If we’re going to make a big issue out of President Obama’s race (which, as I said a few posts ago, we should not be doing) wouldn’t it be more accurate to call him our first Mulatto President? Isn’t calling him our first African American President revisionist history?

I saw that Frost/Nixon got a best picture Oscar nod and Frank Langella got a best actor nomination. It’s a pretty great film. I was fortunate enough to see the play it was based on in 2007 when it was on Broadway. The two principals in the movie, Frank Langella and Michael Sheen also did the play. Here’s a quote from the New York Times theater critic’s review regarding Langella’s stage performance:

No screen, big or small, could accommodate such showy grandeur.

Well, I don’t think that’s entirely true, but there is an added dimension to a live performance.

One of the penultimate scenes takes place before the final, most crucial, interview between Frost and Nixon. The scene is a drunken middle-of-the-night phone call that Nixon makes to Frost. The incident is a fabrication—the author taking liberties with history—but it’s a master class in acting.

The scene is well-filmed but I kept flashing back to the play. Instead of the back-and-forth editing from one actor to the other that’s in the film, watching the two actors stand alone on a stage toe to toe and duke it out was the best kind of magic.

I wish I could drag everyone to just one really great play so you could see what all this fuss is about. When you find something that works for you—a new piece of music or a book—don’t you want to share it with everyone you know so they can see how satisfying it is?

I’ve had enough of the politics of pigment for a while. Back to what I enjoy the most: bitchin’!

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7-Year Old Daughter was give the “reward” of a coupon for a free pizza at our local suburban Pizza Hut for reading five books. I love junk food as much as the next guy but, holy Mother of God, why do they feed this stuff to kids?

The salad bar had four metal containers filled with gooey dressings in various shades of grey, yellow and brown. One container was filled with chocolate pudding and another with vanilla pudding. I commented to the waitress that it was the first time I’d ever seen chocolate pudding offered at a salad bar and she said, “Oh, yeah. We do it for the kids. They love it.” Yea, I’ll bet they do.

I saw a mommy share her Coke with her 18-month old. At another booth were two brothers, about 9 and 11, who where a bit “weight-challenged.” One had a t-shirt that read “Thing 1” and the other had a t-shirt that said “Thing 2.” Their faces were buried in a Game Boy Advanced. Neither spoke to the other. They would only pause their game long enough to shove more pizza in their faces.

The desert menu featured Hershey’s chocolate dippers. Here’s the menu description. Remember, these are supposed to be consumed right after you’ve eaten a pizza.

Freshly-baked, soft, melt-in-your-mouth dessert sticks topped with white chocolate and HERSHEY’S® milk chocolate – served with rich chocolate dipping sauce!

I wanted to puke.

Now, ain’t that America? Look, I know I’m suppose to set a good example for my daughters and be humble and not put on airs or do anything to appear elitist, but sometimes it’s hard not to feel just a wee bit smarter than some other parents I run across. Please forgive me. As far as I’m concerned, the reading program should be restructured so that if you don’t read five books, you have to eat and work at Pizza Hut. Forever.