The former Press Secretary has written a book. I am not going to buy it and you probably shouldn't either.
Anyone that could write the following paragraph deserves to be ignored:
"Our lack of candor and honesty in making the case for war would later provoke a partisan response from our opponents that, in its own way, further distorted and obscured a more nuanced reality. Another cycle of deception would cloud the public's ability to see larger, underlying important truths that are critical to understand in order to avoid the same problems in the future. "
Huh?
Any half-decent editor would have simplified the wording:
"When the Democrat-America-Haters realized that we had lied about the threat in Iraq, they were really pissed. It forced us to react as if they were the enemy. It was all their fault. "
As President Bush might have said, "Helluva job, Scotty."
5/24/2008
Beware The Ides of June
Hillary Clinton may have revealed her real strategy yesterday when she attempted to justify her perseverance in the presidential campaign, despite the virtual mathematical certainty that she cannot get enough delegates to win:
"My husband did not wrap up the nomination in 1992 until he won the California Primary somewhere in the middle of June, right? We all remember Bobby Kennedy was assassinated in June in California. "
This remark was not well received. There was a furious round of outrage by the Obama camp. Later in the day, Hillary sort of apologized - to those who chose to misconstrue her remark.
When I first heard this quote, I wondered, what's the fuss? She is just saying "It ain't over until the real votes are counted."
Naive me. After listening to the nuance police on TV, now I realize that this was actually a very subtle RFP for a hired hit job on Barak. People who hate the Clintons believe them to be capable of any, I repeat any, act, however ruthless, in order to fulfill their ambitions. Imus calls Hillary Satan. And Bill has already proven that he would risk everything for Oval Office blowjobs from a talkative young intern.
I did not initially find Hillary's statements to be inflammatory because I had already heard the same rationale from more than one talking head using the Bobby Kennedy example: Stuff happens, they say. It may be unseemly for her to make the point, but the context was in answer to a question during a round table discussion, not a rhetorical call-for-action in a stump speech.
Logic has no authority in this matter. The jar is open, and whether she meant it or not, the spectre of political assassination is floating in the air. Now she (and we) will have to endure another month of shukking and jiving in the spotlight about what-she-said and what-she-meant. Conspiracy lovers will have a(nother) field day.
The naive among us think that political assassinations are events that happen in other, primitive societies. The realists among us realize that it can (and did) happen here. The darkly imaginative anti-Clintonistas among us might be thinking: first strike.
"My husband did not wrap up the nomination in 1992 until he won the California Primary somewhere in the middle of June, right? We all remember Bobby Kennedy was assassinated in June in California. "
This remark was not well received. There was a furious round of outrage by the Obama camp. Later in the day, Hillary sort of apologized - to those who chose to misconstrue her remark.
When I first heard this quote, I wondered, what's the fuss? She is just saying "It ain't over until the real votes are counted."
Naive me. After listening to the nuance police on TV, now I realize that this was actually a very subtle RFP for a hired hit job on Barak. People who hate the Clintons believe them to be capable of any, I repeat any, act, however ruthless, in order to fulfill their ambitions. Imus calls Hillary Satan. And Bill has already proven that he would risk everything for Oval Office blowjobs from a talkative young intern.
I did not initially find Hillary's statements to be inflammatory because I had already heard the same rationale from more than one talking head using the Bobby Kennedy example: Stuff happens, they say. It may be unseemly for her to make the point, but the context was in answer to a question during a round table discussion, not a rhetorical call-for-action in a stump speech.
Logic has no authority in this matter. The jar is open, and whether she meant it or not, the spectre of political assassination is floating in the air. Now she (and we) will have to endure another month of shukking and jiving in the spotlight about what-she-said and what-she-meant. Conspiracy lovers will have a(nother) field day.
The naive among us think that political assassinations are events that happen in other, primitive societies. The realists among us realize that it can (and did) happen here. The darkly imaginative anti-Clintonistas among us might be thinking: first strike.
5/23/2008
Post-Vacation Blues
Actually, I never noticed this before, but after a month in paradise, real life seems – well - disappointing. I feel like the classic dipsomaniac who is trying to recover from a month-long bender. The overload of sensory delights, followed by sudden withdrawal, has created a type of post-traumatic stress.
You are probably saying to yourself, other than the air travel experience where is the trauma? Well, my friend don’t you think it’s traumatic to know that you are more than 6,000 miles from Paradise? Who knows, maybe shrinks have a syndrome that describes the feeling (post-euphoric-stress?) that betakes people and imprisons them in a back-to-earth funk.
Or, maybe these blues are the natural reaction of a fixed-income retiree - who may, or may not, live another 20 years (God only knows) and who must subsist on the meager dole from Unka Sam - plus anticipated interest from investments in a volatile economy. Gas is going up, the value of my mansion is going down, my chances to find part time work are diminished and (according to spammer e-mails) my love-muscle is too disappointingly soft. I planted a dozen marigolds three days ago. Some varmint has beheaded 8 of them. I mowed the lawn last week and here it is again looking shaggy. I search for seeds of hope, but crows have eaten them.
This morning it occurred to me that life is like a job. God is the boss, and even he has a manual to tell you what to do, and especially how to feed his big ego. You need to show up every day and try to look good. A few basic rules: Be nice to others (unless you are serving in the military) and stop dreaming about shtupping the neighbor’s wife/donkey. I can go along with that. It’s the requisite level of ego gratification that troubles me. Kneeling, chanting, supplication. And the performance review…pretty intimidating.
Ah, perhaps I will find cause to Hope in the morning paper: Oprah is going on a 21 day vegan detox diet. Like that will somehow make her eternally thin. We all know that when you are fat, you will always be fat until you get sick and die. Diets are God’s way of making you stop eating the stuff you like for a few months. It’s like the boss - jerking you around for entertainment.
And here: Annotated color graphic of Ted Kennedy’s inoperable brain tumor spoils my breakfast. The suddenness of this dark diagnosis stuns us all – even the pundati on the radio who love to hate him. He looks thinner already.
Then there are the Hurricanes and tornadoes and Earthquakes. We are once again reminded of human impotence. Natural forces and perhaps even supernatural powers hold sway over us, sneak up on us, and devastate us. Some people call this type of universal suffering “God’s will.” Such thinking cannot help but depress us. What kind of eternity are we in for, if our God thinks it’s a good idea to devastate our lives to prove his existence?
You are probably saying to yourself, other than the air travel experience where is the trauma? Well, my friend don’t you think it’s traumatic to know that you are more than 6,000 miles from Paradise? Who knows, maybe shrinks have a syndrome that describes the feeling (post-euphoric-stress?) that betakes people and imprisons them in a back-to-earth funk.
Or, maybe these blues are the natural reaction of a fixed-income retiree - who may, or may not, live another 20 years (God only knows) and who must subsist on the meager dole from Unka Sam - plus anticipated interest from investments in a volatile economy. Gas is going up, the value of my mansion is going down, my chances to find part time work are diminished and (according to spammer e-mails) my love-muscle is too disappointingly soft. I planted a dozen marigolds three days ago. Some varmint has beheaded 8 of them. I mowed the lawn last week and here it is again looking shaggy. I search for seeds of hope, but crows have eaten them.
This morning it occurred to me that life is like a job. God is the boss, and even he has a manual to tell you what to do, and especially how to feed his big ego. You need to show up every day and try to look good. A few basic rules: Be nice to others (unless you are serving in the military) and stop dreaming about shtupping the neighbor’s wife/donkey. I can go along with that. It’s the requisite level of ego gratification that troubles me. Kneeling, chanting, supplication. And the performance review…pretty intimidating.
Ah, perhaps I will find cause to Hope in the morning paper: Oprah is going on a 21 day vegan detox diet. Like that will somehow make her eternally thin. We all know that when you are fat, you will always be fat until you get sick and die. Diets are God’s way of making you stop eating the stuff you like for a few months. It’s like the boss - jerking you around for entertainment.
And here: Annotated color graphic of Ted Kennedy’s inoperable brain tumor spoils my breakfast. The suddenness of this dark diagnosis stuns us all – even the pundati on the radio who love to hate him. He looks thinner already.
Then there are the Hurricanes and tornadoes and Earthquakes. We are once again reminded of human impotence. Natural forces and perhaps even supernatural powers hold sway over us, sneak up on us, and devastate us. Some people call this type of universal suffering “God’s will.” Such thinking cannot help but depress us. What kind of eternity are we in for, if our God thinks it’s a good idea to devastate our lives to prove his existence?
5/04/2008
No Country Redux
You probably think that you are one of the two or three people who read this blog. But I have news for you bucko: there are at least four people who read it, not counting me.
I know this because I have received anecdotal evidence from one of the "regulars" that he was talking with a female friend who read my "No Country for Old Men " post of last week.
She thinks I should stick to writing about work issues and leave politics to the pundati. As I understand it, she is a supporter of John McCain's creaking campaign, and she wishes that I would just STFU about how old McCain is.
It makes me happy to imagine that someone would read my musings and actually be annoyed because they are worried that my pearls of wisdom and insight might actually change someones mind - or vote.
Someone should tell her that this wisdom is lost to most surfers, so she needen't become distressed that wandering bubbas might find truth via the Google search engine. I think Google tends to "find" Internet postings that have a lot of commercial appeal. This is a problem for me, since, like John McCain, I do not believe in pandering to special interests. I do not "sell" ad space to gain revenue. I know what you are thinking: No one would advertise on a site that only gets four clicks a week. Maybe so.
Exploring the Internets can be harrowing. We writers frequently attempt to back-up our opinions with actual facts. In the old days, I suppose writers actually went to the library and looked stuff up. Hah, what a waste of time! Nowadays, professional opinionators need go no further than their handy desk top search engine. All Truth is out there on the Internets. If there isn't a Wikipedia entry on something, it probably isn't worth knowing - or believing.
The other day, I tried to see if Google would find one of the blogs that I posted with "tags" I searched "McCain, No Country for Old Men" and when I did not find my blog in the top 200 listings, I lost interest. Instead, I found this obvious ripoff of my previous entry which, remember, was dated two days earlier:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/robert-scheer/no-country-for-old-men_b_99342.html
I would consider a plagiarism lawsuit against this Robert-sheer fellow, but that would involve talking to a lawyer. My daddy always said " Boy, don't never have no truck wit no lawyers. You gots to make you own justice." Well, sometimes justice is trumped by a desire to keep things simple. Besides, as my mother used to say, imitation is the highest form of compliment.
I know what you are thinking: The Sheer piece is so much better, well written and researched. Well, I think my mother would have said mine was better. Nah nah.
Speaking of Mothers, my wife tricked me into making breakfast this morning, suggesting that it was Mothers day. Hey, since I became an orphan, I don't pay any attention to the Hallmark Holidays. By the time I realized that it (Mothers Day) was actually next Sunday, my wily coyote bride of 40 years had already consumed the Land O Lakes Omega3 eggs, Banquet brown-and-serve sausages and buttered Arnold Oat Bran toast, and was sitting like a princess on the Sun-Shield screen porch quaffing her Starbucks Verona with that Mona Lisa smile on her face. (Maybe that will get me some Google hits).
editorial note: After pithy commentary on grammer and pronoun agreement by yet another faithful reader/commenter, I have re-written the earlier version. The comments have been removed to avoid confusion.
I know this because I have received anecdotal evidence from one of the "regulars" that he was talking with a female friend who read my "No Country for Old Men " post of last week.
She thinks I should stick to writing about work issues and leave politics to the pundati. As I understand it, she is a supporter of John McCain's creaking campaign, and she wishes that I would just STFU about how old McCain is.
It makes me happy to imagine that someone would read my musings and actually be annoyed because they are worried that my pearls of wisdom and insight might actually change someones mind - or vote.
Someone should tell her that this wisdom is lost to most surfers, so she needen't become distressed that wandering bubbas might find truth via the Google search engine. I think Google tends to "find" Internet postings that have a lot of commercial appeal. This is a problem for me, since, like John McCain, I do not believe in pandering to special interests. I do not "sell" ad space to gain revenue. I know what you are thinking: No one would advertise on a site that only gets four clicks a week. Maybe so.
Exploring the Internets can be harrowing. We writers frequently attempt to back-up our opinions with actual facts. In the old days, I suppose writers actually went to the library and looked stuff up. Hah, what a waste of time! Nowadays, professional opinionators need go no further than their handy desk top search engine. All Truth is out there on the Internets. If there isn't a Wikipedia entry on something, it probably isn't worth knowing - or believing.
The other day, I tried to see if Google would find one of the blogs that I posted with "tags" I searched "McCain, No Country for Old Men" and when I did not find my blog in the top 200 listings, I lost interest. Instead, I found this obvious ripoff of my previous entry which, remember, was dated two days earlier:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/robert-scheer/no-country-for-old-men_b_99342.html
I would consider a plagiarism lawsuit against this Robert-sheer fellow, but that would involve talking to a lawyer. My daddy always said " Boy, don't never have no truck wit no lawyers. You gots to make you own justice." Well, sometimes justice is trumped by a desire to keep things simple. Besides, as my mother used to say, imitation is the highest form of compliment.
I know what you are thinking: The Sheer piece is so much better, well written and researched. Well, I think my mother would have said mine was better. Nah nah.
Speaking of Mothers, my wife tricked me into making breakfast this morning, suggesting that it was Mothers day. Hey, since I became an orphan, I don't pay any attention to the Hallmark Holidays. By the time I realized that it (Mothers Day) was actually next Sunday, my wily coyote bride of 40 years had already consumed the Land O Lakes Omega3 eggs, Banquet brown-and-serve sausages and buttered Arnold Oat Bran toast, and was sitting like a princess on the Sun-Shield screen porch quaffing her Starbucks Verona with that Mona Lisa smile on her face. (Maybe that will get me some Google hits).
editorial note: After pithy commentary on grammer and pronoun agreement by yet another faithful reader/commenter, I have re-written the earlier version. The comments have been removed to avoid confusion.
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