Why is it that whenever or wherever disaster of a certain envergure (look, this blog has a French-inspired name, so voila. It sort of means “scope,” but it sounds better and has no mouthwash connotations) strikes, Anderson Cooper is magically on the scene to get the masses to emote, and George Clooney to get the cash flowing from our recession-wracked wallets once we do? Might there be a coincidence in that neither of these putative matinee idols has any children? And who appointed them arbiters of America’s emotional response to international calamity? At the end of the day, one would have to be very hard of heart to have a problem with their big gay ones. But some questions are worth asking.
And here’s another one: Where the hell are the French? They’re the ones who fucked up the island of Hispaniola in the first place, once enslaving every living creature down to the last coconut palm. With one check Messieurs Francois Pinault and Bernard Arnault, to say nothing of the corrupt Jacques Chirac, could put Haiti right. But why should they when they know American taxpayers will come to the rescue? Everybody loves the French (ahem) and the self-serving notions of the “rights of man” they’ve cooked up ever since chopping their monarchs’ heads off, but their response to a crisis like Haiti’s skews more to detestable than delectable. Harumph.