Oops. So maybe you can't have that close encounter with the spirit of Whitney Houston just yet. It depends on which Internet, non journalistic source you want to believe, or disbelieve. TMZ issued the initial report saying the room where the singer died was already occupied and booked for the foreseeable future. E! News says that isn't true and quotes an unnamed source who states, "The room wasn't rented, is not rented, and will not be rented in the foreseeable future." That is a couple of wildely disparate foreseeable futures.
I have not personally called the Beverly Hilton to see if room 434 is available mainly because I feel sorry for the schmucks in the reservations department. They are usually a vastly underpaid group who have to put up with a lot of cruel arrogance, stupidity, and random anger under the best of circumstances. Lord only knows how many cranks, mediums, mystics, and ghouls are on the line to them as I type, driving them quickly to the brink of reconsidering their careers, or worse, a leap off the top of the building.
No, it is best to leave the poor bastards in some sort of peace. The calls from the media alone have probably increased the waiting time for an available agent by something like 500%.
In the mean time there are dark rumors coming out of Maine that the fix was in during the recent caucuses and that Romney might not have carried the state. Because of foul weather, republicans in Washington County Maine in the far north east corner of the state have yet to cast their ballots. They have been informed their votes WILL NOT be counted by the state republican committee, because the committee has decreed that there is no way it will effect the final outcome. In addition when the local chairman in Belfast, Maine picked up the phone to call in the results from there he was informed those numbers were all ready in.
Unfortunately for the Paul campaign the numbers that were "all ready in" showed Romney won Belfast, which of course he didn't. When the state people were informed of this they said they'd correct the figures. The next day the official stats issued by the state machine showed no one at all voted in Belfast. No one, as in zero, nil, nada. To put this in perspective, Romney's victory was by less than two hundred votes. Calls for the state chairman's head began immediately, but so far to no avail.
It is beginning to appear as if the republican establishment, which loathes Gingrich, knows Paul is borderline certifiable, and probably considers Santorum a hopeless loser, has decided to take control of situation. It is all for the greater good of course. Just get Romney nominated, secure the independent and moderate vote, then trust that the right wing of the party will fall in line to defeat the common enemy.
Finally, Romney Gingrich, and Santorum have all said they would appoint an Attorney General who would strictly and vigorously enforce federal obscenity laws in regards to the distribution, dissemination, and presumably the viewing of pornography. Good luck with that gents. Someone needs to let these guys know that the days of receiving an innocuous brown paper package in the mail are long gone. All you have to do is log on to a computer and every dark, twisted, bizarre, and degenerate fantasy imaginable is available. My own wife found that out when she was doing some research on child abuse and corporal punishment and made the mistake of typing in the key word, "spanking." Films and magazines are beyond passe. They are relics. And, unless some as yet unfunded arm of the justice department is prepared to break down the door of every personal computer owner in the US to inspect hard drives, strict and vigorous enforcement seems only a dream.
It is almost as if cabin fever has set in despite the overall temperate nature of the winter. February seems to make everyone a bit buggy. Spring still feels ages away and so there is nothing left to do but dwell on dead celebrities, devious conspiracies, and make unattainable pledges.
It is the nature of the season I suppose. Luckily there are still cigars, vodka and classical music. And of course somewhere in the musty recesses, the nagging question: How is it that Keith Richards out lives all these people?