The best (?) of 2003

Phillipe and Jorge admittedly had our Grinch and Ebenezer Scrooge costumes on last week, berating the catastrophes and clowns of 2003. Now, though, it’s time to play on the pleasant holiday spirit and promise of a new year with an "Auld Lang Syne" look back to the genuinely good people who make every day brighter. Not to mention the buffoons who make up the rest of this mass of lunatics we like to call America (the Vulcan word for "Did you hear what they did today?"), providing us with giggles and column fodder galore.

Always at the top of list are our fearless political leaders, who alternately display the thinnest skins and toughest hides imaginable. (Truth to tell, the thinnest skins of all belong to those ink-stained and microphone-bussing members of the media, whose names we shall not mention, but John "The Journalist" DePetro, and each and every TV reporter in town will know who we’re talking about. Except perhaps JARheads Holly Wood, Dougie White, John Ghiorse, and Jim Taricani, and Channel 12’s Karen Adams, who frankly, our dears, don’t give a damn.)

Whoops, made the Champagne run off course there, so back to our pols. Both Little Chi Chi, the new mayor of Our Little Towne, David Cicilline, and fledgling governor Don "The Don" Carcieri have breathed fresh life into the Biggest Little since the beginning of the year. Yeah, sure, we read their beads for them on occasion — and, of course, we do miss the big guy, Buddy "Vincent A." Cianci Jr., warts and all. But it is kind of nice knowing that you don’t have more hands in the till at the capital city and the state level than are groping Paris Hilton when she goes out clubbing. (No, Governor Shickelgruber, that line wasn’t aimed at you.) Little Chi Chi and The Don have ethics that are anomalous in Vo Dilun politics, although they still must conduct their business in political reptile-house environments. Both nonetheless provide a public profile of propriety, intelligence, and ethical conduct that have often been wanting in the Renaissance City and Ocean State.

Little Chi Chi still has to deal with unions and a bureaucracy that have developed a sense of proletariat oblige over the years, and The Don faces the inspiring leadership of the General Assembly on a daily basis at Halitosis Hall. Occasional fits of pique aside, they are doing a good job of rowing upstream, benefiting each and every one of us, in many obvious and subtle ways. (And the way in which Little Chi Chi swung the universities and hospitals to start paying municipal taxes was a sleight of hand worthy of David Copperfield. How many pictures do you really have, your honor?)

As for our congressional reps, high marks to all. Jack, Linc, Patrick, and Jim have all been predominantly on the side of God and P&J (well, same difference, except for the hair and robes) with their stances. Patrick is Patrick; Langevin is starting to get into the game in DC; Linc remains one of the bravest people we know for taking on the Bushies and the GOP in scalding partisan battles; and the Little Big Man is a highly respected and listened-to member of the Senate, especially on the Armed Services Committee. Trust us, we could all do much, much worse than having these four standing tall for Vo Dilun on the national stage.

Speaking earlier of unions, a big tip of the beret and sombrero to the Providence Newspaper Guild, which held BeloJo management’s feet to the fire for nearly four years before winning a new contract. The Urinal was once a proud paper. Hopefully, it can regain that status once management stops trying to run the place like a Nike sweatshop in Singapore. Here’s another journalistic tip — try running a few editions in a row without another redundant story on the Station nightclub fire. Readers are far better served when stories about this huge and heartbreaking event are driven by new information. We still expect far more from the Urinal than repackaging the pain.

Another huzzah, to education commissioner Peter McWalters, who essentially threw himself in front of a teachers’ union locomotive by suggesting that Providence students go to school seven hours per day. Doesn’t that mean they might learn something? God forbid. Naturally, this went down like a shot of turpentine with the teachers, who trotted out every old argument in the world about requiring time for planning (which McWalters said he wanted built into the longer day) and so on. The upshot is that someone has dared point out that the imperious school system has no clothes, and it is time to address the issue. This will, of course, cut into the school kids’ available after-school time for vandalism, drug use, and drive-by shootings, but sometimes you have to take the good with the bad.

On the national scale, there is virtually nothing about the Bush administration’s day-to-day operations that don’t provoke anger, angst, and astonishment at the stupidity of the American public, and disbelief over how much Bush-shit they can swallow. At least the ridiculous President Flight Suit episode was shown to be the colossal PR stunt, which, indeed, it was from the word go. Mission accomplished — if the mission was to make the National Guard duty-dodging wimp look like a bogus action toy. And while the sneak visit to Baghdad for Thanksgiving was hailed by one and all — in the same way the Top Gun charade was first viewed — President Photo-Op’s crew also blew this one, complete with a fake, photo op-only glistening turkey. Much in the same way that Boy George’s veep, "Big Time" Cheney, is the exemplar of offering two jackasses in one pair of pants, Dubya’s pose with the fake gobbler presented the media with a chance for a picture of two plastic turkeys in the same frame.

Not that the Democrats are letting us down. The presidential primary race, particularly the out-of-the-blue campaign of Dr. Howard Dean, has inspired at least some hope in people’s hearts. This has also led Dean’s opponents to make absolute fools of themselves, slipping into their Depends whenever fresh poll numbers show Dean stomping them into the dirt. Holy Joe Lieberman had his hair and buttocks singed when his equally nausea-inducing former running mate, Al "Two-by-Four" Gore, endorsed the good doctor from Vermont, without even the courtesy of a "I’m seeing someone else now" phone call from the man who lost the 2000 presidential election, because he was so condescending and distasteful. This made for great headlines. Now, Holy Joe sounds even more laughably like a constipated geriatric in Miami when he speaks, trying to counter Dean’s very legitimate charge that the Democratic Leadership Council is the left wing of the GOP. Joe, try a couple of Ex-Lax, and call us after the primaries. (And we just looove the idea of getting the apartment in New Hampshire, Joe. Make sure to buy some rifle racks for the truck, too.)

Then we have John Kerry, nailed on the nose by a person speaking to the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette as a "perfectly coifed mannequin." Kerry’s Mr. Man stunts have been beyond ludicrous, as contrived as Dubya’s, if anyone thought that possible. We had Big Bad John riding a Harley-Davidson motorcycle onto the set of The Tonight Show, neatly ignoring how he had just traded in his effete Ducati chopper for America’s choice, and then added insult to injury by putting down the kickstand with his hand. Born to be wild, indeed. Then, as panic really set in, Kerry used the "F" word during an interview with Rolling Stone, to describe how Dubya had effed up the war with Iraq. Johnny, dawg, we’re down with you. The only problem was that when the Republicans went off on him in the media, Kerry came up with a reply that reeked of Billary Clinton. Speaking to volunteers on his campaign bus, he informed them that he thought his choice of words was correct: "I might have used . . . any number of things, but then I went to the thesaurus and looked it up, and I think I pretty well described exactly what they did in Iraq." Jaysus, John, if you have to go to a thesaurus to look up the meaning of "fucked up," you may be the biggest out-of-touch-with-reality numb-nuts in the world. Check out what "elitist loser" means, too. Hey, but thanks for the chuckles you offered while that hole you’re digging gets deeper.

Finally, how could we not thank the Reverend Al Sharpton for commandeering the center ring at the Democrats’ presidential circus? How much money would you bet that you would ever see a presidential contender doing James Brown (Al’s former employer) dance and skate moves while hosting an episode of Saturday Night Live? And other than when Howie Dean goes sliding off the tracks in public, who else is consistently so good with those golden nugget one-liners for the media? Al, we love ya, baby. Keep up the good work and that five percent polling figure, especially when it beats out Kerry and Lieberman. Can’t you just see their advisors when those figures come out? "But he’s a Nee-gro with a conk job! I mean, his hair is sillier than yours, John! Joe, he even made fun of Al Gore! The nerve!"

This finally brings us to Dennis Kucinich, whose positions, from P&J’s perspective, are sensible on a number of levels. This, of course, assures us that he is completely unelectable. Remember, it’s perfectly okay to elect liars, philanderers, thieves, and people who have shot others in a duel. But pull-lease . . . we can’t have a vegan as president.

So as the Casa Diablo New Year’s Eve party gets underway once again, with plenty of Pernod and grapefruit, and high hopes for the future, thanks for the memories.

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