Good Morn-ting--"I'm Sorry For Your Pain."

Today, after my usual preview of the Post en el tren, I went straight to the newsstand and purchased my very own copy. You see, this A.M.'s cover story is an exclusive regurgitation of the Ashley Alexandre Dupre (aka Kristen, former Emperor's Club employee and the Elliot Spitzer Hook') in-depth People Magazine interview. We have loved some political smut-ness, ever since the Starr Report (which bears rereading) was printed and reprinted for perusal by a certain thirteen-year-old Able, both furious at Bill's impeachment over "private matters" and incapable of looking away. We also have a neverending story of fascination with abuse of power and flesh bartering, reading Moll Flanders twice, planning an (unwritten) thesis on Evelyn Nesbit and Stanford White.

Clearly the aesthetics of this scandale are their own story: The American Ibiza of the Jersey Shore, Facebook, Bebe stores, layers of lipgloss, tattoos in foriegn languages, baking, bleaching, waxing, bottle service, baldness, the clear hawk-eyes of a prosecutor, the new, deeply unsubtle Eastern Seaboard--a greasy E. 79th street, a clunky Mayflower Hotel, and, in the wake of the Summer story, a gross collapse of Wall Street. That's the important bit--How do we feel about Dupre and Spitzer at this moment, after this delay, after the general election, post investment banks, post Manhattan? We are newly attuned to images of the healthy and wholesome Obama clan, an oval office where brain trusts and puppies roam, not cocktail waitresses and lusty interns. Several years ago, Dupre would have seemed the louche chaser of clubland dreams and Sarah Jessica Parker footwear; in November 2008, the girl just seems like a worker, yet another bill-payer in an over-priced world. It's an old story, but mayhaps we have new eyes . . .

Trompe L'oeil Entertainments!

Wall Painting
c. 70 A.D.
Villa dei Misteri, Pompeii

Having already visited the Gotti family manse today, I thought it only fitting to address the root of their decorative goods and evils--the Roman house. Long ago, in eighth grade Latin class, Pillow and I salivated over these spaces. We too wanted atriums and household gods and stalwart Roman husbands named Longinus or Julius or Cato. At present, I am most sruck by the urge to fill one's walls with figures. A woman (slave?) holding a platter of fish meets our gaze. The others consider fabric, read poetry, hold documents, contracts? This is such a varied, strange, urbane little scene. It was made only a few years before the erruption of Vesuvius, and is, thus, brilliantly preserved. The positively erotic colors (and this is where the Gottis come in) were likely meant to express wealth and consequence, as, I'm sure, were the bizarre gestures of the sitters. They are also (and this may be pretty dippy) the shades of the South, of the heated and cooked. The image is so present and vivid--what a thing, to live among its players! Click to enlarge and study. Valete citizens!