The worst part isn’t that they are drawing enough attention that it merits a comment from the First Lady’s Chief of Staff.

The worst part is that Ty, the same toy manufacturer that brought us beanie babies is dening that their new dolls, Sweet Sasha and Marvelous Malia, were in any way inspired by the Obama children. Wow.

Marvelous Malia and Sweet Sasha

WASHINGTON (CNN) – They’ve been in the White House less than a week, but the first daughters have already been co-opted by marketers — and Michelle Obama isn’t happy about it.

Ty, the toy company responsible for the popular Beanie Babies dolls, is now marketing “Sweet Sasha” and “Marvelous Malia” dolls.

The first lady’s office said Friday Ty was out of line. “We feel it is inappropriate to use young private citizens for marketing purposes,” said a spokeswoman for Michelle Obama in a statement.

A Ty representative told CNN the company generally avoids naming dolls for “any particular living individual,” because doing so might interfere with how kids use their imaginations to play with them. But they wouldn’t reveal the source of their inspiration for the new figures, telling CNN that information relating to the development of the company’s merchandise — including how it comes up with products, product names, and trademarks – is proprietary.

The first thing that I learned on my trip to DC to watch the inauguration of President Barack Obama came before I left New York. I learned that regardless of the language of the name of your bus company, if your round trip travel is under $35, you’re taking the Chinatown bus. I hadn’t taken the Chinatown bus in a few years and despite the horror stories, I don’t know anyone who’s actually been on a Chinatown bus while it spontaneously combusted or was set on fire or had birds fly into their engines, I felt okay about my upcoming Chinatown experience. Until learning that having a ticket in now way guarantees that you will have a seat on the bus. I freaked out for about four seconds, but it all worked out. I had a seat on the bus, was sitting next to a girl from Maryland who works for AIG, with her possum-sized dog in her bag, and I was off to DC.

A few ipod episodes of the West Wing and a bag trail mix later, our bus arrived in Chinatown in DC, which is unlike any other chinatown I’ve seen. You’ve got to admire a Chinatown that has a Fudruckers, an Urban Outfitters, and a Planet Hollywood. Props to them.

My accommodations for this trip were somewhat up in the air. I was, for the most part, sleeping on the floors of the apartments of friends of friends Nothing wrong with that, but I was definitely a bum for three days. My long time friend David was going to pick me up near Chinatown at the Grand Hyatt Hotel and we’d drive to the apartment where we were sleeping that night in Columbia Heights. The Grand Hyatt was pretty grand, to say the least, and as I sat in the lobby waiting for David to show up, I started to feel the intensity of the city. There were galas taking place throughout the hotel, one of which may or may not have just been a lot of Steeler fans watching the AFC championship game. Then Al Sharpton walked through the lobby.

The next morning, after sleeping on a stranger’s floor with three other people and a few cats, I headed from Columbia Heights towards Capitol Hill. My idea was to have a total tourist day before the madness began on Tuesday. Unfortunately, everyone else in the metro DC area seemed to have the same plan. The mall was filled with people taking pictures and scouting out the best routes for Tuesday. I passed the crowd surrounding MSNBC’s “studio,” where Andrea Mitchell was interviewing Doris Kearns Goodwin. The spirit in the city was really unbelievable, and local businesses were siezing on the opportunity like no other. Pubs were selling Obama Burgers. Mexican restaurants were selling Inauguritas. The only way I can describe it is like a part of a Disney Theme Park, except right in between Tomorrowland and Fantasyland is Obamaland. Except the lines and parking at Disneyland aren’t nearly as bad.

Later, I found myself taking photo’s on the steps of the Supreme Court, when I realized that the cute girl standing next to me was actually Natalie Portman. Oh, Natalie. You and your hippie, hippie boyfriend.

In the evening, I met up with my former co-worker, Adam and a few friends of his. Adam worked with me at the JCC before leaving last spring to go work on the Obama campaign in Florda, only to be offered a job in the transition team at the Pentagon following the election. Spending the night drinking and eating and drinking and drinking with his friends from the campaign was pretty amazing. Made me wonder why I didn’t quit my job and go work for the campiagn. Made me wonder why I don’t drop everything, move to DC and look for a job in government. Being in DC for the inauguration weekend seemed to have that effect, but spending time with people who were actually involved in politics, combined with the general emotion of the weekend really made me want to go work on a 2010 senate campaign. Also, all the alchohol.

The next morning was the inauguration. Woke up at 5:30. The metro, at 5:45 am was probably twice as crowded as Penn Station at rush hour. People were singing Amazing Grace on the train. 6:45 in line at my gate. Some sophomore from GW is being interviewed for some college radio show from the midwest. There’s a lot of pushing. Even more hugging of strangers; the kind of thing that would freak me out in New York, but somehow it was okay. After more chaos and confusion, I make it through the Silver Gate by around 8, and waited there, in the cold, for the next 4 hours or so. It was awesome. I was standing with a gay couple from Portland, a gay couple from California, and a gay couple from New York. Yeah, there were a lot of gays. Imagine if Rev. Warren weren’t speaking.

But nothing could have prepared me for how cold I was about to be. I actually said to one of the gays from California at one point that it wasn’t that cold, and he agreed. This was, of course, roughly two minutes before the wind started. It wasn’t too long before I couldn’t feel anything below my knees. You’d think the two sweaters, hat, scarf, parka, northface gloves with handwarmers inside, long underwear, two pairs of socks, and timberland boots would help. Well, you’d be wrong. The cold was pretty bad, but somehow it didn’t matter. All the people in my section needed was for the girls choir performing to sing something with the slightest beat and syncopation to get us to start moving and dance around. That song was hot.

After the inauguration, the nightmare of leaving the inauguration began. You couldn’t get on any of the metro stations near the mall, so I ended up walking and walking and walking to get on a train to meet up with my friends and crash back at the apartment for some quality napping. Back at the apartment, it appeared that one of the people I was staying with had run into some friends of hers from home, who wanted to nap at the apartment. It was no problem, we were all going to be crashing for a while. Her friends would hang out with us for the rest of the afternoon. At some point we hand a conversation that when like this:

Random girl: So, how are you getting back to NY?

Me: I have a ticket on the chinatown bus for tomorrow morning, but it’s going to be crazy, and I might not make it back in time for work.

Girl: Well we’re renting a car later tonight and you could ride with me us to Philly.

Me: Yeah, but then I’d be in Philly, and I’d still need to get to New York.

Girl: You could crash at my place and then take the NJ Transit into the city in the morning, and avoid all the DC traffic.

Me: That’s true…

**********************

So at 1:00am, I got in a taxi with two girls I’d met a few hours earlier. We drove to Reagan Airport (I can’t believe that’s the name of the airport), rented a car, drove to Philly, arrived there at 3:45am, slept for a couple of hours, and got on the train to New York, made it to work on time, and stayed at work until 9pm. Yeah, that was a long day. But an amazing, amazing trip.

FBI File #9536B

Wiretap on line 312-XXX-XXXX
November 10th, 2008
12:42 PM Eastern Time

RAHM EMANUEL: This is Rahm.

ROD BLAGOJEVICH: Hey Rahm, yeah it’s Rod.

EMANUEL: Uh-huh. What’s going on governor, I’m busy.

BLAGO: Well, it’s about that Senate appointment…

EMANUEL: We already gave you the list of people we like.

BLAGO: Yeah, I been looking the list over. Interesting names. Good people. How’s the transition going?

EMANUEL: It’s going fine, governor. Are you calling to fucking tell me anything, or what, cause I—

BLAGO: No no, I’m just wondering if you have all your picks already made. I heard something about Dashle for HHS—

EMANUEL: I’m not gonna discuss ongoing deliberations, gov, you know that

BLAGO: Hey, come on Rahm, let’s not act like I’m a stranger here.

EMANUEL: Did I call you a stranger? If I thought you were a stranger, you think I’d be interrupting my important fucking business to take this fucking phone call?

BLAGO: Hey you don’t have to get curt with me, Rahm.

EMANUEL: This isn’t me being curt, Gov, this is me being fucking busy. Now what did you call about?

BLAGO: I’m just feeling you out, seeing if Valerie [Jarret] still wants that Senate seat, just wondering what kind of priority that is for the President-Elect.

EMANUEL: Actually, it’s not a priority. Valerie’s had second thoughts about the job.

BLAGO: What, she doesn’t want it anymore?

EMANUEL: She’s having second thoughts. You want more details, you ask her.

BLAGO: She won’t take my calls.

EMANUEL: Big fucking surprise.

BLAGO: What’s that supposed to mean?

EMANUEL: Um, I don’t know, what’s it supposed to mean governor? A.) You’re a fucking crook. B.) You’re a fucking asshole. C.) All of the above.

BLAGO: I’m clean Rahm, you know this. You think that fucking Fitzgerald would being twiddling his fucking thumbs if he had shit to go on?

EMANUEL: I gotta go, Gov. You appoint who you want, we really don’t give a shit.

BLAGO: What if I appoint Valerie, what if she takes it?

EMANUEL: What do you want me to say? We’d appreciate it, I’m not gonna fucking kiss your ring over it.

BLAGO: “Appreciate it”? Come on, this is a senate seat we’re talking about. It’s worth a fuck of a lot more than appreciation.

EMANUEL: You asked us for a list, we gave you a fucking list, you want to make your own list then make your own fucking list. [Raising voice] But if you’re asking for anything else from me, or Barack, or Valerie, then you can fucking stop talking right now Rod.

BLAGO: Wait a sec there Rahm. Wait just a fucking minute. Who are you to talk to me like that? I fucking made you.

EMANUEL: You made me? You made me? Tell me you’re fucking joking.

BLAGO: No no no, you listen to me shit-face. You see this list I got, the names motherfucking Obama fucking wants for the Senate. I just ripped it in two. How you like that? Oops, Harris just dropped it in the shredder. Harris?

HARRIS (muffled): Yes sir?

BLAGO: Did you just drop that list in the shredder?

[Whirring, shredder noise]

HARRIS (muffled): I did.

EMANUEL: Do you have me on fucking speakerphone?

BLAGO: It’s in the shredder, Rahm. The list is bye bye.

EMANUEL: Hold on a sec — you got me on fucking speakerphone? Who the fuck do you think I am?

BLAGO: Who are you Rahm? Who are you? You’re shit, you hear me? Don’t come back to Chicago Rahm, it’s not your town any more.

EMANUEL: Pick up the phone Rod.

BLAGO: I’ll put someone in the senate who will fucking fuck you. I might even put myself in there, how you like that Rahm? How you gonna explain that to fucking Barack, every time he’s gotta call me up for my fucking vote. He’d have to take my calls then, wouldn’t he?

EMANUEL: [Screaming] I said pick up the FUCKING phone!

BLAGO: [Picks up phone, speakerphone off] I got your attention now, didn’t I?

EMANUEL: Shut the fuck up and listen to me for one second Rod. And I want you to listen carefully, because this is the last time I’m ever going to talk to you. You are fucking dead to me. You been fucking dead to Barack since ‘06, now you’re dead to me. Know what that means? That means you’re dead to my people in Chicago, Daley on down, and all these friends you think you have aren’t gonna touch you with a ten foot fucking pole.

BLAGO: Oh now you’re the fucking Godfather? Fuck you.

EMANUEL: No fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.

BLAGO: Fuck you!

EMANUEL: Listen up asshole. The shit’s gonna hit the fan, maybe tomorrow, maybe next month, and when Fitz finally brings down the hammer it’s gonna be my name that’s going through your head. You won’t know the hows or the fucking whys, but it’s gonna have my fucking fingerprints all over it. Have a great life fatso.

BLAGO: Hey fuck—

EMANUEL: [Click.]

End of conversation

Do I have a ticket? No.

Do I have travel plans? Not yet.

Do I have a place to stay? Maybe.

But other than those things, I’m totally going. More details to follow.

• Location: Manchester By The $ea
• it’s ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
• Compensation: $900 (FIRM)

So here’s the thing. Yes, this is equally amazing and absurd. First of all, are they providing the Pilgrim costume? Also, are these guests going to be knowledgeable enough to decipher an “impeccable Pilgrim dialect” from, say, an amateur one? All these things aside, I’m pretty sure that I’d totally do this for 900 bucks. Provided that I received assurances that no photographic evidence would ever appear on facebook. That has to be a given.  Also, Happy Thanksgiving.

Lamest ever. Shark jumping complete.

“By allowing the majority to take away the rights of the minority, California has set a precedent that we are thrilled to be continuing here.”

$800 AWESOME APARTMENT FOR SOMEONE YOU HATE (Upper West Side)

Hi, I am moving out of my apartment on 79thst street and Broadway.
The room I am offering is HUGE if you are tiny and tiny if you are HUGE.
But for an average sized person the room is probably small.  The ideal candidate would be five eight with brown hair and brown eyes, like me.  The other ideal candidate would be Barack Obama. The room has a window that looks directly into the alarmed eyes of strangers across the alley, particularly because I have spent a lot of time masturbating in your room. The room is small enough to concentrate, much like that of a prison. I have begun my own underwear company here called “strange yellow spots” and am currently working on batch 30. So you if you are an entrepreneur or an ex-con the space should satisfy.
The room also has walls that I have painted the same color by accident twice. Mostly because “it wasn’t the walls that I subconsciously wanted to change” said your psychology studying roommate. Oh about your roommates: You will be living with three girls. If you love late night kitchen conversations about poop, birth, vaginas, and STD’s then this is your kitchen! Jennifer is an aspiring novelists with plans to kill dolphins, Sarah works at a talent agency and will butcher you with any of her knives you dare to touch and Laury is a visitor to our planet who has recently discovered the oven. She also is the main character in a sad story she tells for every occasion. The apartment is spacious and unique, barely anything matches and we keep leftovers under a blanket in the living room. But it is homey, as long as the home you’re used to has furniture the owner doesn’t want you to sit on. Friends are allowed over but will be vetted for gossip about your upbringing, and they are not allowed to sleep on the couch. Neither are you. It would be best if you were invisible or dead. While we don’t have cable their are plans to get it, but those plans are based entirely
on the whims of one roommate who controls the apartment bills, doesn’t want cable, but says she does.
She also will have access to your toothbrush, shampoo and soap, and will eventually stop leaving the room before she farts. once a month her gay boyfriend comes over to fight with her, prove he’s straight and then leave with the will we all wish we had. To lock eyes with any of your new roommates could incur any range of emotion from extreme giggling [Laury] to terrible sad terrifying darkness [she who shall not be named]. The move in date is January first but the move out date is whenever you ask Sarah for anything, and you will be moving to the after life. What else? If you’ve seen lord of the rings then you know the watchful eye of MORDOR sees all, as does the watchful eye of Sarah. If you have friends named Merry, Pippin, Sam or Frodo then you’re already prepared for you new adventure. I hear footsteps… must hurry.
The apartment is full of places to pop out of and scare the living shit out of Laury, who is prone to being
scared of almost anything. While you may suspect the apartment is haunted it isn’t, Laury is talking to herself not ghosts, after all what ghost would want to listen to this “doo doo do, what to have for dinner? doo doo do… shicken with rice or shicken with paasta, doo doo do, whatcha dooooin microwave??? aaaaaahhhhhh, num num num, I’m sleeeeeepy, doo doo do” and so on. If you enjoy a good old game of “what’s she really mean?” then come on down!
If you want to fit in then say you always take out the garbage, say you’ll clean on your week, say you’ll buy toilet paper, and then do none of the above. Or do all of the above, and never let anyone forget you did it. EVER.
You should be adept at handling passive aggressive behavior, have a masters degree in deciphering innuendos, and have the ability to sit still for four hours while someone ridicules the choices youve made up til now and then says I’m kidding when they mean I’d kill you for a dollar.
We will be having an open house sometime this month where none of us will be acting the way we normally will after you move in, and then once you move in we’ll break the bottle of hell over your head with a nice midnight chat about your family background and why your life will never amount to shit. Welcome to apartment Five F. can’t wait to eat you. Um, MEET you.

I don’t know where, yet, but I’m moving. My apartment is too expensive for my non-living wage salary, so I’m off to somewhere new. That most likely means Washington Heights or Brooklyn. It should be noted that the last time that I moved to Brooklyn, I barely lasted two months.

Went to look at my first apartment viewing of the season the other day. This place was $1100 for a bedroom in an apartment on 85th Street and West End Ave. At that price, I kind of assumed it would be a shitty building on a pretty amazing block.

I showed up at the apartment, and quickly double-checked that the building I was walking into was the address that I had written down earlier. The lobby of the building had marble floors, fine art left and right, and overall, made Marlena’s building look like East Harlem. I got into the elevator, and the elevator man took me to my floor, where I was greeted by an overweight, 40-something man named Markey, while his name could have just as easily been Lucca Brasi. I honestly didn’t know that they made apartments this small. No living room. Barely a kitchen. The available bedroom was roughly the size of my current bathroom. Oh, and his girlfriend lived there, too.

This is going to be a long process.