It's about me. I mean you. I mean me.

IT BEGAN with a sex tape, and the rest, as the cliché goes, is history. Behold the wonder that is Kim Kardashian. (Pictured left, as if you didn’t know)

“Kim Kardashian can’t sing, act, or dance, but she’s found the role of a lifetime in the fine art of playing herself,” wrote W magazine about the curvaceous celebrity who graces its November edition cover.

The article’s writer, Lynn Hirschberg, continued:

“As a celebrity, Kardashian gives good value: She is the star of a reality show, Keeping Up With the Kardashians, which means she is famous for being herself. On the show, and in life, she has defined that persona as a glamorous It girl who is close to her family, a wealthy but hardworking beauty who is not skinny, a single woman (almost 30!) looking for her soulmate. Kardashian takes her role seriously. She’s willing to reveal her life in all its simple complications to the millions who watch the show; the millions who follow her on Twitter; and the millions who read her blog on her website, asking questions and seeking advice on how to be all things Kim. Like a classic movie star with a knack for new technology, she meets and greets with poise and perfect hair.”

In other words, in summation: It's all about me. I mean you. I mean me.

But frankly, at the end of the day, her shtick is perfectly fine. A girl’s gotta pay the rent. Perhaps less fine: the throngs of female fans – swooning en masse to the West Side Story song “I Feel Pretty” – who long to look (or worse, be) just like her.

Kardashian’s full-bodied buxomness stands out in Hollywood’s sea of slim “stick-women” (as a girlfriend of mine memorably put it). That fact alone endears Karsashian to the gazillions of females obsessed with the do-I-look-fat issue. She’s an “average girl,” one twentysomething told the New York Times. “I like the way she dresses,” said another. “She has an ethnic sex appeal,” said still another. Hundreds of fans mobbed the streets outside a SoHo clothing boutique where the bootylicious celebritrix made a recent star-turn.

That could be me, they all think dreamily. However, what gets lost in translation (pun intended) is this: Kim is unique, girl, and only she can “work it.” If you’re not her, more makeup won’t help.

That said, there’s nothing intrinsically wrong with fantasizing, and one can overstate the impact of celebrity-fashion worship on women. Sure, there is a hint of truth in what SoHo Alliance director Sean Sweeney told the Times about Kardashian’s fans: “A generation of classless, tasteless and clueless sheep.” But that description, I think, is way too harsh. By and large, the Karsashian adulation is probably harmless – female obsession with appearance (and its perpetuation by impossibly beautiful celebrities) notwithstanding.

Per the Times, Ms. Kardashian and Snooki are tied at number one on the celebrity brand index. Poor Paris Hilton has dropped to third place. Apparently, even being famous for being nothing has its limitations, at least until the next sex tape release.

Judgment Day

The estimable George Skelton (formerly of the Los Angeles Times) says Arnold Schwarzenegger was miscast in California as the Governator, and it shows.

And this time, the battered, cigar-chomping, ex-actor won't "be back."

In his column, Skelton writes:

It's essentially a wrap for Arnold Schwarzenegger's role as governor. I'll give his Sacramento performance 2-1/2 stars.

That's a little better than the reviews for most of his movies, although in Sacramento — except for some exciting early scenes — the "action hero" part he tried to play fell flat.

Placing the state on a sound fiscal footing — "we must live within our means" — was his most important task, after all. It's the principal reason he was elected and Davis was recalled. And Schwarzenegger failed. Staring into a perpetual deficit hole — currently $25 billion for the next 19 months — the state isn't living within its means today any more than it was under Davis. Maybe less so.

Schwarzenegger was miscast as governor. He should have been a potentate who could bark orders without being pestered by a Legislature. The most common description of his reign is "disappointing." But that's partly because he himself set an impossibly high bar and didn't have a clue at first how to approach it.

Skelton conceded that Ah-nold did provide some “entertainment value.” He awarded him a half star for that.

Why my fellow Californians voted the Terminator into office remains a mystery to me. This could only end one way: disastrously, like a Hollywood B-movie. Schwarzenegger is a good guy and well-intentioned. But he was unqualified to be governor, especially at a time of economic stress.

Though I’m not holding my breath, one hopes the Governator example reminds voters that intellect, experience-based knowledge, wisdom, judgment, competence and the ability to persuade are the basic traits they should seek in political leaders. The higher the office, the more important these traits become.

Beauty, star-power, charisma and "entertainment value" are nice. But they alone never get the job done. Too bad California had to re-learn that the hard way.

As for Schwarzenegger, hasta la vista, baby.

Nobody’s home

I ALWAYS have difficulty coming up with the right word to adequately describe Fox News host Sean Hannity. Liar, fool, delusional, brownshirt, clown, hypocrite, parasite, vainglorious, narcissist, psychotic, neurotic and just plain stupid – all rush to mind every time I hear his name. And those are just the polite ones.

Today, as reported endlessly by liberal media outlets, Hannity said Democratic “sources” told him that President Obama, Mr. Spock himself, has become "unhinged, that he is detached, that he's losing it, he's obsessed with critics, very specifically obsessed with Fox News."

And it gets worse, Hannity told his radio audience:

"He can't stand Biden, he hates the Clintons, the Clintons hate him, that the only thing he's passionate about seems to be ESPN and playing golf, and playing some basketball. It's the only thing that gets his interest. The President has ... a meltdown every time he hears about [more economic bad news]."

"I'm telling you my sources are reliable," Hannity confided to his rapt listeners.

Right. This, to put it crudely, is utter bullshit. And everyone knows it, including Hannity. I need waste no time rebutting him on the merits of the case because there is no case. And call me nutty, but somehow I don’t think Hannity is on the speed-dial of any “source” close enough to Mr. Obama to evaluate his mental state (which, I assure you, is just fine).

Yet, almost every time Hannity spews this nonsense, I ask myself what kind of mind he possesses. Then I pinch myself and remember that this ex-dropout (from two colleges), ex-general contractor and ex-bartender does not possess a mind – nor, it seems, a soul.

So, maybe the best word to describe Hannity is the simplest one: Crackers.

Every ‘tittle and jot’

British writer/blogger Norman Geras took a comedic swipe at (London) Times columnist David Aaronovitch for making “a serious error” by merely commenting on the pending marriage of Prince William and that commoner woman:

"David's error, however, is not that he's underestimated the scope and intensity of the interest. He plainly hasn't. No, it's that he's come out and said that he isn't interested and that he shares this lack of interest with many others. Can't he see that, by declaring a lack of interest, he's already partly caved in to the wave of interest he's lamenting? He's helped to feed it by adding his voice to the national conversation. What you've got to do is just totally ignore it. You show your lack of interest by not looking at anything about the royal wedding, not reading a single line, not even mentioning it. You say nothing at all. Like me."

"Oh oh! I, too, am done for. I blame Aaronovitch; he set me up."

Heh. (I lifted the phrase “tittle and jot” -- it means "details" in American -- from Geras’ blog post. So veddy delightfully English.)

Counting sand – Ctd

WHEN I posted my take on Alvin Greene yesterday, it seems I was 24-hours ahead of the main news cycle. Today, Politico, the Huffington Post and others picked up the bantam and ran with it at full gallop.

As of this writing, Politico’s take has been retweeted 64 times, and the number of comments approached 500 on HuffPo. A quick Google scan revealed that CBS News, New York Daily News, Philadelphia Inquirer and CNN’s Political Ticker blog also ran the story today. The cable news shows can’t be far behind.

I posted this on HuffPo (for all the good it will do) just to throw my two cents into the wind:

“Yes, it is easy to mock Alvin Greene and laugh. But it really isn’t funny. Clearly the poor guy has psychological issues of some sort. And yet the media (including HuffPo) insist on keeping its Krieg lights on Mr. Greene, an unwitting actor in something perilously approaching minstrelsy. Shame on the media. It is well past time for this to stop. And yet, to paraphrase a character ironically named “Greene” in Shakespeare’s Richard II, this plea is about as futile as counting sand. For in the end, sadly, it’s about the page views, stupid.”

The freak show coverage of Mr. Greene is what it is. With luck it will fade away harmlessly, and he’ll get some needed care.

‘Your Worshipfulness’

Well, it’s official. Prince William and Kate Middleton are getting married. She’s a mere commoner, you know. And that’s an awfully big deal in Ye Olde England. Aw-flay. Yet another reason why I’m glad we Yanks beat the bloody Redcoats in our Revolution.

Pardon? What's that you say, M'lady?

Well, you see, Your Grace, we’re all commoners on this side of the Atlantic. And never mind, Your Highness, our instinctive urge to bow and fetch water every time we hear a veddy proper British accent. And now if Your Worship will grant my leave, this ink-stained vassal has a blog post to complete. O thank you, O Queen of Britannica. Am I not bowing properly? Um, still lower, Your Majesty?

But I digress.

Slate’s Explainer columnist Brian Palmer explains how the Brits define their have’s, have some’s and have not’s:

There are three kinds of British people: royals, nobles, and commoners. The official royal family comprises only the queen's direct relatives—her children, grandchildren in the male line, and some cousins.

The much larger nobility includes those with a direct ancestor who was granted a peerage by the monarch at some point in history. In the old days, if someone performed a useful service to the king, like helping him conquer Aquitaine or squelching a Scottish rebellion, he would reward them with a grand title like duke, marquess, earl, viscount, or baron. The title would pass to male descendants indefinitely. Those descendants are today's nobility.

The vast majority of British subjects are mere commoners like Middleton.

Tsk-tsk. Bloody aw-ful. Star Wars’ Hans Solo had it about right when he told Princess Leia: “Look, Your Worshipfulness, let's get one thing straight. I take orders from just one person: me.” It’s the American way ... Your Grace.

Just boobs

I MISSED this one. As shown on the left, Wired featured a pair of shapely female breasts on the cover of its November magazine edition. It was to promote, they said, a story by Sharon Begley: “All Natural: Why Breasts Are the Key to the Future of Regenerative Medicine.” Uh huh.

Needless to say, many women criticized the tech magazine (mostly read by men, I think) for objectifying women.

Technology writer Cindy Royal grabbed a pitchfork and assumed the mantle of a pissed off Joan of Arc on her blog:

“Boobs. Right there on the cover. A pair of breasts, no head, no rest of body... just boobs. Sure it accompanied a story on tissue re-engineering, so what other possible way might you visually represent that, but with a pair of breasts? No other possible way?”

Wired editor Chris Anderson took issue with Royal’s characterization:

"This cover story was not about tissue engineering, it was about *breast* tissue engineering. Of all the covers with cleavage out there, it's hard to find one more editorially justified than that."

Read the rest of Anderson’s lame rationalizations here. On the other hand, Royal's arguments (cleverly written as a "Dear John" letter) are spot on.

So, does the cover shot objectify women? Of course it does. Is it right? Of course it is not. So why did Wired opt for the cleavage anyway? Because sex sells, baby. And (almost) nothing says sex like naked boobs.

And Anderson – no, um, boob himself – knows it. Check out the inside photo that accompanies the story. It’s nearly Playboyesque. Coincidence? Hardly. Marry a photo of attractive breasts with controversy (angry women with virtual pitchforks), mix in the resulting buzz that is guaranteed to go viral, and Voila: A Perfect Storm for mega sales.

So, Chris, quit whining all the way to the bank.

Counting sand

I EMPATHIZE with Shakespeare’s Greene who upon realizing the futility of stopping a rebellion against his friend King Richard II remarked, “The task he undertakes, is numbering sands and drinking oceans dry.”

Post-midterms, I dared to think that the media might become less “lamestream” and finally drop coverage of the other Greene – Alvin Greene, the befuddled ex-senate candidate from the great state of South Carolina. Foolish me.

ABC News Senior Washington editor Rick Klein could hardly wait to regurgitate a story from the Free Times (a free weekly in Columba SC). “Avlin Greene: ‘I’m the next president... I was born to be president,’” Klein breathlessly tweeted to the world this morning.

Like ambulance-chasing paparazzi, a Free Times reporter approached Greene in a courthouse hallway as he awaited a hearing on charges that he showed pornographic material to a college girl. Green didn’t want to talk about the indictment. “Write about me running for president,” he requested. “I’m running for president of the United States.”

Greene then launched into this disturbing soliloquy:

“I’m the next president. I’ll be 35 … just before November, so I was born to be president. I’m the man. I’m the man. I’m the man. Greene’s the man. I’m the man. I’m the greatest person ever. I was born to be president. I’m the man, I’m the greatest individual ever.”

Obviously, the poor guy has psychological issues. It’s easy to laugh, but it really isn’t funny. And yet the media insists on having its minstrel show, even if Greene doesn’t know he is in blackface. Shame on the media. It is well past time for this to stop.

But, to paraphrase King Richard’s Greene, this plea is about as futile as counting sand.

What real heroism looks like

THERE IS bravery, and then there is valor above and beyond it. Army Staff Sergeant Salvatore Giunta achieved the latter distinction in combat. Tomorrow at the White House, he will be awarded the Medal of Honor for his actions in Afghanistan.

In October 2007, Giunta’s platoon walked into a classic L-shaped ambush. When properly executed, it is often not survivable. “There were more bullets in the air than stars in the sky,” Giunta recalled soberly. Though two soldiers were killed, his brave actions probably saved the lives of his remaining platoon members. Giunta will be the first living soldier since the Vietnam War to receive the Medal.

Excerpts from Giunta's interview with Vanity Fair:

What went through your head when you heard about [the Medal of Honor]?

“Fuck you,” I said. It sounds really awesome in theory, but what’s it worth? Brennan? Mendoza? No. I did what I did because in the scheme of painting the picture of that ambush, that was just my brush stroke. That’s not above and beyond. I didn’t take the biggest brush stroke, and it wasn’t the most important brush stroke. Hearing the Medal of Honor is like a slap in the face. I don’t think you know what I did. I didn’t do shit.

By your own definition, it’s brave, what you did out there.

I was one person being brave in a group of a whole bunch of people that were being just as brave. Everything had the same thing to lose: their friends and themselves. I guarantee, no one thought about that out there. Bravery gets thrown around a lot. I served in Battle Company Second of the 503rd with the bravest men I’ve ever met in my entire life, and I’m proud to say that. ... I’m just another American dude. I’m nothing special, trust me.

True, Giunta is nothing special. He is something extraordinarily special, trust me. And the fact that he doesn't know it makes him all the more special. Bravo.

Politics without politicians

Satirist P.J. O'Rourke has a novel solution for what ails us: let’s try politics without the politicians.

He writes:

We will win an election when all the seats in the House and Senate and the chair behind the desk in the Oval Office and the whole bench of the Supreme Court are filled with people who wish they weren’t there.

In a free country government is a dull and onerous responsibility. It is a parent-teacher conference. The teacher is a pompous twit. Our child is a lazy pain in the ass. We undertake this social obligation with weary reluctance. And we only do it at all because the teacher (political authority) deserves cold stares, hard questions, and maybe firing, and the pupil (that portion of society which, alas, needs governing) deserves to be grounded without TV and have its Internet access screened and its allowance docked.

It is rather curious that most politicians come from that endless gene pool of preening, glad-handing, emotionally needy, student body presidents that we all detested in high school. O’Rourke’s dream is a lovely one. Too bad we have to wake up.

Our biggest problem

The New York Observer recently interviewed Jacob Weisberg, chairman and editor in chief of Slate.com and its parent, the Slate Group. Since its inception in 1996, Slate has been lavishly praised as “awesome” editorially and “consistently smart.” That it is.

Unfortunately, Slate is lagging behind competitors such as Gawker, the Daily Beast and the Huffington Post, all of which feature content with decidedly less editorial heft. Gawker chief Nick Denton boasted to The Observer, "Our new layout is designed to showcase our strongest stories, but most of them are ones that Slate wouldn't go near." Yes, exactly. (As I write this, a top Gawker story includes this gem: “Sex Shop Lotto Ticket Holders Claim Prize.”)

Though Denton “gushes with praise for Slate,” he said:

"There's a limited audience for smart centrism. That's [Slate’s] biggest problem."

No, Mr. Denton, the biggest problem is a less informed citizenry, the inevitable result of Gawkerized journalism that panders to our baser instincts for the sake of page views and profit. Slate’s “smart centrism” is an elegant model to be emulated. But if the audience really is as limited as Denton suggests, then the real problem is not Slate, it is us.

Pluck not the wayside flower

GOOD NEWS flashed around the world this morning. As reported by the New York Times, Burmese dissident Daw Aung San Suu Kyi, a Nobel Peace Prize laureate who has been confined 15 of the last 21 years, was freed after seven and a half years of house arrest. It proves yet again the ancient adage that “The good man [or woman], though a slave, is free; the wicked, though he reigns, is a slave.”

Mrs. Aung San Suu Kyi, a delicate flower who has relentlessly spoken truth to power, memorably said, "Fear of losing power corrupts those who wield it; fear of the scourge of power corrupts those who are subject to it."

On political change, she wrote:

“The quintessential revolution is that of the spirit, born of an intellectual conviction of the need for change in those mental attitudes and values which shape the course of a nation's development. A revolution which aims merely at changing official policies and institutions with a view to an improvement in material conditions has little chance of genuine success.”

The world is fortunate to have souls like Mrs. Aung San Suu Kyi to enlighten it. It is as Irish poet William Allingham said, “Pluck not the wayside flower; It is the traveler's dower.”

A Beastly Newsweek?

Well, it seems Newsweek and Tina Brown’s The Daily Beast are set to merge. Will it work? Slate media columnist Jack Shafer seems to think Brown just might be able to pull it off.

Shafer offers this advice:

”Speaking of Time, which competes in Newsweek's space, Brown should never aspire to be like it, or the other newsweeklies, the Economist and the Week. We don't need another Time, Economist, or the Week because we already have one of each. Let Newsweek separate itself from the pack by becoming more combative, more outrageous, more judgmental, and more wicked than the others. Violate the orthodoxy! Totally de-Meachamize it! On Week 1, piss off the White House. Week 2, the Pentagon. Week 3, Wall Street. Then the unions, Harvard, religion, life-insurance agents, the green movement, and so on until the bottom is reached with an exposé of Little League baseball. Then repeat. According to H.L. Mencken, "The liberation of the human mind has been best furthered by gay fellows who heaved dead cats into sanctuaries. …" I want, very much, for Tina Brown to be that sort of cat-slinger.”

On Brown he says:

”Say what you will about Brown, she is a showy, stunt-crazy talent who knows everything about the seeding, nurturing, and harvesting of great stories. The industry that Brown re-enters this week may be dying, but I'm betting on her zombie powers to eat the still-living parts of the business and succeed.”

We shall see. Newsweek is one of the last remaining islands of good long-form journalism (though quality has suffered somewhat in recent years). A spirited, fully digital-ready magazine modeled, say, on the New Yorker might be the ticket out of purgatory. Hopefully, Brown realizes "it’s the journalism, stupid." But for now, all I can say is: Mazel Tov!

I 'Friend', therefore I am

IN a breathtakingly brilliant essay for the New York Times, British novelist Zadie Smith explores the cultural implications of Facebook. She asks, do we use social networks, or do they use us? By all means take the time to read it.

Some excerpts:

“When a human being becomes a set of data on a website like Facebook, he or she is reduced. Everything shrinks. Individual character. Friendships. Language. Sensibility. In a way it’s a transcendent experience: we lose our bodies, our messy feelings, our desires, our fears. It reminds me that those of us who turn in disgust from what we consider an overinflated liberal-bourgeois sense of self should be careful what we wish for: our denuded networked selves don’t look more free, they just look more owned.”

“... To the advertisers, we are our capacity to buy, attached to a few personal, irrelevant photos. Is it possible that we have begun to think of ourselves that way? It seemed significant to me that on the way to the movie theater, while doing a small mental calculation (how old I was when at Harvard; how old I am now), I had a Person 1.0 panic attack. Soon I will be forty, then fifty, then soon after dead; I broke out in a Zuckerberg sweat, my heart went crazy, I had to stop and lean against a trashcan. Can you have that feeling, on Facebook? I’ve noticed—and been ashamed of noticing—that when a teenager is murdered, at least in Britain, her Facebook wall will often fill with messages that seem to not quite comprehend the gravity of what has occurred. You know the type of thing: Sorry babes! Missin’ you!!! Hopin’ u iz with the Angles. I remember the jokes we used to have LOL! PEACE XXXXX”

“When I read something like that, I have a little argument with myself: ‘It’s only poor education. They feel the same way as anyone would, they just don’t have the language to express it.’ But another part of me has a darker, more frightening thought. Do they genuinely believe, because the girl’s wall is still up, that she is still, in some sense, alive? What’s the difference, after all, if all your contact was virtual?”

Smith, 35, is on to something here, I think. Her words are worth mulling, I know.

Though I don’t know why, I’ve never been enthralled by Facebook and its sundry imitators. Yes, I dabble in it, but I do so reluctantly, like a chess aficionado who humors an amateur because it seems obligatory. That of course is my problem (or arrogance), not that of those seemingly contented souls who populate Facebook. I certainly see the sex appeal and the boundless opportunities it offers for social interaction of a sort. I understand its general usefulness and value. After all, I grew up fully wired into technology and happily embraced it. Hell, I still do. And so far, I think the societal benefits of the digitalsphere still outweighs its costs.

But like incessant texting, I find it vaguely disturbing that so many people so readily hide behind self-constructed virtual walls. I find it peculiar that people so easily take up residence in a digital space where the wondrous subtleties of human eye contact, voice, language and body gestures can be so neatly avoided. And I find it troubling that so few seem to even care about any of this. Has it really come down to: I Friend on Facebook, therefore I am?

One wonders: Is this Rod Sterling’s portentous “fifth dimension,” that space “between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge?” Zadie Smith’s astute observations could very well be that “signpost up ahead” urging caution as we mindlessly off ramp into this cultural Twilight Zone.

Dubya’s 'Decisions'

I WAS going to post something on former President George W. Bush's new memoir "Decision Points." But Time columnist Joe Klein pretty much sums up what I had to say:

He wrote in his column:

“As I read on, trapped in the sketchy carelessness of this presidency, I was surprised by how angry I didn't become. For me, at least, weariness has replaced anger. Bush's was an exhausting presidency that will, I suspect, be remembered more for its waste — of time, lives, money, moral standing and economic strength — than for anything else. We have survived nearly a decade now since Sept. 11, and the cataclysmic events of that day have receded, not just in memory but in importance, compared with the global economic changes and Wall Street sociopathy that together challenge America's future pre-eminence. We have not been successfully attacked since, a matter of luck and skill. We do have Bush to thank, in part, for that — but far too much testosterone was spent kicking irrelevant butts and landing, breathless with self-regard, on carrier decks to celebrate victories that were Pyrrhic at best. We struggle to recover from the thoughtless carnage of his tenure.”

Like Klein, my own anger toward Bush has oddly subsided to the vanishing point. I suppose I’ll have a thing or two more to say about Mr. Bush. But I’m in no hurry and he can wait.

'One-Term Barack'

Via Andrew Sullivan: "Tongue in cheek, Larry Sabato and Alan Abramowitz mock pundits predicting that Obama will lose re-election":

Historically, incumbent presidents who have sought another term have won them by a two-to-one margin. Those aren’t impressive odds. How many of us would bet on a horse with minimal chances like that? Since 1900 only one incumbent president whose party captured the White House from the other party four years earlier (Jimmy Carter) has been beaten.

The other incumbent losers — Taft, Hoover, Ford, and the senior Bush — were from a party that had held the White House for two or more consecutive terms. But the key is that Carter and Obama are practically twins; both won the Nobel Peace Prize. Enough said. Moreover, the present moment is unprecedentedly perilous for an incumbent president. There’s really no comparison in the existence of the American Republic, save for about a dozen crises like the Civil War, economic panics, the Great Depression, world wars, and 9/11.

And just think, they actually pay those doom-predicting pundits good money, too. Nice work if you can get it. (Hit tip: Andrew Sullivan.)

Steeling up

SWEATY hands tighten around a forest of long-spears. A rein is pulled taunt to steady a cavalry mount. The cocking of flintlocks echoes up the musket line. Netted helmets brace against the wall of a bouncing landing craft off Guadalcanal. Jungle boots balance on a Huey's landing rail as it approaches a hot LZ. Fingers curl around triggers as a squad moves along a mud brick wall in Kandahar.

Priming for battle just before facing its deadly onslaught has always marked the soldier's life. An unknown writer said, "More powerful than the will to win is the courage to begin." Through Shakespeare's pen, King Henry V encouraged his men to steel themselves this way:

When the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, conjure up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect.

War is not a video game. And until the politicians end it, the only way home for the troops is through Hell's fire. To survive it, they, too, must "lend the eye a terrible aspect."

Cakewalking

AS LUCK would have it, I live blogged the US invasion into Iraq as it unfolded in the early weeks. Luckier still, I had the presence of mind later to archive my posts. They’re rough and written on the fly. But they provide an intriguing time capsule of the mood.

By March 29, it had become increasingly clear that the war would be anything but the “cakewalk” the Bush administration had promised. I posted this at 2 p.m. on Saturday, March 29:

Cakewalking for humble pie. The Washington Post scored the big scoop this morning: "Top Army officers in Iraq say they now believe that they effectively need to restart the war."

The piece leads with this stunner: "Ten days into the invasion of Iraq, the political imperative of waging a short and decisive campaign is increasingly at odds with the military necessity of preparing for a protracted, more violent and costly war, according to senior military officials." The article goes on to say that top ground commanders want a decent interval to restock supplies, rest the troops and beef up combat power (i.e., add more heavy armor) before taking on Saddam's fanatics in Baghdad.

Sounds like a prudent plan to me. Of course, this flies directly into face of what Team Bush wants: A short, decisive war. The Bushies rightly worry that time is not on their side. As the L.A. Times notes in an analysis piece today, the longer the political clock runs, the messier things are likely to get. The New York Times adds: "Few have openly split with the president, or the decisions made so far. But one does not have to scratch deep to hear the doubts." Prediction: In the end, Bush will bend and the generals will get their delay. A messier victory is far better than a potential military disaster.

The hand-wringing over why the war has not been a "cakewalk" continued today on TV and in the big Sunday dailies. But the best commentary thus far on Bush's dilemma comes from Jimmy Paiz [rank unknown], a tired Marine grunt putting it on the line everyday at the battlefront.

"They was planning on walking in here like it was easy and all," Paiz told ABC news this weekend. "It's not that easy to conquer a country, isn't it?"

The young Marine was of course correct. And sadly, it would all go rapidly downhill from here.

'Back'

Wilfrid Wilson Gibson (1878-1962) was a British poet associated mainly with World War I. But I suspect his words still ring true for today's combat soldier:

They ask me where I've been,
And what I've done and seen.
But what can I reply
Who know it wasn't I,
But someone just like me,
Who went across the sea
And with my head and hands
Killed men in foreign lands...
Though I must bear the blame,
Because he bore my name.

We got our money’s worth

For the Arizona Republic, I wrote this memoriam for Army Staff Sgt. William Latham who died of combat wounds in May 2003 in Iraq. He was 29. A Kingman, Ariz. native, Latham left behind a wife and 3 children.

ON APRIL 23, 1971, twenty-two-year-old Army Pfc. James Champion was inserted into Vietnam's notorious A Shau Valley with a six-man recon team. "Charlie" hit them immediately and nearly overwhelmed the squad. When the team ran low on water after days of running gun battles, Champion volunteered to find more. Vanishing into the jungle, he was never seen again.

Thirty-two years later, a metal wristband bearing Champion's name chafed against the skin of Staff Sgt. William Latham as he led a raid against Iraqi insurgents in Ar Ramadi. The Kingman native came from a long line of veterans dating back to the Revolutionary War. And he loved military life, said his father, himself an army veteran. Before shipping out to Iraq, Latham boasted to his father that he was finally going to give the taxpayers "their money's worth." On May 19, Latham ordered his team to fire a 40mm grenade to blast away a door that led to an enemy lair. A hot shard from the explosion blew back on Latham, seriously wounding him. Miraculously, no one else was injured. Latham died days later. Although heartbroken, Latham's father said that he knew his son would simply say, "Shit happens."

But somewhere in the swirling mists of the A Shau, the smiling ghost of Jim Champion knows America got her money's worth, and then some.

Sunset Vigil

The news is spread far and wide
Another comrade has sadly died
A sunset vigil upon the sand
As a soldier leaves this foreign land

We stand alone, and yet as one
In the fading light of a setting sun
We’ve all gathered to say goodbye
To our fallen comrade who’s set to fly

The eulogy’s read about their life
Sometimes with words from pals or wife
We all know when the CO’s done
What kind of soldier they’d become

The padre then calls us all to pray
The bugler has Last Post to play
The cannon roars and belches flame
We will recall, with pride, their name

A minute’s silence stood in place
As tears roll down the hardest face
Deafening silence fills the air
With each of us in personal prayer

Reveille sounds and the parade is done
The hero remembered, forgotten by none
They leave to start the journey back
In a coffin draped in the Union Jack

-- Sgt Andy McFarlane (Served in Afghanistan in 2009)

What is War?

War is always
War is near
War is here
War is down the road
War is in the road
War is life
War is death
War is what drives some to
War is what drives some away
War is in the air
War is in my pear
War is fun to some
War is sorrow for others
War is always
War is all around us
War is the world in which we live in

I wonder does war last end in heaven?

-- Nicolas Laboy

On military service

Über wonk-blogger Matthew Yglesias posted this comment today, of all days, on his blog:

“Veterans are great and I respect their service. I’m also glad that CAP [his think-tank employer] actually gives us this day as a holiday. But I think we’d be better off celebrating Armistice Day. War is, at the end of the day, more tragic than heroic and our commemorations ought to reflect that.”

So glad he’s enjoying the holiday. And, on behalf of all veterans, you’re welcome.

Look, being an American (in no-draft periods) includes the right of not serving in the military. Exercising that right, Yglesias, 29, has never served. And that’s fine. But there is something vaguely blithe and backhanded about his comments. That’s less fine. But it is spoken by someone who is clueless about what it means to wear the uniform, let alone doing so in war. And, sadly, his cluelessness is shared by too many of us. As for the Armistice Day idea, nobody would be happier to celebrate it more than veterans -- just as soon as they stop shooting at us.

Summoning the courage to join the American armed forces, to earn the right to wear its uniform, to perform its often dangerous missions and, if necessary, to die in service of the nation it protects, is no small thing.

Choosing military service today is especially momentous since the odds of seeing combat – probably over multiple tours – are excellent. In the Army and Marine Corps, it’s a virtual certainty. The odds of suffering grievous injury or death are not inconsequential. All of which makes the act of volunteering even more brave and honorable.

Why do young men and women do it? Only they can answer that complicated question.

As Joe College, I had many options other than military service. But I loved this big, messy, imperfect country, this beautiful place we call America. I figured I owed her a little quality time at the peak of my physical prowess. So I joined the Marines. And had I known what the future held, I surely would not have left. And I regret not being able to lend a hand. But destiny goes its own way.

And so I write about my Marines and the others in harm’s way. History will not remember the ubiquitous grunt, sailor or airman now on the line, the kids shouldering America’s burden virtually alone. But as long as there is breath in my body, I’ll remember them in as many words as I can muster. It is the least I can do.

‘The nights in Kabul are beautiful’

In this first post for Veterans Day, I found a moving and beautifully written essay by Navy Lt. Cdr. Victoria A. Stattel. The last line of this excerpt is particularly haunting. For those of us who have spent long periods of time outside the US, the cultural shock of reentry is nearly overwhelming.

Stattel writes:

First of all, I learned that I am glad I didn't join the Army! …

I learned that I am deeply concerned about our policies. Though the best of intentions may be from where we start, I have come to realize our objectives are almost always lost in metrics …

I learned that bananas in Afghanistan are superior in taste than those in the United States -- even though I would argue that they look far worse!

I learned that the women in Afghanistan have a harder life than I ever want to imagine having.

I learned that the amount of contractors along the road to Kabul would astound anyone who had eyes that cared to see them.

I learned that the nights in Kabul are beautiful. The wind will rustle through the trees drowning out the sounds of the city in the distance and create an inspiring peace.

I learned that language is not only a barrier between us and the host country, but also between us and our coalition partners. A great asset is lost because of our lack of patience with our non-English speaking partners.

I left certain that there is hope and what unites us is greater than what divides us.

Some stereotypes are true -- the Italians have the best looking uniforms, the Brits break for tea and the Americans are workaholics.

I have learned that it will take time, perhaps more time than we are willing to give…

About myself, I learned the ugly truth that I am absolutely human. I can only do so much, I can only understand so much and I will falter in ways that I never thought imaginable.

I learned that coming home can be lonelier than I ever imagined.

Read the entire essay here.

A republic, if we can keep it

Andrew Sullivan is hosting a lively discussion about the Fox News/rightwing propaganda machine on his blog at The Atlantic.One reader, a foreigner, wrote this:

"I agree with what you say about the Big Lie, but you never seem to hold Americans themselves accountable for believing these lies. While people do behave in a sheeplike manner (gay left, language police, group-think evident in any comments section), I don't think they can be absolved or excused for refusing to inform themselves.

While the consequences can be dire, they are still insistent on believing the lies they're told and in no way attempting to refute them with contradictory information. We tend to believe what we want to believe, and a great many people who've been led to believe Obama is a radical spender and socialist-in-hiding wanted to believe it in the first place."

"Fault Fox, yes. Fault cynical conservative think tankers, yes. But also fault the people who only listen to Fox News. They are not innocent bystanders in their own deception."

Sully commented: "Agreed on this last point wholeheartedly. It's a republic, if we can keep it. If we prefer lies to the truth, we won't keep it for ever."

Agreed. Enough said.