last week i turned into some sort of crazy obsessive maniac who couldn't stop looking at photos of malia and sasha (pronounced rick warren style, of course). i thought i was being a touch more creepy than what would be considered normal, then i read the comments on the slideshow, mostly from people who wanted to take the girls home and buy them ice cream, misery-style. now that's creepy.anyway, where did you watch the inauguration? was it you arriving in DC in your private jet? my office set up giant tvs in the cafeteria, which was pretty thoughtful of them since cnn.com just wasn't cutting it. and yes, i can confirm that a room chock full of corporate lawyers found the sight of dick cheney in his wheelchair completely, utterly hilarious.
everyone celebrated differently. this guy decided to bake the most, uh, offputting cookies ever (you've got to watch the video, seriously), some wept, and one person decided to let her hat do the talking. we've heard a lot about how michelle obama chose immigrant designers, like taiwan-born jason wu or cuban-american isabel toledo, but dudes, foreal, a korean-american milliner from detroit--hockeytown!!--made aretha's hat!
despite this incredible moment in history, the deprecession continues. and the princes of wall street again prove to us that they are complete failures in PR and they could care less about winning over the american people since they already have all of our money anyway. john thain attempted to break the bonehead mold by apologizing for his inappropriate decorating expenses:
The final topic is the expenses related to my office. The $1.2 million reported in the press was for the renovation of my office, two conference rooms and a reception area. The expenses were incurred over a year ago in a very different environment. Nonetheless, they were a mistake in the light of the world we live in today. I will therefore reimburse the company for all of the costs incurred.
finally! taxpayers, $1.2 million. thain, at least $3.2 million...and counting...
1 comment:
Look, if you expect the man to match his collection of green Faberge eggs with the red silk Persian rug and tacky-ass Rococo credenza his predecessor left him, then we might as well all just kill ourselves.
Yes, this evening I may have watched the guy who picks up the towels in the men's locker room at my gym, teary-eyed and with his 401(k) statement in hand. trying to get some advice from te stockbroker at the locker next to mine, but that doesn't mean we all need to turn in to Hugo Fucking Chavez, E.
Frankly, you need to get your priorities straight. I prescribe a two-hour, three-martini lunch at Aquavit for you tomorrow. Get to it.
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