic you cannot possibly do better than the Adlon. However, I think were I to go again with the kinder, I would try the Hotel Am Zoo, on Kurfürstendamm. The surroundings of the Adlon are like a museum. The Kurfürstendamm is like watching three Italian operas at the same time. The concierge service at the Adlon was also very, very, very good, but the accomodations frankly were just not nearly as comfortable as the other three hotels. You know the so-called upholstery in a Mercedes? There you go, that’s a national trait.

I would not go back to the Hassler. The staff did not really, for the most part, have the skills to hold any kind of intelligent conversation in English. And, over and over again, when Gladys and I finally got across what we wanted to the staff, we got an argument from them. Maybe this too is a national trait, I don’t know, but it is not a good trait in hotel staff trying to cater to Americans.

Also, an issue of little absolute substance, but highly annoying to me: I finally figured out that they were charging me about $15 for a tiny little bottle of Sprite, I think of 20 cl. I of course immediately banned the purchase of Sprite, but this is just totally unnecessary and uncalled for. It made me highly suspicious of the hotel, to look for other small ways they were attempting to rip me off. I don’t need this while on vacation. Of course you expect to pay a huge, vast premium for something like a bottle of soda in any hotel, but why not 100 euros? Or 1,000 euros? In the shops around Piazza di Spagna, a one liter bottle of Sprite sold for one euro. So, they can charge what they like, but I will never ever go back to this hotel.

The location is very good, and the rooms were very nice, very comfortable. The concierge did a very good job for us. I am not sufficiently insane to attempt driving in Rome. The hotel sorted out car and driver for us on several occasions.

I don’t have a witty, snarky prize in mind. I will get back to you on that.

Well, I thought they were. It seems to me that perhaps I was mistaken.

I have essentially no French. But I have tried, really hard, in the first instance of a commercial encounter, to make myself understood in my pidgin French. Bert and I went to see “Juno” last night at little cult cinema in the 14th arrondisement. I marched up to the ticket window and said “Deux par ‘Juno,’ s’il vous plait.” I pointed at Bert and said “Dix et cinq.” The clerk took pity on me and replied in English, telling me how long til the movie started and when we would be permitted to enter. So, even though I am so appallingly ignorant I don’t even know the word for “fifteen,” the clerk did not pretend not to understand me, and he sold me a ticket for Bert at the appropriate reduced price.

The German waiter at the Dachgarten at the Reichstag definitely wins the prize for bastardom on this trip. The reaction of this cinema clerk to my pathetic effort in the glorious mother tongue of the Gauls is not an isolated circumstance. Is this a transformation due to the therapeutic influence of Sarko? Perhaps.

I had already seen “Juno.” Bert hadn’t, and he loved it, as did I. Must get the soundtrack.