Another Griddle Great

I got a canned call from Bill Clinton yesterday on behalf of a democratic senatorial candidate.  The primary is today and thank you blessed virgin wherever you are because I can’t take one more phone call talking about either candidate.

But, I did start thinking about ol’Bill.

Talent. Brains. Charisma.  President of the U-nited States.  Sitting in the oval office one day, talking on the phone to a diplomat or was it Yassar Arafat and getting “serviced” by Monica on her knees.

Leave aside the inappropriate part, which I know is like leaving aside gravity, but try.

Seriously.  Talking on the phone while you are proceeding with a well-known state of stimulation that results in—well, let’s just say it doesn’t end with diplomatic language–is an act of confidence unknown in my simple world.

I was always truly amazed (as well as duly horrified) by the hubris of this act.  Did he think he could maintain discussions of Palestinians firing rockets into Israel while his rocket’s red glare was gallantly streaming?

This is an ego that mystifies me.  The media gathers the talking head psychologists and psychiatrists and they pontificate and blow-viate.  Others simply condemn and judge.

But, it still doesn’t make sense to me.  Tiger “could you change your voice message asap as my wife has your number” Woods is the latest, but he is joined by John “that is not my child” Edwards and that Forest Gump-like Governor Soulmate (as in “she’s my soul mate”) from South Carolina.

The most “visible” men in the world act like they are “invisible”.

Psychobabble calls it deep seated something or other, and naturally it’s an “addiction” and suggests sexual addictions shall soon be found in the Dictionary of Mental Disorders.

Hold on, one mental minute, here.

This man pictured here in shadow, flicked his cigarette onto the sidewalk in Boston recently.   No one could see him.  He held his hand flush with his body and secretively went “flick” and out popped the cigarette onto the street.

He thought he got away with it.

He thought he had privacy-he didn’t.  I was there with my camera flush against my hip taking random shots (secretly) of people passing me on the street.

We all think we can get away with “stuff” simply because we are clever and know how to manipulate the rules and fly under the radar.

Flicking a cigarette onto the street won’t land you on T.M.Z. nor classified as a mental disorder–so far.  But, Tiger Woods choosing to have an affair with a Perkins chain restaurant waitress near his home in Florida does.  I don’t know about you but nothing suggests pathology more than this links superstar choosing a waitress from a restaurant which proudly advertises itself as the home of “The Griddle Greats”.

I mean this as sincerely as an old cynical gal –with surreptitious photo and other behavioral ways herself– can elicit sincerity on demand.   You can’t make this s up.  No, you really can’t.  The committee of Ph.D’s and MD’s who decide what categories are in the Dictionary of Mental Disorders is meeting as we speak.  Stay tuned for a code number for this behavior so insurance companies can pay for its treatment.

“Oh, Bill?  Former President Bill of the trembling lip?  Hello?  Is it really you?   You called me?  Well, you did goddammit, along with a million other registered democrats in Massachusetts and I’ve got news.  Breaking news!  Call Tiger, not me.  He needs your help more than Martha Coakley, and that’s saying something.”

©Pat Coakley 2009

Photographs cannot be used without written permission

***Select photographs from this blog and my wider archive can be purchased at

8 comments on “Another Griddle Great”

  1. And you caught his hand in a post-flick pose. The one common thread between the cig-flicker, Tiger, and Bill, is they all got caught. With the consequences for the two celebrities, one can only wonder “what were they thinking?” Or what were they thinking with?

    • Oh, Don, we know what they were thinking with! I think Nike, Tiger’s biggest endorsement company, may have to rethink their phrase, “Just Do It” don’t you? (That is Nike’s phrase, right?)

  2. I couldn’t care less about Tiger Woods’ or Bill Clinton’s digressions past or future: flicking cigarette butts concerns all of us.

  3. great photo and great commentary.

    • Thanks, Carol! I know you have a few opinions, too, so it’s great to get feedback. I can’t paint, tho, so you’ve got me way way beat on that front!

  4. Thanks for the shout.

    I’m with Ross and Miss SC on this one.

    As a for Bill being “serviced” during his phone conversations, I’d say fellatio improves most experiences. I bet there’d be far less war if the guys in charge were being “orally pacified” whilst making their decisions.

    For someone who has moved beyond Freud, I (a psychoanalytically ignorant knave) find it interesting that you’ve linked Clinton and smoking in the way you have. Is this a case of parapraxis or perhaps do you agree with what Freud allegedly said, that “sometimes a cigar is just a cigar”?

    As for the flicking of the butts, I’m willing to bet that the litterbug was acting out a mannerism that he saw in a movie that he considered cool. He was probably fantasizing that it was his last drag on a fag before the gunfight at the OK corral and he was about to face his enemy.

    Cue the theme music to the movie, “The good, the bad and the ugly”.

    Doodle doodle do…. wahh, waaahh….

    • Razz, your thoughts on good governing and cigarette tossing make YOU the front runner for the Miss South Carolina contest, albeit a contestant with a knowledge of cinema. doodle dee doo, to you, and whaa..wah. How do you look in a swimsuit?

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