[Jack] Abramoff's connections seem infinite; attempts to follow the money give you something looking less like a flow chart than like spaghetti. Delicious, felonious spaghetti.That's a nicely complicated image, even if the notion of a kiss of death is absent from "Lady and the Tramp." And even if the use of spaghetti is supposed to evoke the reference to "The Godfather" in an earlier paragraph. One senses Wonkette has become Dowdette.
But who is actually going to receive Jack Abramoff's Lady-and-the-Tramp-style kiss of death?
WAIT THERE'S MORE: The NYT has a second article about Cox today. (Are they regretful about that Janet Maslin review of her novel?) There's also this, on the front-page of the Arts section:
"I have always found [Washington] really intriguing," she said, working her way to the bottom of the giant martini, but following up with coffee so as to be fresh for a commute up to New York for a reading Thursday night. "D.C. wishes it was as boring as it says it is. To be famous in D.C. is the opposite of being famous somewhere else. You can only get and remain famous if you remain boring."
Ms. Cox is not boring, but then, "I'm not really very famous, either," she said; still, in a town full of pasty, overworked faces always framed by a credential around the neck, she sticks out. With a flash of red hair, dark pants demarcated by chalk stripes and a black T-shirt that shows enough arm to reveal a tattoo she got in Reno instead of getting married one wild weekend, she plays a Katharine Hepburn with a severe case of potty mouth.