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Dominique Strauss Kahn – Guilty, But Free
Yes, yes, a PROVOCATIVE headline I know…but one that I, and I stress I, believe to be true. Examine the facts. Strauss Kahn has a history of ..ahem..shall we say..”adventures” with Women. During his tenure as head of the International Monetary fund(IMF, hereinafter) he had a consensual affair with a colleague. For which he apologized in writing to his Board of Directors saying: “My behaviour was inappropriate.”
For your average Frenchman perhaps. But for, “the Great Seducer?” (his French nickname) Before and since then, there have been numerous rumors (And aren’t they the best kind?) innuendos and, like the IMF “tryst”, facts. Fact: Strauss Kahn propositioned several Female Sofitel hotel employees. Offering to share a bottle of Dom Perignon with one. In his private suite, of course.
Bottom Line: Strauss Kahn, by his own admission “loves Women.” What’s in question here is the way in which he expresses that “love.”
And that’s exactly the point here. Circumstantial evidence you say? Granted. But it does demonstrate a pattern of, to be chartiable, “manipulative alpha Male behaviour.” If it’s (you’ll pardon the unfortunate, but accurate phrase) “hard evidence” you want, does not DSK’s semen on her dress, ripped clothing, and (her)”genital redness” qualify?
And, more to the point, should not the assessement of what that hard evidence says about the events in room 2806 be made by a jury? Not a prosecutor quivering in his booties over re-election chances?
You don’t have to read my lips here folks.It’s not complicated. Dominique Strauss Kahn is free. But he was not found NOT GUILTY. He was excused from facing the consequences of his actions by a Prosecutor with no cojones. (If you don’t speak Spanish, now is the time to “google” that word)
So, what’s in the cards now for DSK? Would you believe – President of France? Absolutely possible. And you now why? (You know I’m dying to tell you, right?) Because the World loves an underdog! The World loves anyone who previously disgraced, redeems themselves.
Remember Marion Barry, the former Mayor of Washington D.C., caught snorting coke on hidden video? Did he get re-elected? AB-SA-FREAKIN-LOUT-LY! And why? Because the World ESPECIALLY loves reformed celebrity drug abusers. Into rehab/Outa the toilet/Back into office!
And, lucky for him, DSK has waaaay more going for him than Marion Barry. His trump card being “I told you so.” He steadfastly maintained his innocence.(like O.J.) And, like O.J.,he walked. Naturally, “The Great Seducer” is much too smooth an operator to shout this from the rooftops. His publicity machine will take care of that. Ever so subliminally, of course.
Don’t forget to take into account DSK’s banker. His wife, Anne Sinclair. A Billionairess, who has keep the Strauss Khan “brand” alive, and constantly publicized for the past twenty years. And what was it all leading up to? – The Presidental Palace, bien sur! Where the current occupant, Nicholas Sarkozy must be shaking anew in his booties over DSK’s return. Why? – Could it be because BEFORE his “troubles” in New York, Strauss Kahn was 20% ahead of Sarko in the polls?
And this was BEFORE he had even announced he was in the race.
Bottom Line: There is no one folks,…and I mean absolutely no one who stands a chance if DSK decides he wants to be the next President of France.
That’s my rant. And I’m sticking to it.
What about you?
THROW ME A BONE HERE, PEOPLE!
What are ya thinkin’?
Gourmet Moments – Part Two
My most memorable French meal(so far) was, unbelieveably, “sans fromage.” It began in the office of my pal the Chiropractor, Bob Caires.
Nicknamed “Capt’n Bob” for his sailing obession. (Hey – what else would you expect from a Portuguese-Hawaiian?)
The good Doctor had come in on his day off to lay healing hands on “the-man-who-comes-from-far.” (And pays with a chicken.) An hour past rendezvous –no sign of chicken man. Bob’s eyes glaze over with the “I’d rather be sailing look.” I play the straight man: “So…..uh….where’s the wind today?” “On vacation.” He replies morosely. Staring vacantly ahead, it’s clear the Capt’n’s enthusiasm for this day, is as becalmed as his boat.
How to pull him out of his funk? Only one arrow left in my meger quiver of possibilities. A longshot. But my only one. “Why don’t you call Olivier?” Bob has heard this suggestion often. And always found a reason not to call. But today, his face lights up like a New Year’s roman candle. Becalmed funk be history! Bob’s tempermental Peugeot, obviously sensing the importance of this mission, behaved as a Lady should.
Bob’s other lady – “Wally” (A strange nickname for a Catherine Deneuve clone – n’est ce pas?) – was pacing in small,tight circles as We pulled in beside an expensive, red Italian something. Her considerable beauty could not completely mask the reality that inside, She had more free-floating anxiety than a netless tightrope walker.
Bob, the original Mr. Hang Loose”, slid out of the Puegeot, like He was body surfing at Waikiki.
(Do opposites really attract?….uh…….yup!) The maitre’d sniffed imperiously as We approached. Obviously Wally was not the object of his disdain. Favoring us with his best industrial smile He huffed: “Et vous…………………dans le liste?” Mr. Hang Loose just smiled. “Monsieur Cares.”
The gatekeeper scanned “le liste” theatrically. Then slowly, raising his head, mouth open, his face became that of one who thinks he is eating a radish, but, is, in fact, chomping the World’s hottest Chili Pepper. “Oui… Monsieur Cares!…….Absolutement, Monsieur Cares!!…..Sil Vous Plait ….attendre une petit seconde !!! With Olympic speed He bolted inside.
Seconds later, a beaming Olivier emerged in his chef’s whites. Striding toward us, arms outstretched. “Cher Bob! Quelle honor!!” After kissing Bob on both cheeks, Olivier delicately clasped Wally’s hands, and arching his head as He gave her an appreciate “once over” purred: “Madame…vous etre trop beaux!” Wally smiled demurely. But did’nt contradict him. Quelle surprise!
As Olivier led us to our sea-view corner table,
the assembled multitude were transfixed. Naturally wondering : “Are they………….’somebody?’” Well,…..Wally could have been an actress/singer/news reader. But, Bob and I? Talk about an “odd couple.” He’s dark and medium. I’m tall and blonde. And neither of us, as presentable as We were, would have been mistaken for GQ cover boys. But then, whenever I’ve spotted somebody who’s…..well…..“somebody”, they’re usually so “dressed down”, that it takes a while to grok their “somebody-ness.”
I won’t bore you with a course by course run-down. Suffice to say – this was Olivier’s “Tour de Fork.” We were denied menus. The great man simply kept the great grub comin’. Accompanied by appropriate wines of all colors. (And there are more than three.) Served in Crystal, Gold and Silver. Two waiters and a waitress hovered constantly.
Our “Grande Bouffe” began around one. By five thirty, only We remained. Olivier, ferrying a wicker basket of freshly baked goodies, joined us for b.s. and coffee.
The next night I was back in my little kitchen in Bob’s office. Sitting at the postage stamp table with the red and white checked plastic “cloth.” I had some bread and reasonable wine. Judy, Bob’s receptionist, had left a tin of something her girls would’nt eat.
Fois gras du Canard.
And so it glows.
Still Hungry? – then you might want to read part one.
THROW ME A BONE HERE, PEOPLE!
What are ya thinkin’?
French Country Village Artists
There are many reasons to visit France. All of them good. Most of them obvious. Wine. Gourmet food. Rich History. Incredible scenery. Varied climate. Laid back lifestyle. (In the countryside, bien sur!)
Not the least among the magnetic attractions of “la Belle France” are it’s artists. Yes, I know you’re familiar with all the big names. Monet, Gaughin, Renoir, Degas,Manet. And, even though they were’nt French – Picasso and Van Gogh.
But the tradition those greats birthed, has contined to inspire generations of French Artists. (My definition of “French Artist” is “Any artist living in France”) At all levels.
National, regional and local. For me (as you might have guessed) it’s the local variety of painters, sculptors and crafty types that generate the strongest appeal. For the same reason that I gravitate toward local wines, as opposed to the big names. The thrill of DISCOVERY.
The unadultered pleasure (and isn’t that the best kind?) of having your senses happily and unexpectedly energized. And that same thrill is available to you when you surf the French Countryside.
There, in villages of every size, you’ll find artists as ubiquitious as vines. And with as many different “tastes.” For the atmosphere of every village, it’s unique and particular appeal, is a combination of elements. The landscape. The people. The climate. And, of course, their lifestyle.
To rephrase the popular adage about the French “living to eat” not “eating to live”, if you’re lucky (and smart) enough to slowly, deliberately, and appreciatively inhale the atmosphere of a French Country Village, you may just think that their lifestyle is an art. And that art is their lifestyle.
THROW ME A BONE HERE, PEOPLE!
What are ya thinkin’?
