WASHINGTON D.C. - Although negative reaction to President Obama's obviously determined, and altogether fully assumed position of total support for a proposed Islamic center to be built in the shadows of New York's 9/11 Ground Zero district in Lower Manhattan was clearly expected, what wasn't counted on by many sideline observes enlisted to assess the day to day cartwheels being showcased during the course of the Commander In Chief's sometimes carefully choreographed floor show (of sorts), was that, once the would-be fate of the beleaguered mosque-to-be was safely off his bulging to-do plate, U.S. Citizen #1 would be in such a go-for-it mood that he'd just keep his somewhat dynamic "Yes, They Can/And So They Should/Or Would If They Could" road show moving in a more or less foregone outwardly direction, that has since allowed him to keep going back for seconds. And, in some cases, thirds.
Nowhere has this out-on-a-limb posturing become any more evident than in the president's almost immediate, follow-up, solidarity-like backing of two former New York Yankees teammates (slick-fielding, quasi-Mob, party-boy Joe Pepitone and harmonica-playing middle-infield utility man Phil Linz) plan to open "Friends of the Bronx Bombers," a state-of-the-art after hours social club/bed & breakfast (after a night of booze) way station, tentatively to take over a ten-story building, just blocks away from Boston's home of the Red Sox, Fenway Park, that, at one time was a thriving Emerson College co-ed dormitory, and eventually a storage facility for Mario Cantone's rather extensive collection of Carol Channing/Liza Minnelli/Chita Rivera/Don Zimmer memorabilia, before falling on hard times following the discovery of "Two and a Half Men" producer Eddie Gorodestsky's long missing collection of Lester Young recordings and colorfully arranged rainbow assortment of stray laundromat socks, apparently gathered up from when he, himself, attended the famed Boston-based center for higher learning (as a favor for Brown University, the Rhode Island School of Design, and Lupo's Heartbreak Hotel of Providence, Rhode Island) back in the mid-seventies.
"Obviously there is a local need for an appropriate gathering spot for followers of the perennial World Series champs to unwind, and, well, be amongst their own evil empire kind," said President Obama, during a rare off-track, safe-at-home moment during yesterday's press conference, just prior to the annual Horace Clarke/Roger Repoz Pin-Stripe Fashion Auction in the White House Rose Garden. "Especially when their unreasonably priced foreign-made vehicles, with either New York, New Jersey, or Connecticut plates, have been properly towed during the full 9-inning course of a Red Sox - Yankee game, and subsequently impounded at a nearby municipal parking facility in Mattapan, by a tip-top staff of various overweight, rosy-faced, short guys, commonly named either Sully, Murph, or Big Dick Mick, and, of course, one gravely overworked city employee who looks a lot like Don Cheadle."
If this dream destination is allowed to become a reality (and there's no reason why it shouldn't, what with the full-court press clout White House Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel has been able to hammer home around the Hub ever since he got local hometown brainwave Ben Affleck to wise up, look smart - which, no matter how you slice it, is a harder task than anything else these days, up to, and including Glenn Beck's head - and, in turn, back off from his earlier questionable commitment to do Gigli II in anything but 3-D) look for President Obama to come out with a similar love-tap-tested, kid glove-approved, how-you-like-my-reflux-now stance, when the long rumored Bucky F-IN Dents Short-Rib Grill & House of All Ale lays claim to a choice bit of neighborhood real estate to hopefully break ground and set up it's boutique-like corner bar/in your face bistro in a once upon a time adult sex products warehouse at the nearby corners of Boylston and Jersey Streets.
Either way, expect to hear plenty of things that sound like "wicked" and/or "pissa" when it's time for this dramatic urban planning showdown get up to bat in the bottom of the 9th with the score tied and nothing but morons on.
"At least I plan to come out strongly against any not as yet surfaced questionable proposals for the reestablishment of the suddenly revitalized Mickey Rivers OTB Gaming Parlours in East Boston," President Obama added. "I mean, I'm all for games of chance, the sport of kings, and, every now and then, boxing up # 3 and 6 in the third race exacta at Hialeah, but not when our schools got to win, too."
And no, the Chief Executive is not speaking out of the side of his mouth on that touchy subject. Or, at least the part with the most food in it. That's the Rahm Man's current cutthroat and run department.
And, according to in-house/out house sources, the scuttlebutt has indeed landed on numerous other poorly chewed, downwind headaches just waiting for their turn to materialize (and/or psychedelisize -thanks, brothers Chambers), as well.
Which, of course, means that whenever Mr. President gets around to rolling up trou long enough to show us how it's apparently done the new fashioned way, whenever it comes time, yet again, to mix things up accordingly and straighten out the muck from the mire, just because he can, and just because someone was loud enough to make him think he should, hold onto something and be ready for the usual pile drive of whatever, including the big anything.
In other words, just waiting out there on the far-side horizon for a clear head to advise, persuade, and, in the end, prevail, are several more nuggets of should-be no way encounters of the super unsocial situational yes-way kind, that it's no wonder Mrs. President has a seen fit to spend most of her summer, on tour out of town with her smile frozen and her sculpted quality guns flexed and showing.
In still other words, look for the president to weigh in hard and in favor of a Maryland man's right to suit up as "Star Wars" reigning bad boy Darth Vader when he attends next month's "Star Trek" convention in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.
All in all, certainly an executive decision move which should indeed shock the world, if not totally piss off a bunch of knuckle-dragging, mouth-breathing, paste-eaters otherwise sporting pointy ears, who insist on speaking with deliberately long dramatic pauses every time they excuse themselves and retreat to the nearest restroom, kitchen sink, and/or closest outdoor spigot to wash and scrub their hands the, as always, customary seven to eight thousand times a day.
And, once those four score (and seven fears ago) are put to rest there, no doubt President Obama will want to put his stamp all over the right side of the wrong fence when he announces his impeding support for a group of canning and pickling enthusiasts from Deshler, Ohio who appear intent on opening up a branch of their blue ribbon winning down home pork-fried/hot dog country store chain, "Pig N' Missile" in the arch enemy stronghold community of Ann Arbor, Michigan.
As is, as was, this indeed seems all wrong, mainly just because. Still though, on the bright side (which is stretching a bit, considering all the Einstein's getting down to pile it on in this impending foray), this should provide Michigan's up-to-his-chin-in-it Coach Rodriguez a clear path to go backward full-speed ahead with little, if any, noticeable M Go Blue blowing up the big house this year, except for the non-traditional going down kind, already so popular with all the frat boys, and/or just about any other half-way wide awake teen-age boy, middle-age man, and/or still packing heat grandpa that's all the way out there, up to no good with a sizeable supply of better than average quick-responding peek-a-boo timber.
Meanwhile, taken all together, some of the more natural unnatural upcoming public-like forum showdowns clogging up the so far foreseeable future involve such diverse strange-but-true brave new bedfellows as:
*A never-say (or ask)-why bunch of L.A. Dodger faithful garden variety tools opening a Teahouse Of The August Swoon signature store in the shocked and dismayed vicinity of San Francisco's AT&T (Home of the Giants) Park.
*Dallas-based Cowboy Nation Clothiers & Boot Pavilion kicking things up (and turning stomachs) in beautiful downtown D.C., a good Hail Mary spiral from Lincoln's current presidential corporate suite seat, and seemingly three yards and a cloud a dust away from the scene of a somewhat well-noted infamous second-rate burglary.
*Boston-based sea food powerhouse, Odd Scrod, digging into the way out west Los Angeles land of plenty your-not-welcome-here-hospitality, where all roads seem to lead straight to where this America ends, three hours after it just did the same for any pay attention first/then lay the blame east coasters in back there parts, already in possession of either their own library card and/or a spray on tan.
And well, even though this line-up of soon-to-be most def train wrecks, would seem to suggest that anything might be possible if push comes to shove long enough among the dragging kicking and screaming set, there does remain at least one well lit point on the planet where even this won't sit still president is fully prepared to venture, nor tread about lightly, and/or if at all.
All of which means, that sometimes, even in the best of worst times, the real name of the game is knowing when to finally pull your head out of the punch, and quickly come down with bad case of good, if not, better common-like sense.
Consequently, "Curb Your Enthusiasm" producer/co-star Jeff Garlin's long standing plan to bring the newest installment of his extraordinarily successful North Side Chicago sports-o-rama barroom/think tank, "Cubby Pubby" all the way down to the hometown South Side, to serve up swill-proof suds along with its seemingly well-ingrained superior attitude and never been a winner charm, directly into the hearts and mind belly of the dreaded co-town White Sox beast, may have, at long last, finally hit a wall that always begins and ends with never, as in no F'n way, ever.
Or, so it would seem, based on what President Obama was able to recently transmit via an unnamed White House interpreter responsible for channeling the ever-present seething going on whenever the Commander In Chief is of a mind to speak up ever-so bluntly through his decidedly spiffy clinched teeth, while in an otherwise no way/no how mood that shows no signs of softening up any time soon, with regards to this too close for comfort hot-button issue."
"Believe me when I say that, regardless of what side the rest of the blue state/red state family of feuding cousins out there feel I should come down on this matter, mad if I say, yes, and glad if I say no, I'm here to tell you that I, in all honesty, simply can't, won't, and will not ever be the one responsible for allowing something as fundamentally wrong as this to take place," said the unidentified interpreter while the president's lips moved slightly. "At least, not on my watch, with so many miles to go before I sleep, or feel the need to appoint someone just as obnoxious as this wide-eyed eastern school educated fluffer nutter to do that kind of heavy lifting for me, too."
Needless to say, the fall out response to President Obama's take on this would-be, seriously big-time, deep-dish Chicagoland knock down drag out-a-thon, was both swift and to the point of no return, when explained by Jeff Garlin, resigned now to a new age of personal and professional rejection, and, based on the amount of crumbs and what so far has collected on the wide expansive front of his Dick Selma Invitational Tournament golf shirt, something totally scrumptious still enjoying the ride of its sweet and nutty life in his mouth, as well.
"I knew I should have listened to Susie," said Garlin, after a series of long, nearly gag-point of no return, involved swallows, in reference to fellow "Curb" co-star Susie Essman. "She always told me that Cubby Pubby was too obvious a brand, and that, if what I really wanted to do was to tap into the free-flowing, take-a-leak-on-a-side street, South Side crowd, then I should just stay with what got me into this position in the first place, and, you know, re-name the chain "Fat Fu**'s" and just leave it at that. And, from there, just let it all slide down hill accordingly. Meaning, before I know what's what, and/or even think to order up even more Thai food, I start raking in the dough, give the boys and all the downtown ward boss honks their cut, and, well, then just sit back and wait for Larry to not return my calls."
Ah yes, ain't life grand?
Or, so said, Clyde Barrow long before it officially became our time to seemingly make nothing more attractive than a tire fire of whatever we now can't help but find inside the latest All-American five pound bag.