The Impossible Dream

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Addicted to Speed

I got my first ticket as a kid of eleven. I had a bicycle fitted out with a lawnmower engine, and about the first time I rode it more than a block from home, a cop made a U-turn on a busy street, hit his lights, and started bearing down on me.

“Run!” my friends yelled. I probably would have just sat there and waited for the LEO to arrive, but when I heard that word I gunned it and took off, cutting through alleys and back yards and working my knowledge of the neighborhood to compensate for my horsepower disadvantage as the cruiser shot up and down side streets trying to cut me off.

I’ve never done it since, but I’ve got to say there’s a certain thrill in trying to elude a police officer in hot pursuit.

I almost made it, too, when I ducked into a friend’s open garage and pulled the door down behind he, but Officer Obie saw me and, to say the least, he came out of that cruiser so angry you’d have thought I’d robbed a bank and was shooting over my shoulder as he tried to bring me to justice. In the end I was written up for riding an unregistered motor vehicle and evading a law enforcement officer.

I’ve observed that LEOs have virtually no sense of humor when we stop to have a discussion of my driving habits. I remember I had to go to court with my dad, though I don’t remember what the sentence was. What could they do? I was eleven! Take away my license?

No, actually, that would have to wait until my sixteenth birthday when I got a license in the morning and promptly lost it that very afternoon when I got busted for going fifty in my parents Chrysler in front of the cute girl’s house a few blocks over. That would be fifty in a twenty-five. Pop! My second ticket, back in court with my dad, and I had to wait another six months before I could drive again. You’d think I would have learned.

But not, because like just about every motorcyclist I hang with, I’m addicted to speed. I love going fast. If motorcycles didn’t go fast and corner like the best roller-coaster I’ve ever ridden, I’d give them up and take up a hobby like model railroading. But they do go fast and there’s nothing I love more than sitting on top of one, tucking in low behind the fairing while I atomize about thirty dollars worth of rear tire behind me in a mad burst of acceleration, and—this especially—leaning into a turn fast enough to put the bike over at an angle that seems to defy physics and certainly common sense.

How fast? Well, a capable modern sport bike on a straight, open county road with no traffic just starts to feel planted and exciting at about a buck twenty. My bike, considered rather sedate by superbike standards, has a top speed of 155. I've never ridden it that fast. It will go from zero to sixty in a little over three seconds, again, rather slow by superbike standards but faster than virtually any car on the road, no matter how much you pay for it.

Corner speeds vary depending on the corner, of course. In tight twisties I can work the tires out to near the edge of their tread at speeds as low as maybe forty. Big sweepers get fun somewhere between 80 and 100. These numbers seem to indicate shocking irresponsibility to non-riders, but sitting around the campfire with my riding buddies, I might say something like I crossed the Klamath Marsh road at about a hundred and elicit little more than vague grunts of acknowledgement.

All of the above might suggest that I’m a cocky and irresponsible rider, but I try not to be. Most of the miles I ride are at a moderate touring pace, and I try to always keep something in reserve in case I run into the bit of stray gravel in a turn. In traffic I’m so defensive people begin to think I have a complex, and in wet conditions I ride so slow I’m in danger of being rear-ended by a street sweeper. And I know when I’m over my head, which I always am when I get with a bunch of the really fast guys. I’m happy to let them ride on ahead.

In fact, I’m basically a chicken, which is a big part of the reason I hope to be celebrating my 60th birthday in a few months. Still, in the end, I love motorcycles mostly because I’ve never outgrown my love of speed. If I had to ride a cruiser, I’d quit riding.

And all the guys I ride with—those conscientious, upstanding citizens; taxpayers and church-goers; doctors and lawyers, LEOs themselves; teachers and preachers and accountants; sensible, responsible individuals every one of them—they’re addicted to speed, too. We love to complain about inexperienced kids who ride way over their limit and give us a bad name with John Q. Public. In the end, if we encounter one on the road, though, we see if we can take him. We can’t help ourselves.

May we all live so long as to one day be able to talk about how we finally outgrew it. In the meantime, the most fun I can have in a single day usually involves going fast on two wheels.

User-Whee!

The state legislature has finally lanced a pustule on the ass of the Oregon body politic. By a vote of 18 to 11, the state senate voted to cap interest rates on consumer loans at 36 percent. The bill goes into effect July 1st.

I sure wish I could make 36 percent on anything, but for a decade now, Oregon’s payday loan sharks have been charging—but wait, you really have to take a guess on this.

How much do payday loan businesses need to charge to be able to stay in business: 100 percent? 200 percent? 300 percent?

Mais, non! Payday loan sharks need to charge 500 percent(!) interest just to stay in business. At 500 percent, they seem to be just getting by, which is why we now have more payday loan shops in Oregon than McDonalds.

A typical loan is about $300 and is made to a poor person who also happens to be stupid. They would use the money for discretionary items such as food and rent or to fix their car so they could get to work at their minimum wage job.

Some of them were Oregon lottery addicts, so in a way the PD loan industry was subsidizing state government, and I guess my pension, for that matter. Thanks!

Thing is, the loan would be due in a few weeks, and since Citizen Stupid doesn't have any more money now than he did then, he would pay a big fee to roll it over for another few weeks.

Where’d he get the money for the big fee? Why, right next door at another PD loan shop! You can see how poor money management skills, crap jobs, and a low IQ could combine to produce what people in the PD loan industry refer to as “clients.”

This has been an issue in Oregon for several years now as the newspapers have picked up on how the scam works and how many families and individuals it has forced into bankruptcy. It all started in the late 90s when the legislature lifted the cap on legal interest rates to adjust to the quickly rising loan rates. Instead of adjusting the usury definition upward, though, they just eliminated it.

Within minutes, signs went out on shop fronts, and loan sharks who used to work from street corners got to move indoors.

This detestable practice was allowed to continue for a decade because the sharks quickly formed a professional association and started lobbying and because Oregon Republicans have become so ideology-driven they don’t know a turd from a truffle anymore. “Let the market work,” one of them said in arguing against the new bill. There would also be a market for contract murder if we legalized it, but fortunately, that one hasn’t come up this session. No question it would have Republican support.

“Industry” spokesperson Steven Hanson said “These politicians don’t care about the small Oregon business owners who are going to be on the street. They ought to care about the consumers.”

Poor babies!

Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.

Toast the troops!

My friend Ed Robinson passes along a link to this website.

http://www.sixpacksforsoldiers.com/

I’m never quite sure what “support the troops” means, but this seems as good a way as any.

One of the small but telling ironies of this nasty little war is that our troops on the ground are not allowed to consume alcohol. No stopping by the enlisted men’s club for a cold one after a tough day of routing out terrorists. There is no Miller time in Iraq, this out of sensitivity to the Muslim prohibition against alcohol.

So as we’re over there fighting for their freedom and ours here at home—so it is hoped we will believe—our own troops are forced to conform to the tenets of a faith not their own. I think that’s wrong. I think commanders should have the balls to say to the locals, “Hey, we’re infidels! We’re drinking us some beer! Get used to it!”

Wanna bet those suits in the embassy find a way to smuggle in some liquid refreshment?

Dog Trouble

I posted a few months ago about a run-in Mary and I had in a campground when walking our dogs. That incident involved two pit bulls, but these encounters aren't uncommon, and I'd say I have some kind of incident maybe one in five times I go for a walk.

I took my two Jack Russells for our short, neighborhood loop today and got rushed once again by three big ones up on Loma Linda. One of them is very aggressive, though I think it’s a bluff charge. Still, it scares the hell out of me. I swing my walking stick and yell at them, and they circle and try to make rushes back in. All the time I’m holding my own two on leashes in one hand and trying to keep them out of it. Jack Russells would attack a grizzly, but they wouldn’t last a few seconds, even as tough as they are, against bigger dogs.

So I told the guy who finally came out it wasn’t the first time and would he please keep his dogs under control, and he said “I didn’t even know they were out here.” There are too many good comebacks to that, and I just kept walking.

I looked at cattle prods at a farm supply store once and decided against it because they’re big and I’d feel stupid carrying one around. Still, I wish I could think of a way to drop a dog in its tracks when this happens, leave it twitching and stunned for a few minutes.

I might have another look at cattle prods.

You Can't Make This Shit Up

I don't do bumper stickers for the most part. Last one I had, that I recall, was in 1964 and it said "Dizzy Gillespie for President." Wish I still had it.

But I was in Hood River last weekend and found a very cool little alt.bookstore that had a lot of bumper stickers I liked. I bought a few and so far have only put one on my scooter. It says "Earth" in green letters, and you'd have to live in Klamath Falls to understand why that could be risky.

I got a good laugh out of one that said "You can't make this shit up" because every day I think that as I read the paper.

Here's a link to a Washington Post editorial by Dana Milbank.

You really can't make this shit up.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/05/23/AR2007052301446.html?referrer=email&referrer=email&referrer=email&referrer=email

Happy Anniversary To Us

Yesterday, Mary and I celebrated our 32nd Anniversary.

“Celebrated” is maybe not the best term. She worked late because of a parents’ night at school. I went over to a friend’s house and watched motorcycle races he had recorded from the weekend.

Great races! Le Mans in the rain.

I consider myself to be a very lucky guy to be married to such a wonderful person, still in love and more in love every year. Lots of marriages don’t last. Some that do aren’t so great.

What did we do to be so lucky? I’ve reflected on occasion that when we met, I was far from emotionally mature. I could have easily ended up in a terrible relationship. But it wasn’t just luck, either. We’ve both done a lot of work on ourselves and on our relationship. Somehow we managed to stay together long enough to begin to get it right.

We’ll probably do something special this weekend, but I did remember to buy flowers and a card for the day.

I also filled her car with gas. What a guy I am!

Venus, not de Milo

Mary and I enjoyed the film Venus last night at home. If for no other reasons, it’s a delightful portrayal of three aging actors, good friends and sometime enemies, in the final weeks and months of life. It illustrates beautifully why old age can be a wonderful thing, not in spite of the aches, pains, disabilities, impotence, and organ failure, but because of them. When a good bowel movement becomes the best thing that happens today, life has truly been reduced to the simple pleasures. It helps if you’ve learned a few lessons along the way.

I’m not nearly so old yet, but I can begin to see it from here.

Peter O’Toole is wonderful as the aging, lecherous actor, equal parts charming and creepy. Together with his two friends, played always with either bawdy or subtle comic undertones by Leslie Phillips and the laughably rotund Richard Griffiths, the film could have stood its ground on just that one theme. But it quickly develops into yet another variation on Pygmalion when Phillips takes in the young and rather coarse daughter of his niece as a nurse/caretaker. O’Toole goes to work immediately, but it’s lechery and not transformation that motivates him.
The plot thickens when the girl, called Venus by O’Toole, turns out to be as much a predator as he is. In the end, they’re all equal parts repellent, charming, and even lovable. More lessons get learned.

Splendid acting around and an interesting if disturbing moral ambiguity combined to keep us up past bedtime.

In real life, Richard Griffiths is quoted as saying, "If I had my way, all actors over 55 would be issued a 3-lb. wet salmon with which to slap the face of every young, beautiful, successful upstart. 'That's for being so lucky, you bastard!' I would shout. And then, hit them again, if you can." In part, that could serve as a summary of the film if you keep in mind that comedy is a fine tool for suggesting paradox.

The New Know Nothings

Stupid Republicans: The National Journal reports in its recent poll of Republicans in the House of Representatives that only thirteen percent believe that global warming is real.

It’s too bad that George Tenet neutralized the expression slam dunk. We need to send a few thousand climate scientists up to Capital Hill to explain to these yahoos that the case for human caused global warming is “irrefutable,” as resoundingly affirmed in the latest UN report, which followed similar conclusions from our own National Academy of Sciences and pretty much every one else who bothers to read the newspaper once or twice a week.

The number of climate reports with similar findings and dire warnings seems to grow every day. What we should do about global warming might remain a matter of discussion and controversy, but that it’s happening and human caused has been settled science for at least a decade.

Apparently, the only way to get a majority of Republicans to accept this is if we could find a link to Al-Qaeda. If Al-Qaeda were building a series of massive coal-fired power plants in the Iraqi outback, Republicans might agree to a surge of engineers to the region to install scrubbers or force them to change over to wind or solar, two things they have more of than oil. Arguably, the whole thing would demonstrate that Al-Qaeda is more crafty and dangerous than even the Bush administration imagined.

I’ve never agreed with much of conservative doctrine, but at least there seemed to be a doctrine there that was based on some kind of vision of reality. If you don’t approve of race mixing, you’re going to be opposed to racial integration. If you believe life begins at conception, I can understand your opposition to abortion. But when studies show that abstinence-only sex education has absolutely no effect on sexual activity among teens, what do Republicans want to do? Increase funding for abstinence-only sex education.

It’s too bad that “know nothings” has already been taken as a party name. Contemporary Republicans seem to be staying in office, albeit in fewer numbers, on a slam-dunk policy of “I don’t know nothing.”

Alvin Batiste Dies

One of my favorite jazz musicians has died. Alvin Batiste was perhaps better known as a teacher, but his album Late is absolutely terrific. It's one of those of the many hundred I own that gets played regularly.

He was a master on the clarinet, an instrument which was out of fashion for many years. And his music, though mostly in the mainstream, could move decidedly outside without leaving me behind. I hear a strong influence of Coltrane, but he always had his own voice.

He was 74 and died of an apparent heart attack just hours before a scheduled concert at the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival.

Think I'll rip Late tonight so I'll have it on my computer. I'm close to doing the iPod thing and will definitely want his tunes in my shuffle.

Riding to school last night

Yesterday evening I had a rather unsettling experience when I was riding the scooter to school for my 5:30 class. When I stopped for the light at the bypass, I noticed a woman in the crosswalk who was obviously very drunk. After a few stumbling steps she collapsed in the middle of the road. It took a few seconds to register that this had really happened, then I put the scooter on the side stand and ran over to her. I took my helmet off and was starting to call 911 when I could hear a driver in a nearby car already calling it in.

By this time, the woman had begun to seizure. I took off my jacket and put it under her head and just knelt with her. When she stopped, I stood up and made a feeble attempt to direct traffic around her.

While all of this was happening, two other people came over with a dog on a leash and said the woman had dropped the dog off with them and said she was going to commit suicide by taking an overdose of pills. It wasn’t clear if she’d taken the pills already or if she had passed out from drinking. The seizure could also have been from hitting her head when she fell.

The cops and then EMTs arrived in only a few minutes and took charge of the scene. I just stood around and waited for them to get her on a gurney so I could get my jacket and go to class.

As I thought about it later that evening, I felt good that I’d gone over to help. No one else got out of a car. But as I thought about it, I realized that the first thing the EMT did when he came over was check for a pulse. When I looked at her again, I realized she could have been dead. In the confusion of the moment and the concern about traffic starting to move around her, I hadn’t even thought to see if she was alive and consider starting CPR.

I briefly felt ashamed that I’d done a bad job of it but soon realized I have no training for emergencies like this. In a crisis, people fall back on their training, and without training, all I could think to do was stand there next to her.

When I talked with Mary about it, she said she gets to think about these things fairly often teaching junior high and has pretty much decided not to give CPR because of the risks of AIDS, hepatitis, and various other highly contagious diseases which are not all that uncommon.

I might make the same decision if it happens again, but I expect considerations like this are part of the training people receive. I noticed none of the cops tried to assess the woman’s condition before the EMTs arrived.

So, all of this has led me to think that I’d like to take a first aid class. They offer them at the community college, even up to EMT certification. Since I’m one who has never done well around blood or pain, I doubt I’d ever want to do anything like this for a living, but I’d like to have that kind of training to fall back on if it happens again. I might need it for someone I know.

I have no idea how the woman fared. They loaded her in the ambulance, one of the cops called out “Let’s clear the intersection,” and they were all gone in seconds. Other than the traffic snarl, it was as if nothing had happened.

I was glad she hadn’t puked on my vintage leather jacket. It’s my favorite.

Dennis Kucinich for President!

Here are a few excerpts from a Washington Post editorial today by Richard Cohen. It’s interesting both in that it takes seriously Dennis Kucinich’s articles of impeachment against Dick Cheney and Kucinich himself as a Democratic candidate for president:

“The resolution offered by the gentleman from Ohio reads sensibly. It alleges crimes high and low, misdemeanors galore -- all of them representing an effort to mislead the American people and take them into war. It is Dennis Kucinich's articles of impeachment directed at Dick Cheney. The vice president will, of course, deny being a liar. As long as Kucinich is at it, add that to the articles. . . .
“Kucinich also alleges that Cheney `purposely manipulated the intelligence process to deceive the citizens and Congress.’" That, as the expression goes, is the gravamen of the charge. Kucinich doesn't stand a ghost of a chance of making it stick because Congress is not about to vote impeachment. But no one who reads Kucinich's case against Cheney can fail to conclude that this is a rational, serious accusation. It's possible that each individual charge can be rebutted, but the essence of it is shockingly apparent: We were being manipulated. . . .
“Kucinich is an odd guy for whom the killer appellation "perennial presidential candidate" is lethally applied. But he is on to something here. It is easy enough to ad hominize him to the margins -- ya know, the skinny guy among the `real’ presidential candidates -- but at a given moment, and this is one, he's the only one on that stage who articulates a genuine sense of betrayal. He is not out merely to win the nomination but to hold the Bush administration -- particularly Cheney -- accountable. In this he will fail. What Cheney has done is not impeachable. It is merely unforgivable.”

Back in ’04, I ran for the Oregon Senate as a Democrat in our heavily Republican district. I got creamed, as expected, but I ran a serious campaign and got three out of four endorsements from newspapers in our district. The one I didn’t get, of course, was written by an idiot!

One of the few high points of the campaign was when I twice got to introduce Dennis Kucinich, who back then was again a candidate for president. I introduced him once in Klamath Falls to an audience of several hundred. I got to meet and talk to him at some length later the same week at a meeting of progressive rural activists in Portland.

He struck me at the time and still does as the best of the Democratic candidates. He is a passionate and inspiring speaker, and he goes directly to the truth without trying to find the middle ground that might best mobilize the base and also woo the moderates of both parties. Of course, he got creamed as badly as I did, but I’ve since felt a strong affinity for him. And we’re both skinny, short guys.

He won’t do any better this time. As one of my editorial endorsements said, “that’s a shame, because he’s clearly the best candidate.”

Here's a picture of me impersonating a politician.

The Patriot Guard Riders

I’ve been suspicious of the group called the Patriot Guard Riders who show up in the news about funeral services for fallen American soldiers from Iraq and Afghanistan. They ride mostly Harley Davidsons, wear the usual do-rags and sleeveless denim vests, and fly gigantic American flags from the backs of their bikes.

They say they attend to honor the fallen but also to protect families from vocal anti-war demonstrators. They shield the families with their giant flags, and if demonstrators get too loud, they fire up their bikes to drown out the noise.

What anti-war demonstrators?

All of this smells faintly of the persistent rumors over the years of Vietnam veterans who were spit on when they returned home. No one can say with certainty that this never happened, but I’ve looked into it a little and it seems to be an urban myth. I can say that I frequently flew in uniform on commercial airlines when I was in the Army from 1967 to 1970, and I never saw an anti-war demonstration at an airport. Personally, I was met with complete indifference, even when I flew into San Francisco airport after my tour in Vietnam.

But last night after reading about yet another funeral of an Oregon soldier, I tried to find out what I could about the Patriot Guard Riders. It turns out they’re an informal network of biker types and a lot of Vietnam vets with links to the American Legion. They offer to attend military funerals but only show up with an invitation.

What was amazing to me is that they did form up in response to outrageous demonstrations at funerals, but not by your typical anti-war activists. Here’s an excerpt from a Time magazine story:

“They formed as a response to the Rev. Fred Phelps, an attention-crazed fanatic based in Topeka, Kans., who has logged 15 years as a kind of paleo-fundamentalist, gay-baiting performance artist. Last spring Phelps grabbed the already troubling line, taken by preachers such as Pat Robertson, that disasters like 9/11 were God's punishment for American sins, and spun it past the boundary of the outrageous by having his followers crash military funerals with signs like GOD LOVES IEDS (improvised explosive devices) and scream to grieving parents that their children were in hell as divine punishment for what Phelps calls the nation's "enabling" and "harboring" of homosexuals.”

Phelps hates “fags,” and his congregation of under a hundred makes news by gay-bashing their way around the country blaming 9/11, Hurricane Katrina, and even the war itself on American tolerance, such as it is, for gays. They even carry signs saying “God hates America.”

I guess in crazy times you’re going to hear a lot more from crazy people.

Here’s a link to the whole article:

http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1189333,00.html

Wild Hogs

Last night, Mary had dinner with a group of women friends, so, left to my own devices, I decided to go out to a movie, something I rarely do. I decided to see Wild Hogs, which I knew would be at best good for a few mindless chuckles. Actually, I enjoy mindless chuckles. Austin Powers movies, for example, crack me up. And Wild Hogs has motorcycles in it, even if they are Harley Davidsons.

I certainly had some good laughs, but overall, it’s a very poor comedy. I had hopes because John Travolta is, in my mind, best as a comic actor, and William Macy is always worth seeing. Still, the writing was mostly terrible and even the best of actors couldn’t do much with the material.

The funniest part of the movie for me was the ending, and I was surprised to find myself the only one laughing. Our four heroes, off on a middle-aged motorcycle odyssey to rediscover their lost youth and freedom, find themselves in a small New Mexico town being trashed by a gang of outlaw bikers. Just when it seems that all hope is lost, in rides the Shane character on his Harley.

We see only his boots and leathers as he steps off. And then, Peter Fonda walks into the fray and tells the bikers to leave the town alone; they have lost the meaning of freedom and what it means to be a biker.

The outlaws look like a playground full of chastised bullies, and I’m laughing my ass off because I know immediately that Peter Fonda is Easy Rider. It was a great visual allusion, and the film gets credit for not explaining it to the uninitiated.

When the lights go up, I look around and see that I’m the only person in the theater old enough to have seen Easy Rider and know what an icon it became for our generation. I felt like I sometimes do when I’m lecturing and my mind wanders off to some reference that’s not going to make sense to anybody under fifty. Most of the time, I don’t bother to try to explain.

My friend Broschat recently sent me a special edition DVD of Easy Rider, one of his unannounced and unexplained gifts that show up now and then. (Thanks, Michael!) I haven’t got around to watching it yet, and now that sounds like a great way to spend this rainy and cold Saturday afternoon.

Why We Teach

Join us as a mentor.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gUak4zPWHdE

Fun on yer bike

I endorse responsible riding.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tHlcVSgu3m0&mode=related&search=

Spring ride

Spring has arrived in the Klamath Basin with its usual mix of cold weather, rain, wind, and an occasional snow. When the weather is like this and you love a good motorcycle ride, you have to jump on it when the sun comes out.

One day last week, my friend Jim Stewart called early in the morning and asked if I wanted to go for a ride somewhere. Absolutely!

Jim has a new BMW K1200 RS and we rode from Klamath Falls over to Medford together. The roads were clear of snow but dirty. I was taking it pretty easy, which was a good thing because a turkey flew across the road in front of me. It wasn’t even a close call, but we always have to be on the lookout for wildlife when we ride around here. Deer are the usual close call. I would not want my obit to read "killed by a turkey," though I suppose that could always happen. There are a lot of turkeys out there, though this is my first incident with one that had feathers.

We stopped at Hanson’s Motorcycles in Medford, where I got to drool over several new bikes. I’m not seriously thinking about anything new. My VFR is a great motorcycle and still has low miles. Still, there are close to a dozen new bikes on the market that I can get excited about.

We had lunch in Ashland, then went down I-5 over the Siskiyous to the Klamath River Road. We rode in about fifty miles, then took a short break and rode back home. Probably about 250-mile day.

Jim with his new new K1200RS

The pace got brisk in places, breaking 100 on the straights and pretty fast through the turns. Then we got stuck behind a guy in a car, and I was just starting to get wizzy because he wouldn't pull over to let us pass when a CHP went by coming towards us. I figure God put that car there to spare me an expensive ticket. Thank you, Jesus!

Today, it's cold and rainy again, but that's spring in Oregon. I hang around motorcycle web forums and plan trips. I really should do some dusting.

Surge Update

Watched two disturbing programs on PBS last night: one on The Gangs of Iraq.

About all I can say is what a fucking mess. The more you know, the worse it gets. I felt personal humiliation watching an American contract trainer and self-described “inspirational speaker” in a session with Iraqi police recruits.

“Let me hear you say Freedom!” They say freedom.

He exhorts them to say it louder: “FREEDOM!” They do.

This goes on like a high school pep rally through about five iterations. At the end he makes them repeat an improvised pledge of allegiance to the Iraqi flag, which looks like it’s been crudely painted as a wall poster.

The rest of the program documented the infiltration of Iraqi police and army units by militias and the steady deterioration of security in Iraq since our invasion. It was gritty stuff. You won’t see footage like this on NBC or ABC. CBS I couldn’t say since even the sight of Katie Couric makes me gag.

But the scene that stands out in my mind most is not the mutilated bodies or the deserted Iraqi police stations. It’s the idiot cheer leader trying to get a roomful of Iraqi police to shout “freedom!” just a little bit louder.

The second program was an amazing film made by PBS but entirely produced by and about Richard Perle, one of the neocon architects of the war. (So much for the PBS “liberal bias.”) Perle was adamant that neocons still passionately believe we were right to invade Iraq. He rehashes the WMD evidence. He never quite acknowledges that we got that wrong, saying only that even the Germans and French agreed on the intelligence. Even Hillary agreed on the links to terrorists.

Who cares? The Germans and the French opposed the invasion. Hillary is not my role model and she doesn’t speak for me or all Democrats.

For what it's worth, I’m proud that all of Oregon’s congressional Democrats voted against the war: Senator Ron Wyden and four Representatives. Most Americans opposed the invasion until they were tricked into believing we were a multinational coalition. Now that the war grinds on into its fifth year, the situation still “grave and deteriorating,” most Americans have turned against Bush and his few remaining Congressional allies.

Who cares even about that? I feel terrible for the troops, now getting news their tours have been extended to 15 months. In Vietnam, we knew our DEROS: “Date Returned from Overseas.” Mine was May 2, 1969. Every day I blacked out one more date on my calendar. When you had a month or less, you were short. Shortimers didn’t take shit.

I feel even worse for the Iraqis, the vast majority of which want us to leave now. Fifty-thousand Iraqis a month leave Iraq, most of them from the more educated professional classes who have decided it’s time to DEROS themselves out of there while they still can. Soon, only the cannibals will be left.

I admit I stopped watching the Perle propaganda film half way through and went to bed to read a fluffy novel. I needed some time to get my mind back.

For someone who devours news,opinion, and analysis, I’m lately spending less and less time on anything related to current affairs. The war will go on just as it has until Bush leaves office. Someone else will have to seek for a way to disengage. Not redeploy. Get the fuck out. And then the fighting will go on for another century or so, and back here, everybody will be blaming somebody else for losing Iraq.

Any chance I could be wrong about all this? I can only say to myself that I’ve been right so far. I know I won’t live long enough to see it all play out.

How your mouse works

Click on the link below to learn how your mouse works.

http://www.1-click.jp/

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March to the Sea

I’m finishing up the memoirs of Civil War General William T. Sherman. The book was recommended by Broschat (see link to Montlake Blog at the right), who discovered that Sherman began his career in California before and shortly after the start of the gold rush. Since we grew up in the Bay Area, much of Sherman’s early adventures took place on ground familiar to us.

I thought I’d only read until he went back East, but I found the book to be very compelling. There are lots of Sherman’s thoughts about the war itself and many fascinating incidents, some of them involving clashes of gigantic egos. Sherman, for example, was dispatched to Southern California to get Fremont to knock it off with the undeclared war on Mexico. The declared war came a little later, and Sherman lamented that he couldn’t be there for the action.

In addition to the events themselves, Sherman was a good writer, able to capture a lot of detail, and in a readable style at a time when rhetorical flourish was a virtue and more was generally considered better.

But it’s Sherman himself who is so fascinating. A few years into the war when the South was on the run, some newspapers and politicians were arguing for a peace settlement. Sherman would settle for nothing short of complete defeat of the South and complete surrender:

“I would banish all minor questions, assert the broad doctrine that as a nation the United States has the right, and also the physical power, to penetrate to every part of our national domain, and that we will do it—that we will do it in our own time and in our own way; that it makes no difference whether it be in one year, or two, or ten, or twenty; that we will remove and destroy every obstacle, if need be, take every life, every acre of land, every particle of property, every thing that to us seems proper; that we will not cease till the end is attained; that all who do not aid us are enemies, and that we will not account to them for our acts. If the people of the South oppose, they do so at their peril; and if they stand by, mere lookers-on in this domestic tragedy, they have no right to immunity, protection, or share in the final results.”

This was his advice to Grant and Lincoln, and this was the outcome. For his own part, after every battle Sherman dispassonately records his own army's deaths, wounded and missing, sometimes numbering in the thousands.