Showing posts with label Comedy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Comedy. Show all posts

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Barack Obama’s Fashion Faux Pas: Whatever It Was, It Was Not White Tie

By Julian Dunraven, J.D., M.P.A.

Honorable friends:

The magical aura of change and hope that seemed to bewitch the nation today was not quite strong enough to ensorcell Wall Street, which continued its consistent, if volatile, fear driven trend downward. But today, I am told, is not about policy or economics; rather it is about fun and fashion. Fair enough. It is rare that I get to talk about etiquette in politics, so I will take advantage of the opportunity. Besides, while I am sure that virtually all fashion editors will be critiquing Michelle Obama’s evening gown, however lovely the rest of us may think it, and ignoring her husband entirely, someone needs to say something about that ghastly conglomeration Barack Obama tried to pass off as white tie attire.

I suppose I need to give him credit for at least attempting white tie, which is the strictest type of formal evening wear, and something few of our overly casual citizenry, including presidents, even try anymore. Because of that unfamiliarity though, few will ever realize how badly he botched his effort and wound up looking more like an inexperienced prom king than a president, an appearance only reinforced by his pathetic attempts at dancing. One would think America’s first couple could be bothered to learn at least a simple waltz before the inaugural balls. Nonetheless, for those gentlemen who perhaps aspire to wear white tie correctly one day, allow me to point out our new President’s faux pas.

White tie, properly speaking, involves a plain fronted, stiff white shirt with French cuffs and a wing-tip collar. Mr. Obama’s collar was full, quite improper for the occasion. The coat for white tie must be black, have tails, and satin peak or shawl lapels. Mr. Obama’s jacket lacked tails entirely, and notched lapels, while barely passable for black tie, are far too similar to the daily business suit to ever be appropriate for the ultra formal white tie style. The pants for white tie must be black with a braid down the sides. Mr. Obama’s trousers had only a satin stripe. Naturally, white tie also requires a white piqué waistcoat and bow tie, and gold and or mother of pearl cuff links and button studs. The President got that much right at least.

In contrast, the less formal black tie tuxedo, used for private entertaining such as weddings rather than public occasions and balls, consists of a white shirt with a pleated front, French cuffs and full fold-down collar. The jacket should not have tails and may have shawl, peak, or notch satin lapels. In the summer, the jacket—and only the jacket—may be white. That is as exciting as is permissible. The black pants must have a satin stripe down the sides. As the name suggests, it requires a black bow tie with a black waistcoat or cummerbund with black and silver cuff links and button studs. Colors are never permitted, no matter what a gentleman’s date is wearing, unless he wishes to look like an organ grinder.

Both white and black tie have daytime equivalents as well. However, I won’t complicate things further with those. It suffices to say that the president managed only a bizarre and awkward amalgamation of the two styles, though I am glad he did not go so far as to include colors or the tacky variation of ties cheap haberdashers so carelessly foist upon us these days. I have only one further suggestion for the well groomed man: visit a barber or stylist before putting on formal evening wear. Sideburns should either be present on both sides of the head or not at all.

If today really was about fun and fashion, and if Wall Street was paying attention, perhaps it explains the decline. How can a gentleman be expected to manage the nation’s economy if he cannot even manage to properly dress himself?

Monday, January 05, 2009

Begin the New Year with a Laugh: We Can All Cry Soon Enough

By Julian Dunraven, J.D., M.P.A.

Honorable Friends:

Happy Twelfth Night! This is the last day of Christmas. Tomorrow is the Epiphany and, as the Magi commence their visit, the holidays will sadly draw to a close. Before I get back to commenting on the New Year, though, which is quickly filling up with many mad events (El Presidente has already pounced on the insane appointment of Sen. Who), I thought I would share a few light hearted reflections on 2008.

This first video comes from Jib Jab. Their annual, “Year in Review” series of videos never fails to entertain, and the “2008 Year in Review,” is no exception.

The second video recap of 2008 comes from “Uncle Jay Explains the News.” Uncle Jay seems to be quite an entertaining and sensible fellow, and his other news briefings are worth a glance or two as well.

I hope you enjoy the levity. Tomorrow the Dunraven will be back to his usual raucous squawking.

Friday, December 19, 2008

How Bernanke Stole Christmas

By Julian Dunraven, J.D., M.P.A. (With Apologies to Dr. Seuss)
December 2008


Every Who Down in Who-ville Liked Christmas a lot
But Bernanke, who lived just north of Who-ville, thought it might be for naught.

Bernanke feared for Christmas, and the whole shopping season.
Now, please don’t ask why. No one quite knows the reason.
It could be that interest rates weren’t adjusted just right.
It could be, perhaps, that banks were leveraged too tight.
But I think that the most likely reason of all,
May have been that his brain was under Keynesian thrall.

But whichever of these reasons you may choose,
He stood there on Christmas Eve, fretting for Whos,
Staring down from the Fed with a sour, Bernanke frown,
At the warm lighted windows below in their town.
For he knew every Who down in Who-ville beneath,
Was busy now, hanging a mistletoe wreath.

“And they’re hanging their stockings! He snarled with a sneer,
“Tomorrow is Christmas! It’s practically here!”
Then he growled, with his Fed fingers nervously drumming,
“I MUST find some way to keep Christmas cash coming!”

For tomorrow, he knew, all the Who girls and boys,
Would wake bright and early and rush for their toys!
And finding none there—Oh the Noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!
That’s one thing he hated! The Noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!

Then the Whos, young and old, would expect a great feast.
And they’d feast! And they’d feast!
And they’d feast! Feast! Feast! Feast!
But this year there would be no Who-pudding, and no rare Who-roast beast.
Which was a thought poor Bernanke couldn’t stand in the least!

And then they’d do something he liked least of all!
Every Who down in Who-ville, the tall and the small,
Would stand close together, with Christmas bells tinkling
They’d stand hand-in-hand. And the Whos would start thinking.

They’d march and they’d protest!
And they’d chant! Chant! Chant! Chant!
And the more Bernanke thought of this Who Christmas Chanting
The more Bernanke thought, “I must stop this Who ranting!
“Why for 45 years we’ve made fiat work now!
I Must keep Christmas cash flowing!
. . . But how?

Then he got an idea!
An awful idea!
Bernanke
Got a wonderful, awful idea!

“I know just what to do!” Bernanke laughed in his throat.
And he made a quick Santy Claus hat and a coat.
And he chuckled, and clucked, “What a great Fed-ish trick!
“With this coat and this hat, I’ll look just like Saint Nick!”

“All I need is a reindeer . . .”
Bernanke looked around.
But since reindeer are scarce, there was none to be found.
Did that stop old Ben?
No! Bernanke simply said,
“If I can’t find a reindeer, I’ll make one instead!”
So he called his friend Hank. Then he took some red thread
And he tied a big horn on top of his head.

Then he fired up the printing presses.
He had lots of money to make,
Loaded the sleigh with excesses
And he hitched up old Hank.

Then Bernanke said, “Giddyap!”
And the sleigh started down
Toward the homes where the Whos
Lay a-snooze in their town.

All their windows were dark. Quiet snow filled the air.
The Whos were all dreaming sweet dreams without care
When he came to the first failing bank in the square.
“This is stop number one,” The old Bernanke Claus hissed
And he climbed to the roof, bloated bags in his fist.

Then he slid down the chimney. It looked rather grimy.
But if Santa could do it, then so could Bernanke.
He got stuck only once, for a moment or two.
Then he stuck his head out of the fireplace flue
Where bad mortgage backed debt all sat in a row.
“These derivatives,” he grinned, “are the first things to go!”

Then he slithered and slunk, with a smile most like a snake,
Around the whole town, and financed each big bank’s mistakes.
Fannie and Freddie, Bear Sterns, and Citi
TARP, AIG, GE and more Citi.
To bad business he gave billions, oh very nimbly,
But as for good business, they didn’t get any.

To get the money flowing he was bound to inflate,
So he even brought treasuries down to negative interest rates.
Printing money by trillions he nearly doubled the cash.
Just think of Zimbabwe; it wouldn’t be rash.

Then he stuffed all the money down the chimneys with gusto
“And NOW!” grinned Bernanke, “I’ll fix up the Autos.”

And then Bernanke flew to Detroit, with more money to drop
When he heard a small sound say “The Senate said ‘Stop.’”
He turned around fast, and he saw to his gall
Congressman Ron Paul, who was ready to brawl.

Bernanke had been caught by this noble Who master
Who’d got out of bed to see what was the clatter.
He stared at Bernanke and said, “Santy Claus, why,
“Why are you devaluing our dollar and savings? Why?”

But, you know that Bernanke was so smart and so slick
He thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick!
“Inflation’s not bad,” the fake Santy Claus lied,
“It’s just that this level has never been tried.
“So I’ll inflate until we can create a new bubble.
“Then our economy will be back to boom on the double.”

But his fib fooled no one. Then he grabbed Paul by the head
And he trussed him and gagged him and tossed him back in bed.
And when Paul was disposed of, with his Constitution too,
He turned back to Detroit and forced the money through.

But inflation burned through the Whos’ savings like fire.
They were poorer, not richer, as he left, the old liar.
Working longer and harder before they could retire.

And the only speck of money
Left to the average Who house
Were accounts that were even too small to buy food for a mouse.

Then the same thing befell all the Whos’ houses
Leaving accounts much too small to feed the other Whos’ mouses.

It was a quarter past dawn . . .
All the Whos, still a-bed
All the Whos, still a-snooze
When he packed up his sled,
Packed it up with their final stimulus package! The checks! All indebting!
For the poor! And the Middle Class! For Change! What trappings!

80 trillion feet up! Up the side of Mount Debt-it,
He rode to overlook Who-ville, on their heads to dump it.
“Hal-loo to the Whos!” he was Fed-ishly humming.
“They’re finding out now that Christmas cash is coming!
“They’re just waking up! I know just what they’ll do!
“Their mouth will hang open a minute or two
“Then all the Whos down in Who-vill will all cry YOO-HOO!”

“That’s a noise,” grinned Bernanke,
“That I simply must hear!”
So he paused. And Bernanke put a hand to his ear.
And he did hear a sound rising over the snow.
It started in low. Then it started to grow . . .

But the sound wasn’t happy!
Why, this sound sounded angry!
It couldn’t be so!
But it WAS angry, VERY!

He stared down at Who-ville!
Bernanke popped his eyes!
Then he shook!
What he saw was a shocking surprise!

Every Who down in Who-ville, through distortions great and small,
Was chanting! Not one had any presents at all!
He HADN’T kept Christmas cash flowing!
IT FROZE
Somehow or other, it froze, though how, he did not know.

And Bernanke, with his Fed-feet ice-cold in the snow,
Stood puzzling and puzzling: “How could it be so?
“It froze despite nationalizing! It froze despite rate cutting!
“It froze despite bailouts, quantitative easing, and printing!”
And he puzzled for hours, ‘till his puzzler was sore.
Then Bernanke thought of something he hadn’t before!
“Maybe our economy,” he thought, “doesn’t come from just a store.
“Maybe the economy . . . perhaps . . . means a little bit more!”

And what happened then?
Well, in Who-ville they say
That Bernanke read von Misses and Hayek that day!
And the minute he saw true capitalism’s light,
He whizzed back to town to set all to right.
He stopped all the bailouts and ended fiat money!
And he, he himself, Bernanke, restored a land of milk and honey.