168 million in bonuses, out of US$700,000,000,000.00 of funds that are otherwise going down the black hole of mismanagement (and let’s not even talk about the billions upon billions “misplaced” in Iraq, and the billions more soon to be ”misplaced” in Afghanistan).

AIG bonuses - THIS is what has finally ignited Americans’ populist wrath! 

Those of us Commies who have been watching for 8+ years (I only cared about boys and and how many of them might be interested in kissing me during the Clinton years, so sue me) have been watching and waiting, waiting and watching for that moment we knew had to come. And now, here it is!

I have to say, it’s a little anti-climatic, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers. I will not be critical of the American people’s choice of vehicle for their outrage - it’s as good as any, really. Even one dollar in bonuses for helping to bring the world economy to its knees is one dollar too many, so to the American people, I say: YAY YOU!

However, being a Commie, I worry (we tend to have a pessimistic streak, but as luck would have it, pessimists are having a moment right now). I worry, amongst other things, that maybe the forest may be lost for the trees, and a huge opportunity to rekindle interest and nurse back to life a creature facing extinction might be lost, that creature being dialogue.

Now, as evidenced by debates involving Sarah Palin, not just any dialogue will do - you have to put the word “meaningful” in front of it.

And in the tradition of mindless blogging, I will go on a seemingly unrelated tangent now: Hookers.

More specifically, Eliot Spitzer and hookers.

Even more specifically: Eliot Spitzer, hookers, Eliot’s wife Silda, and Vogue.

Blame Vogue for getting Eliot Spitzer back on my mind, or rather blame Vogue’s whitewashed, kiddie-gloved, fairy dust-sprinkled and utterly hypocritical March 2009 feature on his wife, and how Eliot’s penchant for blondes-by-the-hour nearly derailed this Southern Belle’s philanthropic campaigns (and no, we are assured, this princess ain’t a pushover. And she has a weakness for Petit Bateau tees and chocolate cupcakes. No, she doesn’t. I made that up, but only because I don’t have the actual article before my eyes at this very moment so I can transcribe the nauseating drivel verbatim, but hopefully you get the picture)

I read this article, and I worry. Then I read a piece like this by Mr. Spitzer, about how AIG’s bonus payouts are just the tip of the iceberg, and how instead of focusing on symbolic gestures (in this case, ”clawing back” the ill-gotten spoils from the recipients, which has effectively happened already), that perhaps we should realize that this bonus thing is a distraction from the real crimes that festered in the absence of regulations and created this environment in the first place. Doing that will surely be more complicated, not quite so black-and-white, and, more importantly, require us to think. A lot.

The article sure made me think - about Eliot Spitzer, Silda (yes, they are still married), Vogue, and hookers.

I wondered what kind of warped world would be so hypocritical so as to force a competent, vocal, thinking (at least this is the impression I got from reading this article) dude to resign due to something completely unrelated to his ability to carry out his duties as governor of the state of New York.

You might argue that by employing prostitutes, he was breaking the law. But when even the “good” guys are breaking the law, maybe it’s time we rethink the law. And while we’re at it, score politicians on how well they protect us from companies like AIG, and not on where they prefer to put their dicks.

While we’re on the subject of laws, there ought to be one against using a scandal-celebrity to sell your magazine, and then not having the balls to ask her tough questions on why she doesn’t seem too bothered by her husband’s preference for ladies of the night. After all, if the man’s wife doesn’t mind, why should we?

I’m loving how Anna Wintour of Vogue and Devil-Wears-Prada fame has turned the once flush-with-cash Emirate into a handy, one word adjective describing unbridled, unabashed, unnecessary and utterly conspicuous consumption.

And just in time for the Oscars too. As you’re Twittering your personal take on red carpet style to your friends this Sunday, you’ll be grateful for Ms. Wintour’s updating of common English vernacular.

What might have once been: “Is Nicole Kidman really wearing gold lamé with emerald-encrusted bronze platforms and a two-foot-tall peacock-feathered headdress???” can now be easily pared down to: “Nic Kidman - DUBAI!!!!”

Of course, you could also twitter the following if you’ve been reading Ms. Wintour’s publication with semblance of regularity over the past few decades: “Vogue - DUBAI!!!”

Asked how she is tweaking the high-society-navel-gazing rag in deference to the corner-cutting mood of its common (and cash cow) readership, Ms. Wintour offered her refusal to shoot a nipple-grazing sequined “thing” (retail price - wait for it - $25,000) as an example of a more pared down, somber mood prevailing at the offices of Vogue.

And we wonder why John Thain thought he could get away with laying off thousands of Merrill Lynch employees and asking for a ten million dollar bonus in the same breath?

Say what? The laid-off employees ought to be kissing the soles of Thain’s Ferragamos for his heroic rescue of the financial institution? For what would the common masses do without their financial institutions? Without Vogue’s enlightening pieces on how H&M pants are for suckers while Oscar de la Renta is for-evah, daarling? The common masses need Thain and Vogue, just like the seventeenth-century French masses needed Marie-Antoinette. The masses ought to be grateful that someone out there can still wear what Anna calls “aspirational” clothing, even if that someone is English-heiress-turned-Vogue-reporter-turned-author-of-the-barfworthy-Bergdof-Blondes, Plum Sykes.

Now that we’re all in agreement that Dubai had all the long-term investment appeal of a pair of drop-crotch MC Hammer pants, can we give Montreal its Formula 1 spot back?