David Paterson's Daily Confession

Daily Confession — June 5, 2008

DaveInAlbany — Fri, 06 Jun 2008 01:59:59 +0000

I can’t keep doing this on my own with these . . . people.

Daily Confession – June 4, 2008

DaveInAlbany — Thu, 05 Jun 2008 02:44:23 +0000

Okay, okay. FINE. I sold Tatum O’Neal the crack she was buying this weekend. Or at least, I would have sold it to her had the damn fuzz not busted the whole transaction and arrested her. But the good news is, I made out with the cash AND the drugs AND my freedom. Hoo boy. That coulda been a BAD situation. I just thank the lord the cops were more interested in cuffing a celebrity than arresting a dealer. Of course, I had my story all ready to go. “Dude, I’m selling WHAT?! OH MAN. I swear I thought it was rock candy. I’m legally blind! How the frack was I supposed to know? Jeez Louise. That is the last time I get candy at that bodega.” Listen, you think New York State pays well? Think again. I gotta pay the bills somehow. Anyway, I do feel kinda bad for Tatum. I mean, she tries. But it’s a lot of pressure. First of all, her name’s TATUM. That alone is cause for trauma. Second, she achieved greatness at such an early age, taking home that Oscar in her little girl tux-ette. But then … real success eluded her. Except for “Little Darlings.” And that other movie with the chick from “Facts of Life.” And of course, her rock solid marriage to Johnny. So, don’t be so quick to judge her. We all need our outlets.

Daily Confession — June 3, 2008

DaveInAlbany — Wed, 04 Jun 2008 02:22:14 +0000

By now I’m sure you’ve heard all about Frederic J. Bauer – the late inventor of Pringles, who asked to have his ashes buried in one of the famous air-tight cans he invented to hold his greaseless potato chips. Well, much has been made of Bauer’s unusual request, but I have to tell you that he’s not the first to think of this. See, I had this pet frog — Squeaky — when I was in high school. And he was a good frog, but that didn’t stop me from setting him on fire with a Bunson burner my friends and I had stolen from the chemistry lab. After I realized what I had done, I tried to douse the flame, but it was too late. Squeaky was slowly immolated. (And you know what? He smelled just like chicken.) Afterwards, I had to clean up the mess. Well, as I’m sure you know, once you pop you can’t stop. That empty can was the perfect urn for Squeaky’s mortal remains. I buried him in the backyard. So, I’m afraid that Mr. Bauer was not the first to have this novel idea. He was beaten to it by me and Squeaky years ago. Can’t say I think about that frog much. But I still wonder from time to time . . . What the hell is a “pringle” anyway?

Daily Confession – June 2, 2008

DaveInAlbany — Tue, 03 Jun 2008 03:36:48 +0000

I laughed at Dick Cheney’s so-called offensive comment about incest and West Virginia. In case you haven’t heard, Big D has done it again. Following the revelation that he and Barack Obama were actually distant cousins, he quipped, about his slightly f’d up family tree, ”So I had Cheneys on both sides of the family and we don’t even live in West Virginia.” I know, it was politically incorrect. I know, it was abhorrent to native Appalachians everywhere. But come on. It was FUNNY, people! Lighten up! Look, I’m no Cheney lover. And Lord knows he ain’t no fan of me or my peeps. But who doesn’t like a good inbreeding joke? Sheesh.

Daily Confession — June 1, 2008

DaveInAlbany — Mon, 02 Jun 2008 00:57:39 +0000

I stole a barrel of grease from outside White Castle last night. It was just sitting there, man. How could I resist? Since we got this bio-fuel Hummer, I just can’t deal with gas bills. Michelle drives us all over town looking for God knows what. Ladies undergarments, I suppose. But when it’s time to fill up the tank, who do you suppose has to fork over the Amex card? And, no, I’m not charging it to my expense account like a certain someone who used to be in my shoes might have done. Relax, people of New York. This is coming out of our personal account. But that’s why it’s killing me. So, last night, we were sitting in the car in the parking lot of White Castle, making quick work of a 20-pack . It was me and Michelle and a couple of my body guards. Just a relaxing little all-American meal in the car, when Joey — I think it was Joey — said, hey, look at that. A whole barrel of fry grease just sitting there. I said, no way. That’s got to be worth a fortune on the black market. Michelle punched me in the arm at that point. And I knew what she meant. Don’t screw this up for us, David. Don’t throw it all away for a barrel of grease. I tried to restrain myself, but with each bite of my burger, the idea of all that grease sitting there became harder and harder to bear. Finally, I just couldn’t stand it. Someone was going to take it, I figured. It might as well be us. I mean, we could drive all the way to Florida on that barrel. Over Michelle’s sighs and protests, I had the guys roll it over and slip it in the back of the Hummer. Yeah, I know. Petty larceny is a misdemeanor. I could be blowing the whole governorship for some rancid lard. But, sometimes, you have to give in to your impulses. This was one of them. What can I tell you? It’s the times we live in. Free fuel is the American dream. And let no one ever claim that I am not as patriotic as the best of ‘em. Once again, Uncle Sam, grease is the word.

Daily Confession – May 31, 2008

DaveInAlbany — Sun, 01 Jun 2008 06:55:20 +0000

The character “Big” — made famous by Carrie Bradshaw in “Sex and the City” — is based on me. And I don’t think I need to tell you exactly what “big” refers to. Let’s just say … it ain’t my nose and it ain’t my biceps, although they’re not puny either. Now, I know what you’re thinking as you desperately try to get tickets for a showing of the movie — ANY showing! — this first weekend of its theatrical release. You’re thinking, “But Gov! Big is WHITE. And he’s a FINANCIER. WTF you talking ’bout?” And what I’m talking ’bout is this. Many years ago, long before she was a smash success, I had a fling with Candace Bushnell, the brains behind “SATC” and the woman who gave Carrie life. And when she hit it BIG, she called to tell me she’d be basing one of the characters on me. She said she just couldn’t get me out of her head. That no man she’d been with since had even come close. I didn’t mind at all, of course — I just hoped I wasn’t about to have another stalker on my hands. Then I saw the episode in which “Big” made his first appearance. Correct me if I’m wrong, but the last time I checked, I was a handsome black man enjoying a nice glass of Courvoissier. Immediately I called Candace. She felt terrible — she’d so wanted to maintain the integrity of my identity and the experience she had with me. But even at HBO, bastion of liberalness, “they” hadn’t been comfortable depicting the love of a white main character’s life as a man who was, well, not white. So John Preston, aka Big, was born. You keep that in mind as you watch the girls sipping their Cosmos and shove Junior Mints into your face. I’m Big.

Daily Confession — May 30, 2008

DaveInAlbany — Sat, 31 May 2008 03:49:11 +0000

Man, I am so absent-minded since I became governor. Like the other day, I stroll into DnD’s (That’s Dunkin’ Donuts for you philistines out there). I’m hankering for a Coolata. You know, because the back of my legs are sticking to the pleather. (And I’m trying to get the legislature to do something about all the pleather up here in Albany. It’s like everywhere. Pleather toilet seat? What genius dreamt that up?) So, you know, I’m sipping up that creamy caffeinated deliciousness and I just get totally distracted. I must have left my Keffiyeh on the counter. And next thing I know, Rachel Ray is wearing it in a DnD commercial and the whole Middle East is about to erupt in flames. And you want to know what really gets my goat. It wasn’t even my Keffiyeh. It was Spitz’s. He had it tied to the bedpost in the governor’s bed (don’t ask!). Michelle and I were cleaning out the room — you know, throwing out all the Hustler magazines and the empty whipped cream cans — and I said, Michelle, what should we do with this? She told me to try it. It’s really you, she told me. She said it gave me a kind of Barack Obama aura. Well, who doesn’t want that? So, the thing became my lucky scarf. How was I to know it would cause an international incident? I didn’t mean to bring down Rachel Ray and I sure as hell didn’t mean to sink DnD. Where am I gonna get my Coolatas now? What if I have an alarm-clock catastrophe? What will happen to all those munchkins? Hey, Rachel Ray, next time you see a Keffiyah that doesn’t belong to you, just let it be. Okay, superstar? Ever hear of the Lost and Found?

Daily Confession – May 29, 2008

DaveInAlbany — Thu, 29 May 2008 22:30:38 +0000

I had some ulterior motives for authorizing New York State legislators to recognize the rights of same-sex couples legally married in other states. I like gay people as much as anyone, and I’m truly ashamed of the way this country treats its homosexual population. I give money to the Human Rights Campaign! But I have to be honest. I ALSO need a top-notch interior decorator, a certain very rare Barbra Streisand recording and two hot lesbians willing to let me watch them … you know, do stuff. And you know how close I have to get to what I’m watching. So you see, I needed to show my support for gays and lesbians in a big way. So now, at long last, I think I might finally be able to re-do the conservatory in the Albany manse … in beige, of course.

Daily Confession — May 28, 2008

DaveInAlbany — Thu, 29 May 2008 04:01:46 +0000

I ghost-wrote What Happened: Inside the Bush White House and What’s Wrong with Washington, the scandlous critique of the Bush administration “by” former White House Press Secretary Scott McClellan. You remember old Scott — kind of paunchy, bit of a doughboy, quite the antithesis of scary Ari Fleischer, his take-no-prisoners neo-con predecessor. No, Scotty was a bit of a tentative character. Something kind of wishy washy about him. I suppose he was just a sign of the chinks appearing in W’s armor. He never quite seemed in control of the stituation. When he was trying defend Karl Rove and Scooter Libby over the Valerie Plame affair, you could see him sweat. Nah, he just didn’t have it in him to stonewall the public. And, as we know, if you can’t keep cool while you’re lying to the American people, you have no business being in politics. (Jut ask MY predecessor.) Anyway, Scott was feeling a little hard-up and a little envious off all the others who were cashing in on the W gravy train. I think he had lunch with Richard Clarke and went bowling with Paul Bremer and before you knew it, he had made up his mind. It was time for him to cash in on the lying liars and the liars who lie with them. So, he signed a book deal, and went to work. One problem. Scott not only doesn’t talk a good game, he can’t write. So, in a fit of generosity, his old buddy David P. agreed to help him out. That’s just the kind of guy I am. And, let it be known, I’ve already told President Bush that if he needs someone to read it to him, it will be my pleasure.

Daily Confession – May 27, 2008

DaveInAlbany — Wed, 28 May 2008 04:08:33 +0000

This morning, like always, I logged in to Yahoo to check my personal email (BigDPer@yahoo.com). And I cried. Man, did I cry. I just could not stop the sobbing.

No, it wasn’t because I got some mean spam and no, it wasn’t because my Steve Madden Friends & Family discount expired before I got to use it. It was because of a news story I noticed on Yahoo’s homepage, about the Ugandan boxer Bashir Ramathan. He is intimidating. He is feared. He is called “The German.” And guess what? He’s blind.

Every day, I pat myself on the back for all that I’ve managed to accomplish with my disability. But look at THIS guy! Abandonned by his wife and daughter. Training day in and day out. Listening to his opponents instead of watching them. Unable to participate in the Paralympics because he’s sans sponsor. What unbelievable spunk. I saw in this man a young me. And so moved was I by the plight of the sightless champion that I could not control my emotions. I began to bawl.

My wife, still feeling a bit guilty about the whole Fudgie the Whale cake incident and desperate to comfort me, did the only thing she could think to do. She pulled out the big guns. She pulled out the Fruity Pebbles. And I ate them, sniffling.