Dubai

I am told by a friend with wisdom beyond his means that Dubai was intended as a safe haven in the event of an economic apocalypse where the world's richest could escape the rioting, dispossessed masses--in other words, you and me--and where they could wait out the anarchy comfortably in a secure environment. A penthouse in Manhattan wouldn't do, as some of us--and I include myself--would figure a way to get to them through the elevator shaft and express our indignation, as you might well imagine. The 'Jump you F%*kers' placards that people displayed on Wall Street during the early days of the financial meltdown were but the thin edge of the wedge, if you see what I mean and I think you do.

So it is appealing to my appreciation of irony that Dubai finds itself upside-down in advance of the full-blown chaos it was intended to avoid. If Dubai doesn't get itself right-side-up, the world's richest will have to do some fence-mending with the have-nots, a diplomacy that, no doubt, goes against all their instincts if not their DNA.

Serious investors

Seeking serious investors only for an entirely frivolous enterprise that will, no doubt, be recklessly mismanaged and proceed along lines that are unorthodox bordering on malfeasance. Minimum first tranche of $1M as earnest money is required with timely drawdown installments timed to my personal travel plans and the availability of a new Gulfstream currently on order. This will be a no-fault contract where Force Majeure will be defined as errors of judgment on my part. Excellent references are available but will not be tendered.

Please, no time wasters.

(That ought to do it)

Jenson Button

I hear that Sir Jackie Stewart has advised Jenson Button to bring his Brawn talks to a close by agreeing to a deal now telling him, "The odd two or three million is neither here nor there."

I find myself saying this same thing more and more. The millions are neither here nor there and, believe me, I've looked thoroughly in both those places.

Nicolas Sarkozy on Twitter

Following on the rigors of the jambes en l'air-a-thon that was my Fashion Week, I've resolved to focus on more sober and serious matters with the arrival of Le Figaro this morning (and yes, I prefer reading the actual paper rather than the on-line edition). In spite of this resolve, I am confronted with the news that the Elysee is establishing a Twitter account for Nicolas Sarkozy with which le chef de l'Etat can nous tenir au courant. I can just imagine the Tweets soon to be issuing forth:

« Il me prend pour un con, celui-là ! » (This guy takes me for a *%#!)

« Il y a du monde au balcon ! » (I admire her position!)

« Va te faire foutre ! » (Isn't there somewhere else you would rather be?)

« Où sont les filles ? » (We must give women's issues their due.)

« Tu me prends la tête pour rien ! » (It's always a pleasure to discourse with you!)

I think this is a good thing and look forward to seeing where it might lead. Wouldn't it have been insightful if leaders from d'autre fois could have apprised us of their thoughts as they occurred? Imagine Twitter in the hands of George Patton, JFK or Bokassa.

I say we open Twitter accounts for Kim Jong Il and Mahmoud Ahmadinejad before it's too late.

Fashion Week in Paris

The only real consequence of Fashion Week for me is that I need to stay indoors more than is my habit (which is considerable). The last thing I need is to be seen in public by certain individuals who make a point of being larger than life. Mais, on se prend pour qui, eh ?

There is a more compelling reason, I must admit, to remaining close to the doorbell, so to speak. It is well known (at least by me) that Fashion Week brings more than an honest working man's fair share of attractive filles sympas to the neighborhood and, in my experience, sometimes the postman doesn't always ring twice (unlike Desespérée who has gone off somewhere in search of truth or her mojo to use her words). They are the models without whom Fashion Week would be an intolerable confluence of overwrought and overreaching egos that suck the oxygen out of the city leaving it to resemble a large bag filled with squirming appetites. That may be New York's chronic condition but Paris is another matter entirely, I can tell you.

And so it was I found myself last night tending the home fires and watching a DVD of L'Année dernière à Marienbad. It was one of the most amazing films I've ever watched. In every scene, the actors gave the impression of hanging about waiting for the director to remember to call "Action". The big surprise came in the middle of the second act when Vincent Price failed to make an appearance. At least one mystery was solved as I listened to the film score--I now know what became of the fellow who used to play the Wurlitzer at Dodger Stadium.

At about two in the morning, the "doorbell" started ringing and by four we had to call down for another batch of the Widow. Well done, Fashion Week!

David Letterman

Robert Joel Halderman, a producer on "48 Hours", decided that, for the rest of his life, he no longer wanted to work for a living and therefore proceeded to blackmail David Letterman for two million dollars. All I can say is that the fellow must have some money put aside because two million would fall very short of seeing me through and I would require at least that much annually with sporadic cost-of-living increases.

The second thing that struck me in all of this is that Halderman was covering his action by pretending that he was offering a (one page) screenplay for sale to Letterman. For two million dollars and there is no mention of ancillary, sequel, spin-off or merchandising rights?! Where has this man been all his life?

Roman Polanski

It's not your father's Switzerland. La Suisse est morte. Vive la Suisse !

Frédéric Beigbeder

I have had it jusque là and I've decided to throw open the windows and curtains and let the darkness in! After a long and heated conversation with myself, I see that I've been contained here in my (junior) suite where d'un jour à l'autre, je deviens de plus en plus beau without the slightest discernible benefit to anyone other than people whose names I don't even know.

Frédéric Beigbeder said it well when he quoted Gide, “On ne fait pas de bonne littérature avec de bons sentiments” though I'm not sure how it applies here. Time will tell whether or not it does and whether or not Désespérée will decamp from my (junior) suite any time soon.

Oh, didn't I tell you?

Walter Cronkite

Word of Walter Cronkite's demise has somehow finally reached me in spite of my highly managed status of recluse, which was implemented for reasons I cannot really go into at the present time or at any other time, for that matter. America, if not the world, has lost its most trusted newsman.

While others have properly eulogized the giant of television reporting, I take hope in the notion that, perhaps, we'll never again have a television news reporter in whom we can trust. I see this as a positive development. At the very least, we should look at our TV anchors askance. More appropriately, we should give them the same respect and consideration we would extend to someone attempting to sell us time-shares in a leper colony.

Even the benighted Walter Cronkite is said to have been an asset of Operation Mockingbird, a secret C.I.A. campaign to influence domestic and foreign media back in the 1950s and beyond, thus functioning as a "reliable source out-going" in C.I.A. parlance. Oh my! Phil Graham went into the Hall of Fame with that recruitment.

W.C. Fields' sage counsel of "Never give a sucker an even break or wise up a chump", notwithstanding I feel it is time to pass the word. It is not too surprising to find that we are being played daily for suckers and seen as chumps by those in control. It does not mean that we must tolerate it. At the very least, we should stop encouraging it.

James Lovelock

I am well known for being egregiously green with regard to matters that are peripheral to my main interests in life. Would that more of us could make that statement. This brings me to think of James Lovelock who has been up to no good promulgating a viewpoint with which absolutely nobody will be able to make a dime. According to Mr. Lovelock, author of "The Vanishing Face of Gaia", it is too late for the planet to go green to any good effect in the way it is too late for Ben Affleck to...well, you know.

The foundational assumption of "Green" is that the Earth is worth saving. I wonder if the truth of the matter is that we are actually trying to save ourselves, since the Earth will get along just fine without us after we are gone. How much of this is merely a manifestation of ego which postulates that the species that produced American Idol and The Real Housewives of New Jersey must, somehow, manage to survive to bring forth sequels and spin-offs of all sorts?

Perhaps the best way to save the planet is to get rid of all of us.

Sarah Palin

In a televised address, President Richard M. Nixon announced his intention to become the first president in American history to resign. With impeachment proceedings underway regarding his involvement in the Watergate affair, Nixon reacted to pressure from the public and Congress to leave the White House. "By taking this action, I hope that I will have hastened the start of the process of healing which is so desperately needed in America."

This memorable event brought to mind another moment in time when an incumbent abandoned ship, though for reasons less clear. The DNC's Brad Woodhouse put it this way:

"Either Sarah Palin is leaving the people of Alaska high and dry to pursue her long shot national political ambitions or she simply can't handle the job now that her popularity has dimmed and oil revenues are down. Either way--her decision to abandon her post and the people of Alaska who elected her continues a pattern of bizarre behavior that more than anything else may explain the decision she made today."

My own reaction to Sarah Palin has habitually fallen into the Whiskey Tango Foxtrot range and this latest development is no different. Unless I was hallucinating, Sarah Palin likened her action to passing the ball for victory. This would make some sense if one were, indeed, passing the ball to Kobe. However, I don't see the correlation to dropping the ball in mid-court, hoping that the Lieutenant Governor--whose name nobody can cite--can recover it and declaring victory in the process. My failing in comprehension, no doubt, but it is forward-looking speculation at best to be forecasting victory in these circumstances. The American Idol phenomenon continues unabated.

Somewhat isolated as I am here in my (junior) suite, I have not yet been able to determine whether all this isn't just a Borat-style publicity stunt on the part of Tina Fey, which would put the whole event into a perspective that actually makes sense. Time will tell, I suppose.

Bill Maher's Real Time

Over the weekend, a friend sent me a link to a site where Meghan McCain's appearance on Bill Maher's Real Time was posted for viewing. It never ceases to amaze me the degree to which people are willing to express themselves when they know absolutely nothing about which they speak. Meghan's escape clause and justification for her self-contented ignorance--"I wasn't born then"--was appropriately countered by Paul Begala's retort that he knew of the French Revolution though he, as she, hadn't yet been born.

Meghan's most naked revelation came when she asserted that she hadn't come onto the show to look back but was there to talk about "my career". Reminds me of the inimitable Francis Urquhart's comment about "...a sack of squirming appetites."

Watching Meghan caused me to think of Christopher Hitchen's appraisal of Sarah Palin as a "...woman utterly unversed in any of the needful political discourses." Perhaps the party has found its new brand.

10 big banks get OK to repay $68 billion in bailout money

According to the L.A. Times--and please don't ask me what I'm doing reading that newspaper when Le Figaro arrives at my (junior) suite even without my insistence--the Obama administration has announced it has given approval to 10 of the nation's largest banks to repay $68 billion in government bailout money which they had received to "stabilize the financial system".

Wish I could write like that!

Treasury Secretary Timothy Geithner is quoted as saying, "These repayments are an encouraging sign of financial repair..." Elsewhere, a housewife told an interviewer, "The Gold Bond Medicated Foot Powder really helped."

It's always good to hear good news..

La place de La comédie des quatre femmes

Sitting at Les Deux Magots recovering from my recent torments experienced at Cannes--or rather on the way back from Cannes--an actress/co-conspirator sought me out to present me with a copy of La place de La comédie des quatre femmes by Marguerite de Navarre. And while the title refers to four women, it does not contemplate the old math problem of the seventies (How many times does one go into four?), but rather, it delves into celibacy as the path to happiness as opposed to being an end unto itself.

I have to admit to being nonplussed by her offering. Whether it was given as an intervention, a provocation or, perhaps, because there's a good part in it for her should I decide to adapt it for the screen, I cannot say. All I do know is that, after I accepted the gift, she accepted the card key to my (junior) suite and it is possible that her true intent will become clear as the evening progresses.

In the mean time, I suspect there exists a connection to Gabrielle Suchon's manifesto, Du célibat volontaire, though she most certainly formed her conclusions without the benefit of a Hollywood perspective, the 1700s being what they were.

Cannes Film Festival

So, I'm back in my room at the Hôtel du Cap and, no, I did not manage to lay claim to one of the Eden Roc suites as I'd intended. I'm in the main building and, if I'm being totally honest, this isn't even a suite but a room most likely kept for the night custodian should he feel a need to catch forty winks, which is about what I'll get tonight from the look of things. And by the way, this is the last time I fly down on you-know-whose airplane. If I hear one more anecdote about working in a video store...

I fully intended to attend the screening of Inglourious Basterds, which figures to be the best or worst picture of the year depending on whether or not you think Kill Bill 2 was actually a compilation of deleted scenes from Kill Bill. I intended attending right up to the moment I traded my invitation, hall pass and tote bag for the keys to somebody's Maserati Quattroporte S and took off for the casino in Monaco in time to lose what cash I had on hand and then have dinner at the top of the Hôtel de Paris with a woman who looked like someone I didn't know. This fortunate pairing came about as a sudden, improvised solution to catching a glimpse of Désespérée emerging from a private room used by the casino security staff to search and contain belligerent guests and Third World tyrants who have been named in an indictment.

It all turned out for the best. After dinner, I managed a (junior) suite overlooking the harbor entrance into which the lady and I disappeared until long after check-out time. I feel a little guilty at having flown down only to miss the reason for my coming in the first place, however I will eventually see the film on DVD and, from what I hear, even those who attended the screening don't yet know if it's the best or worst film of the year.

Facebook

Recently, though not a joiner, I was seduced by peer pressure, media manipulation and covert nighttime chemical spraying on the part of the government to register on Facebook. Like being a little bit pregnant, I am now a little bit a part of things there.

One of my first participatory actions was to respond to a questionnaire that was circulating asking everyone to list twenty-five things that people might not know about you. Had it asked me to sit around the campfire and sing folk songs, I would have refused categorically. However, this seemed a painless exercise and I duly listed twenty-five absolutely fascinating things about myself guaranteed to impress even those to whom I owe large sums of money. It succeeded beyond all expectation and made new Facebook friends for me whom I will likely never meet, but that's hardly the point, is it?

Now, some weeks later, someone forwarded to me their list of twenty-five which, as it happened, had my own list in the thread. Reading it again impressed upon me how self-serving these lists can be. Although everything I listed was true--and no doubt extraordinary in every possible way--it really should have been called "Twenty-five things you want everybody to know about you". In other words, there's a reason people don't know certain things about you for their own good as well as yours.

Just to test this, I'll be circulating a questionnaire that will ask everyone to create and post a list of twenty-five things you hope to Hell no one ever finds out about you. Let's see if we get any takers.

[famous name deleted]

I spoke to [famous name deleted] on the phone today about his film project as a branded TV series using [proprietary information deleted] to provide the book-ending à la Rod Serling on Twilight Zone. He is quite excited about the idea and is going to call his writing partner to convey his enthusiasm about the proposition, which will, no doubt, kill the deal.

Anyone in Hollywood knows that when someone approaches expressing enthusiasm, they are up to no good (we are), that they intend to use your project for their own aggrandizement (we do) and, invariably, will steal away your baby and leave nothing at all for you (undoubtedly, we will). I will continue to monitor the situation.

I'm going to watch one of The Killers on DVD but haven't decided yet if it will be the Burt Lancaster or John Cassavetes version.

Berlusconi mariage: "Une histoire finie"

According to my copy of Le Figaro today, Berlusconi has conceded defeat with regard to his marriage to Veronica Lario, which comes as no surprise to me inasmuch as the man utterly ignored my "What would Brad Pitt do?" advice and played it like an average Joe to ruinous results (depending on one's point of view). Berlusconi is quoted as saying that his marriage is, "...fini ou sur le point de finir" (though I suspect he actually said it in Italian).

Does this mean that the jolies filles, as described by Ms Lario in her denunciations, will now lose interest in the statesman or might their numbers swell, their natures becoming increasingly competitive in vying to become the new First Lady of Italy? I can only go by personal experience, but it must be said that I play by strict Hollywood rules and would advise Signor Berlusconi to double the size of his carnet d'adresses as quickly as he is able to do so--that is, if he doesn't continue to play the scene as average Joe (not to be mistaken for Joe the Plumber).

As one door closes, another slams open in your face and Berlusconi can expect that Veronica will accuse him of stealing her car (if personal experience is anything to go by) and that the rest of the world will be asking "Silvio, what took so long?"

It is nice to know that, even though the moguls of yesteryear are gone from the landscape, Hollywood still has all the answers. I would caution both parties to the marriage, however, that television in not Hollywood and that reality television is to be avoided at all costs even if the price to pay is reuniting.

Tea Bagging (sic)

The latest daylight madness from the political world has reached my (junior) suite. In my more lucid moments, I am keenly interested in brand management strategies and naming is an important aspect of the application. Whether it is the naming of a collection of jewelry, an automobile or the latest derivative from Wall Street's best and brightest--I wonder if that is a registered trademark?--naming helps propel the product or offering into the consciousness of the marketplace.

Sometimes, naming is insultingly literal and obvious. Boneva purports to do something to bones. Operation Just Cause attempted to...oh, never mind. However, there are times when naming takes on an absurdity that defies any explanation and thus we come to the subject of today's dismay. The Republican leadership (sic) has formulated a plan to resuscitate a flat-lining body politic and have chosen tax protest as the strategy. So far, so good. Politicians of every stripe have gotten traction with this in the past. All that was needed was a name for the campaign. That should be simple--emphasis on should.

The Boston Tea Party provided a patriotic echo that would resonate the constituency and we are still on solid ground. Speed made good in sailing terms. But then someone, who shall remain nameless throughout, came up with a name for the campaign and its supporters: Tea Bagging and Tea Baggers. We're going to Tea Bag the White House!

How anyone let this get past the very first mention--let alone into the media as the definitive naming--is beyond me. It is tantamount to creating a campaign to encourage Whistle Blowers and naming it Blow Jobbing and Blow Jobbers. We're going to Blow Job government agencies!

Oh well, enough politics for one day.

Stockholm Syndrome

My sponsor has noticed a growing trend amongst peer pressure victims and fear-biters world wide to join and clamber for "Green" causes so as to feel good about themselves and, additionally, promote their wares. Being aware, as they are, of my branding acumen and extensive history in psy-ops, they asked if a campaign couldn't be created that would immunize them against this sort of adverse propaganda and make the world a better place for their installations, which convert wholesale quantities of fresh water into sewage and spew an amount of particulates into the air sufficient to bring down a 747 should one attempt to fly through the semi-solid haze lingering above their many smokestacks scattered around the planet.

I suggested a campaign that positioned the Earth as a terrorist kidnapper holding mankind hostage and slowly killing us off one-by-one using the Stockholm Syndrome to explain why certain misguided individuals felt the need to browbeat the rest of us on the subject of ecology. They liked the idea very much and asked if I thought the message would carry. After a great deal of thought, I said that it would. All they need do is add a musical track that would appeal to fourteen year-olds in the background and their troubles will be over.

They wired the money straight into my account!

Unconditional love

Unconditional love. Now that's an expression found on greeting cards and trinkets in souvenir shops around the world. It sounds great and makes the purveyor sound noble, but has anyone actually read the terms and conditions of "Unconditional Love"? You see, each section of law has its own set of definitions to be used in the context of the section. It harkens to what the definition of "is" is.

As best I can make out, unconditional love is that which one gives to oneself. Temporary, conditional and limited use love is what is offered to others. One of the first clues to this being true should be when it is is discovered that she (or he) is still undergoing couples therapy with the "ex" though purporting to offer "Unconditional Love" to you. This may seem obvious to most, but you'd be surprised to learn who missed that particular signal. Or maybe not.

These thoughts are provoked by the sudden re-appearance of the désespérée in the hotel lobby. True, she has shaved her head and was all but unrecognizable, but it was she. I had a momentary pang of longing for her; it didn't last, needless to say. But it was comforting to be able to recall that every word she uttered could be believed utterly. How nice that was!

The Mountain would like to come up, Monsieur.

We seem to have returned to the natural order of things and the Mountain is once again coming to Mohammed. It was ever thus, but I confess I passed a moment where I was uncertain from whence my next Bentley Continental would be coming and this-that-and-the-other-thing seemed out of grasp. I'd heard that one should work hard, strive to do well, give full support to those we care about and live for your dreams. I followed these dictates to the letter, of course. What a total waste of time that was.

Hiding in the closet of my (junior) suite, I am being hounded by offers of all sorts as though the finer things in life are my due and that it was daylight madness to think that diligent, hard work in a good cause would gather them to me like so many cows around a feeding trough.

It might be said that I deserve these things because I am me. The sad part, though, is that some effort was actually involved in this return to normalcy. You see, it is hard work being me.

Lying, hiding, cheating, pretending...

I recently learned (again) that man (or in this case, woman) is not equal to his rhetoric. Why should it be a surprise? Namaste, as it were.

Change we need

Looks like they're back on track. Can she talk?

Al Qaeda

I've been thinking about the war in Iraq, if in fact it is a war rather than a hostile occupation, and the oft-cited argument that we are fighting it over there so we don't have to fight it here--that is, 'here' in the U.S. and not in my (junior) suite. It sounds a good reasoning at first blush, especially if one has some potent meds onboard.

The reasoning requires one to believe that the enemies of the most powerful nation on Earth--I think we can still make that claim--will submissively engage our very capable fighting forces over there hitting our formidable and lethal war machine head-on simply because we've deployed in Iraq. In other words, it supposes that Al Qaeda reasons in the following fashion: The most deadly killing force on the planet has been sent to Iraq, let's take it on against all odds rather than to continue clandestine operations against a largely unprotected citizenship on U.S. soil.

It is good for our interests that Al Qaeda mindlessly attacks us at the point of our greatest strength. It is comforting to note that our enemies can be lured into attacking us at distant points merely because our armed forces are there. In the old days, enemies would prefer to attack where our forces were absent. Different times, different lies.