Best of the Web: "You're So Vain" Edition

This week’s revelation that Carly Simon’s 1972 “You’re So Vain” was not about Warren Beatty or Mick Jagger but about someone named “David,” the name whispered on the new recording of the song, has got Simon’s past flames and the rest of us thinking.

Is it really “David”? And, if so, which David is it? London’s Daily Mail declared that the song was about record producer David Gaffen, who is gay and allegedly earned Simon’s scorn because he paid more attention to Joni Mitchell’s career at the time. Many of us, along with Warren Beatty, simply refused to believe this.

Thankfully, Simon dispelled the notion in The Hollywood Reporter via an e-mail: “What a riot! Nothing to do with David Geffen! What a funny mistake! Someone got a clue mistaken for another mistake!”

But the plot grows thicker…As The Independent reports: “A source who worked on the new version of the song told the US website ShowBiz411 that it contained two other ‘whispered’ names, one that’s unintelligible and another that is ‘Warren.’ So, for now, Warren, Kris, Mick, Yusuf, you can go back to probably thinking this song is about you after all.”

Whoever he is, Mr. Vain rebuts Carly’s charges in McSweeny’s. Best bits: “First of all, that party took place on a yacht. So the way I walked in was perfectly appropriate.” And “… I am known to spend time with wives of close friends. And what do I do with said women, Carly? Talk. Have tea. Catch a movie or attend a polo match. These women’s husbands are entertainers and travel quite a bit, so I spend time with them, because that’s what friends do. And sometimes I have sex with them. But not as often as you might think.” (Thanks to Rachel for sharing this one.)

Finally, Simon has announced a music video contest for “You’re So Vain.” I would like the winning video to include a lot of footage of Warren Beatty—with or without the apricot scarf.

Let the Indians Eat Triscuits!

India’s Prime Minister Manmohan Singh is in town, and the man needs to be fed. I found this AP roundup of 60 years of meals for Indian leaders served up by American presidents intriguing. I loved that Harry S. Truman’s meal included Triscuits.



I happen to love Triscuits, and this story made me think back on my teenage love affair with a true American snack icon—the Twinkie. This, in turn, reminded me of how Jon Stewart served tea and Twinkies to Pervez Musharraf. No Twinkies were on offer for Singh. Instead, the Obamas’ menu included “potato and egg plant salad, red lentil soup, and roasted potato dumplings or green curry prawns.” I just might reach for my trusty jar of Patak’s and make some Thanksgiving korma. With Twinkies for dessert?

Photo courtesy of Scott Mioduszewski/Flickr’s Creative Commons

"CNN—Nobody Leaves More Things There"

Jon Stewart mercilessly skewers CNN for having the time to “fact-check” a Saturday Night Live skit but not the bogus numbers thrown out by its interviewees in the health care debate. When it comes to fact-checking whether there are five or 35 million uninsured in the country, CNN anchors are “out of time” and just “leave it there.” As Stewart puts it, “Don’t leave it there!...‘There’ is a terrible place to leave it—unless somebody will pick it up later.”

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
CNN Leaves It There
www.thedailyshow.com
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Extra Large Grande Barista, Bangalore vs. Venti Starbucks, Washington, DC

I have a minor coffee addiction. Like many things in my life, I blame it on my mother. I grew up with the smells of ridiculous amounts of Turkish coffee brewing at all hours of the day in our Soviet studio in Kiev. By the time I discovered lattes with the little drawings at Berkeley’s Café Milano, I did not stand a chance.



Unlike Berkeley, the proud of home of liberal lattes, Washington, DC does not have a café culture. Or, if it has one, it is carefully hidden from the naked eye in case Washingtonians decide to have a leisurely Americano before getting to the all-consuming task of running the world. There are a few exceptions like Tryst and Politics and Prose that are consistently good and perpetually overcrowded, so I mostly resort to Starbucks and Cosi to quench my latte thirst. If I get “my” Starbucks guy, I can be assured that my latte will be decent. Otherwise, it might appear disguised as a black coffee gone bad or a glass of warmed up milk with traces of caffeine. A botched latte is a tragedy indeed and is better than no latte at all.

The most annoying aspect of going to Starbucks is being exposed to Starbucks-speak. If you order “a small latte,” the barista will remind you that it is a “tall latte.” Through the years, I have been relentless in my affirmation of the cup’s smallness. If I say, “I like tall men,” I mean that I like men over 5’8”. I don’t mean I like midgets. So why should I say “tall” when all I am getting is a midget latte? Starbucks may be taking over the world, but there is competition. Take Barista, the deservedly popular Indian chain with a knack for bombastic labels, which is now part of the Lavazza empire. Starbucks, behold Barista’s “cappuccino grande...served in an extra large grande cup.” Venti cappuccino, you got served!



(Photos: Cafe Milano drinks courtesy of anniemalchang via Flickr; Bangalore menu, NonnaBlog)

A Washington, DC Intern Moment

Overheard at Tryst:

Dude #1: So what do you do?

Dude #2: I work at NPR. You know All Songs Considered?

Dude #1: Of course, of course.

Dude #2: I’m involved in that.

Dude #1: That’s tight man. So what sort of things do you do for them? Do you write or do you, like, work on sound?

Dude #2: Actually, I don’t know. I just started two days ago. They have a website, and I want to write stuff for that.

Dude #1: So what’s your title?

Dude #2: Well, it’s sort of like an apprenticeship.

Snow Patrol

In spite of my numerous musical accomplishments, such as singing “May There Always be Sunshine!” to a distinguished African delegation in Soviet Ukraine and performing in San Francisco’s premier ex-Soviet Jewish music and dance group Tikvah, I don’t play any instrument and am utterly hopeless when discussing music. Last week, I tagged along with a friend to see Snow Patrol, the alt band from Northern Ireland and Scotland.



They gave a fantastic performance, and it was a lot of fun. The music is melodic and has the right mix of complaint and optimism and fast and slow for my liking. There was a bit of joking around—always a good sign when bands don’t take themselves too seriously—and a request to sing on one’s toes. I am good at following important directions. That’s as sophisticated as my analysis will get. Here’s what The New York Times had to say:

Nowadays scruffy rock bands are learning what pop stars long ago discovered: It pays to have “one song you know….” Snow Patrol…has “Chasing Cars,” a ballad that became its first American pop hit. (It reached No. 5 on Billboard’s Hot 100.) Even if the title doesn’t ring a bell, the refrain — delivered in a pleasing accent by a singer from Northern Ireland — just might. It begins, “If I lay here/If I just laaay here.”

Those nine words helped Snow Patrol crack America….Snow Patrol has officially gone from the Scottish indie scene (the band was formed in Glasgow) to the American mainstream. Fans knew all the songs, but they might not have been there were it not for that one song.

“Chasing Cars” comes from “Eyes Open” (A&M/Universal), the fourth Snow Patrol album, which was the top-selling CD last year in Britain, where the band is well established. No doubt some fans hear Snow Patrol as a humbler, hipper version of Coldplay. (One lyric from the new album drops an indie-rock name: “Put Sufjan Stevens on/And we’ll play your favorite song.”) That’s not fair, especially since the earliest incarnation of Snow Patrol predates Coldplay by nearly half a decade, but it is understandable.

Snow Patrol’s grandest songs build slowly and gently, until eventually the huge chorus unfurls. (By contrast the worst ones simply trudge, like “Make This Go On Forever,” which did.) Gary Lightbody, the highly likable lead singer, knows how to lead a sing-along without letting the power go to his head. “Shut Your Eyes” was no doubt designed to make crowds go nuts, but Mr. Lightbody made the refrain sound like a simple request: “Shut your eyes and sing to me….”

Certainly Snow Patrol doesn’t have a marketable image or a polarizing sub-genre or a famous face or an audacious sound. What Snow Patrol has is songs: a few great ones, along with a bunch of less-than-great ones. And its fans don’t want deep-catalog obscurities or free-form improvisations; they want to sing along. As Mr. Lightbody and his band mates know, there is only one way to avoid becoming a one-hit wonder: Write more.

Well, I hope that they will write a lot more. I disagree with the reviewer about “Make This Go On Forever” being one of their “worst” songs. It’s angsty, and I happen to like it. Although I think this was a well-written and fair review, it also reminded me why I don’t usually read music reviews: They make me doubt my personal tastes. I got three Snow Patrol albums—Final Straw, Eyes Open and A Hundred Million Suns—and found something I loved on each one. The band is on tour until the end of the year in the United States and United Kingdom, so check these guys out. The concert truly made my month. I am even feeling inspired enough to possibly make good on my ancient but not forgotten plan to pick up the guitar.

Women and Foreign Policy @ Foreign Policy Association

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I am happy to announce that Women on Foreign Policy has moved to Foreign Policy Association's website. Women and Foreign Policy (yes, a slight name change) will continue to explore the same issues, with a special focus on the role of women in political life and, for the lack of a better phrase, women's issues. We've also just launched a Facebook fan page. So, show your love and devotion!