What a wonderful world

Yes, Phillipe and Jorge realize that our job is a cupcake, since we never even have to pursue fodder for this space. We merely allow most of Vo Dilun’s Moron Majority to go about their business, providing us with a steady torrent of howlers of the first order. This, needless to say, goes double for our political leaders.

Speaking of same, now that the notorious former House speaker Johnny "Pucky" Hardwood, his salary-sated magistrate wife, and Wendy Collins are no longer in the picture, wouldn’t one expect at least some degree of progress as far as political ethics go? Naaahh, this is the Biggest Little, remember? Mobsters and lobsters. Dumpster-diving at Walt’s Roast Beef. Chief justices of the Supreme Court renting tuxedos and patent leather wingtips on the taxpayer’s card, or getting caught coming out of a Seekonk motel, zipping up a fly after shtupping a prostitute. Strictly class.

So now we have the spectacle of a new speaker — say hi, Bill Murphy — who represents a reputed Mafia associate in court, and considers ignoring the state Constitution because a crony says the relevant part is "obsolete." Not only that, but the speaker’s second-in-command, majority leader Gordon Fox, has gone from being a rising talent in the General Assembly to someone with what might be a conflict of interest.

On the Senate side, Bill "Little Napoleon" Irons is scuttling his career by trying to run interference for the preposterously toupeed senator, John "My Sharona" Celona, who milked Blue Cross and CVS while serving as head of a Senate committee that oversees the health-care industry (and in his role as the host of an unwatchable public access TV show). Irons meanwhile, looked foolish trying to avoid questions about his own potential conflicts in his full-time work as an insurance agent, refusing to reveal who his clients are. By so doing, Irons looked worse than Celona, who merely comes across as a grasping buffoon.

And not so fast moving toward the door, Governor Don Carcieri. Mind if we ask where the famed "Big Audit" is? Nowhere in plain sight, P&J might note. It seems to be somewhat along the lines of O.J.’s search for the killer of his wife and Ronald Goldman (Nope, not in this sand trap), or California Governor Arnold Shickelgruber’s investigation into his past proclivity for grabbing women’s breasts and buttocks. Don’t get us wrong. We love "Fiscal Fitness" as a PR tag. But we’ve not seen or heard much about this promotional gimmick beyond rumors that we’re going to save a bundle by no longer putting pickles on the burgers for prisoners at the ACI. Oh and we’ll be combining their Sunday breakfast and lunch into brunch, sans the mimosas, New York Times Magazine, and Styles section. Good economics there, right, Donny?

OK, OK, we know. We doth protest too much. But tough noogies. Since the Urinal is into touting public service — when the paper’s management is not busy violating National Labor Relations Board regulations — a great favor could be done by no longer beating the dead horse that is the Station fire tragedy into redundant submission. Yes, it was a horror, and P&J grieve for all who were injured or lost their lives. But let us focus on the living, those who survived, and offer them our solace and support, financially and emotionally, rather than painstakingly and continually eulogizing those who are gone. The word closure is constantly mangled, but let those who lost their loved ones start to heal, rather than ripping off the scabs on a daily basis.

Since his office plays a prominent role in the Station fire aftermath, we must also mention that our Pahtucket pal, Patrick Lynch, continues to look like Bambi staring down an 18-wheeler on Interstate 95 at midnight. C’mon, Patrick, get some advisors in your office who are over the age of 25 and have been around the block a few times. (A quick call to Tommy Connell might be in order, but bring your checkbook.) Speaking of same, look for someone like Guy Dufault, who recently had us over to his house for a traditional Narragansett Indian tribal dinner of sashimi, Beef Wellington, and lime sorbet. That’s the kind of player who’s needed, ready to stick a fake arrow through his head before accosting the state police for their behavior at the smoke shop. (Oops, another demerit for The Don and our attorney general — putting the staties in a no-win situation. Once you order those boys and girls into an encounter, our retired friends on the force let P&J know, there’s no way they will lose face and respect by backing down.)

Well, that’s about it for a quick wrap-up for the year that was. We’re off to New Jersey to visit our friend the Bud-I. We want to see if he actually did get one of his fellow inmates to tattoo hair on his pate. And really now, how come Louis Vinagro and John Hinckley get free passes to be home on Christmas, when the greatest mayor Providence has ever seen needs to wait for Santa to come down the chimney, hoping he’s not carrying a shiv? Speaking of hizzoner, we do still love Little Chi Chi, David Cicilline. The first gay, Jewish-Italian son of a mob lawyer to be King of La Prov is just one of the many wonderful people we’ll be saluting in this space next week. Pernod and grapefruits, and Levitra and throwing footballs through tires (get it?) all around. Happy merry.

KEN MAHAN

Your superior correspondents were shocked and deeply saddened to learn of the passing of Kenneth R. Mahan on Thursday, December 18. Ken was only 44 and had long struggled with cystic fibrosis. Regular readers of Providence Monthly will readily recognize Ken’s name since he was probably responsible for generating more writing than anyone else involved in the publication. P&J would suggest that Ken, more than any other writer for PM, was responsible for its breezy tone. He specialized in humor and spoof pieces, churning them out in great numbers. He was also part of the brother-and-sisterhood of retired rock musicians in the Biggest Little, having been the singer for the Felbs many years ago.

Although we didn’t know Ken well, we did know that he was a truly sweet and wonderful person who made a positive difference for a lot of people. Anyone who ever picked up a Providence Monthly and got a chuckle can thank Ken for that. He will be greatly missed by more folks than he would imagine.

THE MIGHTY SPAM

The New York Times notes that among the remaining food found in Saddam Hussein’s "spider hole" was the legendary canned meat product Spam (not to be confused with the despised stuff that materializes in your e-mail inbox). Trying to put a good face on what would seem a very poor endorsement of its familiar product, a spokesperson at the Hormel Company, makers of Spam, told the Times that this, at least, underscores the "worldwide popularity" of the dubious stuff.

Indeed, Jorge, who serves as the professional adviser to the Anchor, the Rhode Island College student newspaper, reports the presence of a small, but active squadron of Spam aficionados on the paper’s staff. Jorge is unsure of whether this is a throwback to the Spam-mania inspired by an infamous Monty Python sketch in the early ’70s. The Anchorites tend to be big fans of pop culture trends of the recent past. However, Jorge believes the Saddam endorsement will do little to dampen the young journalists’ zeal for meat in a can. They’re just too deeply committed. As for the other regular consumers of Spam, we suspect that not even a videotape of a smiling Osama frying the stuff up on hillside hibachi in Afghanistan will deter them from their favored food. Spam-lovers are not easily swayed from their favorite delight.

KUDOS AND CONGRATS

. . (a bit belated, in this case) to Other Paper reporter Mark Arsenault on the publication of his novel, Spiked. Mark is one of the best of the young writers at the Urinal (Michael Corkery and Jennifer Levitz also immediately come to mind), and we wish him well with the book. We intend to pick up a copy and hope that you will, too. It’s always good to support the home team. But as many scribes are asking on Fountain Street, after approval of the new Guild contract, what will Ian Donnis have to write about now?

. . . to the brain-trust at the Urinal. Guild-management relations might be on the mend, but references to how the Phoenix played a small role in Melba Depeña’s elevation as state Democratic Party executive director (honcho Bill Lynch contacted her after reading her comments in a story in these pages) were quickly neutered for ideological purity in the BeloJo.

. . . to Scott Bonelli, who donated a flock of pink flamingos in Santa hats for the display on the lawn of Cranston City Hall. The only thing that surprises us is how, when the figure of the Christ child was apparently kidnapped from its manger, the abductor (or abductors) did not replace it with one of the ubiquitous Mr. Potato Head figurines that dot the Vo Dilun landscape.

In the Urinal’s zeal to prop up anything done by Cranston Mayor Steve "Daffy" Laffey, regardless of how boneheaded, the Other Paper pitched in with an editorial on Sunday, lauding the ridiculous exhibit. At one point, the nameless Other Paper editorial scribe claimed that Laffey, "seems to have a better understanding of First Amendment freedoms than does the ACLU." We think Bonelli is the First Amendment hero here.

Send Santa’s ACLU membership card and Pulitzer-grade tips to p&j[a]phx.com .