Money by the barrelful, by the truckload. Mountains of money, heaped like gassy pyramids in the national dump. Scrounging packs of politicos, snapping, snarling and sending green bills flying sky-high as they root through the tangled mass with ragged claws. The stale hot air filled with cries of rage, the gnashing of teeth and dark prophecies of doom. Yes, this grotesque scene, like a claustrophobic circle in Dante's "Inferno," was what the U.S. government has looked like for the past two weeks as it fights on over Barack Obama's stimulus package.
English poetry is thriving in the subtle, mellifluous, adjective-laden culinary odes of Nigella Lawson (who has an Oxford degree in medieval and modern languages). After listening to her on my car radio on the way to work, I often arrive for my morning classes in an ecstatic haze. But hey, let's not dis that bust, which has gotten lusciously ample. Check out these recent London pix of Lawson as a merry dumpling barely contained by her midnight-blue velvet evening gown.Another knockout in the fashion department was Kate Winslet at last month's Golden Globes banquet. When Winslet finally won a major award and went deliriously bossy at the mike, I was in seventh heaven. I knew exactly what Nancy Pelosi meant when she said that when ex-President Bush's helicopter took off from the Capitol three weeks ago, "It felt like a ten-pound anvil was lifted off my head." For 11 years, ever since Winslet was robbed of her Oscar for "Titanic," I've been grimly pursuing my vendetta against the provincial Hollywood establishment.
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