No more politics for a while.
Seriously, anything I could add to the torrent of opinions flowing through America, no one would want to hear anyway. I'm out.
OK, on to other things:
Arnold Schwarzenegger wrote a book about his life. Anyone who felt that life as we know it was incomplete without knowing every detail of The Governator's life please raise your dumbbell. No the other dumbbell.
Apparently Arnold felt that just lifting this tome would improve your girlie muscles. Weighing in at 700 pages this opus is the creakiest vehicle to come out of Austria since the Von Trapps yodeled their way across the Alps in a rusty rickshaw. Schwarzenegger's rise to Governor of California is proof that it's possible for the circus to elect a clown as ringmaster, or in this case, the strong man. Arnold's rise to fame is interesting in a "magazine article in a doctor's office" sort of way but this book presumes more gravitas than the new testament, in that both principal players think they're God.
OK, so Schwarzenegger is a curiosity... like Lincoln's visage in a potato chip. His rise to fame is nothing if not unconventional. True, we've had other politicians who came from seemingly incongruous careers. We've: a professional wrestler (Jesse "the body" Ventura), the purser on the Love Boat (Fred Grandy) and of course the man whose movie co-star was a primate (Ronald Wilson Reagan). Nevertheless, experience has taught us that with the right amount of ego, a dollop of drive, the right wife (a Kennedy would be nice) and some really good timing, almost anything is possible. (If you don't believe it, check the current occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania Ave.)
The problem with biographies written by megalomaniacs is that they wear out the "I" key on the keyboard. Gov. S. is no exception. "I was right about this...I did the right thing there...I took the right roles" (Insert your own Austrian accent for all quotes.) Even discussing stupid decisions, like accepting the role of Kalidor in Red Sonia (and compounding the felony by shtupping his co-star, Brigitte Nielsen) Arnold has an excuse. "They gave me a Humvee full of Euros." (My quote, not his.) When you control the word processor, it's easy to make yourself sound like Pacino or Redford even with tomato-cans like "Junior"," Red Heat" and "Conan the Destroyer" on your resume. It's OK to cop to the money ($17 mil in some cases) but please don't make it sound like playing opposite Sinbad in "Jingle All the Way" was an artistic achievement.
When the subject of Arnold's casual relationship with casual marital fidelity surfaces, our hero acts as if these transgressions are of no more consequence than littering. Among his transgressions was playing a little Upstairs Downstairs with the hired help. Unfortunately, when your peccadilloes result in unwanted offspring you got some 'splaining to do. (The last famous man to try to grow his own household staff was Thomas Jefferson...but I digress.) True to the code The Governator sticks out his chin as he recounts his "come to Jesus" conversation with his soon-to-be ex-wife, the long-suffering Maria Shriver. Arnold, ever the manly man, admits to fathering a child with the cleaning lady. Naturally, the Gov. glosses over the fact that the boy was practically shaving before he made his "manly" confession. Schwarzenneger treats his other dalliances as boyish indiscretions. The actual recorded incidents of the Governor's groping of women (too numerous to recount) puts one in mind of another Arnold...the Pig.
The book ends before Schwarzenneger is forced to explain why, after 43 years of acting experience (and at 65 years old), he is still turning out dreck like "The Expendibles 2" and "Triplets". (A movie intended to finally resolve those unanswered questions left hanging at the conclusion of "Twins") Apparently a side of beef, even a slightly moldy one, still has appeal.
Anyway, after the "60 Minutes" interview, a trip to see Jon Stewart and, about thirty reviews of the book, I'm about done with Governor Muscles and his metoeric rise to stardom. If I feel the need to fill up on junk, I'll grab "Pumping Iron". It's sort of a "how to kill a lot of time" story for people who don't have Wi-Fi. Hey, at least I won't get a hernia bringing it home.
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