I Know, 500,000 Pre-Pub Sounds Excessive, But With Oil Prices The Way They Are The Demand For Kindling Could Be Through The Roof This Winter

>> Saturday, September 29

Sheryl Gay Stolberg, "Jenna Bush Begins Book Tour and Media Blitz." New York Times September 28

FIRST, can someone tell me why there is a Diane Sawyer--for folks who said, thirty years ago, "Gee, I'd like to gorge myself on those empty Barbara Walters calories. If only she were WASPy!" ? She's been a "journalist" for a quarter of a century. Is there one story she's been connected with that couldn't have been accomplished, if not topped, by a freshman stringer for People accidentally given a blank check ?

Put another way, this is the interview she was born to do. Sorry I missed it, somehow.

...the previously publicity-shy first daughter held forth on a range of topics, from her father (“He’s doing a great job, and he’s hanging in there”), the war in Iraq (“obviously a very complicated subject,” she said, deftly ducking a question about whether she agrees with her father) and her future husband, Henry Hager, who proposed last month during a crack-of-dawn hike on Cadillac Mountain in Acadia National Park in Maine. (“He’s very outdoorsy.”)

She added that she finds Crest toothpaste "minty", likes nuts because they're "crunchy", and thinks the biggest challenge in her new married life will be "having sex without passing out first."

Okay, that's unfair, and let me be the first to admit that Ms Bush no doubt spent a good three or four weeks longer than I have teaching at an inner-city elementary school, so who am I to talk? Except that I think I speak for all Americans when I say, "Would you please go marry Howard Fuckington Fuckwit IV and leave us the hell alone?" You performed you duty to humanity better than intended. You were the only person brave enough to show us the real Bush family, up close, long before anybody in the Press would have dared point it out. After you, Jenna Bush, the response of your father, his administration, and the rest of the Bush clan to Hurricane Katrina could be understood in its entirety, and at a glance. A glance out an Air Force One porthole.

It was more than anyone could have asked of you. And more than you could have delivered if you were trying. Take the rest of your career off.

Please, please, do not do anything to spoil our last fond memories of you and your sister suddenly finding your lifelong love's work of helping the disadvantaged once you'd finished blogging the Campaign Trail, 2004. I can't tell you how much I enjoyed the mental image I got of Babs telling the two of you you'd look like her before you saw any trust fund money unless you shaped up between then and November. Jeez, I'm tearing up right now.

So let us not hear how your father "closed the [press] curtain around his daughters" leaving people to see you in a negative light. That wasn't a negative light, it was bioluminescence. The Press fell over itself apologizing for even mentioning that first fake I.D. arrest; it was a preview of Harry Whittington apologizing for intercepting Dick Cheney's birdshot. I particularly remember some Jeff Greenfield-hosted CNN panel where four national pundits played Hell I Still Use Fake I.Ds and two actually volunteered to do the jail time for you.

Now you're twenty-six. Those of us who felt that your public behavior at nineteen was less than seemly for a First Twin were not judging you then by the standards of a mid-twenties something, so don't apologize for it now. Take a lesson from Billy Idol, who, pressed for the absolute truth behind that crack-rock-clasped-between-him-and-his-alternative-girlfriend incident (for which she took the fall) said--and I quote--"Oops."

See, nineteen was old enough to understand the distinction between public and private misbehavior, between typical college freshman hi-jinks and volunteering as the bratty, cosseted poster child for the national Rules Don't Apply To The Privileged crusade scant months after your Gentleman's C father began the presidential term that other privileged SOBs had stolen for him. Twenty-six is old enough to understand that a half-million initial run of a book brokered by some Republican fixer, featuring prose like this:
His eyes were wild, like those of pumas that lived in the jungles.

which, I grant you, proves you didn't use a ghostwriter (or if you did they found you the Paganini of comedic subtlety) is not fooling anybody, and donating your take to charity might be impressive if you were still living on your earnings from that one-semester teaching gig. If that's harsh, well, it's just meant to point out that you can't milk the publicity machine in order to prove you're a "real person", because real people don't have publicity machines.

Anyway, good luck moving 500,000 of those, and tell Pickles for us how sorry we are there won't be a fairy-tale Rose Garden wedding next year. It would have made the perfect lead-in for the Republican national convention.

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It's Not The Size Of The Shoe, It's How You Bang It

>> Friday, September 28

SHORTER Peggy Noonan: Can't we please leave shallow analysis and juvenile name-calling to our domestic politics, where they belong?

I do believe that's the first shorter I've ever done ("shorter" concept, D-squared). It felt like I was walking down a runway in a miniskirt.

In 1960 the premier of the Soviet Union came and spoke in the United States. Nikita Khrushchev was our sworn enemy, and a vulgarian--sweaty faced, ill educated, dressed in a suit just off the racks from the Gulag Kresge's. I was a child, but I remember the impression he made. He took off his shoe and banged it, literally, on the soft beige wood of a desk at the U.N., as he fulminated. His nation had nuclear weapons. They were aimed at us.

The new Cuban dictator, Fidel Castro, was there too. He was young and bearded and dressed in camouflage; he too, soon, would have missiles pointed at us. He not only went to the U.N. and spoke to the world, he refused to stay at the Waldorf and sweetly chose instead a hotel in Harlem to show his solidarity with America's oppressed. The Americans there seemed to get the joke, and welcomed him with laughter. They knew he was playing them. But then they'd been played before.

Okay, okay. So olive drab is not camouflage. So if Khrushchev banged his shoe on that desk Peg never saw it. So whatever laughter we squeezed out of Castro rooming in Harlem certainly rings a little hollow in hindsight.

But the whole "We were nice to Krushchev and he had nukes" routine misses the point, in addition to being a facile (see MoDo, who is nothing if not facile) bit of self-aggrandizement. The Ahmadinejad thing has nothing to do with civility; we are not a polite society anymore, assuming we ever were. We can despair all we like over our lack of taste, which, unlike our manners, is clearly not much worse than it was in the Fifties, unless you'd like to try to make the case that women having sex or eating bugs is qualitatively more tasteless than sauntering models and lab-coated actors selling cigarettes that're good for the throat. Respect for the First Amendment? Please. Peggy may remember the ill-draped comic-opera Commienazis of her girleen days, but she seems to have forgotten, conveniently, the Subversive Activities Control Act of 1950, or the uproar over the school prayer decision in Engle in 1962, or what the FBI was up to in, well, you pick it.

Lee Bollinger drawing a Hitler mustache on Hitler isn't so much rude, or unseemly, or anti-American. It's pathetic, and weasely, and sad. Look, Ahmadinejad is a bad actor on the world stage, but that's a buyer's market. We've freely elected one ourselves, along with a sidekick who, if anything, is worse. Plus Ahmadinejad's the leader of a regional demi-power and we're a global, pro-democracy bully. Or a one-time global, pro-democracy bully. I'm suspicious of claims he called for wiping Israel off the map; if the sorts of people who spread that information don't like that they need to dedicate themselves to scrupulous honesty in the future. I dunno if he's a Holocaust denier or just sponsored a festival of Jew-baiting as a stick in the eye. Furthermore, I could give a rat's ass. What does it change? We've been demonizing every regime in the Middle East for sixty years now, rightly, wrongly, or in between, unless they pal up with us. What has it solved? Do we imagine that the Saudis are objectively pro-Zionist now? How long did Saddam Hussein walk around with that "Kick Me" sign on? That disaster in the former Iraq is precisely the sum total of our own dedication to a peaceable solution in the region, which we imagine will occur spontaneously just as soon as everybody starts thinking like us.

If we didn't slip a Whoopie! cushion onto Khrushchev's chair at the UN in 1960, it's also true that the sort of people who might have wanted to didn't feel the need: witness Noonan's catty replay half a century later and her urban-legend "remembrances". Khrushchev really had nukes, and the more-than-a-decade-long frame of the Soviets as the command center for the International Commie Plot to take over the globe had not yet been revealed as lukewarm flummery, one which had only yet begun to keep the US military in creature comforts and expensive Big Boy toys. A thousand times that effort cannot paint Iran as the same sort of threat. In fact the opposite is clear: no level of insanity in an Iranian president, not even Ahmadinejad bred with Dick Cheney, can result in an Iran which can assure anything but its own destruction.

People are free to call him whatever they wish on the street, just like they can dance in celebration of Castro's reports-of-my-death-were-slightly-exaggerateds. That's the US of A. The unfortunate thing isn't that we've become rude, or that we fail to live up to our ideals. The unfortunate thing is we've become simple and scared, a hissing kitten in the corner. Which is, oddly, what you get when you scratch a pretend cowboy.

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When All You Have Is A David Brooks, Every Problem Looks Like A Third-Chair Trombone Pep Band Arrangement

>> Thursday, September 27

David Brooks, "The Center Holds" Times September 25

YESTERDAY I woke up in the middle of the night with one of those Celebrity Math things in my head: Jerry Lewis = Danny Kaye - Victor Herbert. You'll probably need to ask your grandmother what that means, and it still won't be funny. This is why I don't remember dreams.

Mr. Kaye had an eponymous television program in the early 60s, a "comedy"/ variety hour of which my father was quite fond for some reason and in which, as I recall it, he'd simper for sixty minutes in between introducing variety-show-type guests. Sometimes he'd employ a fake Russian accent. Say about twice a show. The accent, it seems, was at least a third of his act (simpering was the bulk of the rest). I remember that along with the accent he'd raise his hand to temple-height and wag his index finger a lot. Great times to be a lad.

(Kaye is most famous, I suppose, as Bing Crosby's co-star in White Christmas. Or so they tell me. The sedative strong enough to keep me on the couch for that thing is yet to be invented.)

Anyway, once I was wide awake it occurred to me that what Kaye is to Lewis David Brooks is to Jonah Goldberg.

I'm loath to admit it* but part of my dislike of Brooks is visceral. He simpers. It may come naturally to him but it seems like a bad improv character he put together for his first Bobos book tour and never updated. He does that little strangled-smile-with-exasperated-parent-puff-of-breath thing whenever Jim Lehrer relays one of Mark Shield's timeless talking points to him, just so you know it's slightly beneath him but he's going to try to use small enough words in reply so you can get it this time. And while that's certainly annoying enough for two Times columnists, he does the exact same thing when he gets caught holding a bag of shit labeled "Foie Gras". The urge to fly to New York just to steal the man's lunch money is almost overwhelming at times.

I'd hide this, I really would; the list of people on teevee I'd just as soon strangle is so long as to be unseemly. But goddam David Brooks on the goddam Times Op-Ed page is just too much. He's educated. If that didn't take beyond the twice weekly name-check of "Conservative" "philosophers", he's in his mid-forties. This means that one way or another he has to know that the great pacific center of reasonable thought on every issue facing the Republic does not circle his personal cranium. But you'd never know it from his columns.

This is the reason one has to question the veracity of purported right-wing centrists like Brooks, even absent the stinking cesspit of an administration they backed until it was time to try to pretend they didn't smell anything. The man can drop Burke or Hobbes into a discussion of the buffet at Olive Garden, but he seems to have slept through Copernicus:

The fact is, many Democratic politicians privately detest the netroots’ self-righteousness and bullying. They also know their party has a historic opportunity to pick up disaffected Republicans and moderates, so long as they don’t blow it by drifting into cuckoo land. They also know that a Democratic president is going to face challenges from Iran and elsewhere that are going to require hard-line, hawkish responses.

Finally, these Democrats understand their victory formula is not brain surgery. You have to be moderate on social issues, activist but not statist on domestic issues and hawkish on foreign policy. This time they’re not going to self-destructively deviate from that.

So the key to a Democratic victory in '08 is to be the sort of Democrat that David Brooks would grudgingly accept as a lesser of three evils.

Now, I'm appended to the Democratic party pretty much the way shipwreck survivors are appended to flotsam. It was my party for the campaign of '68, and again in '72, after which the "conventional wisdom" dictated that since a Leftist (that is to say, a South Dakota populist and winner of the Distinguished Flying Cross) had suffered a large electoral defeat at the hands of a sitting President who was prosecuting an unpopular, but still-supported and highly politicized war, the Democrats had to disavow all connection to the left wing of their own party, in perpetuity, if they ever hoped to win a national election again. This they did, with spectacular results.

(Further defeats, to another sitting President with the sort of Press which required porting the street patois "blowjob" over to politics in order to describe it adequately, and to his race-baiting, idiot-siring assistant, convinced party insiders that mainstream liberalism itself was dead as the dodo, resulting in an eight-year love affair between the Republican rank-and-file and the "moderate on social issues, activist but not statist on domestic issues and hawkish on foreign policy" successor to Bush I, William Jefferson Something-or-other.)

So, y'know, tell me when it was that the Democrats "deviated" from that sure-fire election algebra? With Al Gore? Okay. He won. With Kerry? The only way he fails to meet the description is if you want to assert that in 2004 "Let's look around for a wishy-washy way out of Iraq that won't irritate too many voters" was insufficiently hawkish compared to the brilliant plan his opponent has put forward and executed (which, Mr. Brooks, you've been refusing to do for some time, haven't you?). And yet Kerry still came close to defeating a sitting wartime president, more or less one Ohio.

Oh, but Brooks has all this on good authority: Mark Penn.
In a series of D.L.C. memos with titles like “The Decisive Center,” Penn has preached that while Republicans can win by appealing only to conservatives, Democrats must appeal to centrists as well as liberals. In his new book, “Microtrends,” he casts a caustic eye on the elites and mega-donors of both parties who are out of touch with average voter concerns.

Can someone cite an example of when Republicans won by appealing "only to conservatives?" Could that same person explain how this turns into Brooks' insistence that Democrats need to capture "disaffected Republicans" at the expense of their own constituency? I mean without using the phrase "David Brooks' head is so far up his own ass that...."

Look, thanks to an unreformed 18th century presidential selection process (okay, that's a bit harsh, as we let the womenfolk and the slaves vote now)--a process dating to a time when "Your Excellency" was judged a fit form of address for the man so selected--my vote will never actually count in a Presidential election unless I migrate. I have one Senator from each party representing me. You can tell this because they always put a "D" after Evan Bayh's name. The other guy is known as a moderating influence in the Republican party because he votes with the cracked radicals who run the thing a mere 80% of the time. My Representative has a good voting record, but I could be gerrymandered into Dan Burton's district tomorrow at the whim of The Nation's Third-Worst Legislature™. Th' fuck should I care about electoral politics? Bill Clinton's the only President in the last quarter-century I'd have trusted to hold my wallet, and then only if I didn't have to turn around. And yet as we are sinking steadily further into the fetid pile left by this administration in conjunction with a GOP-controlled Congress and opinion columnists still purblind from staring directly at George W. Bush's halo for four-and-a-half years I'm supposed to care whether a Democratic Presidential candidate can corral enough of the "conservative" votes that got us there in the first place? Why? What difference would that make? I'm not opposed to the unstaffed insane asylum that is the Republican party because I imagine I'll get my way some magical morning. I'm opposed to it because, as anyone who can support the pretense of sanity can see, the last six years have demonstrated what an intellectually and morally bankrupt little carnival it's been since Goldwater. There's no more room to pretend. Hillary Clinton can posture about Iran all she wants to on the Sundays; if she thinks she's going to do something about it militarily she'd better figure out how to win a war strictly with air power. The run's over. I hope you all enjoyed your fantasy. If you need four years of President Thompson to write an exclamation point on it, it's no difference to me anymore.

To put it in terms you'll understand, Mr. Brooks, it's time to empty the spit valve, or quit playing; you can't hocker your way out of it anymore.



*joke

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Of A Cultural Phenomenon Called Ahmadinejad

>> Tuesday, September 25

MY thoughts, yesterday, turned to the inexorable pain of Time's One-Way arrow, the same way that in some vacant moment or nostalgic repose you'll imagine yourself saying the winning thing to the girl you didn't win, the thing you know you couldn't have said because it requires an adult perspective you didn't have then.

Just so, I thought: how great it would have been to have transported Hitler to the New York of the 30s, and let Lee Bollinger end the Second World War before it began by giving him a real tongue lashing.

Oh well.


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De-Bunker Mentality

LET'S see if I've managed to keep it all straight: 1) Richard Nixon, whose relationship with the Press was basically the same as a suburban pool owner's relationship to green algae, uses the Bully Pulpit to complain about Liberal media bias. 2) The Press, basically, folds faster than Superman on laundry day. 3) In an era which had begun with Joe McCarthy's list of 1,264 365 283 197 101 84 47 maybe two dozen some names, continued with widespread opposition to civil rights, integration, the rights of the accused, and the elimination of forced prayer in the public schools; nuclear brinkmanship, repeated US military intervention in Central and South America, including a disastrous invasion of Cuba, sclerotic support for an ill-conceived colonial war in Indochina, and an ill-conceived expansion of the same in the face of assured calamity, "balance" requires either a willingness to lie outright or a new definition of reportage, both of which come into fashion. 4) The new definition junks outdated pre-war notions of "facts" and "reality" for a semi-scrupulous insistence on quoting someone laying out a particular position, or seeming to, which is then "balanced" by finding someone to say the opposite, or finding someone who could be defined as the speaker's opposite and having him say anything at all. 5) By the same process by which we can boil frogs without their realizing it, this became the standard for reporting what had formerly been called "news", and as a result, by the early 80s an issue--oh, let's say "abortion rights"--on which there was a clear majority opinion became "controversial", requiring 50% of the time be devoted to 33% of the respondents. * 6) Further, the minority opinion was not subjected to the same process in reverse; it was allowed to spray-paint its message and move along. Therefore, to pick an issue--let's say "abortion rights"--spokesmen for the anti-abortion position were allowed to remain mum about the question of contraception, to the point that their objection to the latter--which is indistinguishable from the moral objections to abortion itself, but viewed by the general public as decidedly more Batshit Fucking Insane--bubbled into public consciousness only after such people had reached such positions of power that they felt nothing could stop them anymore. 7) Sometime after four Presidential terms handed over to bug-witted serial prevaricators interspaced with two terms mostly dedicated to examining, re-examining, and re-examining x infinity the adolescent fantasies of members of that party regarding the penis of a President from the other, the Press tumbles onto this. 8) As a result, a couple of outlets decide to devote a few column inches to examining the "truth" of various remarks made by the likes of Mikes Gravel or Huckabee. 9) Which leads Slate's Jack Shafer to pat his profession on the back for its new, if not quite tireless, dedication to the role of watchdog.

I think that's it.

Once again, we offer no explanation for having read Slate. Still, we weren't going to let our slight discomfort at the trashy surroundings prevent us from sampling the wares, especially when we read this:

PolitiFact, headed by St. Pete Times Washington Bureau Chief Bill Adair, draws on two dozen editors, researchers, and writers from the St. Pete Times and CQ to focus on presidential candidates. Many PolitiFact investigations end up in the St. Pete Times and CQ. The Truth-O-Meter at PolitiFact runs from True to Mostly True to Half-True to Barely True to False to Pants on Fire! So far in the presidential campaign, Bill Richardson, Mike Gravel, and Joe Biden have earned Pants on Fire! grades.

Two dozen professionals from the St. Petersburg Times and Congressional Quarterly, and so far they've nailed...three also-rans, all Democrats? So I click on over and find:

Bill Richardson's pants are ablaze because he said something about The Lord wanting Iowa to be the first caucus in the country. He said this to Iowans who came out to hear Bill Richardson, and who--one suspects--have a different sense of humor than your average Washington Bureau chief. The folks in "St. Pete" consulted a batch of Biblical and legal scholars, thus pointing us in the direction of a leg pull (we were already looking), though we're not sure all the scholars were in on the joke. But, y'know, if you can't get the thing off the ground without sniggering in-jokes about the concept, maybe it belonged in the trash.

Biden gets the hook for saying "The president is brain-dead", which violates the long-standing rule of comedy that you do not riff on taking something literally when no one obviously would, unless the target is yourself. They might have at least called in a doctor for a comment, but instead it's a used-teabag "we don't think Biden performed the necessary tests," which reinforces the idea that you imagine that we can be persuaded to imagine that he imagined he was being literally true.

Finally there's Mike Gravel. Mike Gravel you fact-check, the Bush administration invades Iraq without you noticing. Gravel is stomped for saying that 70% of the prison population is African-American. It's forty! Damn you, it's forty!

It seems this lifetime will not be enough to escape the peculiar American compulsion to hand out numerical rankings to Everything (Best Fascist Dictator, Aldoph Hitler! Woody's most durable joke), and journalist judging panels seem unable to avoid the TV Guide™ Top 50 Sitcoms of All-Time approach, where a group of people get together and never establish criteria for the thing they're ranking. The distinction between the merely Totally False and Pants on Fire! is, let us say, less than clear. Guiliani's statement that the Clinton health plan is "socialized medicine", for example, registers Complete Falseness, but his trousers fail to ignite. Gravel's Liar! status draws this explanation:
We're giving Gravel our harshest ruling because he botched this fact so badly and because it's such an important one to get right. It's something of a popular myth that most of the people in jail or prison are black, so to hear a presidential candidate make the false claim with such authority should not be overlooked.

Are other candidates' misstatements made with less authority? Is the racial makeup of the prison population more important than global warming, where Tom Tancredo gets a simple False, sans Trouser Combustion, for claiming there's no scientific consensus? Was it "really important" the nation realize that Joe Biden did not personally perform a neurological examination of the President, too, lest he (under Totally False pretenses) begin to pick up the There's A Guy I'd Like To Have a Beer and Discuss My Subarachnoid Haematoma With vote?

And another thing: it's not unreasonable to suggest that Gravel may have misspoken (he had the other two facts he mentioned correct, which in every other instance at the St. Pete Times gets you partial credit). There's no mention made of them contacting the Senator to see if he'd admit to or explain his error. On the other hand, Tancredo's comments leave no room for wriggle; the false statement is his entire point. And while we're at it, let's consider the possible consequences of a) a President or b) his audience believing these falsehoods. Tancredo could, and presumably would, veto legislation aimed at ameliorating a problem which is in fact, scientifically conceded. He could refuse to enforce existing laws, scuttle international cooperation, and continue appointing members of the dog family to the Henhouse Guards. For that matter he could devote his Presidency to endless coast-to-coast trips in Air Force One just for the shear joy of creating greenhouse gasses. What, on the other hand, is President Gravel going to do about his erroneous belief? Issue wholesale pardons to African-Americans until the ratio is to his liking? Vow to appoint strict-constructivist judges who believe Killing Whitey is only 3/5 of a crime?

It's wrong that one come away from a presidential debate with the idea that 70% of the prison population is African-American or that there's an even split among climatologists about the reality of global climate change. But the former (Gravel being correct about the explosive growth of the prison population in the past thirty-five years) leads us to think about the causes of a perceived social ill, while the latter suggests we get back to our naps while a vital Republican constituency enriches itself some more at our expense. Who's the liar, again?

We're all for people tracking down the truthfulness of politician's public utterances. In fact we remember quite fondly when that fell under the rubric of "Journalism", and didn't require smarmy little attention-grabbers taken half in jest. Still, it's good to see some small step in that direction, and the sheepish, or tacit, admission that grading Presidential debates on the color palates of the candidates is a noble experiment whose object--a two-term Bush presidency--has been somewhat less successful than imagined.

UPDATE: Rudy's pants catch fire, in the interim, for saying he imagines himself to be "one of the four or five best-known Americans in the world". This is disproved using Google search results, as Joe Biden was apparently unavailable to perform an examination of Hizzoner's imagination.

READER ASSIST: Hogan notes in the comments that the Bureau of Justice Statistics figures--the ones the St. Peterers admonished Gravel for not reading deeply enough, have it that 70% of our prison population is non-white. Who's the liar? indeed.


* Incidentally, we admit our description is approximate, not adequate, as, for example, Ronald Wilson Reagan could snooze through two terms in the White House with disapproval numbers frequently far exceeding those of Abortion on Demand, and yet be so thoroughly, even reverently, portrayed as the Savior of Western Civilization that "Wildly Popular" might as well have appended itself to his Christian name.

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It's Official

>> Sunday, September 23


AS of 5:51 EDT this morning: Michael Chertoff's gut isn't any more reliable than his head.

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Jack & Ginger: A Clarification

>> Saturday, September 22

FIRST, let me affirm that Ms Dowd reports that her father entered this country as a 19-year-old Irish immigrant who earned his citizenship by fighting in WWI. This would place him somewhere in his mid-50s when Maureen was born (in 1952). Not an impossible feat at that age, I can attest, but certainly more exhausting.

Now then. Jack Daniels™ is a young man's drink. Young, because it is sweetened, and because the inferior effects of its chemical aging, compared to maturation in barrel, ought to become apparent as one ages oneself, chemically or otherwise (that "Old No. 7" used to read "7 Years Old", kids). And Man's because it is marketed with playing cards and bandanas and suchlike, "I'm a Rebel" geegaws that no Woman in her right mind would fall for, unless she had already exhibited signs like stitching her Prom dress together from Confederate battle flags. Which, come to think of it, suggests she'd already been sampling the stuff by the onset of menses at the latest.

I'm not impugning anyone's taste. I myself have enough juvenile food and drink preferences to fill the kiddie menu at a middling steakhouse, and if you happen to prefer Chef Boy-R-Dee™ ravioli to the genuine item it's your own business. But if you decide to write about it you ought at least to acknowledge that yours is a minority opinion akin to a preference for driving everywhere in reverse.

Personally, we rarely drink highballs, which are designed to keep the steady drinker from consuming quite as much alcohol, as we prefer to patronize the distiller, the brewer, and the viticulturalist of distinction and to sample his or her wares as intended, with little or no dilution, and often straight from the bottle. Again, we do not impugn the use of alcohol as social lubricant, and we are not unaware of those times ("cocktail parties") when one drinks, in part, from the obligation to keep up. Nor are the charms of the genre totally lost on us; the occasional friendly buzz from a vodka-and-lemonade makes a welcome and refreshing Summertime addition to some suburban croquet or al fresco mate swapping.

But here we begin to scratch the surface of the complaint. While we are under no obligation to live by The Rules, it's a nicer point as to whether we're exempt from even recognizing them if we trip over them. There would be nothing "wrong" about drinking Chopin vodka and lemonade. There are at least two things wrong with calling it. Premium vodkas are made, with great care, generally, to exhibit individual characteristics. Domestic vodkas (which, by law, must be odorless and taste-free) are more amenable to blending. The showy adulteration of, let's say, Grey Goose, with, let's say, Hi-C, is pretentious, wasteful, and the opposite of connoisseurship, unless Vodka and Grapey Grape happens to be your drink and The Goose happens to be the only choice on the shelf.

With brown spirits domestic brandy is the choice for blending (and not Hennessey VSOP, let alone a decent Cognac). Even a bourbon-ish spirit with as little real claim to distinction as Jack Daniels is misused under the circumstances; if one idiosyncratically prefers its blowzy charms to superior products, why hide it at the bottom of a sea of mix (and why does one sweeten a Coke)? There's a Catch-22 quality to the call, which leaves us to conclude that the drinker, or in this case the writer, is in thrall to the pitiless master Mass-Market Advertising.

It's an inescapable condition, our modern servitude, and one does not blame the slave for his chains, unless one is a Movement "Conservative" pundit, in which case one generally tries to qualify it. But aside from a permanent sunless imprisonment, there's no real excuse for him not to look at the blue sky sometimes, or the starry night, and ask himself What If? Dowd is fifty-five years old. She's successful, high-profile, and living in one of the world's great cities, and her job almost certainly permits, if not requires, sampling something of the good life. Yet the choice is suspiciously common, which I realize sounds like snobbery, but isn't; it's meant as a criticism of her writer's ear, however tinny. She could have said "wine spritzers" and I would have found it sorta humorous. She could have used "Cosmos" or "Appletinis" or "Cuba Librés" and it would have slid down easy. Okay, except for the Cuba crack, but that still would have shown some welcome writerly spark. I suppose it's possible that Hillary Clinton, a woman of intelligence, wide experience, and disposable income, drinks dilute rotgut, in which case I'm an asshole and it's not the first time, but I suspect the betting would run the other way. I suppose it's possible that Dowd snatched Jack and ginger from the advertising aether or some overheard remark at someone else's wedding and is herself a lifelong teetotaler. But assuming she proofreads her own copy, I sincerely hope not, for her sake.

None of which touches on the fact of an entrenchedly middle-aged New York journalist--with a set of gender issues more appropriate to a small-town, home-schooled fifteen-year-old named Rebekah--who appears to believe that pouring liquid depressants down a subject's gullet is the key to a revelation of True Self. But then, it's Saturday, and this started off to be a note.

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A Note On The Type

>> Friday, September 21

IT'S Trebuchet, a family of four faces designed by Vincent Connaire (creator of Comic Sans) for Microsoft in 1996. It's clean, modern, and quite legible in block, and superior to Georgia, the Blogger-supplied serif face. And yes, somehow, THE GODDAM THING JUMPED TO DARK GRAY while I was sleeping. Should the reader imagine his eyes are losing the battle of Time and Gravity, consider that I noticed this a couple months ago but never checked on it. I saw Jorge Luis Borges speak when he and the last century were in their 70s, and I have an 81-year-old mother with dementia. I can safely say that if you're going to lose your eyesight or your mind, choose the former. Back to nominal. Thanks for pointing it out, R.

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It's Just Something In My Eye

>> Thursday, September 20

PER Roy we check out Ross Douthat, whence we're off to Jim Henley, who takes Mr. Black to school, old skool:

Dear Atrios: I’m about twelve years older than you. When I was a teen and you were a toddler, and for a time after that, the media was very liberal. How do I know? I remember! Also, there used to be no ATMs. We had things called “traveler’s checks” that you bought at the bank before going on vacation instead of taking cash. In fact, an important part of vacation planning was deciding how many traveler’s checks to buy.

Okay, so this blog takes a backseat to no one's in its admiration for, and use of, the early middle-aged palsied gran'pa Why Back In My Day There Weren't No HBO, Sonny routine. It's comedy gold. But, assuming everybody on the Internets is telling the truth, which we do, twelve years on Mr. Black gives one a DOB around 1960. Which may have occasioned, depending on locale, a trip in Mama's arms to see them new-fangled flying machines, but it hardly qualifies as being there! and knowing! liberal bias.

What it does mean is that Mr. Henley was still a couple years shy of working the TV Guide™ crossword when the Nixon administration attacked the Librul Media (we know! we were there!), and thus might just have his recollection goggles tinted Pinko by the times, and not The Times. Assuming an abiding interest in The News by age ten--the Librul Media meme is already established, the Silent Majority speech already given--our young reader has already entered a world where the bias, or charges of bias, were both being brutted about and addressed. The networks almost immediately responded to the Nixon attack by labeling commentary Commentary. It was the beginning of both faux balance and the Pore Forelorn Republican Washington Outsider routine (Reagan would play one for two terms) which would lead, by the time Mr. Henley could buy a legal drink, to a PBS shoutfest for Father John McLaughlin, SJ, CIA; George F. Will's inclusion on This Week as "balance" for notorious liberal and gentleman farmer Sam Donaldson; Evans and Novak, bottom feeders in anyone's idea of an aquarium, with their own show on CNN; and noted alcoholic crackpot and columnist James J. Kilpatrick with five-minutes' Prime Tiffany Network Spouting Time each week. Meanwhile the notion of Teevee Liberal went from Nick von Hoffman to Shana Alexander, Hughes Rudd was replaced by The Unshakably Happy Morning Show That Might Cover Some Icky News At The Top Of The Hour (Cover Your Eyes!), and from there it was just a small step to Mark Shields, Margaret Carlson, and partially hydrogenated, partly melted carob-flavored ice milk. By the time Mr. Henley was paying taxes the only place you could find The Left on television was Firing Line.

We're not suggesting conspiracy here. We're suggesting that there is a lot to be learned from James Thurber's mighty semester-long Freshman Biology struggle to see something through a microscope, and how, when that happy day finally dawned, he wound up drawing his own eyeball. A lot depends on what we expect to see, and newspapers will always be a mixed bag (though we direct the curious onlooker to the sort of Librul coverage the Civil Rights Movement received, or the stovepipe coverage of Vietnam, Cuba, "Red" China, and the Commie World in general, in the 1960s), but if the question is television then no, coverage did not suddenly veer Right in the mid-90s in belated and begrudged response to the Reagan Revolution of the 1980s (in fact some of us can, depending on which number bourbon it is, be counted upon to make a reasonable case for their cooperation in the whole Morning In America bullshit, but we are trying to remain objective-ish). It responded to a press-hating Nixon in the late 60s by "reforming" itself in response to one side of the debate, by beginning the shift to faux balance, which would in its turn shift almost unnoticed into filtering by framing, and the rise of national programming consultancy in both radio and teevee would lead to the Happy Talk news format, News Divisions swallowed by Entertainment, half-lettered commentary replacing reportage, and Barbara Walters.

We do not believe that The News is biased one way or another along the simple fault lines of internet partisanship, excepting individual cases. We believe that in terms of today's divide there came a time when anti-liberalism became a fertile ground for political horticulture, staked out by Johnny Milhouse Cottonseed, followed by a brief Romantic period post-Watergate--one which on its reverse showed the rise of the Million Dollar Anchor--which was marginalized by the late-70s Corporate Takeover Of Anything That Moved, during which, with untold billions lurking around the corner in new technologies, especially the monopolistic Cable, Rocking the Boat became the quickest way to throw your ownself overboard. The frame today is not explicitly "Conservative", and it is certainly possibly to carve out a niche at the leftish end of the spectrum, but the script is explicitly pro-status quo, and it portrays the Republican party as the only one in touch with Real Americans, a message approved by the iron-hearted leaders of news conglomerates and brought to you by careerist talking hairdos with no pretense to journalism.

Of course our paths have already diverged. This sort of thing is not taken as bias on the Right, which views unfettered capitalism as Freedom and ardent rectal courtship of one's financial superiors as patriotic duty. But then even as we glance down at our paper and realize we've drawn our own Baby Blue--again--we ask those who were there! to tell us which was more thoroughly covered: Iran-Contra or the five serial investigations of Whitewater? Which garnered more ink in the '88 election: Willie Horton or the S&L crisis?

How does someone come to the conclusion that Christian America rejects Darwinism, opposes equality of sexual preference, and supports war, rather than the accurate view that 50% of Christian Americans are liberal, if not via skewered reporting? Why are pedophilia or sexually transmitted diseases news, but condom ads controversial? Nobody ever seems to complain there's only bad sexual news on teevee. Which, in the liberally-biased mid-70s, did John Chancellor report as news: an HEW study which found that marijuana smoking actually strengthened the immune system, or the claim that long-term male smokers might develop womanly breasts? If it's clear today when disaster strikes a major American city that the vast majority of our news operations have no one in any position of authority who understands the first thing about being poor, what makes anyone imagine it was different thirty years ago, when there was a great deal less diversity in those newsrooms than today?


And who benefits from endless car chases and slicker-coated idiots standing in a downpour? That one's easy. None of us.

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A MoDo Glossary, 2007

In appreciation of the death of Times Select:

A

Adoring type of smile Bill Clinton is supposed to work on, per Hillary's instructions
Always how often Reagan knew who the foe was
Archly how John McCain smiles when forced to cool his heels
Authority what Hillary Clinton always gives herself too much of

B

Bipartisan Outreach what Bill Clinton suggests he could do with Fred Thompson's wife [Get it?]
Brainy Élan what excites us about Barack Obama
Breck Girl John Edwards
Breck Girl of 2004 John Edwards
Bryan, William Jennings what Barack Obama turns into if he takes on Washington pundits

C

Cakewalk, A what the Peloponnesian War was compared to Iraq
Cameras and Mirrors and Magazine Covers Barack Obama's campaign absent a Dowd-approved attack on Senator Clinton
Code Pink Pinko Hillary Clinton's former persona (see: Reinvention of Herself)
Comely John Edwards and Barack Obama
Concede What Al Gore does to a small author's picture on the inside back flap of his book. (see: White House Vintage)
Corona—, The what Hillary starts to call her inauguration before catching herself. Short for coronation
Creepy what the latest "fruitcake manifesto" from Osama (q.v.) was
Critical Files what Hillary Clinton had a talent for losing
Crushing the sort of burden it must be for W. (q.v.) to have wrought the opposite of what he intended in so many profound ways
Cut and Run, Ms how Republicans will paint Hillary Clinton

D

Dialysis Machine, Osama’s what we'd trace the saline in if this were a movie
Distinctively Masculine Timbre 1) a baritone, if in the possession of Fred Thompson; 2) a tenor, if in the former possession of Ronald Reagan
Divine Right of Clintons Hillary's message
Dysfunctional the Iraqi government (see: useless)

E

Elevate-Cronyism-Over-The-Rule-of-Law, Mr. alternate nickname of William Jefferson Clinton, referring to his "sneaked under the wire" pardons [sic]
Emanate Graham Greene tell a dark, rueful story
Everything What Hillary Clinton told Iowans she is owed
Exquisitely Inane usually, W's logic. Occasionally, Fred Thompson's logic (see: Distinctly Masculine Timbre)

F

Fabulous type of haircut John Edwards has
Feral (adj) Senator Hillary Clinton, D-NY
Figeting and Elbowing how Hillary Clinton spent her years as First Lady
Finch, Atticus the literary character John Edwards is "inspired" to identify with [quotes in original]
First Groupie, The William Jefferson Clinton, Forty-Second President of the United States
Flirt, Presidential what Al Gore is so fixed on not seeming that he comes across as a bit of a righteous tease or a high-minded scold (see: Scold, High-minded)
Former G.O.P. Operative Who Is His Unofficial Campaign Manager and Top Adviser, A Jeri Thompson (compare President of the United States, Being Married To One)
Freer Than Ever what John Warner is now that he's announced his retirement (compare: Reinvention of Herself)

G

Ginger sneaking up on an issue. What Rudy doesn't do
Girdle fat-shifting device worn by secretaries on the vintage advertising show, “Mad Men.”
Gloriously quantitative description of how gay Oscar Wilde was
Good Morning, America ABC program Dowd believes Al Gore controls the set design and graphics of, despite the fact that he complained about them on air
Goracle, The Albert Arnold "Al" Gore, Jr. , 45th Vice-President of the United States
Green-Tea-Soy-Latte-Drinking, Self-Tanning-Sea-Salt-Mango-Body-Wrapping, Norah-Jones-Listening, Yoga-Toning Chief Executive the unelectable Liberal alternative to the highly effective cowboy chief executive (see: Tough Guys)
Guy Who Does Trailers for “In a World Gone Wrong” Disaster Flicks, The how a New York Times columnist identifies Don LaFontaine, as opposed to taking five seconds on Google to learn his name
Guy Who Put the Pant in Pantry, The alternate nickname of William Jefferson Clinton, referring to his penis

H

“Harsh Terrain” where we need a leader to stop whining Osama (q.v.) is hiding in [quotes in original]
Hillzilla Hillary Clinton
Huffy what Barack Obama gets if people don't treat him as Hannah Arendt

I, J, K, L

Inauthentic, the Shopworn and the Hyper-Prepped, The campaigners generally, especially Democrats whose hair or clothes are more important to Dowd than their messages
Inexperienced Kid what W. (q.v.) seems more than ever
Jack and Ginger Ms Dowd erroneously believes this to be the name of an alcoholic concoction fit for human consumption
J.F.K. and Jackie the former President and First Lady Barack Obama has modeled himself and his wife on
Kevin one of Dowd's "O'Reillyesque" brothers. Possibly apocryphal
Klum, Heidi photographer's model who has graced fewer fashionable magazine covers than Barack Obama
Land of Bingo and Bacon the suburbs
Lazio (v.) to voice coarse criticism of Hillary Clinton

M

Man Up (v.) to talk tough; to urge political assassination as foreign policy
Man Who Doesn't Know Where His Next Meal Is Coming From, A what Al Gore inhaled clam dip like, according to the Times' James Traub
Material Boy John Edwards
Metrosexual In Chief John Edwards, potentially
Middle-brow Boomerish 1) what the choice of Fleetwood Mac's "Don't Stop" as Bill Clinton's campaign theme was; 2) what Dowd herself is nothing if not

N, O

Nag, Exhausted that Scarlett O’Hara Whipped on to Tara what the Army is Iraq is like
New York Steel-Cage Match public policy disagreements between Hillary Clinton and Rudy Giuliani
Obama Senator Barrack Obama, D-Ill.
Obambi Senator Barrack Obama, D-Ill.
Obligingly how Al Gore laughs when kidded about his weight
Only Man in the Field Tough Enough To Slap Around a Woman, The Rudy Giuliani [note: meant, ultimately, as a compliment]
Osama shorthand for Osama bin-Laden. (see: W.)
Ozone Man, The Albert Arnold Gore, Jr. (See; Goricle, The)

P

Pander to tell Iowans you like ethanol, assuming you're Hillary Clinton
Pea the shade of green Hillary must have turned when Barack Obama was on Oprah and Monday Night Football on the same day
Pedestal what Barack Obama puts himself on when he doesn't issue Dowd-approved attacks on Hillary Clinton
Peggy Dowd's sister who believed W. was the next John F. Kennedy. Possibly apocryphal. (see: Pussyfooting)
Pervez what his friends and the Times stylebook call Pervez Musharraf, President of Pakistan
Plato-and-Cato, Between where Al Gore imagines his book should be shelved
Politics, Muck Of what Barack Obama sounds too pristine for, at times
Politics, Tiger Woods Of Barack Obama
Posture and Criticize W.’s War Hillary Clinton's plan
President of the United States, Being Married to One what Hillary Clinton touts as experience
Puffy-Coiffed resembling Mitt Romney
Pull Out the More Than 100,000 Troops, Figuring Out How To what Hillary Clinton, alone among Presidential hopefuls, will be stuck with if posturing and criticizing W.'s war gains her the White House
Pussyfooting what Barack Obama or John Edwards must stop doing around Hillary for Peggy Dowd (q.v.) to vote for them

R

Reinvention of Herself the process whereby Hillary Clinton changes her position on the Iraq War
Rudy-Up when someone else, especially Hillary Clinton, plays the 9/11 fear card. (See: Reinvention of Herself)

S

Scarlett O'Hara Sweeping Into the Twelve Oaks Barbecue what Barack Obama's entrance into Hollywood was matched by
Scold, High-Minded what Al Gore's book is (See Flirt, Presidential)
Secrets Of Likability, The what Hillary is spending a fortune trying to buy
Senator Best Seller Barack Obama
Senator Pothole Hillary Clinton
She May Reap the Whirlwind why Hillary Clinton "probably secretely supports the surge", as this will occur in the aftermath of its failure
Shell-Game Answers what one gives when one holds a hideous hand
Smooth Jazz Senator Barack Obama
Sopranos, The television series whose teachings on Life are to Dowd what Krusty the Clown's are to Bart Simpson
Surge Twins Gen. David Petraeus and Ambassador Ryan Crocker

T

Too Serious what a phone conversation with Joe Biden becomes if it sticks to issues
Tough Guys Rudy Giuliani and John McCain
Twenty years length of the two terms for him, two terms for her pact between Bill and Hillary Clinton, which, since it comes straight from Jeff Gerth, has gotta be true, plus it conveniently explains why the Clinton's marriage didn't blow up as Dowd predicted it was just about to in 2001

U, V

Unflattering Outfits and Unnervingly Changing Hairdos what Hillary Clinton showed off a long line of as First Lady
Useless the Iraqi government (see: Dysfunctional)
Virgin what Oscar Levant knew Doris Day before she became; what we knew Obama before he became [sic]

W-Z

W. George Walker Bush, Forty-Third President of the United States
Warrior, The Hillary Clinton
Wary how Barack Obama looks onstage next to Hilary
White House Vintage What the Glamor-shotted Dowd criticizes Al Gore's inside-the-back-flap author photo for being
Will-and-Graced, To Be to become more tolerant of homosexuality
Wingtips type of footwear Michael Dukakis climbed the Acropolis in
World War I conflict Dowd's father (possibly apocryphal) had to fight in to gain citizenship
Wordy an aspect of Joe Biden more important to war-critic Dowd than his opposition to the Iraq war is
Wright, Jim who Tom Delay is as corrupt as, according to Kevin Dowd (q.v.)
Zero what our score in Iraq will be unless sports-loving Condi gets to work

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You Can't Fool The Fat Man

>> Wednesday, September 19

Jonah Goldberg, "Going Through Greenspan: Bush-bashing middleman". September 19

TO my knowledge Jonah Goldberg's one claim to public honesty--aside from unintentional revelation--is that he was the only founder of Bush Derangement Syndrome, then called Bush Hatred, who admitted to actual hatred for Bill Clinton, which for his co-founders (Rich Lowry, Chuckles Krauthammer) was apparently a hypothetical construct, as they'd never observed any firsthand. In fact Clinton Hatred was admitted only so Bush Hatred could be ten-thousand times worse. And this came at a time--late Summer, 2003--when Bush and the war were both ridin' high, minor grumbles--looting, electricity, and the failure to capture Saddam Hussein--were too low-pitched to spoil a Mission already Accomplished, and the panties Peggy Noonan was wearing when she wrote "steely-eyed rocket man" had just sold on eBay for $1250. Somehow the nine-year Clinton hunt, which included accusations of murder, cocaine trafficking, and rape, fingered Hillary as triggerperson for the Vince Foster hit, and publicly wished death on their daughter from the pages of the National Review Online was ethically trumped by the fact that Julian Bond said something bad about Bush. Because Julian Bond is, well, you know.

As you're probably aware, the idea rolled downhill from these august intellectual heights to the Republican spitwad shooters crouching several inches below. No doubt it still pokes its misshapen little head above the ramparts from time to time. I have no idea whether, at a time when Bush's popularity could not fall further without our availing ourselves of integers, Goldberg's fellow founders still make use of the concept. I see no reason to read Krauthammer regularly when one can simply look him up in Kraft-Ebbing.

But then here's Jonah, whose column today rouses itself from a five-day Twinkee coma, still running his hands over the sweet nude flank he was caressing before he woke up:

Perhaps the answer is that when it comes to bashing Bush about the war, no accusation is inaccurate — even if it contradicts all the accusations that came before. Some say it’s all about the Israel lobby. Others claim that Bush was trying to avenge his dad. Still others say Bush went to war because God told him to.

Which is it? All of those? Any? It doesn’t seem to matter. It’s disturbing how many people are willing to look for motives beyond the ones debated and voted on by our elected leaders.

Or so long as one agrees with 'em.

It's four years since the invention of Bush Hatred, born at a time when the Goldbergs and the Lowrys and the Kruathammers were not just pealing our victory in Iraq but already pre-celebrating victories over Syria and Iran. Four years beyond Six Months, Tops. You'd think they'd have figured out it no longer requires a pathological aversion to Mr. Bush or his politics to bash him over Iraq. The facts do so quite nicely.

Look, it's not only the height of bleedin' idiocy to pretend that absent oil reserves and the State of Israel our foreign policy would have taken any particular interest in Saddam Hussein. It would also be self-defeating, except Reality's already kicked your ass. Who was he going to threaten once that centrifuge was in full operation? To act, now, as if oil had nothing to do with it, as if we were just really really unhappy that a Bad Man had gassed his own people--a people we'd sold out a couple of times in recent history, a Bad Man we'd armed--is to beg the question of what we imagined we were squandering American lives and treasure for, let alone what we're still doing there, still doing both.

Why is it, exactly, that failed-war-floggers are so eager to send the military off on Operation Save What I Imagine Is Left Of My Face, but scruple at such simple truths? These are the same people who've been speaking openly about an American Empire for the past decade, but the minute someone suggests we're in Iraq because Iraq has oil you can actually hear the sounds of fans being fluttered and smelling salts being administered. Why do we get the same reaction whenever military conscription gets mentioned? I understand the reluctance to admit the disastrous results of a nearly laboratory-pure test of your post-Vietnam foreign policy ideas. But why is there such a problem in admitting the facts of your own case?

One more thing: I think it should now be enshrined somewhere that Goldberg's reaction--as well as that of every other right-wing punditaster who's trumpeted Greenspan's "recantation" over what he wrote in a book--is that anyone who now says "I was misunderstood" is believed without reservation, in spite of the circumstances.

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Say 'It's Not The Sort Of Thing Our Organization Stands For And We Will Now Try To Put It Behind Us And Move On,' Joe!

>> Monday, September 17

NICE of NBC to make room in its innovative Sunday Night Football halftime show (it's four guys sitting around a table, but...only two of them are ex-jocks! And they aren't all yelling all the time! ) for an Al Michaels taped interview with Pats owner Robert Kraft (opening question: "Bob, did you have any knowledge of this practice before this week?" surprising answer: "Of course I did, Al. I've been directing it for years from my personal nuclear sub. There's just something so exciting about it. I started peeping into girls' restrooms when I was four, you know"). Because god knows in the roughly two hours of football I'd watched to that point--just football, no pre-game, halftime, or Sunday morning analysis type--I'd heard only twenty minutes or so of low-cal apologias for systematic electronic cheating of the remarkably hubristic American sort. In a game! We can no longer expect all our fellow citizens to agree that a game should be played by the rules.

Don't get me wrong. It's nice to see the Corporate Apology Kabuki in action every now and then. It reminds us why we have a Fourteenth Amendment.

One of the unexpected insights of old age is this: in a Universe of constant change, the only changes that actually matter to people are the ones which are beneath insignificance. If you buy a new suit, the third time you wear it in public young people will nudge each other and snigger at the ancient relic you've draped yourself in. A supreme non-talent like Ms Spears fumbles and stumbles her way through a lip-sync'd stroll among professional dancers--which aside from her inexplicably fascinating personal life is her one claim to fleeting fame--and the whole country goes out of its collective gourd. Yet the administration runs a Reader's Digest version of Vietnam and gets re-elected in the teeth of it a year-and-a-half later.

Corporate Apology Kabuki did not originate with corporations, for the simple reason that corporations never used to have to apologize for anything (this was known as The Golden Age). In fact, like every form of evil in this life, Apology Kabuki traces to the Republican party, specifically to Richard Nixon's "Checkers speech" of 1952. Still, whatever else Richard Nixon was, a style-setter he wasn't, and the Kabuki Apology languished for decades before it was revived by Love Boat star and nose-candy enthusiast Lauren "Julie" Tewes, who turned her own coked-up Disco diva firing from the show--still among Aaron Spelling's finest work, in my estimation--into a bizarre multilingual combination mea culpa and cause célèbre in which Uncle Sigmund's Peruvian Coca Flakes bore much of the responsibility but Ms Tewes' own nostrils came out relatively clean. The Reagan-era version of Demon Rum must have worked, even if Tewes never did again, since before long every celebrity with a parking ticket was heading off to rehab instead of a California penal farm like Bob Mitchum and Lila Leeds did.

The only real refinements in Apology Kabuki in the twenty years since has been the non-apology apology ("I'm sorry if anyone was offended...") and the increasing popularity of prescription drugs as the cocktail du jour for those over twenty-five.

And yet the thing still works, and has only this year begun to show any age lines, when a section of the public took umbrage at the fact that Paris Hilton's sentence for "Illegally Parking On Top Of a Photographer While Suspended and Coked To the Gills" was "24 hours in Sensible Shoes". (Still, she got off with a promise to Larry King that she'd start serving God just as soon as her other options evaporated.) Even intelligent bloggers who shall remain nameless (cough Poor Man cough) fell into a See, a Sportswriter Agrees With Me! reverie of a sort which could barely be excused if one were, in fact, under retainer as the Patriots' attorney. I like sportswriters, as a class, and King Kaufman is an excellent one as well as a pretty good trial lawyer. But "Everybody Does It" is not a defense. "You Could Do the Same Thing Some Other Way" is worse, and "The NFL Has Too Many Rules" is just risible. The Pats were caught blatantly doing something for the third time, despite a league office memo expressly warning everyone about it. Common sense would seem to dictate that when an organization does that sort of thing despite clear-cut warnings it is not under some coke-induced emotional imperative. It does so because it sees some advantage to be gained which is not available by all those "other methods". I've got nothing against homer and fellow-traveller excuse mongering, but could you check the emotionalism long enough to not insult everyone's intelligence? Belichick issues an apology without saying what it's for. According to Kraft he told the Commissioner he had misunderstood the rules, by which, one is justified in suspecting, he meant the question of whether they applied to him. Then Kraft gets ten minutes of prime-time air to hit batting practice off Michaels, and his first answer is, Gawsh, Al, I didn't know the first thing about it despite the fact that we'd been caught at it twice before.

Kraft went on, by the way, to offer a league-record 108-yard "no comment" in response to the rumor that Belichick had that very afternoon been given a new contract. I left the room at that point, not because I felt insulted, but because I suspected he was about to announce Free Videophone Day at Gillette Stadium next week, and I needed a drink. And some coke.

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Tiny Rewards of Getting Around to Reorganizing Your Hard Drives, 2004 Edition

>> Sunday, September 16

"(Green Bay) leads the league in intangibles."

-Leslie Visser

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Friday Response To the Acting President Blogging

>> Friday, September 14


Here's your hot dog, Brainiac

Salmon Mousse
325º 45 minutes to 1 hour
greased ring mold or baking dish, plus pan of hot water to set it in

3# fresh salmon,
good quality
poached in fish stock or white wine
strain stock and reduce by 2/3
put salmon in large bowl, remove skin and bones, flake
3T butter, melted over medium heat
3T flour, dump into hot butter all at once and stir until smooth; cook, stirring, for two minutes to remove flour taste
Add the strained and reduced poaching liquid and cook until thick. Season to taste.
Add to salmon:
3T diced green pepper
3T diced red pepper

2T finely diced onion

1/2 cup fine bread crumbs
juice of 1 lemon

hot sauce
, to taste

Blend sauce into salmon mixture
beat 2 eggs until pale, fold into salmon mixture

Bake in bain marie until firm. Allow to set 10 minutes before unmolding. Serve with good rye bread and dill mayonnaise. Can be served warm or cold, but rarely makes it to the cold stage in my vicinity. Reduce calories by substituting for butter and omiting egg yolks, although this will cause it to rise, soufflé style. Good accompaniment to any white wine you'd like--even those unmatchable California chardonnays--or a chilled Beaujolais while there's still some summer left.

Best Chocolate Chip Cookies in the Universe, Evah, x 2
350º for 9-12 minutes, depending

(I have never given this recipe away before)
1-1/4 c. oats, ground fine in food processor
1/2 c. chocolate chips, ground fine in food processor

combine in a bowl and set aside

cream:
1/2 c. butter (1 stick), softened (not completely to room temp!)
1/2 c. granulated brown sugar 1/2 c. granulated white sugar
If you do not know how to properly cream butter and sugar, find out. Don't get the butter too warm, and don't overbeat.

Fun fact: around the turn of the last century you could choose from nearly two dozen shades of brown sugar.

add:
1/2 t. vanilla
1 egg


Fun fact: imitation vanilla is not the cheap plonk of the flavoring world. It's designed to stand up to the heat of baking. Real vanilla breaks down. I don't bother about it with cookies, though, since they don't spend very long in the oven.

Whisk together:
1 c. flour
1/2 t. baking soda (fresh!)
1/4 t. baking powder (fresh!)
1/4 t. salt

Add the oats/chocolate mixture by thirds to the creamed butter, scraping the sides of the bowl after each addition. Then add the flour mixture the same way. Finally, stir in (by hand):

1/2 c. chocolate chips
or more to taste

Bake on ungreased cookie sheets. I scoop the dough out with an ice cream scoop, which makes a bigger cookie. You'll get around 18-24 normal sized ones. Don't overbake. If you're health conscious or on a diet, don't fuckin' eat fuckin' cookies.



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Anyone Know How Many Calories Are Burned Per Hour By The Effort Of Trying To Care Anymore?

>> Thursday, September 13

"I believe that this is indeed the best course of action to achieve our objectives in Iraq."

-General David Petraeus, asked if the War on Terror was making America safer.

"What is admirable about Bush is also part of his insecurity. I think because his insecurity drives him to want to be relevant and want to do big things, he's willing to throw the ball long. And I think that because of that, history is not going to judge this man with indifference. They are not going to judge him as Franklin Pierce. He is either going to go down in history as a disastrous flop or a really monumental president."

-Bush pop biographer Robert Draper, in Salon.

"Aside from Walsh, most Republicans appear to be standing strong next to Bush and his war. Republicans are good at that. But Republicans always appear strong until the moment they crack."

-Marcos Moulitsas


AS I'm sure you've heard (it was reported on the internets) I'm at war with my local grocery, the one-time wingnut fiefdom of the Marsh family now owned by the madcap, anything-for-a-laugh leverage buyout specialists at Sun Capital Partners. I may have said this once or twice before, but it's not clear to me how people in the US of A shop weekly at supermarkets and drug chains or eat at nationally advertised restaurants, or, for that matter, watch the damn ads for any of the above, without turning communist.

It's been enlightening, the whole Marsh process, which I was reminded of when I read that Kos quote. Because the Marsh family played out the whole Republican crack-up routine: there were years of unqualified positive local press and cult-of-personality commercials, and when the bad news finally arrived (the sharp-eyed shopper had noticed a certain corporate panic months before) Marsh played the treason card (Wal-Mart and Meijer are unfair poopyheads!) and the We Can't Leave or Disaster Will Ensue card (their charitable and philanthropic activities were, according to the Indianapolis Star, the only thing keeping our fair city from becoming a drear, dispirited Sovietscape), before the whole thing crashed in on them, and it was revealed there were something like six dozen Marsh family members on the payroll at six figures each, and at least a baker's dozen of those had parachutes that disdained mere gold as fit for nothing more than ballast, and they all started pointing fingers at each other, briefly, until everyone was sick of 'em and too embarrassed for themselves to take it any more. And then, eventually, the Sun rose.

Of course you can't just blow off a business the way you can 225 years of national reputation, rule of law, and concepts of truth and honor, so there was a period of suitorhood when Marsh tried to preserve its vanity by finding, in succession, a White Knight, a Handsome Millionaire, a Still-Handsome Middle-Aged Guy with ED, and finally a 70-Year-Old Goaty Guy with a recurring bit part on Law and Order, before giving up the game entirely, shaving its snatch, getting a boob job and an Eva Gabor wig and cruising truck stops. Or so one imagines.

So now Sun Capital is trying to turn the financials around so it can attract a better class of buyer, and the difference is that where marketing was once determined by Which Distributor Is Passing Out Golf Clubs This Month there's now a sort of weird, Miss Havisham vibe to the place, provided Miss Havisham had somebody come in to dust three times a week. It's not bad bad, it's just sorta set in place but with discretely-more-aggressive pricing. Which means that you now get to pay, retro-actively and twice over, for all that corporate largess Marsh showered on suburban Summer Symphony-goers and downtown Holiday celebrants and, mostly, itself. And now you have 80s Soulless Soul minus the pirates.

Which I guess is also my take on Petraeus' testimony (I have no idea where that segué came from! We're workin' without a net here!). Petraeus isn't Westmoreland. He's Westmoreland on fuckin' decaf. Westmoreland was a lyin' pugnacious Kiss My Ass bastard; Petraeus is more of the modern Show Some Respect, I Kissed a Lot of Ass To Get Here technician. I just happened to pass the clip of that reply, and I scribbled it down and marveled (not so much, really) that the news hairdo just let the thing pass, as if we'd witnessed a substantive exchange of ideas. I mean, I understand that the public has just tuned out on this dog-and-pony show, and rightly so, but the Media was awful goddammed interested in the war when it was all about toppling statues, so maybe it could sit through the testimony without yawning publicly. Then I read Fred Kaplan in Slate, and learned that the follow-up was a bit more instructive:

Warner repeated his unanswered question: "Does that make America safer?"

Petraeus said, "I don't know, actually. … I have not stepped back. … I have tried to focus on what I think a commander is supposed to do, which is to determine the best recommendations to achieve the objectives of the policy for which his mission is desired."

I mean, shit, you're not a company commander, Dave. You took the assignment, and it came to you because you had some slight measure of plausible independence from the Bush administration, which is a measure of how far they realized they'd fallen by 2005 (which makes them charmingly human! per Robert Draper. Ladies and Gentlemen Boys and Girls! No net!). If you're going to scruple about lying in broad outline while expecting us to eat shit soufflé at least act like you think we think it's carob.

I was amused to learn in the Rob Patterson interview with Draper that I still must be counted among those "on the left" who portray the President as a "dimwitted bogeyman". (In the interests of accuracy it is Patterson, the columnist for the Progressive Populist(!) who makes the claim; Draper just thinks I've missed his "surprising depth".) When did The Left go from being that slacker in Austin to two-thirds of the poll-answering public? Or are most Americans fed up with the President because they realize now they wouldn't really like to have a beer with him 'cause he's just too intellectual?

So forgive me, fellas, but someone who says that Bush might become a "momentous" President is a bubble off square, and the fact that a bio released in 2007 paints a George W. Bush who doesn't always come off well just means that the book is for sale, not for bulk purchase by the usual suspects. Another hagiography wouldn't make it to the cut-out bin. Bush is "dimwitted" not because his IQ mightn't hover around three digits, but because he's overmatched by the job and so un-self-aware in middle age that he imagines his involvement in partisan fucking politics in the anti-intellectual atmosphere of fin-de-siècle America is sufficient to make earthshaking decisions absent real debate. This is not "intellectual incuriosity" I'm required to "understand" as "insecurity". It's fucking unforgivable laxity, dereliction of duty, and it doesn't just brand him a complete disaster as President, it calls into question the judgment and perhaps the ethics of everyone from his father on down who could have strangled his candidacy in its cradle and didn't. What greater goddam calamities need to befall us before we're justified in questioning his wits? What is there about his response to Katrina (What do they want me to do? Deliver the water myself?") merits our sympathy and understanding? He reads books! Damn, I guess I had the man all wrong.

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"Shut Up," He Explained.

>> Wednesday, September 12

Donald Kagan, "Today's Defeatists: The 21st century cut and run." NRO September 10

VIA Roy who disposes of it in less time than I need to write an intro, and who notes elsewhere:

Around the time of the original attacks, I recall, there was a lot of talk about getting the people who actually sent the planes. The list of targets quickly expanded well beyond that, of course. Six years later, conservatives pain bull's-eyes on everything outside their own shrinking sphere of influence. A grim anniversary, indeed.

This will not be on the quiz. It could turn up in your nightmares, though:
Observers of today’s fierce partisan conflict between those demanding immediate or rapid abandonment of the war in Iraq at any, or almost any, price, and others who refuse to give up the fight, might think this a rare event in American history, but it is not unprecedented. In the two World Wars of the 20th century, to be sure, the country was essentially united and fought on to victory without much dissension. In the Korean War, however, there was considerable division, and a new administration that itself had not begun the war accepted a draw — a draw that has demanded a commitment of troops ever since and presents a serious threat to this day. In the Vietnam War, deep and violent dissension at home was, perhaps, the major element in compelling the United States to accept a humiliating defeat. In neither war were the American military forces defeated and driven from the field. It was the political victory of enemies of the administration and the war it has undertaken that brought defeat.

Let's just step gingerly around that "immediate abandonment at any price" bit. At this gaseous stage of decomposition the carcass of neocon war plans, like a dead animal in the woods, is liable to explode all over your boots at the merest touch, and you'll never get the stink out.

Another word of caution: if you were slightly stunned by the suggestion that there's somebody out there old enough to read who imagines opposition to the Iraq war to be "unprecedented", please do not drive or operate heavy equipment for the duration of the piece. Plus, we'll be skipping that portion of Ameican history known as the Peloponnesian War, but there are postcards available in the lobby.
Defining the Defeatist

The results of the recent change in leadership and strategy in Iraq have made it plain that the war there is not lost nor is defeat inevitable. And yet, the war’s opponents, even as the situation improves, have rushed to declare America defeated. They offer no plausible alternative to the current strategy and take no serious notice of the dreadful consequences of swift withdrawal. They seem to be panicked by the possibility of success and eager to bring about withdrawal and defeat before events make it too late.

In their embarrassment they, not their critics, have raised the question of their patriotism. However that question may be resolved, such people surely deserve to be called defeatists. My dictionary defines “defeatism” as “the attitude, policy or conduct of a person who admits, expects, or no longer resists defeat.”

Really. "My Webster's defines defeatism as...." This is the Sterling Professor of Classics and History at Yale. I read that paragraph three times, and by the second run-through, out of sheer despair at the sort of people who have influence in this country, I'd gone from demanding an immediate abandonment of Iraq at any price to the conviction that we should probably just surrender outright to the first Muslim we see and hope for the best.

I've known professional people--mostly medical doctors, but also scholars of the European type, even musicians--who were so wound up in their own fields as to be practically illiterate about everything else, but it's difficult to explain this in a Classicist, who, by definition, doesn't need to spend a whole lot of time keeping current.

That said, let's take a brief survey of modern warfare for anyone just joining us from the Bronze Age. One, modern warfare is generally conducted by standing, professional armies using explosive weapons of some description, not by all the menfolk hereabouts wielding farm implements. Two, such armies must be maintained: trained, equipped, kept supplied. Where this once was accomplished by kings and princes throwing open the doors to the larder, that practice died out about the same time as the powdered wig. The function is now taken on by governments. In the United States (founded in the 18th Century), which is a large territory in North America ("discovered", as some Classicists still maintain, in the late 15th Century), this function is reportedly controlled by an elective body of legislators known as the Congress, together with the Militias of the various States. So that, in theory, anyway, eligible voters--men and, yes, women, over the age of 18, including slaves, although we pay them now (!)--convening periodically, could vote direct control of this funding to groups of people promising to attack Canada at night, while they're sleeping, direct the Fleet to sail in circles for the next two years, or, even, de-fund costly, useless military enterprises. That's the theory. It's called "democracy", although it's frequently pointed out that this is a misnomer. But then, considering what passes for truth nowadays maybe we should just drop it.

A corollary of all this is that in modern warfare it is no longer required, or even sufficient in every case, to drive the other army from the field, or even to show up on one, and it is no longer necessary to do so solely or primarily by force of arms. Oddly enough, this is often explicit in the examples cited by apologists for US military action in Vietnam who want to insist that American forces "were not defeated in the field". The German army was not defeated in WWI. The Viet Minh did not defeat "the French", they defeated French forces in Indochina. Terrorists drove the British out of Palestine, but they did not defeat the RAF and His Majesty's Navy. These still go in the Win column. The United States Herself was founded precisely that way (and lost the War of 1812--just as we were starting to "win", too--by virtue of recognizing reality sometime before the last drop of available blood was shed).

And somehow the ol' Victor Davis Hanson Lincoln in '64 bit becomes the centerpiece of Kagan's argument, apparently just to see if he can make it more wronger. (Don't skip ahead. He can.)
The Democratic convention was dominated by the anti-war faction whom the Republicans called “Copperheads,” after the poisonous snake.

Well, in fact it was because they wore copper coins as political badges, but we've gotten this far without resorting to accuracy, so let's push on.
According to their best historian,

Who shall remain nameless?
they were “consistent and constant in their demand for an immediate peace settlement. At times they were willing to trade victory for peace. One persistent problem for [them] was their refusal or reluctance to offer a realistic and comprehensive plan for peace.”

Remind you of anybody? Huh? L-I-E-B-R-U-L-S?
Pressed by the Copperheads, the Democrats nominated a rabidly antiwar candidate for vice president and adopted a platform that called the war a “failure,” and demanded “immediate efforts” to end hostilities….” Their platform statement would permit abandonment not only of emancipation, but of the most basic war aim, reunion. Even New York’s Republican Party boss declared that Lincoln’s reelection was widely regarded as an “impossibility…The People [were] wild for Peace.” At the end of August defeat for the Republicans and the Union cause seemed inevitable, but Lincoln refused to seek peace without victory, saying that he was not prepared, to “give up the Union for a peace which, so achieved, could not be of much duration.”

The Copperheads so dominated the Democratic convention of 1864 that they were able to name the Vice-Presidential candidate! Wow. Never mind that the Presidential candidate, one George McClellan, was the pro-war Democrat they'd opposed. Never mind that he repudiated the anti-war plank in the party's platform. They were just like Nancy Pelosi!

We will note once again this peculiar fixation on 1864, which seems based on nothing more than the fact that the whole canard was boiled up and served by Hanson as a 2004 election morale-booster without anyone checking to see whether it had been plucked, and people have been feasting on feathers ever since. 1863 is a much better example, since Lincoln was still looking for his General (at least in the early part of the year) and anti-war sentiment was at its height (so too was Copperhead power, for what it's worth, amounting to escaped deportee Clement L. Vallandigham running for governor of Ohio as a Canadian exile and getting trounced). By 1864 the war was won, though not concluded, and not to the satisfaction of the anti-war faction. Still, if they'd campaigned in those days the way we do now Lincoln could have pointed to Vicksburg and Gettysburg as decisive victories. What's Bush Bush's apologists, including every Republican Presidential candidate with a hope in hell of winning, have to point to? Specious arguments about Anbar, a place that has nothing whatever to do with our military actions, current or former, aside from the general mess? So what? Control of the Mississippi was a war aim from 1861. Find me someone who was saying, "Y'know, the key to this whole Iraq thing is control of the Western desert". I mean, before last week.

It beggars belief that one must remind professional historians that modern wars are won on lost off the battlefield at least as often as on, or that Americans, let alone Americans of the history professor type, could be ignorant of the fact that Lincoln did not inherit a standing force twenty times the size of his opponent's and thousands of times more powerful and fritter that advantage away for want of direction. There's no Eric Shinseki in Lincoln's bio. There's a McClellan, who was tolerated as the best man available, and because after the initial disasters Lincoln understood how much training--the thing McClellan was good at--was necessary. After that you have a rapid learning curve for the President and a search for the right man to match Lincoln's understanding of what needed to be done, a search that ended in Vicksburg. Where's Bush's "search"? Where's his growing understanding of the complexities involved? This is a bedtime serving of warmed-over pablum.
Although Americans were tired of and disgusted with the [Vietnam] war and eager to end it, they were not pleased by its outcome and its consequences. Their distrust of the Democratic Party, seen as the home of the defeatists who were unwilling to defend American interests, was a major factor in the victories of seven out of ten Republican presidents in the elections beginning in 1968. Even the two Democrats who won in that period, Jimmy Carter and Bill Clinton, were perceived as distinct from the defeatists, and one of them ran to the right of his Republican opponent on defense and foreign affairs.

Remarkable how Defeatists are expressly repudiated in every national election yet still manage to derail successful military campaigns. I was particularly taken by Kagan's assertion that Eisenhower--the most accomplished Commander-in-Chief since Grant--was forced to accept "a draw" in Korea, against all military sense, because of some bellyaching beatniks. Yes, Ike inherited that war (the Nixon defense rides again!), but the idea that he would have ignored the North Koreans crossing the 38th Parallel if it had happened on his watch is just ludicrous. Ike was a bigger proponent of the Truman Doctrine than Truman. And one can only puzzle over the suggestion that the permanent US military presence on the Peninsula is due to not pressing on to "victory", whatever the definition of that Kagan keeps secret from us is. Assuming the Chinese and Soviets had just given up and watched us roll the North Koreans, would that have magically been the end of it? We wouldn't have 40,000 troops still there? We made that decision the minute we decided to prop up Syngman Rhee. Assuming we'd stopped Communist infiltration, Communist aggression, and the fluoridation of our bodily fluids in Indochina, how many US troops would be permanently stationed there keeping what modern version of Madame Nhu in Italian shoes and Swiss chocolates? How would we have achieved those numbers, or paid for them? The neocon administration was too cowardly to institute a draft in the face of Civilization-threatening eternal warfare.

I swear to God. My parents never told me that masturbation would make me go blind, and it hasn't, so far. But I've been watching American Right jerking itself off for the last four decades, and I'm beginning to wonder if I'm not just one of the lucky ones.

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And She Takes All the Red Yellow Orange and Green and She Turns Them Into Miracle Whip™

>> Monday, September 10

The Return of Maureen Dowd: A) "The 46-Year-Old Virgin" (Sept. 5); B) "Old School Inanity" (Sept. 9)

COULDN'T we at least get a slide show of her vacation pictures first?

I don't generally patronize online copyright-violators, but when MoDo returned to my tossed-over-the-fence-when-the-neighbor-finishes-it Sunday Times I ran to the internets, typed "Maureen Dowd" in the Times search field, and learned she'd returned on Wednesday and written (A) a piece on Barack Obama that promised to be every bit as fatuous as (B)'s examination of the Presidential campaign of Fred Dalton Thompson, and I clicked around until I found it.

So it was that I learned that (A) Obama is young and inexperienced and smooth jazz smooth while (B) Thompson plays a tough guy, is considered by some to be lazy, and sounds exactly like George W. Bush. Which....excuse me, but MAUREEN, COULD YOU POSSIBLY STOP CALLING THE PRESIDENT "W." ? The public moved beyond this I'm Jes' A Texas Rancher crap years ago, and even a mocking "Dubya", still seen on occasion and apparently not permitted by The Gray Lady's style book, now cruelly mocks the user, as the subject has moved on to infamies so vast and unexpected (generally) that the 2000 election now seems like it belongs on his juvenile record. I'm as sorry about this as anyone, but the days when we could have a hearty chuckle over his being misunderestimated, or his not having interviewed you, are now separated from us by a smoking stinkpile bigger than the Twin Towers.

I mean, you'd imagine that viewed through the lens of the intervening years all the Al Gore-wears-earthtones business Dowd went on and on and on and on about would have proven at least partly self-correcting. But then the quagmire and wasted lives that followed the 2000 mistake wasn't enough to keep her from making up that Kerry NASCAR quote or calling John Edwards a shampoo model. Why should a few thousand more lives lost to no purpose make her or her editors question whether our politics should be covered the way the noctural gambols of our celebrity party girls are?

Make no mistake--I'm all for snark, even in the Op-Ed pages, but at the service of something. Dowd just throws stale popcorn at teevee "reality" programs when a contestant she doesn't like is talking. It could be improved if she were, I dunno, funny, but a much better idea would be for her to take being informed out for a test drive:

He allows Hillary to present herself as having the experience to be president just because she was married to one. He should be making the opposite case, that Hillary — go ahead, use her name, she won’t bite you, or even if she does, you’ll get over it — knew from nothing about the system.

In the White House, she botched health care and bungled dealing with special prosecutors — remember that talent she had for losing critical files? And in the Senate, she played it safe and became a Democratic Senator Pothole while helping W. launch his disaster in Iraq.

Okay, so we forgot to add "seeking professional help for that misogynistic streak" above. Hillary Clinton has been elected US Senator twice, which equals Fred Thompson's qualifications, exceeds John Edwards' and Mitt Romney's one term as a governor. And, by anyone's electoral math, Giuliani's two terms as a mayor, which alone among major candidates, would be an electoral c.v. of unprecedented slimness.

I'm going to gamble here and suggest that even Ms Dowd knows that the Clinton health care program was defeated by massive cash infusions from Big Pharma and Big Insurance, not Ms Clinton's Feminazi pantsuits. I'll wager Dowd couldn't get 5 out of 10 correct on a standard Whitewater quiz, explain Travelgate, or tell us what files it was that went missing. I'll drop a dime that she could tell us what those files said once they were found, or at least whose side they corroborated. I'll let my winnings ride on a claim that she can't identify the five major federal investigations of Whitewater, and I'd love to parlay that with an insistence that she knows damn well what criminally leaky Special Prosecutor hinted that indictments of Hillary were just around the corner as well as how many actually were. Except nobody'd take that one.

Iraq? Sure, no question. Senator Clinton was on the wrong side, in which she joins Edwards, Dodd, Biden, the previous Democratic nominee, and the entire Republican side, who remain more or less enthusiastic about the whole thing.

(Incidentally--sticking with such wrongheaded decisions makes Republican front-runners "tough guys", provided they do not use blow-driers, like Mitt. )

Which I do not offer as an excuse. But if we're gonna have a hanging let's hang everybody who deserves it, in order of culpability, or enthusiasm, or eagerness to continue. And let's try to remember to save a little torchlight so's we can burn down the Times building on our way home.

God knows you're not going to find a Please Donate button on this website for any candidate who voted for the war. But then neither am I particularly impressed by someone who (cagily) criticized the war effort but displays the following grasp of the issues:
Can we please get someone in charge who will stop whining that Osama is hiding in “harsh terrain,” hunt him down and blast him forward to the Stone Age?

Forward to the Stone Age! Hardy-har-har, it's still as funny as the first two thousand times I heard it. How's this: let's make "hunting down Osama" a project for your next month off, eh Mo? Take Brooks and Friedman with you, and pick up Judy Miller on your way to Kennedy. We'll try to survive without y'all.

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Today In Making Up History As You Go Along

>> Saturday, September 8


September 8, 2002: The Sunday News Show Official First Anniversary of 9/11. Dick Cheney, TIm Russert's regular co-host, uses that morning's Michael Gordon/Judy Miller front-page centrifuge story, stovepiped from his own office, as evidence that the administration's "Sorry We Can't Tell You What the Evidence Is" is backed by evidence. Rumsfeld performs the same function on Face the Nation. On CNN Condi utters the immortal "smoking gun in the shape of a mushroom cloud" and claims the aluminum tubes "are only really suited for nuclear weapons programs." Colin Powell, on FAUX, says the UN inspectors were awright, he supposes, but we really learned how much they'd missed once we started talking to Iraqi defectors.

Reading the Meet the Press transcript--call me a sentimentalist--I was struck, not by Russet's waterlogged questioning--a given--but by Cheney's answer when Timmy got around to sorta kinda hinting that Iraq couldn't employ WMDs without, you know, kinda being utterly destroyed within twenty seconds in response. Here's the Dick:

Who did the anthrax attack last fall, Tim? We don’t know.

There's a fine bit of lathe work in the Amy Goodman/Bill Moyers PBS piece on selling the Iraq war when Moyers interviews Russert on how Cheney came to be on the show the very morning the centrifuge story turned up. And Russert says he had no idea what was coming, etc. etc. And they end with a 1-shot of this colossal mound of ego, whose thirty-five years in television journalism has atrophied his sense of Right and Wrong and True and False--the man is, at one and the same time, a pathetically bad liar, maybe the worst since Nixon, and a wizened prostitute--who says, by golly, we now know there were people in the Administration who were raising questions about the evidence, and I sure wish they'd have given me a call.

They cut to CBS' Bob Simon, reporting that he'd called various experts on nuclear weapons programs and been told that the story was dubious at best. And Simon replies to Moyer's question that, yes, most of these experts would have been available to talk to anybody.

Of course your guess as to whether Russert ever even dials any of his own phone calls is as good as mine. The man is not now nor has he ever been a reporter; he's a zeitgeist technician, and if he has a reporter's inclination to check sources the results have thus far evaded detection. Perhaps there wasn't enough time to check the Times story before air, just as--darn it!--there wasn't enough time for someone to ring his phone. You or I might be forgiven for imagining the whole story was a bit too convenient, perhaps even obviously so, but Tim is bound by the Sacred Obligation of Faux-Balance not to object unless he's quoting someone else who did it for him. We might quibble that Jonathan Landay and Warren Strobel of Knight-Ridder had actually done that, having cast serious doubts on the administration story two days earlier, but surely it's not Russert's job to read the out-of-town papers?

No, we're not master carvers like Moyers. We're butchers and hacksaw artistes, and we have to look at Cheney's reply again:
Who did the anthrax attack last fall, Tim? We don’t know.

It is September 8, 2002, and anyone who'd followed the story beyond the original headlines knew this: 1) that anthrax and other biological agents are not "Weapons of Mass Destruction"; 2) that, assuming Saddam Hussein could have accumulated enough to cause a blizzard in Tel Aviv, which he couldn't, and found some way to deliver it, which likewise, it still wouldn't have caused Nagasaki numbers of deaths; 3) that the anthrax in question was directly traceable to a US biological weapons program we'd claimed to have dismantled thirty years earlier. And all of this preserves the bald-faced fiction that we'd have demanded proof in the face of an actual attack when rumor was plenty sufficient in its absence.

Russert had no follow-up to the response. Oops, I should have warned you to sit down first.

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Why Are We In Iraq? Part 627 in a Series.

>> Friday, September 7

I HAD to rush in to the grocery this afternoon. I generally try to avoid the quote Express end quote Line, but there was no choice this time, and as a result I was, predictably, stuck two persons behind the woman who read her receipt all the way to the exit, spun around, and came back to announce she'd been overcharged. Which, predictably, she hadn't, and which, predictably, takes four times as long to establish than if she had.

This did nothing to ameliorate the high viscosity service in the quote Express end quote Line due to its being manned by Gabby (not her real name, but definitely her real description), who mistakes making random comments about your selections for "personality", which, evidentally, the store manager has urged her to both acquire and share. This took the form in my own case of the following exchange:

Gabby (scanning my twofer pack of ribeyes): These'd be great on the grill!

Me (inaudibly): I'm so glad you mentioned that. I was gonna take 'em home and boil 'em for a couple hours.

Anyway, the delay provided enough time for two twenty-something Jeopardy! contestants to turn up, each towing a case of warm Bud. After a brief period spent determining which character Sacha Baron Cohen had played in Talladega Nights: The Legend of Ricky Bobby, ("I'm pretty sure he was the French guy.") inspired by the $8.99 Borat DVD hanging on the rack, the talk turned to the possible life-threatening results of consuming all that Bud in a sitting.

"You could go out and get shot in the woods."

"Yeah, especially if you went hunting with that Dave Cheney guy."

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I (Heart) Digby

And needless to say, all these recent portraits show a man who is unrecognizable as the hero of Bob Woodward's "Bush At War." That hasn't yet been adequately explained by him or anyone else.

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The Thompson Candidacy: A Post-Mortem

FIRST, uh, why? Has that been answered yet? If I understand correctly, Fred Duelin' Dalton Thompson is riding to the rescue because a line-up that includes Huckabee, Brownback, the 90-percentile winger John McCain and the How Much More Could One Man Pander Mitt Romney is insufficiently hidebound. Not that "hidebound" seems like such a marketable trait these days.

Okay, so, I have plenty of proof my prognostication skills will never make a bookie sweat, and I'm no connoisseur of Republicanism. It's like asking me to judge a Kumquat Casserole Bake-Off. Still, I can't for the life of me figure out what Thompson brings to the race besides the Hey It's That Guy on th' Teevee! cachet, which manages to combine the worst sort of Reagan nostalgia, unlettered horse-race touting (of the sort which at various times apparently determined by newspaper headline reading and biorhythms insists that Condi Rice or Haley Barbour or Colin Powell is a juggernaut straining for release), and the power of desperation at a) the condition their party and their ideology had brought the country to and b) the sorry-assed lineup of liars, crooks, feebs, and the certifiably insane they were fielding. Fred Thompson isn't a candidate; he's an invalid's idea of virility.


When was there a candidacy like this in recent history? Three sitting Presidents have been challenged: Truman, LBJ, and Carter. Two of them didn't make it out of New Hampshire, and the third won the nomination but lost the election. Thompson inverts the set-up but not the result; he's a surrogate Bush jumping in because the challengers don't stand a chance. But he's doing so in a year when nobody wants Bush back and the rest of the field has already been handicapped by its inability to come out and say so--excepting, of course, that Paul character, but we're restricting this to serious candidacies.

Now, I've been watching this stuff since I saw John Kennedy motorcadin' his way down 16th Street in Speedway, Indiana in 1960 (so far as I know, the last Democratic Presidential candidate to actually come to Indiana), and, as a somewhat college-educated person, I'm aware that no one ever says, "We need the absolute best, most informed decision we can make on this matter of earth-shaking importance--let's let the public vote!" Inexplicable results have been known to sneak through. People talk about electability all primary season, just like they talk about character and honesty, but they never vote that way. I can't figure out where Thompson, or his staff this week, or the people who were so interested in having him enter the race think he's going to go, politically, that the other candidates can't. He's not an actor turned politician, unleashing the Muses in the service of The Cause. He's a politician turned actor playing an actor turned politician, and both careers seem predicated on the idea that when reading drivel he seems no more inert than when he's speaking extemporaneously. Say what you want about Reagan (please!), he was a much better actor as a politician than he ever was as an actor. Not to mention that the two careers were separate, and separated by a few years, or that it took him sixteen years of trying to get the nomination. I can't see how Thompson separates himself from The Inexplicable DA, and I can't see how that resonates--positively, that is--with an electorate that's been expressing its frustration at hearing scripted lies read to it while Rome burns.

What about after the primaries? At least Rudy has that insanity thing going for him. Mitt is $12 worth of substandard electronics in a shiny stainless-steel case, the sort of thing Americans are used to getting for their money. McCain, whatever the fuck is wrong with him, is a winger on the issues who's staked his entire campaign--and lost--on continuing the interminable war against something the "base" is so enamored of. None of them appeals to me as President, to put it mildly, but then neither do most of the Democrats. I can't see Romney putting up much of a fight, but one can never discount entirely the power of soulless mediocrity. Rudy offers the country its first explicit opportunity to vote for a national Don; McCain could rise from the ashes--it is his only hope, after all--though he'd take a look around, black out, and wind up in flames again within five minutes.

What's Fred? He's a twelvemonth of Law & Order reruns, except you have to swallow them instead of playing them in the background while you do more important stuff. And for all the talk of Rudy's personal life (or Hillary's), we are, like every nation on earth, a land of cheaters and blackguards and self-serving ne'er-do-wells, but membership in the Society for the Appreciation of the Trophy Wife is surprisingly limited. (Then again, as Jane Galt sagely noted, Frances Folsom was similarly a quarter-century younger than Grover Cleveland, and everybody who made a stink about that at the time is dead. However, it's also true that Folsom's plaintive, humble, I-was-but-a-poor-widow-when-Grover-took-pity-on-me personality played quite well over the telegraph.) I think Thompson's numbers have peaked, or will do so with whatever bump he gets in the next week. For a time he re-energizes Giuliani, who had begun to twist on the spit and take on the flavor of all that dripping bile hitting the coals, but who for now gets to be The Guy Fred Plays on Teevee. And Romney's toast if he doesn't knock Thompson out early, and he's had months to prepare for that.

And assuming that Thompson somehow manages to make it a two- or three-man race he'll wind up as the Ponderous White Hope of the so-called base, and they're going to be awfully disappointed with the alternatives after he gets his ass kicked. Just remember: no wagering, and if you must gamble, for godssakes don't base it on anything I have to say.

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The Difference Is That Category Five Stupidity Is Making Landfall Constantly

>> Wednesday, September 5

Jonah Goldberg, "Storm of Malpractice: Katrina was a media disaster." Wherever Fine Newspapers Aren't Sold, September 5

Synopsis of the English Translation: There were, like, a million Katrina anniversary stories last week, according to LexisNexis. (You have now been appraised of all the research I intend to do.) Only none of the big media poopyheads ever admits that the media poopheads made any mistakes. They just blame the Bush administration, which is why they were so disappointed when 10,000 people didn't die like they all assured us they had.

Obligatory 'I Still Imagine Weaselly Equivocations Turn Horseshit Into Thought" Moment: "And while some might quibble with this or that characterization or selection of facts, ultimately the media were doing what they’re supposed to do: hold government accountable."
SWEET Lordy Gordy, I realize there's probably not a subject on earth that Goldberg hasn't embarrassed himself about, and, further, I know that refusal to admit the obvious swims in his political bloodstream, as well as being a prerequisite of employment and a consequence of Lazy Brain Syndrome, but Jesus. "Grow Some Gills" Goldberg is going to bring up Katrina, let alone criticize someone else's work? Or show his face again? for that matter.

Few of us can forget the reports from two years ago. CNN warned that there were “bands of rapists, going block to block.” Snipers were reportedly shooting at medical personnel. Bodies at the Superdome, we were told, were stacked like cordwood. The Washington Post proclaimed in a banner headline that New Orleans was “A City of Despair and Lawlessness” and insisted in an editorial that “looters and carjackers, some of them armed, have run rampant.” Fox News anchor John Gibson said there were “all kinds of reports of looting, fires and violence. Thugs shooting at rescue crews.” These reports actually hindered rescue efforts, as emergency crews wasted valuable time avoiding phantom snipers.

TV reporters raced to the bottom to see who could moralistically preen the most. Interviewers transformed into outright scolds of administration officials. Meanwhile, the distortions, exaggerations and flat-out fictions being offered by New Orleans officials were accelerated and amplified by the media echo chamber. Glib predictions of 10,000 dead, and the chief of police’s insistence that there were “little babies getting raped,” swirled around the media like so much free-flowing sewage.

It was as though journalistic skepticism of government officials was reserved for the White House, and everyone else got a free pass.

Y'know, first of all, they archive the witty repartee that is The Corner. In case anyone's forgotten.

And the casual nibbler at that Burkean tapas bar could easily be convinced that before they were (largely) debunked--most thoroughly by reporters at the Times-Picayune--the Cornerites were generally less than skeptical themselves, provided the reports in question appeared to justify their preconceived notions. Which, since much of their information came from the likes of John Gibson and Neil Cavuto, qualified as "frequently".

We understand that Golberg is not (suddenly!) aiming for accuracy; his full-time job is the sort of moralistic preening he accuses nameless reporters of engaging in. It's possible--it's always possible with Jonah--that he's not even familiar with standard wall-to-wall teevee news coverage, in which wild rumor and rank speculation stop being filtered to the extent they usually are, and that under those conditions one should adopt the same attitude about drinking straight and deep from the news font that one takes about floodwater. We know by now, those of us who've read the record rather than just checking the Google hits counter, that a lot of those stories were sourced, at least originally, and that they were couched in the usual "reportedlys" and "according tos" which are routinely accepted by Goldberg and the rest of us. We suggest that self-styled Middle East experts who can't name a book on the subject should be the first to renounce the practice. In the meantime, so it goes.

We also know this: that a denizen of Left Blogtopia--who we are embarrassed to admit we friggin' don't remember--caught the frame of the early New Orleans coverage by noticing that Black People Loot while Resourceful White People Find. That little discovery was the drop that topped the levy of racist coverage that dominated the first 48 hours on the television. Teevee reporters are not actively recruited from the ranks of the urban poor, they are not notably eager to join them or particularly sensitive to their circumstances, or knowledgeable beyond a sort of demographic /political Dewey Decimal assignment. There's absolutely no question that the timbre of the early coverage bordered on racist and fell fall short of what we might describe as simple human compassion. The revelations of racism from the Blogosphere came as, well, a genuine revelation to some. (This pathetic little blog received two emails from cable or network news producers protesting that they were just reporting what they could see from their extremely limited perches; our response, "Bullshit," effectively ended the debate.) Meanwhile, much of the Right's free time was spent arguing over whether looters should be shot on sight or merely wounded on sight. In this, K-Lo, somewhat surprisingly, took the opposite theological approach to Peggy Noonan, and Jonah posted an email he'd received (we know he didn't make it up since it contains, like, an historical citation):
"Don't Arrest Them, Beat Them" [ Jonah Goldberg ]

Email from a reader about the great Chief Greenberg:

It's interesting that no one has yet remarked on the behavior of recently-retired Charleston police Chief Reuben Greenberg during Hurricane Hugo in 1989. When the eye of that Category 4 storm passed over the city and offered a half-hour of calm, Greenberg sent out a paddy wagon to round up looters. It got as far as the entrance to the police lot, which was flooded (the police HQ in Charleston is on reclaimed landfill - not below sea level, but not above it by much). He was able to get on the horn to his lieutenants around town with the order: "Don't arrest [looters]; beat them. We don't have any place for them in our jails." I credit the attitude espoused in those lines - a refusal, even in the eye of the storm - to tolerate lawlessness, with the subsequent quality of the response. The National Guard was called in immediately, especially on the barrier islands that had lost their bridges to the mainland (I remember taking our boat to inspect our beach house two days later and being politely told to inspect and leave by the Guard troops on Sullivans Island. Though the entire response in the Charleston area was phenomenal, Chief Greenberg and Mayor Joe Riley were phenomenally strong that horrible night, and they facilitated the rebuilding effort that has led to the Charleston that has developed today. Their response was pure Giuliani - before there was a Giuliani.

09/02 11:35 AM

It's also true that as time went on and the scope of the disaster and the disastrous Bush administration non-response became clearer, the tone changed. To be sure, the exaggeration continued. People who have witnessed the wildfire speed with which contrast-enhanced newspaper photographs become global media conspiracies on some websites--whose denizens' lives are threatened by nothing more than the theoretical possibility that the sommelier will break a cork at lunch--can perhaps understand how panic set in among people at the Convention Center who were desperate for rescue in the swampy heat, people whose only source of food or water was being described as lawlessness and a hanging offense, at that. Not to mention the fact that a lot of the horror stories originated with National Guardsmen and FEMA officials who were in no real danger themselves.

AS for "ganging up on Bush", we find that even more risible than most things that come out of Jonah's mouth in the company of Cheetos spray. The administration had no problem getting face time on teevee, aside from the delay caused by its reluctance to rouse from vacation. The Washington Post stovepiped the Blame Bianco stuff, despite it being, uh, factually challenged (remember "she didn't ask for a state of emergency"?). Ray Nagin was frequently portrayed, rightly or wrongly, as an overmatched lunatic. Everyone dutifully ran the loop of the unused school buses and dutifully inflated their number tenfold. Tim Russert aided the sliming of Aaron Broussard, the Jefferson Parish President who'd errantly reported a couple days of non-existent phone calls to a 92-year-old woman already drowned. Not only was Broussard's emotional response to an unmitigated disaster fact-checked, it was still an issue for the national press three weeks later, as though it somehow made FEMA appear not so bad. Name me one time Timmy has similarly chased down someone with real power. Bush went unchallenged when he claimed the levee breach had been unthinkable, and when they finally got Pickles out of Crawford and dried out she was a walking-three-feet-behind-the-President photo op of cheery Here's Your Blanket, Now Go Find Yourself Some Bootstraps can-doitiveness.

The simple fact is that the pathetic administration response to Katrina finally unleashed the dissatisfaction bordering on disgust that had been building around Bush for some time, and while there might have been some debate room had the delay been twenty-four hours, it fucking wasn't, now, was it Mr. Goldberg? There's no question it wasn't Da Media's finest hour, a description Katrina shares with the 2000 elections, among others. There's also no question that the implicit racism and semi-malignant neglect were allowed to fester until many Americans didn't like what they were seeing about themselves. And that, to the extent that this runs counter to Mr. Goldberg's point of view, it's basically his Tough Shit.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005

Telethon [ Jonah Goldberg ]

BET will be holding one for the victims, according to the AP.

08/31 04:20 PM

I'm assuming Jonah posted this tidbit because he wanted to make sure his fellow Cornerites--not all of whom are regular BET viewers, apparently--made sure to set their TIVOs.

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Happy Birthday


D. Sidhe

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Happy Birthday


George Robert Newhart
born September 5, 1929

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And It Turns Out That 100-Year-Old Abandoned Mines Do Very Little Advertising

>> Tuesday, September 4

MAYBE I should give up news on television.

Not, of course, because I've suddenly discovered their product isn't actually news, or anything as obvious as that. I'm thinking more in terms of what a man of my age and general level of physical collapse should be subjecting himself to.

I've only recently noticed that teevee news doesn't carry those Teevee Ratings warnings just as it comes on the air. I may have become aware of this due to the astounding variety of entertainment on my still-new AT&T U-Verse system, whose wonderfulness I'm not going to mention again until some bakshish turns up in my mailbox. Or it may be a residual effect of my Poor Wife joining the Colonoscopy Club over the holiday weekend. I not only got to listen to her pre-op questionnaire, but those of the patient next door and across the hallway, including the one about whether the Questionee consumed more than one alcoholic beverage per day. So far as I could tell (I wasn't snooping, it was just the accoustics) everyone answered in the negative, so I don't know if they'd have followed up to ascertain the exact number. But I got to thinking that this should be part of the teevee news requirement, a liability-reducing electronic warning sticker, seeing as how half my local news is now given over to "Things For White Middle-Class People Like Ourselves To Do This Weekend" coverage. Because they evidently don't have a "TV-Lo IQ" rating. A brief questionnaire, I think, is an altogether more satisfactory solution: "Do you drink fewer than two cocktails an hour, night after night, in public, in a desperate attempt to find another empty alcoholic you can marry for several months? Are the celebrity antics of Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, and Whatever "Singer" We Decide To Feature Next less important to you than tax policy, global climate change, or threats to your civil rights? Is your curiosity about tomorrow's weather satisfied by a simple "Clear and Cool," without reference to whatever irrelevant location around the globe is suffering an unseasonable snowstorm or sudden Sinkhole Activity Event, provided it's caught on tape? Then you must turn off your television right now. Why do you even own a set? Go read a book or something, Poindexter."

I was thinking that if I could demonstrate a loss of 20 IQ points, which should not be all that difficult, I might have a deep-pocket target for a class-action lawsuit in my sights, but then it occurred to me that some smart-ass defense attorney would start reading the list of Schedule I drugs and ask me to speak up if he named one I wasn't personally familiar with, and remember You're Still Under Oath. And when he got done he'd turn to the jury, pause, and say, "Do you have some problem with your hearing, Mr. Riley?" while spinning back around dramatically. And that would be the end of that. Even so, I think the warning is the right thing to do.

It was Labor Day weekend in Indianapolis, which for the past five decades has meant the NHRA Nationals were out in Clairmont. Grease, smoke, and noise not being much of an attraction for your average local news department, however, the Nationals took a decided back seat to Ribfest featuring Hootie and the Blowfish. Grease, smoke, and familiar, toe-tappin' tunes, in other words. They were also lower-billed than the obligatory fireworks simulcast with "music" on The Tee, or The Kay, or Leon, or some abomination of Frequency Modulation. I mean, fine. Personally, I'm not any more likely to watch drag racing than I am to line up for Hootie and the Ketchup-Drenched Carcinogens, but tradition ought to count for something and not be trumped by the value of any potential perks in the minds of the people reading this shit off teleprompters.

Y'know, it's at least reasonable, in the most generous understanding of the term, that Bush's photo-op Night Mission to Anbar gets coverage. It's even mildly amusing, knowing, as we do, that it's now the Republicans in the newsroom who'd like to pull the plug. It's another to turn on CNN this morning and watch the hairdo interview an Arizona mine inspector in re: what the government should be doing to prevent such tragedies. Suddenly the results of laissez-faire capitalism from a century ago require urgent government action, while allowing a 13-year-old to operate a motor vehicle unsupervised is a matter of personal choice. I don't know how it is in your bailiwick, but the News around here goes apeshit whenever someone's caught leaving a child unattended while running in to the Speedway for a pack of smokes. In fact, this comes at the end of a ten-day period in which a Carmel school bus driver accidentally left a kindergartner on her bus for seven hours, and is facing felony neglect charges, and a Lafayette woman was detained by neighbors after her five-year-old son pulled the family car up to the house. ("He's a good driver," was her explanation. Mommy had had a few.)

I was tempted to call in to CNN this morning to suggest that Arizona needed to repeal the law of gravity, but I just turned the box off instead.

I don't mean to sound callous, but I'm not the one who found "Abandoned Mine Safety" such a vital concern after mostly ignoring the issue of "Actual Working Mine Safety" for the past few weeks. It'd just be nice to see a little consistency. Government inaction--sometimes known as the failure to Tax and Spend--didn't kill that unfortunate child. If the law had been obeyed she'd still be alive. If we're not going to bring this up in light of the tragedy then let's hold our piece about "legislative failure" as well.

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Let's Us Compromise And Do It My Way

>> Sunday, September 2

Peggy Noonan, Erstwhile Presidential Nut-Sack Admirer, "A Time for Grace:
America needs unity in dealing with Iraq. That means the president must lead." August 31

THE difference between Peggy Noonan and, say, Jonah Goldberg is the difference between a semi-sordid "accidental" drowning where police find three empty fifths of White Horse Scotch in the trash, just atop last Wednesday's newspaper and a shoebox full of ripped-up love letters from the mid-60s, and the guy who accidentally kills himself trying to use a plunge router to open a can of pudding. For the former, we recognize a shared humanity that was lost somewhere along the way, too long ago for redemption, while the latter serves no discernible purpose, except perhaps as a reminder to throw out that aluminum cookware and not huff paint thinner.

The only reason anyone would ever discuss what either of these two have to say is that they are given valuable space in the public press to do so. If we chanced upon Peggers or Doughboy reading aloud their latest contribution while seated on a bus-stop bench we'd either walk away briskly or maybe hand them a couple of bucks, depending on our point of view. They and their ilk have been so drastically wrongheaded for so long as to defy the frickin' laws of chance. So we don't actually read either one of them so much as try to get the stain out of the carpet before it sets, after checking that our gloves are free from minute holes, and we don't rebut them so much as try, somehow, to get the smell out of the house before decent company shows up for tea. Here's Peggy, hacking up a four-year-old hairball:

What will be needed this autumn is a new bipartisan forbearance, a kind of patriotic grace. This is a great deal to hope for. The president should ask for it, and show it.

Thank Gore for the internets; even long familiarity with Noonan would not keep one safe were one trying to read this stuff while hurtling through traffic hanging on to a strap.

I mean, it's curious. It's fair to say, without meaning to ascribe any falsity of motive or unseemly hubris to it, that Noonan would describe herself, at minimum, as an aspiring penitent searching for The Light, whereas my own theological needs could be satisfied by accientially stumbling upon the Olsen twins in the middle of a three-day tootsky fest. Yet while I was known to associate with semi-dedicated Quaalude aficionados, I never knew a one who would set fire to your couch with a forgotten cigarette one day, then call you up the next to say he hoped we'd both agree we needed to be more careful with matches.

Well, Quaalude talk always makes me nostalgic, so I took a little trip through the Peggy Noonan archives, back to a place where the Iraq adventure was just beginning. Please do not get ahead of me.

And not only did I learn there was gambling going on in this establishment, I found that at a time when one might expect the utmost national seriousness, when the nation was arguably undertaking a step as serious--and as driven by tub-thumping bloodlust--as our entry into WWI, a time when, at least according to "conservatives" like Peggy, "Conservatives" Like Peggy represented the national consensus, at this moment of extreme peril, as we were preparing to send young men and women to fight in a land which, according to Peggy, "everyone" believed possessed nuclear weapons and the trigger was in the hands of a madman, at this moment I say, well, surprisingly, Pegs wasn't feeling all that bipartisan!

September 22, 2002:
One senses they [the Democrats] are looking at the whole question merely as a matter of popular positioning

February 24, 2003:
Mr. Clinton is by nature a partisan and, deep down, an embittered one. Mr. Carter is a very nice, confused man of considerable vanity. Both of course have full rights of free speech and a right to their views.

But if they cannot offer unity, couldn't they offer discretion? Whatever their views, they should not put them forth in ways that undercut an administration that, right or wrong, is attempting to get a fair hearing from the world in order to take the steps it thinks necessary to make it safer from terror regimes.

Ibid:
Mr. Clinton, on the other hand, has taken to telling the world that "we should let Blix lead us to come together." Mr. Clinton calls Hans Blix, the chief U.N. weapons inspector, "a tough honest guy who is trying to find the truth." Does Mr. Clinton speak of the American president with such approbation? No. He treats President Bush with equal parts derision and faux sympathy.

March 3, 2002 (the bloodshed will begin in just over two weeks, guaranteed now; it is, in case you've forgotten, a war which has been denounced as unjust by Peggy's theological Father, a man she will otherwise limn as the irresistible spiritual force of the 20th Century. This week, Peggy informs her fellow citizens that the Democrats have attempted to thrive on snob appeal. As always, I leave the pronouns to her discretion; if you stare at a fixed spot on the wall the vertigo will be lessened):
In the Democratic Party now, and for some time, I have not perceived that they are trying to get us to a good place. They seem interested only in thwarting the trek of the current president and his party, who are, to the Democrats, "the other." When the president is a Democrat you now support him no matter what. You support him if he doesn't have a map, and isn't interested in markers, and is only interested in his own day-to-day survival.

Ibid:
An example: abortion. The Democrats became the party of what they called abortion rights. Fine. It seemed to them right at the time and a step toward human progress. But now, 30 years later, after all the things we've seen and pondered, after all that science has shown us, the Democratic Party has grown not less radical on abortion, but more. Your party won't even agree to ban third-term abortions--which is the abortion of a baby who looks and seems fully human and capable of life because he is. The Democrats oppose parental consent even in the cases of 14-year-olds who are themselves children. It opposes directing doctors to inform frightened young women before an abortion is performed that there are other options, other possible paths.


This is so radical. So out of touch with the feeling and thought of the vast middle of the country. So at odds with our self-image as a nation. We think we try to protect the vulnerable. We think we're kind.

We think we're about to bomb Iraq into a democracy.

We can, of course, go on (and on and...). How by way of contrast the Republicans would never continue to support a President who'd abandoned his principles, or turned destructive, or behaved in a grossly offensive manner (which, of course, means doing something with his penis other than stuffing it and a pair of tube socks into a flight suit. How astonishing it is to realize that in four short years George W. Bush could fuck up so badly that discovering the Clenis™ obsession was still alive on the brink of--for all Peggy knew--nuclear annihilation seems surprising and almost quaint!). We'd find that ten days before we plunge into war her personal humidity is such that she pens a bodice-ripping fantasy about bin-Laden's capture. That on the 24th, which will become the bloodiest day of the war to that point, Peggers will gush about the Good Thing which is about to occur, as the Civilized World, roused from slumber and Democratic do-nothingism, teaches the bad guys a lesson they'll never forget. It's a day after the day at Nasiriyah PFC Jessica Lynch will never forget, at least what she remembers of it. It's just under four years before the Vice-President will confuse her with Jessica Simpson at a ball game. In that same column, Peggy will tell her readers that George W. Bush is no stereotypical Cowboy, but a steely-eyed Rocketman bound for the stars.

Then she'll sort of trail off, even disappear for a couple months. Mel Gibson's Jesus slasher flick will occupy her Holidays, especially after John Paul II pronounces it Oscar™ worthy. As with a lot of warfloggers, the following March will roll around without her seeming to notice the war supposedly ended nine months earlier. The days of rose-colored target screens will fade in the memory like Bill Clinton's erection, and the argument will somehow shift to irrelevancies like soccer balls and school paint jobs, of spider holes and how many dead-enders still await our swift justice. There would be no recognition, let alone admission, that things weren't going swimmingly, despite the fact that they were not. Undeniably not. In one more month the Abu Ghraib photos will come out, all except the ones that don't, and Peggy will bemoan the the publicity boon for our enemies, while celebrating our near-compulsive need to get the truth out. No, really. She'll also ponder how far we've fallen due to the Feminists' insistence that female soldiers be allowed to make fun of prisoners' ding-dongs just like the guys do. No. Really.

And at some point, like a lot of print warfloggers who could manage it, Peggy will just sorta begin pretending that she's cast a jaundiced eye on the whole operation, and her admiration of the Presidential Package will sorta shrink back up to where it's not quite noticeable, and she'll allow as how the thing didn't quite work out like every Civilized Westerner would have expected, but it's time to forget all that and back the President, and if we do maybe she'll use some of her pull to get him to admit the rest of us were right a little. Even if it was for all the anti-American reasons.

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Happy Birthday

>> Saturday, September 1


Walter Philip Reuther
September 1, 1907--May 9, 1970

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