Yes, armed with briefs from his lawyers -- lawyers! -- Boy George is going to march us into an Iraqi war. Not that he should consult with Congress or the American people. Dubya has the best advice available, and by gum, this is all that a man needs these days. Just ask Kenny Boy Lay, who's quietly squirming out of any prosecution for his Enron malfeasance, ably abetted by his own team of politically empowered legal eagles.

At least we're taking on this little misadventure for a great reason: to distract attention from President Corporate Fraud's Harken shenanigans and his veep's finagling at Halliburton. Oh, and did we forget to mention the upcoming mid-term elections? The GOP will be beginning to suck air once people put two and two together and realize that the Republican Party, a wholly owned subsidiary of Big Business, may just be behind lost pensions and the growing gap between the filthy rich and down-and-dirty poor. (And the folks who are getting rich, like Lay and his fellow CEOs, are indeed filth.)

Of course, this isn't the official Bush party line. Big Time Cheney came flying out of his secure bunker, sounding like a character in a Tom Tomorrow cartoon, saying that Saddam Hussein would "seek domination of the Middle East, take control of a great portion of the world's energy supplies, directly threaten America's friends throughout the region, and subject the United States or any other nation to nuclear blackmail." And that's just before lunch! In the afternoon Saddam will be climbing the Empire State Building, swatting planes from the sky, conjuring hordes of locusts, and sending them over the Midwest to destroy America's crops, and he's going to kidnap Tom Brokaw, live at six o'clock, just for grins.

P&J can envision Big Time as Beavis in his Cornholio mode, T-shirt pulled up over his head, hands in the air, wandering the White House halls, screaming, "Are you threatening me?" at the portraits on the walls. But that's OK, Dickie, we can trust you to tell us the truth.

Look at the bright side. Assuming the planet is still here, you'll be able to tell the grandchildren about being around when lawyers and right-wingers dictated our foreign policy, and we witnessed the first war in American history to be started by our own government, under the leadership of two creepy corporate crooks. Makes old Tricky Dick Nixon and Co. look like amateurs, doesn't it?

Just ignore the fact that it's essentially free advertising for Hasbro, the king of local layoffs, whose top execs are pocketing millions. Perhaps right after Dubya, Big Time, and their lawyers declare war on Iraq, we can introduce the GI Joe license plate, featuring our favorite soldier in an official desert outfit.

While P&J certainly don't want to deny resources to the wonderful and important Rhode Island Community Food Bank, perhaps we could at least come up with a tag that isn't just a marketing scam for a private company. How about a salute to toupees? They definitely resonate here in the Biggest Little, where a rug is a requisite for working the political circles.

While it would be a challenge for the GOP choice to recover, the real story remains the same: the Republicans have to get some people elected to the General Assembly. Redistricting offers their greatest opportunity in years, and kudos to Brad Gorham, state party head ramrod, for his valiant attempts to scrape up some candidates.

Phillipe is proud to say he was a panelist for Rhode Island Citizens for the Arts' August 20 mayoral debate at the Shepard Building in Providence. This is how he came to witness a stunning bit of performance art by Christopher Young, the independent candidate representing the Monster Raving Loony Party.

It was quite a show by Christopher (no relation to Phoenix writers who share the same surname, thank all Gods), which, Phillipe believes, may have been caused by the tightness of the ponytail cutting off the blood supply to Mr. Young's brain. While the other candidates managed to receive their invitations, RSVP, and show up on time, Young failed to return calls, say the
organizers. This meant to him that he hadn't been invited -- a false accusation, which he yelled to the audience, but only after arriving late and setting up his own six-foot table on the end of the stage, next to Messrs. Talan, Paolino, McKenna, Igliozzi, Gerritt, and Cicilline.

The six other candidates did a wonderful and thoughtful job in answering the panel's prepared questions, and it was heartening to see the commitment of these folks to continuing and expanding into the neighborhoods La Prov's splendid track record of supporting the arts and artists. (Well, Kenny McKeven was a bit of a curmudgeon at times, but at least he says what he thinks, and he's certainly good-humored about it.) The large crowd was very responsive, and included some of our local faves, including AS220's Bert Crenca, RISD head ramrod Roger Mandle, and the Urinal's own Frank Lloyd Wright manque, David "Mr. Mole" Brussat.

But lest the discussion reach too high a level of taste and culture, Christopher Young was on hand to drag it back down. Young identified himself as a filmmaker (an artiste, of course), and claimed to have conceived every bright idea in Providence since they decided to light the streets. One of these brainstorms included a "Walk of Fame," which, he suggested, could include stars for such local celebrities as Anthony Quinn and the Farrelly Brothers. Boy, just what the Renaissance City needs -- something viewed as tacky even in Hollyweird.

While Young was actually coherent at times, he really took the spotlight when the forum continued with questions from the audience. Commandeering a microphone to butt-in while answering a query directed to someone else, he asked, "What was the question again?" Nice attention span.

But the tour de force came at the end of the open discussion, when Young started attacking Boy Joe Paolino for "owning half of Providence," among other transgressions. While the candidates, including Boy Joe, greeted Young's outbursts with good grace, this independent man then stood up, complaining about having to set up his own table. He suddenly upended it onto the stage, as his notes flew into the crowd, screaming, "You're so deceived! Wake up! Just wake up!" (Christopher, baby, when the little brown bottle from the pharmacy says, "Take one a day," it means EVERY day.)

When a member of the audience, which by now was fed up and jeering, said, "Show some courtesy," Young retorted, "I don't care! I don't have to show any courtesy -- I'm fighting for truth, I'm fighting for justice . . ." (I'm fighting for megalomania!) We half expected him to run outside and attempt a leap over the Superman building in Kennedy Plaza.

Fragrant moderator Karen Adams at this point informed Crazy Chris that he was free to depart and shouldn't let door hit him in the ass on the way out, in so many words, to the delight and relief of the audience. As a ProJo editorial pointed out this week, Young set a bad precedent that could lead sponsors of future debates to be wary of independent candidates. (In fact, the League of Women Voters cited the Young outburst in limiting the four Democratic mayoral candidates to two audience members apiece for a WSBE-TV debate on September 3.)

One redeeming thing that amused Phillipe, who had an up close and personal view of the performance piece: Christopher Young resembles actor/musician Jack Black, and his behavior was reminiscent of Barry, the tightly wound assistant at Championship Vinyl, played by Black, in the movie High Fidelity. So as half the audience worried that Young might do something even more rash, Phillipe was having a nice little chuckle. In every cloud, a silver lining -- and an arts-related one at that.

Send fur suits and Pulitzer-grade tips to p&j[a]phx.com.

Issue Date: August 30 - September 5, 2002