Music of the Day: John Scofield, Uberjam.

At 1:45am I was awakened by a nasty unanticipated rumbling in my nether regions, so I immediately dragged myself out of the nice warm bed and fled to another part of the house, where I would be a step or two closer to the facilities--just in case. It must have been the salsa, or maybe the taquitos, but whatever it was, I was prepared for the worst, what Dr. Thompson called "the big spit."

As I paced in the guest bedroom, hoping to alleviate the nausea, I switched on the TeeVee in the room and surfed through about ninety "programs" with 1-800 numbers at the bottom of the screen before I came upon C-SPAN and a replay of a speech by Vice President Cheney given earlier yesterday to a group called AIPAC. I pulled a blanket around my shoulders and listened while the VEEP talked and I walked.

It was a good speech--short, direct, carefully written, smoothly delivered by Mr. Cheney. The subject was, in part, the special relationship between the United States and Israel, but the more important part of the speech, to me, had to do with our shared interest in defeating Islamic terrorists who threaten both of our nations. Mr. Cheney addressed what he called some of the recent "myths" about the Iraq situation, all of them advanced by critics of the war--that Iraq was a "distraction" to the larger war on terrorism, particularly in Afghanistan; that non-binding resolutions passed by Congress threatening a cessation of funding for the troopies on the ground were helpful and important; and that establishing a "deadline" for pullout was necessary if only to get the Iraqis to shoulder all of the security burden more quickly. There was another myth he addressed, but my belly started rumbling again, giving me another case of The Fear, so I missed his point.

By the way, with respect to the "deadline" for pulling out of Iraq, I find it odd as hell that some will loudly insist on such a deadline for the withdrawal of American troops from Iraq, and if it isn't met precisely, with the last American soldier and the last scintilla of equipment withdrawn by the deadline, the yowling will begin about two second after the appointed time--curiously, it seems that these same yowling people will overlook, as noted in a previous posting here ("Deadline"), any such "deadline" or any number of "deadlines" given to, say, Iran or North Korea or China.

But back to Mr. Cheney's speech; he closed his remarks by stating that Mr. Bush fully intended to stay focused on what he considered to be his most important duty as President, to ensure the protection of citizens of the United States. He said that meant pursuing new strategies and tactics to make victory certain (yes, he actually used the word "victory"!), because victory was vital. This was not the time, he said, for just sitting back and hoping that the bad guys would go way and he said that attempting to negotiate with people who willingly strap bombs to themselves was folly (my paraphrase).

This was all good stuff in my view, ideas that needed to be expressed and reiterated, and as I noted above, the speech was direct and clear. But Mr. Cheney was so dispassionate in his manner and delivery, so cool, so--what's the right word?--calm and seemingly confident in the outcome that when the speech ended, I was left feeling a little bit let down. What I wanted, I guess, was a little bombast, a little bit of Churchill, maybe a little "we have nothing to fear but fear itself" rhetoric, some in-your-face saber rattling, and a bit of heavy international trash-talking. Naturally, the yakking has to be followed up with powerful deeds and commitment, but when the man quotes Osama bin Laden saying that Iraq is the place that the world will see success or failure of America's resolve to fight, my sense is that Mr. Cheney, or someone, needs to raise the rhetorical bar a bit--and the message needs to be repeated and pounded home in every venue, at every opportunity, so that we don't forget the import of the task at hand. If the bad guys can talk openly about how important this fight is in Iraq, can't the Vice President of the United States take off the rhetorical gloves and land a few haymakers?

At 4:00am I'd had enough of the salsa blues, so I trundled myself back to bed. Max, the Bull Terrier, was snoring up a storm, my lovely wife was sleeping soundly, and I desperately needed a little more sleep before heading off to the salt mines. Cheers to Mr. Cheney for his speech--but despite my upset tummy, I hungered for a more meaty message, something we could all sink our teeth into. . . .

AJ

A little while back, in a piece for this blog entitled 'Instant Analysis," I made reference to the proliferation of programs (mostly on television) featuring paid yappers who endlessly and constantly yap on and on about the issue of the hour--Congressman Mark Foley (who is the answer to the trivia question I asked in the piece cited above); the latest super model diet scandal; Anna Nicole Smith; Anna Nicole Smith's burial site; the father of Anna Nicole Smith's most recent child; Scooter Libby; and this one (just announced on the cover of Newsweek), that Rudy Giuliani is "stubborn and abrasive," which I'd be willing to bet will tonight be a topic of much loud and pointless discussion on any number of television "talk" and "analysis" programs--and so on and so forth, ad nauseam.

I have noticed lately that this disturbing trend has made its way to similar kinds of programs on radio; whereas before, one might be able to listen to a single individual give his or her views on a subject, now one is liable to hear two guests and a host "discussing" a particular subject, such as bad professors on university campuses, with all three people talking simultaneously, interrupting each other, and generally just adding to the noise of the 21st, century. As if we needed more noise. . . .

All this makes me cringe and forces me, more often, to retreat to the comfort and relative quiet of the library at home, with the stereo on (Music of the Day: Steps Ahead, NYC) and the radio and televisions turned off. No more yapping heads yapping at, and over, each other--not even on my 75 mile commute to the slaughterhouse in the early hours of the day. I am going to foreswear all of the bloviating for the rest of the year and all of next year--especially next year, when the yowling will get louder and more strident and less informative the closer we get to the presidential election.

I'm hoping this will make me lose the "too many books, not enough time" excuse expressed here on a previous occasion or two--now that I have given up wasting my time on eternal political/pop-culture palaver, maybe I can wade through some of the books on my to-be-read-shelf, including RB's suggestion, too long overlooked, The Fair Tax Book.

AJ

Music of the Day: Symphony Number 9, Beethoven

Favorite Movie: Life is Beautiful.

Best Hotel: The Bora Bora Lagoon Resort; Honorable Mention, The Phoenician.

Best City: Sydney, Australia.

Scariest City: Jackson, Mississippi.

Favorite Piece of Classical Music: Symphonie Fantastique, Hector Berlioz.

Best Outdoor Jazz Concert: Chick Corea.

Best Outdoor Concert Venue: Humphrey's by the Bay, San Diego.

Best Male Tennis Players I've Seen, Live: Rod Laver, Pete Sampras.

Best Female Tennis Player I've Seen, Live: Billie Jean King.

Best Steak: Some tiny restaurant in Gallup, New Mexico. I'm not kidding.

Best Skiing: Telluride, Colorado; Honorable Mention, Kirkwood, California.

Worst Movie: The Conqueror, John Wayne et. al.; Honorable Mention, Conan the Barbarian.

Most Passionate Speaker I've Seen/Heard in Person: Dr. Edward Teller.

Best Extemporaneous Speaker I've Seen/Heard in Person: Dr. Barton Bernstein.

Best Reading by an Author: Tim O'Brien, from his book The Things They Carried.

Best Reading by an Author after He'd Consumed Six Margaritas: Edward Abbey, The Brave Cowboy,

Worst College Course: Business Law.

Worst Car I Ever Owned: Chevy Vega.

Worst Vote I Ever Cast: Jimmy Carter, 1976; Dis-Honorable Mention, George McGovern, 1972. The shame!

Best Book: The Fall, Albert Camus.

Best Fish: Barramundi.

Worst Book: Home Before Morning, Lynda Van DeVanter.

Best Boat Ride: Holoholo Charter, NaPali Coast, Kauai.

Best Ride on a Ship: USS Bulkeley.

Best College Course: Philosophy of Literature.

Worst Speaker: Janet Reno.

Favorite Jazz Group: Steps Ahead.

Best Dinner with a Famous Author: Larry McMurtry; Honorable Mention, Neil Sheehan.

Best Live Classical Performance: The Philadelphia Orchestra, Eugene Ormandy conducting; Honorable Mention, The London Symphony Orchestra.

Worst Outdoor Sport: Snow-shoeing.

Most Dangerous Sport Attempted: Broom-ball.

Worst Course Taken in Graduate School: Historiography.

Best Airport: Pittsburgh. Hey, it's a shopping mall! Honorable Mention, Aucklund, New Zealand.

Worst Airport: Saigon.

Best Basketball Player I've Seen, Live: Charles Barkley.

Best Lunch Meeting: January 13, 1998, at Hugo's, with the wonderful woman I married exactly six months later. The tortilla soup was good, too.

AJ

Music of the Day: Symphony 36 in C Major, Mozart

Over the Thanksgiving holiday last year we traveled to visit relatives at an undisclosed location in an undisclosed western state; we all ate too much, we all had difficulty moving away from the table, and we all sat around in a food-induced stupor for a short while after dinner. Most of the chronologically mature male members of the family retired to another portion of the house to discuss male matters while the younger male members of the family engaged in electronic sport and mayhem through the video-game system. Most of the female members of the family kept alive the traditional post-Thanksgiving-meal ritual of watching a "family movie" in the television room. It was, I guess, about as "traditional" as most Thanksgiving days can be, minus the football--no football last year because of some kind of odd cable-related problem. No matter. . . .

The pre-dinner activity for the male members of the family consisted primarily of viewing some of the home-made videos made by J. during his stint in Iraq with his Marine unit. I was struck by a few things about the videos which require comment. First, the quality--all were shot with digital video recorders; the images were universally clear and sharp. Second, the "post production" quality was excellent, with sharp cuts and smooth fades, titles, music, and when appropriate, audio. Third, there was no gratuitous violence, no bloody scenes of dead Marines or brutalized or dead Iraqis. Finally, and most importantly, the young men in the video clips, Marines all, seemed to be in excellent spirits, smiling, laughing, cooperating with the camera, solemnly standing guard or driving a Humvee, posing when appropriate for what might be called the standard camaraderie shot, mugging every now and then, pretending to be running out for a patrol (the last Marine weaving out of a small enclosure on a mountain bike and then careening behind a line of Humvees, in full battle gear, still on the bicycle), standing around in sweat-soaked fatigues, caked with sand, after a session of practice hand-to-hand combat, or simply conversing with Iraqi civilians (all very cordial).

After watching the video quite a few times, I thought again of the gas-bag politician mentioned in a previous posting here entitlted "The Progressive Mind and the American Military." What would he think of these young reservists, volunteers all, and their closeness, their obvious pride in their unit and their task? Would he feel a bond with them, a sense of brotherly connection from a shared experience? I'm guessing not; the shame he speaks of whenever he talks about America's involvement in Vietnam likely precludes connection with today's soldiers who take pride in their task, their country, or their military "selves." I felt a bond with these young men even though my own war experience was likely far more benign than theirs, far less personally dangerous than theirs. I wish I could share the video with you and I wish someone would make it their business to make such videos available to the American public; the public's perception of those on the front lines against the terrorist barbarians might change for the better.

J. may have to return to Iraq with his unit in the not too distant future, assuming that the Democrats don't force an American surrender before then; he's not entirely enamored of the idea, but he's a Marine, he volunteered, and he wants to be with his men, to protect them, to lead them, to shelter them through difficult times. He's a strong young man, he's bright, and he has some very specific and good goals for the future; my guess is that like many others who served before him, he'll do his duty, and then he'll move on to the rest of his life without complaint. He won't stand in front of the Pentagon and throw away his medals and, unfortunately, he probably won't be noticed by anyone but family and friends. And the gas-bag politicians who claim that American soldiers, sailors, Marines, and airmen are heartless killers and cruel torturers of innocents and dupes of a mendacious president will get all the air time and all the ink.

Sometimes it is indeed a perverse world in which we live. . . .

AJ

Music of the Day: Gregg Karukas, Looking Up

Breathless questions: Did you watch the Oscars on television the other night? What did you think of Ellen's performance? Was Al Gore really going to announce another presidential run when he got played off stage?

Answers: No, I did not watch the Oscars on television the other night. Ellen--who decided to resuscitate her dead career? Al Gore--any politician who shows up at the Oscar ceremony cannot be a serious candidate for anything other than being a nuclear-site inspector for the IAEA.

I have watched less and less of the annual mush-fest called Oscar night over the last few years--I guess you could say my interest in wholly self-centered people has waned to the point of non-existence. This is not to say that the program isn't important in the family; my lovely and intelligent wife and her youngest son, a sweet and talented young man, watch assiduously (although this year, thanks to the DVR, my wife is watching 24 hours after the fact) and they talk about who won what and why and didn't Nicole-What's-Her-Name look hot?

Sadly, the whole Oscar-thing has spawned a seemingly endless proliferation of award shows--for country music and hip-hop and day-time TeeVee and independent films and commercials and best underwater lighting schemes in an amusement park ride, and so on and so forth. Doesn't everyone now get an award for something?

As for Ellen's dead-as-a-door-nail career having been resuscitated by both day-time television and the apparent dearth of offensive male hosts available this year on Oscar night, surely this means that at some point in the not-too-distant future Michael Richards will be back on the TeeVee (after, of course, he completes his mandatory sensitivity sessions at the re-education camp he's been assigned to after last year's melt-down). That doesn't bode well for the future of television, but it makes me think that the origin of the recycling movement was in the entertainment industry, where moldy-oldies pop up regularly in subsequent sit-coms and, lately, in "reality" shows (e.g., Erik Estrada, et.al.).

Recycling empty beer cans makes a helluva lot of sense; recycling Ellen doesn't. When you recycle a beer can, you can get a fresh beer, but when you recycle old not-so-funny Ellen, you just get old not-so-funny Ellen again, this time in different footwear.

AJ