Georgia On My Mind

Apologies for two political entries in a single week, but I need a forum to sort through my confusion in regards to the Georgia / Russia conflict.

Maybe I'm not following the timeline properly, but I'm pretty sure last week Georgia tried to deny South Ossetia (by force) the independence it's been vying for since the breakup of the Soviet Union, and Russia (by force) told Georgia to leave South Ossetia alone.

And then President Bush steps in to tell Russia to end its Georgian aggression, asserting our allegiance with Georgia and calling Russia all sorts of dirty names.

Seriously, Bush? Seriously?

Is it just me, or wasn't Georgia the initial aggressor here? Or to rephrase the pop-lingo: "Georgia shouldn't write checks its military brass can't cash."

Essentially, the skinny kid punched the much-bigger-kid's little friend, and now the skinny kid is crying foul.

I mean, I'm as concerned about Russia as the next person. After all, the new Russian president was essentially appointed by the former Russian president, and the former Russian president is the new prime minister.

If that doesn't wig you out, allow me to rephrase:

Something is rotten in the state of the Kremlin, and it ain't the old potatoes outside the vodka distillery.

Even still: does that give the United States the right to tell Russia to leave Georgia alone when, in fact, Georgia "started it"?

Or is this all a microcosm for what we've done in Iraq?

Yeah, Bush, that's just what we want. As though our military isn't spread too thin already, let's add Russia to the playing field. And once this whole Olympics thing is over (oh, what ironic timing!), surely we can continue the international competition by inviting China to join in.

And, oh — oh! I hope North Korea wants to play too.

Now here's an idea: let's do the democratic thing and take a vote: all in favor of using our words to diplomatically (rather than offensively) tell both sides to chill, say "I."

And if that doesn't work — and Bush continues with the heated name-calling — here's a tip for Russia.

Say it with me.

I'm rubber, and you're glue...

In Case You Missed It

Or as I'm calling the combined team, "Huck Norris."

Anyway. If Huckabee wins, you know he's going to appoint Chuck to secretary of something. My guess is Secretary of Defense (which he'll promptly rename, "Secretary of Whoop A$$").

Somewhere in a cave in Pakistan, bin Laden is afraid.

You should be, Osama.

You should be.

The Thought of War

And then, suddenly, the news becomes your obsession.

The roadside bombs, the body counts — these things cease to be passing blurbs (background noise to a busy day). Rather, they become the silhouette of a man who — often, when a boy — took his little sister out at midnight in search of night crawlers (bait for the next day's fishing trip).

Of the man who — once, when in high school — took a screaming, crying mouse (caught in a glue trap) out behind the house and told his parents (despite being a hunter) to never use those again.

[And then tried to comfort his sisters by claiming he was able to set the struggling creature free.]

Of a soldier who — often, when in Afghanistan — grew bored with base life and volunteered his time at a village hospital (himself trained in emergency medical care).

Of a father who — with one five-year-old son and one step-daughter — will be oceans away when his twins (four months in the making) are born.


"I wish I wasn't doing convoy security," he says. "I don't want to get blown up."

Everyone gets quiet. You chuckle to break the silence.

"Yeah, um," you begin. "Try to not do that."


And you know it's unlikely. You know that most of the men and women who serve in Iraq come home safe.

But then again: you also know that many of them don't. But you try to not think about that, telling him goodbye.

Instead, you take that eerie, macabre fear — the understanding that when you send a man away to war, your goodbye could very well be your last — and shove it to the back of your head.


"So, listen, I'll see you later," you say.

"Yeah," he says.

"See you later."

Because You Deserve to Know What Your Tax Dollars Aren't Paying For

The last time I posted first hand encounters regarding the way in which our troops were treated in Afghanistan, my sitemeter registered a fair few hits by U.S. Government officials — including the Department of Information (no idea why they don't even bother to cover up where they visit on the 'net).

Shortly thereafter, I saw that people at an undisclosed military facility in Colorado were viewing that particular entry after they were e-mailed the link.

(Scary how much these sitemeters tell you, isn't it?)

Hoping those visits were just a bizarre coincidence — but fearing I could get my "source" in some sort of trouble — I removed the post. Though, yes, I realized it may have been too late.

That was more than a year ago. Suffice it to say that in the meantime I've had a difficult time holding my tongue about similar concerns.

Like last night, learning the demographics of platoons we are "training" for deployment to Iraq.

One non-commissioned officer and a couple dozen boys, 18-19 years old, fresh out of boot camp.

That's it. One low-ranking sergeant leading a group of kids. One person who's there because he wants to be, and countless others because they needed the money offered by a sign-on bonus. I mean, let's be realistic: look at all the incentives the Army now offers kids who sign up; look at the number of soldiers with decent test records and passable grades (and compare that to past records — it's sickening how the Army has lowered its standards); and tell me it's safe to send a group of those boys and girls into the desert.

I hate to say it, folks, but if that's not treating soldiers like slabs of meat, I don't know what is.

Or as one co-worker put it: "It's like they're looking for bodies to stop the bullets while they build their embassy."

And so: yes, I think this is a bogus war. And save that initial invasion into Afghanistan (which we botched terribly), I've never supported this.

But, please, if you're going to send Americans into Iraq by the thousands... make sure our soldiers are qualified. Make sure they're there because they want to serve their country, and not because they needed the money. Make sure they have their diploma and please — whatever you do — stop waiving criminal records (rumor has it "soldiers" are stealing equipment from members of their squad). Make sure they're well-trained, and have all the supplies they need.

And while you're at it: change your strategy or get the heck out. Because increasing our head count isn't doing a damn thing.

My Sentiments Exactly

...on both counts.

Quiet Among the Cacophony

A Non-Binding Postulate

I have lived on the lip
of insanity, wanting to understand,
knocking on a door. It opens.

I've been knocking from the inside. —Jelaluddin Rumi

In the months that joined my freshman year to my sophomore, I faced a fairly typical crisis: I didn't know what on earth I wanted to do with my life, and my major (pre-med) didn't seem to hold my attention.

All I knew, really, was that I spent a good portion of chemistry class writing poems about the study of chemistry in the margins of my notebook. I'd already changed my major from pre-med to psychology once (and then back again, at my parents prodding), and I was especially entralled by a required writing class.

And then, later, I signed up for a literature class as an elective. That was it for me. I switched majors without telling my folks (they would've been crushed!), and I went from majoring in pre-med and taking humanities electives to doing the reverse.

Shortly after I filed the necessary paperwork, my chemistry professor asked me to meet him in his office after class.

"What's this I hear about you changing your major?" he asked through his thick Egyptian accent. "You want to study English?"

He stressed the word English with a bemused glimmer in his eye.

"You're my best student," he said. "Why would you want to do that?"

I was taken back, first of all, by his assertion that I was his "best" student, and I assume to this day that he was using flattery strictly in an attempt to keep me aligned with the sciences.

What he didn't know was that, prior to college, I was terrified of chemistry (in high school, after a lecture on how important it was to keep tabs on our lab keys, I dropped mine into a beaker of hydrochloric acid). Not to mention, I'd spent two entire weeks of this guy's class thinking he was talking about some chick named "Lynn" every time he'd refer to the natural log (ln) of something.

But that's besides the point. He told me how rewarding his profession was, how highly paid chemists were who worked "in the field," and how I'd make a "great doctor" too, if I'd only stick with it.

And I have to admit, his arguments were much better than mine. I have to imagine I sounded like quite the pansy when I said I wanted to switch majors because I wanted to read all of Shakespeare's plays, but in medicine I'd never have the time.

"You think there's not time?" he said, quoting something from the bard I've since forgotten. "You have to make time. I read Shakespeare. I read Rumi — you know Rumi?" he asked.

Rumi is a 13th century Sufi mystic whose poetry had grabbed my attention just a few months previous. My professor was Muslim, but I was nevertheless surprised to hear him so quickly refer to one of my favorite poets, even if they did share the same fundamental religion.

"You think about it," he continued, offering a few more words of disapproval. "Just be sure you make the right decision."
***
A few days later, there was a poetry jam on campus. The aforementioned professor showed up and read passages of old Arabic poems in their original Persian language. He scarely had to look at the pages, as he had so much of it memorized.

The central poet was, as you may have guessed, Jelaluddin Rumi.
***
So he'd proven his point. And though I stuck with English after all, I truly appreciated his efforts to keep me from straying to the "dark side" of the Arts & Sciences building. He'd shown more than modicum of interest in my future, something my own pre-med advisor (a biologist) failed to do.

***

I mention this chemistry professor not only because his interest in my future meant something to me... but also because I was never concerned with our religious differences — even when I did a class presentation on Sarin nerve gas, and threw in a quote or two regarding an Islamic faction. I mean, I knew he celebrated Ramadan, and I knew he had a white Christian wife. That was it. He was my chemistry professor; I was there to learn, and he was there to teach. Religion had nothing to do with it.
***Years prior to that, during the first Gulf war, it never occured to me that the conflict was a battle between Western Judeo-Christian ideology and Islam. For me, it was the U.S. against Iraq (two nations, not two religions), and it had something to do with Hussein invading Kuwait (to reduce it to its simplest apolitical factor).

And for as long as I can remember, I found news of ongoing conflicts in the Middle East between the Palestinians and Israelis — and the Catholics and Protestants in Ireland — to be, for lack of a better word, disheartening.

I understood the differences between these various faiths, but I also understood their similarities. But in my teenage naivete, I didn't understand why they couldn't made progressive use of their shared ideologies. And that, even as I studied the political conflict underlying their mutual struggles.

But the fact remains that — even as the news frustrated me — I was still somehow removed from it. I felt badly for the people caught in the middle, but I was — and this is where I have cause to blush — I was primarily just so glad it wasn't happening where I lived.
***
Even with the bombings in Oklahoma... and the unabomber... threats to our daily way of life seemed to be primarily (though not entirely) domestic. Of course there was always the fear of that proverbial "other" (a la the Cuban missle crisis, the Cold War, etc.)... but for the most part we've had it relatively easy the past few decades — and I do mean relatively.

And then, of course, the events of September 11 serve as a rather profound interruption.

But if we can all agree that history is rife with sundry turning points, I'd argue that 9/11 was rather seismic, to say the least.
***
As though the significant loss of lives wasn't enough, the attacks also showed the American people that its government had a big gaping hole in its lines of defense. And our government, in an ego-maniacal knee-jerk, exploited this tragedy as an opportunity to strip away our civil liberties, one by one. But we were OK with this at first, right?

"If taking off my shoes at the airport will help us catch terrorists, then by-golly I'll do it!"

Right?

Right?!

This, my friends, is that "slippery slope" we studied in high school.

And as for Iraq, well... the expression "red herring" comes to mind. Or did we find bin Laden when I wasn't looking?

But this, too, is besides the point.
***I don't know if it's because I'm older and wiser (stop snickering!), or if it's just a reflection of the impact September 11 had on me... but I find it increasingly difficult to distance myself from the daily news.

And even as I would say my faith in man is at an all-time low — even as I note just how terrible people are to each other even in the comfort of our comparably "peaceful" environs. Even as my blood pressure rises at the mere thought of daily traffic jams, middle fingers, crowded resaurants, threatening neighbors and my 53F apartment — I cannot help but feel a profound drop in my stomach (empathy) when I read stories such as this.

Imagine, if you will, how you felt on September 11. Now imagine if every building you went into, every bus you rode on, every school your children went to... carried with it the very real threat of an attack.

That, it seems, is the state of affairs in Iraq.
***There's been a lot of talk lately about throwing more U.S. troops into Iraq and Afghanistan... and then seeing whether or not the U.S. Senate exercises its "power of the purse" in an act of protest. That could mean, in a word, sending more troops but giving them less equipment.

But here's what I want to know: didn't our meddling in Iraq significantly exacerbate the political unrest that has since thrust the Shiites and Sunnis into a civil war? Haven't thousands upon thousands of Iraqi civilians been killed in the resultant blasts? Aren't we the least bit responsible for that?

And here's the kicker: is washing our hands of the situation really the best thing we can do?

A majority of the American public agrees that we shouldn't have gone there in the first place. And a majority of the American public agrees that we weren't aggressive enough in Afghanistan from the onset (if we had been, wouldn't we be gone by now?).

But no matter how strongly we feel about these Promethean conundrums, we're all left holding our head in our hands when confronted with the next question:

What do we do from here?
***After I read the aforementioned story yesterday afternoon, my thoughts turned to Rumi, and then my professor (just in case you wondered about the madness behind this tangential monster).

Rumi — like Christ, like Buddha, like Mohammed — was a purveyor of peace. His poetry focused on love of life, fear of death, human psychology, spirituality and his frustration with the often ruthless state of the world:

you have set up
a colorful table
calling it life and
asked me to your feast
but punish me if
i enjoy myself

what tyranny is this

Eight hundred years have passed since Rumi, but so little has changed.

What tyranny is this — indeed.

Haiku/Gesundheit (Volume XLV)

but i can't sit up straight

wool skirt lined with silk
slips and slides against nylons
i slouch painfully

---

in regards to e-mails my brother sent with photos from afghanistan

part i
my server says i'm
approaching storage limits
why can't i delete?

part ii
seriously folks
he's been back more than a year
and they're saved elsewhere

---

this was my dinner last night

lean pockets are gross
(she says without prejudice)
more cereal please

---

i shouldn't have taken that last no-doz

my heart is ready
for the indy 500
which i could run now

Full Metal Jacket (Movie Review)

I know, I know. As someone who watches a lot of movies — and as someone who is particularly intrigued by Stanley Kubrick — I should've watched Full Metal Jacket eons ago.

And I did. But I was 14 the first time I watched this movie; a particularly tough age to get past the language and violence as a means to understand the function of either. To make matters especially complex, I originally watched this movie with my older brother and his best friend — himself a member of the Marines. Hearing them shout and laugh at the movie — when I found it to be somehow disturbing, and sad — often prompted me to leave the room.

"Is that what it's really like?" I'd ask.

"Yep," replied his friend. "That's exactly what it's like."

From there, he and my brother would return to calling each other "pogues" and "Jarheads" while I struggled to balance the images on screen with what was then my fairly Republican approach to world-affairs.

***Add in a few years, a dash of wisdom. And a war I'm morally opposed to... and suddenly I understand quite well just why I was so bothered by the film the first time around. It wasn't so much the nightmarish quality that marked other Kubrick films, a la Clockwork Orange (1971), as it was the truth behind the nightmare.

Full Metal Jacket takes places during the Vietnam War, with the first quarter of the film being dedicated to a group of men undergoing basic training for the Marine Corps. Here you see how "killers" are made and spirits broken — all the while without disrespecting the Corps (a fine line that causes the film to appeal to pacifists and soldiers alike... not that the two are mutually exclusive).

Later, the film continues to follow one of the newly inducted Marines, a loveable, wise-cracking newsy nicknamed "Joker" (played by Matthew Modine) by his Gunnery Sergeant (played by real-life Marine, R. Lee Ermey). Joker mockingly inscribes "Born to Kill" on his helmet, a notable contrast to the peace symbol he refuses to remove from his uniform. His smart remarks eventually "earn" him a ticket to the lines, where U.S. forces are in dire straights. And while Joker is a pacifist at heart, he's anything but a pansy on the field. But that doesn't make the ensuing violence any easier to cope with.

Or to paraphrase:

Joker [Relaxing in the Barracks]: I'm so bored, man. I can't wait until I'm back in the field where there's some real action.

Joker [Raising his automatic rifle minutes later, after the enemy attacks their base for the first time]: I hope they're just pulling our leg. [Shaking] I'm not ready for this.

In sum: a great movie that's just a couple clicks shy of Terry Gilliam's Brazil (1985) in terms of timeless, similarly-themed films.* I'd recommend anyone revisit both for a renewed perspective on the current state of things.

FINAL GRADE: A-


*Admittedly, Brazil deals moreso with the effects of a government instilling the fear of "the other" at home, where as Full Metal Jacket deals more with the psychology of war on the individual. And yet: they work quite nicely together. Companion guides, as it were.

Another Lesson Concerning "Perspective"

ME: Actually, I'd like some snow. Just enough to go snowshoeing in, maybe snowmobiling. But I don't want it to get too cold. I can't control heat at my place; when we did have a cold spell early December, it got at low as 48 degrees in my apartment. Which is a great temperture if it's outside in the middle of winter. Not so great if it's inside. Last winter there were even some nights when I went to bed wearing a hat and gloves. And during our short cold spell this winter, there were a couple nights when I'd wake up to use the restroom, and then I'd be shivering uncontrollably by the time I returned to bed.

MY BROTHER: Yeah, I know what you mean. When I was with Special Forces [in the mountains of Afghanistan], our tent was cold enough that our water would develop a layer of ice on top. And you'd have to put on your boots and walk through the snow to use the bathroom. It wouldn't have been so bad if they'd given me winter boots, because those would've been warmer. But they ran out of my size. [PAUSE]

So I know what you mean. You should get some of that clear wrap for your windows.

Thoughts Concerning an Execution

So they say Saddam will be shuffling off this mortal coil sometime today or tomorrow.

Is it just me, or does anyone else feel a tad disillusioned at the prospect?

I mean, yes, he commited some terrible atrocities against Iraqi Kurds in the 80s. But the retribution should've come then... not 20 years later under the guise of something else — particularly false pretense.

We went into Iraq looking for supposed weapons of mass destruction. We didn't find any. Turns out we started an entire war, in fact, on bad intelligence and a CIA faux pas (oppps!). But Saddam had already been ousted by the time the American public knew any better, so we had to charge him with something.

But we didn't invade Iraq to punish Hussein for the ethnic genocide his minions carried out when I was still in grade school. We just happened to charge him with that when our other excuses didn't pan out.

And so I say again: Hussein is responsible for some terrible atrocities, and he should've been punished. But when the news of Hussein's demise hits the airwaves post mortem, consider this:

• Prior to the U.S. invasion, Iraq was one of the most stable countries in the Mid-East
• Prior to the U.S. invasion, Iraq was one of the most progressive countries in the Mid-East (both financially, commercially, and in its treatment of women)
• Prior to the U.S. invasion, al Qaida terrorists attacked on American soil, claiming some 2,973 lives in New York, Pennsylvania and Washington D.C.
• Efforts to connect Hussein to al Qaida have proven fruitless
• Since the U.S. invasion in Iraq, nearly 3,000 American soliders have been killed there; about 47,000 have been wounded; and anywhere from 50,000 to 100,000 civilian Iraqis have lost their lives in the crossfire
• These totals don't include lives lost in Afghanistan
• WWI lasted just over four years; the U.S. was involved for two (from 1917 until the Treaty of Versailles in 1919)
• WWII lasted less than six years; the U.S. was involved for almost four (from December 1941 until the war's end in 1945)
• We've been in Afghanistan since October 2001; in Iraq since March 2003

For those of you keeping count, these numbers mean the U.S. has been involved in the so-called "War On Terror" longer than we were involved in either World War. And not only do we have no proof — not even the smallest firecracker — to link Hussein to al Qaida or bin Laden, but we've also lost more American lives in Iraq alone than we did in the September 11 attacks.

I don't know if it makes me a bad American, a bad human... or what. But I get no pleasure out of Saddam's imminent execution. That doesn't necessarily mean I think he deserves to live, either. Just that everything feels... wrong.

Something to chew on the next time you see his face in the news.

Pavlov's Political Doggerel

It doesn't take a genius to figure out what topic will ripple throughout the blogosphere today...

• Where were you when it happened?
• How were you impacted?
• Are we safer now than we were five years ago?
• What does Iraq have to do with 9/11?

And so on. And so on. And so on...

For now, I'm only interested in addressing those questions insofar as they relate to my experience yesterday morning. I was driving Washington to the airport — he was flying out of one of the biggest cities in the U.S. and into our nation's capitol. Suffice it to say he was originally set to fly into D.C. on the 11th, but opted to go a day early... in part to avoid the unease that comes with travel on that day. In part because he has friends in D.C. that afforded him a reasonable excuse to go a day early.

And while I find us both to be rational people (hold your snickering, please) — the sort who engage in that veritable contradiction of being anti-Bush, anti-war and yet simultaneously supportive of troops — I found it interesting that neither of us were thrilled with the idea of a 9/11 travel date. Did I think there'd be another terrorist attack on the five-year anniversary? Not really. Do I think the next terrorist attack will be a repeat of the last one? Not really. Not to mention, D.C. is possibly even one of the safest places to be today.

But to understand and rationalize these things doesn't necessarily negate inscrutable human response. The expression "fight or flight" comes to mind. I've determined that, as much as we may hate to admit it, the biomechanics of human nature tell us to get the heck out of Dodge long after the dust settles.

It's like that proverbial stove we're told, as children, to never touch.

"That's HOT" our parents say to deter any physical impulse. "Don't TOUCH" And what should happen if curiosity ever gets the best of us, and our little fingers make their way onto the heated surface?

We know to never touch it again. And not so much because our parents told us not to, but because we understand what happens when we do.

So that's what "hot" means...

And while I don't intend to downplay the horrific events of five years ago with such a silly, poorly-composed analogy... I do mean to say that somewhere inside of us, those old parental caveats (nurture) have intermingled with innate response (nature) to create a sensory overload of sorts.

Somehow the wires have crossed. And even as our rational mind determines the stove is turned off... somewhere inside of us, a synapse fires and we wonder: "What if..."

We keep our hands, then, safely at our sides.

But it's also unfair of me to rest all of the blame on unadulterated human nature. From Milgram's experiments to Pavlov's, to Skinner's... human nature is swayed — whether consciously or unconsciously — by external influences.

And these "influences" (television commercials, billboards, political rallies, news programs, etc.) somehow condition us to respond to stimuli in ways that often defy what we think about ourselves.

That's what bothered me yesterday: not the electronic readerboard itself, but rather my immediate response to it.

ORANGE ALERT

it said

EXTRA SECURITY IN PLACE. EXPECT DELAYS.

"Orange Alert," I said. "That's just one level below red."

That's when it hit me: I've often mocked and satirized that frivolous alert system and yet, suddenly, it meant something to me. And I was ashamed.

"Is that Bert or Ernie?" Washington asked, referring to the icon on my blog.

"I can never remember which is orange, and which is yellow. I know Elmo is red."

• He then slurped down the rest of his coffee, which he couldn't take on the plane.
• He then grabbed his carry-on (free of toiletries) from the trunk, and then his check-in.
• I looked at his shoes, and thought to tell him he should've worn disposable socks.

And then I wondered when on earth all of this would end. The terror alerts. The security increases. The liquid ban, the shoeless scans, the wire taps.

And then I remembered, a month or two ago, driving past a billboard that read "ARE YOU READY?"

It was a disaster preparedness message, catered specifically towards terrorist activity. Suddenly I felt like I was a character in Brazil (1985) or even V for Vendetta (2005). Here I have a government telling me to "be prepared" (i.e. Be afraid. Be very afraid.) all the while recommending I put on a pretty face and go about my business.

Talk about a mixed message. I heard yesterday afternoon that the federal government has spent considerably more money advertising and stumping airport security and this color coded "THREAT LEVEL" system than it has spent actually improving airport security (I've got to imagine it's considerably less for other potential targets... trains, busses, water supplies, etc).

Which then brings us back to the very beginning. Where was I five years ago today? Do I think we're safer now then we were before?

Five years ago today, I had just moved to the city where two of the planes left. And when I boarded public transportation to make the commute home — some six hours earlier than expected — all of the city was stuffed on to the train with me. Some families. Some students. But mostly business men with their heads down, and their laptops at their side. It was 10 a.m.; everyone was on their way home... and no one said a word. I didn't think I'd ever again experience something as surreal as that.

But as I saw that readerboard at the airport — as I mumbled the words "That's just one level below red" — I realized...

I was wrong.

A Pseudo-Political Rant about the War (Not-So-Cleverly Disguised as a Review of Syriana)

For the first 45 minutes or so of watching this, we couldn't get the subtitles to work. That meant countless "huh's" and "what'd he say's" that most assuredly frustrated my movie-watching companion.

When we continued the film later on a different DVD player, the feature started working and, at long last, I realized that we'd been watching one heckuva good film.

Essentially, Syriana (2006) is a movie about all of those things we don't want to believe. It's a "fictional" account of the goings-on in the Middle East: the makings of terrorists... the oil wars... and the American politics behind it all. It paints a picture of what we all "suspect" is going on... but that few of us are willing to believe.

That's the aspect of the film that scares me, and for two reasons:

•I generally take issue with any book, film or story that takes a very serious and very "real" issue, and fictionalizes it on a highly influential medium. It's scary what these things can do to sway the masses — sometimes appropriately so, but sometimes... also... blindly, or in the wrong direction
•I don't want to believe that everything I see in Syriana is true. But if this were an all-out documentary (just to clarify... it's not), it confirms my worst suspicions. And that's terrifying.

Here we have a movie that shows how an ordinary Islamic man becomes a terrorist. We see how American politics impact the Middle East. And we see the role oil companies — American and otherwise — play in it all.

And Syriana does this without painting all Americans in a negative light (on the contrary, the CIA agent George Clooney plays is an innocent pawn who tries his darnedest to rectify wrongs committed by his organization). And you don't sympathize with all Arabic men (there are two Saudi princes in this film, for example... one will essentially go to work for American oil companies; the other wants to do what is best for his people but is not necessarily anti-American).

The real beauty of this film: much like Thank You For Smoking (2006) — a movie about smoking in which no one ever lights up — Syriana brings to mind the workings of the Bush administration, and our current role in Iraq — without ever once referencing our current president.

My biggest complaint: with 4-5 story lines unfolding at once, I wasn't always able to follow along... but this may have resulted from the aforementioned "subtitle" issue.

But back to the pseudo-political rant:

Given the recent headline about Prime Minister Blair stepping down, at the bequest of his people, why on earth haven't we accomplished the same here?

I realize Parliament can actually "vote" someone out of office, and that realization likely played a role in Blair's decision. And I know that's not a feat as easily accomplished here. But, goodness, if we could impeach Clinton for his husbandly misgivings... what's missing from the equation here?

A Clear-Cut Case of Huh?!

I read this story on Friday, but only just found the time to discuss it. It's a bit dated now, unfortunately, but that doesn't make its contents any less disconcerting.

“'We did in fact see him alive,'” [Major General Bill] Caldwell said. 'He mumbled a little something but it was indistinguishable and it was very short.'”

A 'little something'? As in "Hey, have you guys seen my car keys?"

"'U.S. and Polish forces arrived intending to provide unspecified medical treatment...'"

If he was assumed dead, what was the treatment for?

“'[Zarqawi] attempted to sort of turn away off the stretcher, everybody reached to insert him back...'"

"Sort of turn away"?! Hey, by any chance did anyone use a gun to "insert him back"?

"[Caldwell said] an initial analysis of Zarqawi’s body was done but he was not certain it constituted a full autopsy."

So, um, what did it constitute? A college admission physical? A spray of "how the heck did you survive that, Damien?!" bullets?

“'[Zarqawi] obviously had some kind of visual recognition of who they were because he attempted to roll off the stretcher, as I am told, and get away, realizing it was U.S. military.'”

'Well, obviously. Like, um, totally duuuh...' I mean, who wouldn't be afraid of the U.S. military?
'Some kind of visual recognition' — now that sounds like an official analysis of the situation. Thanks, Colombo!

"Caldwell said another foreign-born militant was poised to take over the terror network’s operations."

No kidding, huh? So you mean the war isn't over? This reminds me of a story I once heard about fecal matter and a guy named "Sherlock." Incidentally, does the realization that there's always going to be someone new "taking over" make you think y'all might want to reconsider your goals and objectives?

"He said Egyptian-born Abu al-Masri would likely take the reins of al-Qaida in Iraq."

Let's call him "Abu-bu" for kicks. As in, "Do you need a Band-Aid for your Abu-bu?"

"The U.S. military had displayed images of the battered face of al-Zarqawi and reported that he was identified by fingerprints, tattoos and scars. But Caldwell said Friday that authorities made a visual identification of al-Zarqawi at the site of the airstrike."

OK. So was his face battered, or not? And when you're dealing with the #2 terrorist in the world, I'm not sure I want the story of his life or death to hinge on a "visual identification." Shesh. Even I've heard of decoys.

So that's my way of having fun with Maj. Gen. Bill Caldwell and his "astute" analysis of the situation. Sadly, I think the Carmen Sandiago gumshoes could've done a better job.

And here's my beef with the media: when I first read that story on Friday, and then revisited it 20 minutes later to begin writing this piece, the story had already been altered. It initially included questions such as:

Why does Zarqawi's face look so purty if he just had two 500 pound bombs dropped on him? [Caldwell's answer in a nutshell: "we just don't know how an ordinary man could've survived a blast like that"] and

How long was he alive after the blast?
[Answer: "just a few minutes" and "he died shortly after the Polish medics arrived"... the story later changed to have him dying shortly after the U.S. military arrived... and then over this past weekend, we learned he was alive for some 50 minutes after the blast.]

These and other segments were deleted without explanation.

There's comes a time in every person's life when you've got to learn how to tell fact from fiction. As for myself: I'm tired of sorting through the rubbish.

Haiku/Gesundheit (Volume X)

there's nothing funny about an anti-establishment haiku
(inspired by a recent article on allen ginsberg's howl)

you sent my brother
to afghanistan without
boots, gloves or gun scopes

you sent a local
boy to iraq (but returned
only his body)

you sent my cousin
to vietnam when others
were off to college

and then you sent him
to bosnia, years later,
to investigate

war crimes where no one
but yourself is innocent:
or no one ever

so guilty.