Taki's Mag

Sandra Bullock

NEW YORK—They say when sexual attraction sets in, all other brain functions shut down. It’s nature’s way of ensuring procreation. My brain shut down last week, and for a Hollywood actress to boot. Of German extraction, Sandra Bullock is not the classic Aryan goddess, but she’s most attractive in the flesh, more so than on the screen. I ran into her at Michael Mailer’s birthday party. He threw the bash in his famous father’s old house in Brooklyn, a wonderful location overlooking New York Harbor, a place that brought back many memories of wild nights with Norman Mailer. Jimmy Toback, screenwriter for Bugsy and the director of Harvey Keitel’s gem of a movie, Fingers—the only American film ever remade as a French movie—has directed some of Michael’s films, so we talked about sons and old movies. (Jimmy is an avid Spectator reader and likes it when I make it obvious how much I love my son, as he has an 11-year-old.) Under the much maligned studio production code, sexuality’s elemental power was ever-present for a very simple reason. There was no nudity, only steamy buildups. Sophisticated innuendo will do more for sex than any full frontal. These days there’s no more mystery, no flirtation, no romance, no sizzle. Even the female body has changed. I used to die for Ava Gardner’s and Betty Grable’s curves, but today’s so-called men go for the efficient, sterile, athletic, desexualized look. What I’d like to know is whether people in their 20s really are as stupid as the characters in today’s movies. Most definitely, I’d say, especially if they listen to rock music.

The party broke up at dawn, and I left just before John Taki and his beautiful girlfriend hit the road. “Go home, daddy, you’re going to have a heart attack,” was the last rude thing I heard.

The next day I read in the paper how Sandra Bullock had given one million dollars for Japan’s victims, a small fact she failed to mention the night before. Now that’s what I call true giving. Every last penny will go where it’s needed, unlike so many charities which spend the majority of donations on themselves.

Speaking of Japan, here’s an American black female professional basketball player, a college grad who can hardly write or speak coherently, Tweeting about the earthquake: “God…makes no mistakes….They did pearl harbor so u can’t expect anything less.” Four years ago, this muscle-bound, brain-dead, poor excuse of a woman demanded that a radio host be fired for some on-air racial insensitivity—he called her teammates mop-topped—and managed it. Tells us a lot about bogus diplomas and bogus racial sensitivities in the home of the depraved.

About one month ago I wrote about the grotesque phony Bernard Henri-Lévy and how he managed to silence a 93-year-old war hero and camp survivor, Stéphane Hessel, from speaking out about Israel’s crimes against the Palestinians. (Hessel is Jewish). Now his book, published by Charles Glass Books, an imprint of Quartet Books, is out in England and I urge all of you to get it. It’s only 40 pages and sold 1.5 million copies in France. People such as Lévy should not be allowed to push decent folk around. I even heard some complaints regarding what I had written about that phoniest of phonies. That’s how scum like Levy operate: speaking in whispers, calling in favors, and promising things. Israel’s Gibraltarian intransigence and brutal occupation are to his liking, as are the wars in Libya, Iraq, and Afghanistan.

Five weeks ago I bet a friend a large amount that the evil clown Gaddafi and his seven jackals would still be in Tripoli on December 31st, 2011. The good news is that his grotesque sons will not be spending time and stolen millions around the world’s playgrounds. The bad news is that no cruise missile was fired at Gaddafi while he addressed the crowds three weeks ago. In my experience, when people vow to fight to the last bullet, they flee at the sound of the first shot. This is what is happening in Libya. Both sides flee when the other attacks, except that the protestors have no weapons and don’t know how to use what they have. The rebels number only about one thousand, with no officers and no battle plans. They are students, doctors, merchants, translators, and even some profs. There are no religious extremists, despite hints by Western correspondents who think anyone with a beard wants to stone women who drive. Their fighting is mostly street theater: flashing the V-sign and shooting in the air. The mad dog’s troops are just as bad, except they are supposed to be soldiers and are well-armed. Both sides flee at the sound of gunfire, but the protestors are more gung-ho. That’s as close as you’ll get to the truth about Libya, a country that has not been a country for a long time thanks to the megalomania and cruelty of the greased pig Gaddafi.

I started by writing about the fair sex and what a joy it is to see beautiful women even if one can’t seduce them, and I ended up mentioning the bogus, effeminate, and repellent clown Gaddafi. Now that’s what I call a real bummer.