Paralysis of the Mind

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Hey hey hey...
Why'd Dick Cheney break your ankle?

(ok, ok)

GOOD-BYE!

Na-na-na-na
Na-na-na-na
Hey hey hey...
GOODBYE!!

As expected, we finally topped 2,000 deaths of U.S. soldiers in Iraq on Tuesday.

I don't know why 2,000 is important, any more than it's got to be a little galling that 2,000 will somehow be remembered in a way that 1,451 won't be.

My opinion, of course, is that 1 is a shame, and 2,000 is just icing on the cake. And we can't count Iraqi combatants/civilans; otherwise we'd have been having a discussion a lot more in the 60,000 range, I imagine. Having seen how very many Associated Press advances came as the death toll approached 2,000, I can only imagine what the press would be saying if we were in 60,000.

I was also reading a book this afternoon that went back to look at the 2004 campaign, and I felt myself getting angrier and angrier, nearly to the point of fury after only 50 pages.

Why? Because right this very minute, a leak scandal has lefties buzzing over the possibility that Dick Cheney and/or his aide, 'Scooter' Libby, broke the law by leaking the name of Valerie Plame, who was an undercover CIA agent at the time. And there's at least a chance that one or both will be indicted and -- due to their cabal's unpopularity -- might actually feel pressure to step down.

And this angers me, because who cares? As the James Bond movies proved, secret agents didn't have to be secret at all -- look at how many evil geniuses knew Bond well enough to have a bloody shaken martini waiting for him when he reached the secret compound. And he still slept with the girl(s) and stopped their nefarious plans!

Or in other words, I know Cheney violated the law. But why does he suffer for this pittance? Bush, Cheney, Ashcroft, Ridge, Rice, Rumsfeld and the lot brokered this clusterfuck we off-the-cuff refer to as 'Iraq,' where we recently lost our 2,000th soldier (not to mention any of the soldiers who have come back and cracked up, either shooting others or themselves)... and we're fighting because maybe, just maybe Dick's aide dropped a name to a reporter he shouldn't have?

Al Capone was eventually taken in because they proved tax evasion, and I know that in criminal cases, law enforcement tends to 'roll' someone to get their hands on more important criminals. But watching this unfold, right here, right now, is like watching a murderer get nabbed for jaywalking. It's like O.J. getting picked up for road rage.

There should be a tour. We can line 'em all up, and I mean all of them. From Bush all the way down to the cockroaches who defend him. From O'Reilly to Condolezza. From Babs to Michael Savage. From Judy "I'm the worst fucking reporter since Jayson Blair" Miller to Rush Limbaugh. From Miers to Barbara "I redefine compassion" Bush. And back again, with Rumsfeld and Ashcroft at the very end of the line. Line 'em up, march them across the country, telling everyone in the country how sorry they are that people got killed. Fly 'em over to Iraq; they can explain to the orphans why mom and dad aren't coming home (9/11, of course). And then, wearied, they can retire back home and plan their next invasion and see if the country's willing to follow.

Gas prices are coming down, you know. Why? It's because we found the number that made Americans want to conserve gas, to carpool, to put on a sweater, to turn the lights off for a while.

Let's see if we can find a number that will stop the warmongers.

Lots of people run different opinions on the Ten Commandments.

Here's a few:

"Over-rated" -- Lucifer

"Yes! Big fan! Especially the one about abortion!" -- Doris Schenker, Macon, Ga.

"Good in some places, not in others. We're not gonna make a hard and fast rule here; our goal is to confound and confuse. We're cranky old bastards, after all" -- The Supreme Court

So as you can see, there's a lot of confusion. But what's not confusing is the fact that if you violate any of the Commandments, you're in a lot of trouble.

I don't make up the rules, I'm just saying.

How easy would it be to live under these rules? Well, let's take a look at them one by one. Since old Hebrew is probably not going to come across too well in Western text encoding, we'll update a bit.

1. No graven images (Dude, please stop worshipping that stupid tree!)

Sounds easy enough. But God wasn't all too specific on the graven image thing. A lot of people worship the flag in this country; and somehow I'm thinking that there are more sets of golden arches than there are pictures of God in this country. And that guy who painted "Piss Christ"? That guy is in a LOT of trouble. Or else, it's just the opposite, and everyone who's been in a church with stained glass windows or an image of Jesus are in trouble.

2. Do not take the Lord's name in vain(One time, I stubbed my toe so badly I swore for five straight days.)

So okay, here's where 88% of the population suddenly turn into bits of ash. And funny enough, it would be both the sailors (who apparently have very filthy mouths) but also the very pious who drop God's name into stuff. Like George W. Bush, for example, because between you and me, I just don't think God was sitting in heaven going, "You know what we need? A nice protracted war in Iraq."

See? This shit is a lot harder than it looks.

3. Observe the Sabbath Day; Keep it holy (Uh, yeah, I'll take the Packers and the points, Vinny.)

You thought your prayer groups could save you, sports players? ENNNHT. Rev. Irving Fryar, you're toast, my friend. So is everyone who has to work on Sunday.

4. Honor your Mum and Dad (Yes, I'd love to come over for liver and onions... yep, still my favorite... mmmmm...)

Remember that really ugly shirt you got for your birthday 18 years ago and never wore? Right, you're lapping brimstone for eternity because you told your mother that it 'would go well with your jeans.' And heaven help you for that time when you fouled your dad so that you could finally beat him playing 1-on-1 in basketball. I'm afraid it's a red-hot poker in the face for several thousand years. And let's not even get into that time you were in the bathroom for an hour and you told your parents you 'weren't feeling well.' God knows what you were up to, pal.

5. Don't kill people

Most of us are OK on this end. But too bad if you're a soldier, you're condemned. Same for prosecutors in death-penalty cases, police officers, and plenty of other people. Also, if you're a doctor and you screw up? Right-o. Good luck with St. Peter, big fella.

6. Don't commit adultery(Dear Penthouse Forum, I never thought it would happen to me...)

I have to be honest, I like this one too. But then everyone who's divorced is in trouble. So are, by the book, everyone having sex who is not married.

Seriously, how many people are still alive at this point? And we've got 4 more to go!

7. Don't steal (How much is that black box again?)

Again, a pretty fair request. Of course, honoring this one runs the risk of consigning Tom DeLay, corporate CEO's and most of Halliburton to a low rung of hell, but... um, to be honest, that doesn't sound altogether unfair.

8. Do not bear false witness against your neighbor (No, that's not my dog.)

Unless your neighbor is a baby-murdering scuzzball, you're probably not going to get a chance to testify against him, at least in the court sense. Then again, if you're Homer Simpson, this one would cause some problems.

9. Don't covet your neighbor's wife (I wasn't looking in the window! I swear!)

I mean, unless she's really coming on to you, y'know, dropping hints, leaving racy notes and stuff. Otherwise, just meet someone at work; God doesn't appear to mind that -- so long as you're not committing adultery.

10. In case you didn't get it, don't covet ANYTHING your neighbor has (Heh, this commandment includes the word 'ass.')

So, it's not just Mrs. Neighbor, that also goes for Mr. Neighbor's bigger house, cuter kids, nicer car, any manservents he might have, and... yes, his ass. I figure this probably takes care of just about everyone in suburbia, most of whom seem -- from my own personal experience -- to be jealous of everything within view at all times.

And now it's the tough part. Tally yourself up. How many commandments have YOU violated? Remember, if your answer is more than 0, you're condemned!

Still sure we want these people running our country?

Lots of blather lately over instant replay in baseball.

As most people who follow know, the Angels got particularly hosed on a call in the second game of the ALCS. The pitcher struck out a batter for the last out of the inning, and the catcher made a nice pick to keep the ball off the dirt -- but the umpire said the ball hit the dirt and alertly, the batter took off to first base, eventually coming around to score the winning run.

I saw the replay several times. Obviously, the call was blown.

And the pundits, of course, jumped all over baseball. Because instant replay is a modern twist, and we lurve our modern twists.

So I find myself thinking, "Yes, instant replay is a good idea."

And then I realize, you know what else is a modern twist? Aluminum bats.

But no, no, aluminum is so 1900. You know what's a lot more modern? Titanium.

Now that's more like it! That punk Mariano Rivera has feasted off inside pitches that tend to break wooden bats. No more. Now, hit it off the handle ... and jerk that sucker over the foul pole for a 380 foot homerun.

But, again, titanium isn't that new. And I thought about it. You know what's newer? Human growth hormone.

Imagine, injecting your little shortstop until he's a 50-homer kind of player. Picture Jason Giambi's body on 5'5 tall David Eckstein. He'd be a monster! Small strike-zone, yet huge power -- and of course, he's swinging a titanium bat that has a sweet spot 2 feet long.

And that's pretty modern. But I was looking at ballparks around the league, and you know, they seem to be getting smaller. Good plan. Let's rebuild Yankee Stadium. Depth to center? Well, if it's about 120 feet from home to second base, why not move the wall in to 240 feet? A clean distance, I'd say. And now, with your HGH-enormous shortstop swatting his titanium lightning-rod, that's so modern, it's almost postmodern.

But wait.

Baseball, in its attempt to get modern, has fallen behind football and quasi-sport NASCAR, in popularity. Pundits have been quick to point out how popular football is and how it has instant replay.

Solution? Stock cars on the infield.

Look, Juan Pierre and Ichiro and Chone Figgins are fast. But 0-60 in 3 seconds? 'Fraid not.

So when David-HGH-Eckstein connects with his U.S. Army-grade titanium staff and shoots one toward the 225-foot-deep power alley, he then should hop into a stock car for a trip around the bases. Talk about going first-to-third on a single indeed!

And there should probably be just one game a week per team. And weeks off, too. Don't want to overwhelm the people. That's sooooo retro.

I step back to see my creation. It's pretty awesome. Except it has no corporate logos pasted on it. So my shortstop, David Eckstein, will now be known as Wal-Tide Ruby Tuesday's.

And you know how groundskeepers cut those whimsical shapes into the grass? Yeah, THERE'S a wasted spot for an advertisement.

Wal-Tide, who's 5'5 and weighs 250 pounds with a -1% body fat ratio, swings a 1/2-ounce titanium slugger and drives around the bases -- which really ought to be turned into Target logos instead of bases, feh, retro -- at 90 miles per hour.

That's hot. Hot enough to make a reality show where the winner gets to manage a team of ex-reality stars who used to do extreme sports but got hurt.They will be known as the New York Mets, because some things simply never go out of style. They become hipster-retro-kitsch.

Or, of course, we could stick with the boring class that baseball has exuded for the past 110 years. The one that includes human error as part of the game.

But don't tell the sportswriters. They're already working on making the modern Mets.

There's no holiday more American than Columbus Day.

Sure, sure, Christmas is a pretty good one, turning what's supposed to be a pious celebration into a month-long sprint of desperation, stress and ugly consumerism -- Ho Ho Ho to you too, Mr. Mall Shopper -- and Thanksgiving (gluttony) and Halloween (hyping fear to scare parents AND watching scary religious types act as though wearing a ghost costume makes you Satan's cabana boy) are OK as they go. Lots of people think July Fourth is the most American holiday, but that's patently ridiculous. Almost every nation has a birthday for itself, and we even celebrate other nation's birthday's -- as in Cinco de Mayo, which is mainly used as a reason to drink a lot of Corona outside, but it's still celebrated. Memorial and Veteran's Day are nice; Judging by how often I'm asked to support the troops via bumperstickers, I guess most people in this country really REALLY hate them or something.

Which leaves us with Columbus, Martin Luther King, Presidents and Labor days. Look, nobody seems to give a hoot about civil rights (at least in terms of what King meant), Washington and Lincoln are old news, and everybody to the right of Dennis Kuchinich wants to screw unions as completely as possible. Leaving only one heir to the throne: Our ole buddy Chris.

Christopher Columbus was a very bad man. Unfortunately, he was the first Westerner to leave his mark on the New World. Therefore, since Western culture obsesses about 'firsts' and 'onlies' he gets his name on the historical ledger.

But here's the thing: A lot of people are well aware that Columbus was an awful influence on history. He took slaves back to Europe, beginning that entire process. He was one of the first Europeans to kill someone from the Americas. He set the tone for the entire West-vs.-East conflict that has left us, today, with Native Americans either forced onto rock-strewn reservations. Many are alcoholics, unemployment hovers near 30% for most tribes, and life has not been good for the original sons of America.

This isn't a newsflash; The information that Columbus himself kept shows everything (and plenty more) he did during his life. And we have the present in front of us to show, quite clearly, that things went very bad, very quickly for Indian tribes. And yet, here's this national holiday, something supposedly saved for only the greatest ideas (Labor, Independence) or the greatest people (Lincoln, King, Washington, Jesus) our country can find. There's no holiday for FDR, for example, and all he did was lead the country out of the Great Depression and happen to win the biggest war in the history of mankind. No big thing.

So why Columbus? Very simply, at some point along the way, some genius decided to whitewash the white man. And right at the very start, right at the point where everything could have been totally different on our continent, someone turned a man of his era into a legendary hero.

Columbus -- and most of his peers -- knew full damn well the world wasn't flat. That is historical nonsense to make him look good. His early interactions with the Indians? They were not bartering; mostly they were boldly claiming territory which the Indians lived on. Columbus did not just return with gold, spices and fish; he did bring some Indians back, many of whom died on the way of smallpox. Those that didn't die were lucky enough to be slaves to the King and Queen until they expired. Hell, Columbus probably didn't even reach America first; the Vikings almost assuredly had small settlements in Canada, plus Icelandic fishermen often fished off the Great Banks of Canada in Columbus' time.

That's not even to mention the fact that all Native Americans emigrated to America in the first place, really making them the first to show up.

I don't know if it was guilt, ignorance, or the desire to tack another holiday onto the calendar when our Columbus was created out of whole cloth. But here's why I love the holiday (and with it, the Columbus I was told about when I was a child) -- there's a large group of people who complain that teaching Columbus from actual records is revisionist history, and should stop.

It's almost too much, really. It's OK to celebrate a racist, murdering, slave-driving captain who did not actually discover the U.S.? And it's OK to teach kids a bald-faced lie instead of the real thing? Just... wow.

"... because that's how it's always been done" was never, is not, and shall NEVER be an acceptable answer to anything. It is totally ludricious to lie to children in that fashion, and it's even more insane to celebrate a monument to such a pathetic argument. Germans do not celebrate "Kaiser Wilhelm Day" because hey, he was a good guy before he started the European arms race.

And what do kids eventually learn from this? In "Lies My Teacher Told Me," James W. Loewen writes that children figure out that teacher's are selling bullshit, and it helps turn them off of school, and history in particular. I don't disagree with him there, but I also feel like most kids are turned off by anything that can't be shot at close range via Xbox.

But what's the message of the people who cling to the obvious lie? It's partly bad schooling, but it's the spectre of change that they can't handle. Columbus Day, really, is more a celebration of the strong reactionary and conservative mindset of America.

Some people, who are aware of this, say "Oh, it's a harmless fallacy; Let the people have their day off." But to me, there's nothing harmless about trying to perpetrate a historical lie. All that does is make someone predisposed to accepting more lies in the future. After all, Woodrow Wilson was in the KKK and segregated the federal government; many polls rank him as one of the top 5 or 6 Presidents of all time. I don't think that's a case where everyone's a closeted racist; most people just don't know. (James Buchanan certainly seemed like he was gay too, but I definitely don't think our country is remotely ready for THAT little showdown.)

Columbus could teach that life is complex. He did things that, to us, sound awful, but he was hardly a scalliwag of his time. Europeans treated the "lesser people" like that across the world. Columbus could provide a wonderful moral counterpoint to smaller struggles that people face today. And finally, Columbus could make us look at ourselves, which we never do, and consider the society that has followed him.

After all, while I would hardly hold up the tribal system that came before the Europeans as being the answer, it's quite hard to imagine the Iroquois allowing GE to dump tons of PCBs in the Hudson River. Back then, that was considered the price of progress. Further back then, taking back Indian slaves to Spain was also the price of progress.

If those are the things we're aiming to celebrate, fine, I'm not going to hold up my hands and tell the tide not to come in. But maybe we should stop teaching the lie, and see how the next generation really feels about things.

Happy Columbus Day to you, too.

So the phone rang a couple of days ago.

My girlfriend picked it up, said "Hello," and then had a weird look cross her face. She blinked a few times, and gingerly handed the phone over to me. "It's, uh, for you. I think."

"Hello?" I said.

"Howdy!" came back a rough West-Texas-ish voice from across the line.

I paused for a second and said slowly, "Um, Mister President?"

"Yeah, that's right," he said in his faux-drawl. "How y'all doing today?"

I put my finger over the receiver. "I told you I didn't want to talk to him again," I hissed at my girlfriend, who just shrugged. I definitely shouldn't have told her those pants make her look a little big.

I removed my finger. "I'm great... sir. How are things down in Washington?"

"Oh, you know..." his voice dropped to a whisper, "Dick's been a little blue lately, and he's been all over Rummy, so Condi and I have had to hide out in the bedroom so that they can't find us and make us look at poll numbers."

"Gee, that's, uh, awful," I said, trying to sound reassuring and completely failing.

"Yessir, all my staff tell me I've never been more popular, but Scotty keeps telling me the press is getting him down and if I don't start talking more and getting out, why, he's gonna up and leave! Can you believe it? Ole Scotty might bug out of Dodge!"

"Really, quite a shame," I said, sounding a lot more confident. I had a feeling I knew what was coming next.

"Listen, I know you got a nice gig at that new job and all, but I was wondering if I could trouble you for a favor?"

Finger over receiver. Big sigh. Very annoyed glance at the girlfriend, only to see her taking great pride in my consternation. I hate those stupid plaid pants.

"Could I nominate you for the Supreme Court?"

Finger off the receiver. Bigger sigh."Look, Mister President..."

"Now, son, you can call me George!"

I'm flustered. I have no desire to call him George. "Okay... uh... George. I told you last week, I'm not qualified."

There's a pause at the other end. I hear a hushed whisper. "Wait, hang on, I think Dick is coming."

A longer pause. I hear strange snarls followed by hooting. Suddenly, there's a loud crash and a door slams. Seconds later, I hear someone fumbling with the phone.
"Still there? Boy, he's on a rampage! He's gone loco! Heh heh!" Bush carried on in his orangutan-like laughter for a good 30 seconds.

"Mister President?"

"Oh, right, right... look, I think you'll be a great justice. You're smart, you work for the media, so they'll love you, and hey, you're young! You have plenty of time to figure things out, y'know? Get taken under Clarence Thomas's wing? Just watch out for ole Pubes..."

That comment set him off again, and for a full minute, there was disjointed hooting and banging on something as Bush laughed himself out. I was prepared for this, though. Eventually, he tires himself out and calms down, just like a 5-year-old. "Look, Mister President, I don't want the job. I'm sorry."

Big sigh from the other end of the line. "Y'know, we've offered this job out to 894,312 people just today and nobody will take it on."

"I'm awfully sorry, Mister President." Which, I admit, I could barely get out over the smirk that was blossoming across the contours of my face.

There was a slight sniffle on the other end of the line. "Gosh, y'know, all these 'no's' from other people... I'm starting to feel a little unloved."

Finger slips over the receiver. Should I tell him?

A second passes. Another. Another. Nah, let one of his advisors tell Caesar that Rome is burning.

"George, I bet you've never been more popular than you are right now. Just look at that glowing media coverage!" I'm a little too cheery, and my girlfriend rolls her eyes and snorts in the direction of the TV. I'm pretty sure she wasn't doing that to "Taradise."

"Y'think? God bless, God bless. Welp, I guess I gotta make some more calls. Thanks for talking to me."

"Oh, my pleasure," I said, and by now I was totally convincing. But an errant thought hit my cortex like an arrow and quickly I blurted, "Wait!"

"Yeah?"

"What you need to do is find someone who can't think for themself. Someone who worships you... who thinks you can do no wrong and who has never really had an original thought in their head. Preferrably someone who thinks you're the smartest person they've ever met. That's the only person right for the job."

"That's great!"

"Sure enough! And hey, make it someone who works for you. That'll really make the country happy."

I imagine the big doofy smile that accompanies the platitudes Bush slings at me. We bid our farewells and I hang up the phone.

My girlfriend glances at me. Without taking her eyes off the TV, she mutters, "There isn't anyone that dumb, is there?"

I laugh with ease. "Of course not!"

And that's how Harriet Miers got nominated.

(Read down to the third-to-last paragraph. And be ready to vomit in your mouth a little. I know I'm there.)