Marital relationships . . .

What to do with that bonus? How about a trip?

Jack Knox, one of the finest columnists to ever grace the pages of a newspaper*, gives us some insight into the impossibly difficult life of a bonus accruing executive.

The sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my capacious 88th-floor corner office, shining down on the half-acre of desk on which I rested my Gucci-encased feet. I frowned. My socks were pilling.

[...] Now, some might question why you would really want to retain the services of the people who drove your bus off the cliff, but I think we can all agree that such criticisms are nothing more than sour grapes on behalf of people who lost their jobs/homes/life savings and now have loads of time to go sock shopping.

Of course, you'll have to read the whole thing. And if at certain points along the read you have an urge to, you know, join something like a sock subscription but don't believe something so "cutting-edge" really exists, well....

Here it is.

Further, as Jack alludes to in his column, there is advice for the CEOs of companies who found they had to juggle priorities by deciding whether to pay "retention" bonuses to the small platoon of black-socked bobble-head dolls; withhold severence pay from the, now laid-off, hourly paid minions who don't deserve a net-worth of over 65 cents, (Let them wait for their employment insurance benefits. They probably voted NDP anyway); use a little more investors' money to redecorate the 22nd floor executive lounge; or, roll the corporate jet out of the hangar and just tell the pitchfork armed crowd down on the street to go sit and rotate.

And it's a tough decision, especially when there are such persuasive arguments to simply do all three! After all, when the CEOs of the "Big Three" automakers flew into Washington, DC, in their individual corporate jets to insist that even if people weren't going to buy their crappy products, they would have to pay for them anyway,(that's one helluva brilliant business plan), they were contributing to the economy. At least one corporate jet manufacturer has made that very clear.

Shame on those who suggest that business aviation is little more than a corporate frivolity. Focusing on facts over hyperbole, it’s glaringly apparent why you fly. Study after study shows companies operating business aircraft outperform competitors that don’t. It’s simply about availing yourself of the tools to do your job.

Let’s remember that it isn’t simply about shuttling executives. (In fact, 86% of those aboard business aircraft aren’t at the executive level.) Among other things, business aircraft transport parts that keep assembly lines running. They efficiently move specialists to solve problems that might put thousands out of work. Not to mention, corporations donate thousands of hours to securely transport government officials—some of whom are the very ones who seem to have business aviation in their crosshairs of late.

Business aviation provides access to almost ten times the number of airports served by the airlines. That translates to multiple daily site visits with confidential business conducted en route, instead of hours of downtime flying commercially. Factor in ever-shrinking commercial airline routes—nearly 100 of which were cut last year alone—and you have an even more compelling case.

In the face of empty rhetoric, business aviation speaks for itself. So pull your aircraft out of its hangar and put it to work. The companies that do, will be the very ones who lead the world back to prosperity.

Right! (I will give you a moment to reset your jaws.)

Roll out the 4000!! The Prophet has spoken to Starbucks! (Click to enlarge)

This is just too scary for an entrenched executive. Oh... the deprivation, the humiliation and the downright plainness of it all. After all, if one doesn't have to shop for socks among the filth-laden masses, one shouldn't have to reduce ones-self to the degradation of "business class".

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*You may think that is slightly over the top. I think not. I had left the bridge of my ship one afternoon to "mingle" with the cruising passengers. I struck up a short conversation with Jack whereupon he asked who was steering the ship. I told him "Otto".

"As in autopilot?" he questioned.

"No," I replied. "As in Otto, the 1st Mate."

"He knows the way?"

"We're on a river." To which he offered a knowing nod.

Anyway, Jack is known to have interviewed a pornstar in the nude. That gets him points.

"It's such a fine line between stupid, and clever"

I'll confess I don't read the entire Washington Post every day. In fact, I usually only scan the front of their web page for the headlines, read the pieces that interest me, maybe check the occasional column or editorial. Since, however, my newspaper carries their Sunday "Outlook" - albeit a few days late - I always get to read their main weekly opinion "think piece section.
Sometimes it's a good read, sometimes not and while it has slowly become more conservative over the last half-dozen years, this week had a piece that really made me think very, very hard--"Yes, We're Out of Power. But I'm Still Starstruck" by S. E. Cupp. Not having previously heard of the author, I really couldn't decide on the merits of the article itself whether it was a staggering work of brilliant satire, an inside joke, life imitating McSweeny's or just what the hell it was, but read some of these bon mots and see what you think:

See, in my world, stars don't come any bigger than Newt Gingrich, Karl Rove, Mitt Romney and Mike Pence (if there were a congressional version of Teen Beat, the Indiana congressman would be on its cover every month). Michael Steele, Mike Huckabee and John Boehner are the Jonas Brothers of conservative celebrity.

You see my confusion - that last comparison will mean different things to different people. On the surface, I suspect conservatives will see comparing Steele, Huckabee and Boehner to the very popular teen idol popstars as an endorsement of their star quality, their charisma and penchant for success. All of which ignores the truth that lies only nanometers below that surface - the Jonas Brothers are a trio of talentless pretty boys assembled in a Disney PR laboratory to appeal to a group of very unsophisticated, uncritical consumers - preteen girls. They, and others like them, are the personification of all that is wrong with America. (Now, I know dear reader,　you are dying to ask "who does he mean 'they'? Is he talking about the pop stars or the politicians?" To which I can only answer "Yes.")

Obviously, something like "And doesn't everyone want to have "Breakfast with Phyllis Schlafly"? Just me?" can never be anything but ironic, but just how deep is the irony intended to penetrate? And what are we to make of this vision of hell:

"I'm also looking forward to drinking boxed wine with such friends and colleagues as Tucker Carlson, Stephen Baldwin and Andrew Breitbart during the forced socialization of conference happy hours...And, yes, I just totally name-dropped."

The article ends with same kind of awkwardness that one might experience upon walking into the men's room and seeing Ann Coulter emerging from a stall.

And let's not forget the thrill of the unplanned and unexpected. The environment at conferences like CPAC is ripe spectacle -- the hilarity of an inebriated speaker, the hysteria over a surprise guest, or an awkward moment between you and that woman you met last year whose name you've completely forgotten.
Last year a disheveled-looking man sat on a street corner near the hotel all four days, pan-handling. He held a cardboard sign that read, "Bush is Bi." I'm not sure what he meant by that -- I have a feeling he didn't know, either -- but I really hope he'll be there again. Who needs star power when you have memories like that?

Having checked out Ms.Cupp's website, I'm still undecided - she's either the nee plus ultra example of the "sassy young conservative sex bomb pundit" right down to the librarian glasses and the guns-and-nascar fetish or she's mining the same territory as Stephen Colbert but in a much more subtle and undercover way.

Crossposted from The Woodshed