RECOVERING THE “MERRY” IN CHRISTMAS

Last year I didn't get around to reflecting on the season until a few days after the Big Day. But I had an excuse—my son was married just in mid-December (putting the MARRY in Christmas, big-time).

Of course, if you are trying to preserve the genuine tradition which makes Christmas a SEASON (of twelve days, starting on the 25^th) and not just a one-day gift/food/football blow-out, being a little late shouldn’t make a difference.

The second day of the ancient Christmas season was (and still is) called “Boxing Day,” and such was the theme of my last-year's post-Christmas musings.

A bunch of my friends thought I did a good job of it. So here's the post again. It's more timely this year! There are still seven more shopping preparation days until the Season begins in earnest.

Here [slightly revised] from December 27, 2005:

BOXING DAY

It’s a rare moment when I think there are advantages to living in Canada, and these are often due to the few vestiges of British culture which still survive like blades of grass poking bravely up through the vast cement expanse of an airport runway or suburban parking lot.

One of these last desperate traces of civilization, the official Boxing Day holiday, alas, has disappeared in distinctive Canadian fashion: the laws which once decreed that no commerce should be allowed on Sundays and statutory holidays have been erased by being repeatedly broken. It’s a classic Canadian form of “court challenge”— you just keep breaking the law until you break the system’s resolve. (Saves a lot of time and headache involved with actual statutory amendment enacted by actual elected legislators.)

However, the cultural concept of Boxing Day still lingers— the day after Christmas when, back in “olden times” (that period of history prior to 1968 about which most modern students learn almost nothing) servants could relax a bit and the gentry would treat them to the annual holiday bonus: boxes stuffed with money and gifts. It’s still a day which conjures up, for some of us, images of hanging out and doing nothing, trying out the Christmas treasures, eating the left-overs. I last celebrated it by rising at about 2:00 p.m. and soaking in the tub from 4:30 till 6:00, while drinking champagne and orange juice and reading about architecture. This strikes me as an appropriate way to pass a traditional “holiday” in the literal sense (Holy Day).

Unfortunately, Canadian society has succumbed to moving the traditional after-Christmas sales to Boxing Day, where they had once been staved off until December 27. On that day, somewhere in the distance were the sounds of cash-registers dinging (or whatever it is these computerized models do), but no one in our house was aware of it.

Canada is still blessed insofar as it lacks anything quite equivalent to the American abomination known in the retail world as “Black Friday” – the day after Thanksgiving when hundreds of thousands of people line up in the cold early morning to rush the doors of the malls and big-box stores for Christmas shopping deals. It is hard to conceive of a more unedifying sight than crowds pushing and shoving (sometimes trampling) each other in search of bargains and the hottest gift-fads, without which, one surmises, the birth of Christ would be empty and meaningless.

Canada’s Thanksgiving is in October (usually on or about Columbus Day), too far ahead of the Christmas season for a wild mob scene— besides, without a November Thanksgiving, and its Hallmark-card-merchandising-opportunity to hold them back, Canadian stores have been stocking Christmas items since late September— so what’s the rush?!

Many might be prepared to say a lot of nasty things about people for whom Christmas has descended into this materialistic morass, but more than anything else I think they are to be pitied— they have been victims of a terrible robbery. It is the province of the churches to teach the meaning of Christmas, and to raise the alarum about its abuse and perversion. It’s also the province of the churches to fill their own pews—which is where the initial failure lies, and the great robbery accommodated. If Christmas is rather less than “merry”— an exhausting, pointless, and expensive ordeal, as we often hear of it— some research into an antidote would seem to be in order.

I have given some thought over the past few years as to what might be the key ingredients to a Merry Christmas, and why I usually find it pretty easy to have one.

At the root is the question of appropriate expectations.

When Christmas is all about the awe and excitement of small children, for whom every aspect of the season is cause for joy, the natural melancholy that comes with the end of the party and the turn of the year can be successfully suppressed, for quite awhile. But Christmas changes as children get older—the magic diminishes, and the sense of inexorably passing time increases.

If you try, you can learn to accept that the highs and lows of seasonal celebrations are to be expected— relentless highs are artificial, and suppressing the melancholy is unhealthy. Those who are unprepared for, and resent, the post-gift-grab-and-turkey-blow-out depression, have failed to realize that they have set themselves up for this. It’s preventable.

After due consideration, I’ve developed some simple prescriptions for recovering the Merry in Christmas. It starts with what might seem superficial (but isn’t) and then works its way to the deeper stuff. That sounds backwards, but it’s a way of easing into the optimal results.

Memo for next Christmas: plan well in advance to approach the Christmas season with new strategies relating to:

I. MUSIC

II. SHOPPING

III. DECORATING

IV. PRESERVING ADVENT

Note: the use of the word “Merry” to describe the perfect Christmas in no way implies that this is a formula geared to non-religious seasonal observance. It is the Christian tradition to be merry at the prospect of the Nativity.

That’s the Nativity of Jesus Christ, the promised Messiah, the Redeemer of all mankind, born into history at a time and place commemorated once a year by Christian believers.

While it is possible for the non-believer to enter into some type of generic seasonal spirit with all good will and stuff, the simple truth is (to be blunt), if you are not prepared at least to contemplate the historical reality of the birth of Jesus, and the significance attached to it by Christians, your participation is basically a delusion. And you deprive yourself of its riches.

Christmas 2005 saw some fanning of the flames of the Culture Wars on the part of those who object to the dilution of the holiday’s historical/factual identity into some bizarre No-Name Seasonal Warm-Fuzzathon — the complaints are well-founded (if not always well-argued), and the controversy warranted. (Progress, and fewer controversies, duly noted for 2006.)

But among the voices in favor of keeping “Christmas” in the public vocabulary are those who have argued that non-Christians should be content with trees and carols and greetings called “Christmas” because these things have lost their religious meaning anyway, so their use is palatably secular.

ARGH-H-H-H-H-H!!!!!!

Please, people— your kind of help we don’t need. Christmas isabout the coming of Christ, and the birth of his Church. Deal with it. And don’t insult Jews by pretending it’s their season too—they’d be the first to tell you it is no such thing.

Hanukkah is not a season, but a minor event in the Jewish calendar, significant on a scale with St. Patrick’s Day for Christians. Neither is Christmas pagan in origin, as some multi-culti types claim—it successfully usurped and more or less obliterated a pagan seasonal festival, co-opting some of its trappings (like trees) which were easily absorbed into existing authentically Christian motifs—turning it from a fearful exercise in god-placation and charms against the cold and dark, to a festival of miraculous birth and promise and tenderness directed towards a helpless infant destined to rescue humanity.

This is not to say that paganism can’t capture the flag back again. It’s working very hard at exactly that, in the guise of benign-looking secular banalities and orgies of materialism. These things are not “merry” as applied to Christmas—they are fleeting and corrosive distractions.

RECOVER A TRULY MERRY CHRISTMAS, by starting with:

I. MUSIC

The importance of music to the spirit of Christmas cannot be overstated.

Choose wisely. Ban mercilessly.

I can’t remember when it dawned on me, but at some point I came to realize that the most important ingredient in the Merrying of Christmas in my life has been, by far, the discovery of styles of music that are imbued with the true meaning and spirit of the Nativity.

Our house was like everybody else’s in the 1950’s— Christmas music was the usual mix of classic carols and more modern pop hits. We got the big cabinet stereo in about 1958 and our first Christmas LP album was a little bit of a departure—an important one. It was the Robert Shaw Chorale singing traditional carols a capella. The sound was clear and rich and unadorned. Other versions paled by comparison.

Yes, we got our Bing Crosby album too, and over the years my father kept bringing home the annual pop artist collection “Great Songs of Christmas,” put out by Goodyear (!), that gave us Barbra Streisand warbling “Silent Night” and Bob Goulet crooning I forget what— joined by Johnny Mathis, Nat King Cole, and, oh yes, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. They were pleasant enough, but even as a child I understood that they lacked what the Robert Shaw album had — had I been able to articulate it then, I might have given new meaning to the term “Christmas balls.”

Then in the early 1960’s my sister sent away to Life Magazine for a set of books on the Pageantry, Glory, and Merriment of Christmas, with its accompanying LP called “The Life Treasury of Christmas Music”— and a treasure it was. The record changed everything about our sense of how Christmas ought to sound. Its selections included Gregorian chant (which we already knew about, but took for granted), and an international array of medieval dance rhythms on period instruments, Renaissance polyphony, organ solos, 18^th and 19^th-century carols, and a little touch of Huron from Ontario.

From here we developed a taste for early music in general, but especially that of the Christmas season, which introduced us not only to new notions of harmony and the joys of percussion, but to the fuller spectrum of religious truths which are so often the subject of medieval popular song: our forebears did not hesitate to place the miraculous birth of the Holy Babe within the context of his larger purpose, a life destined to end in agonizing redemptive sacrifice. Furthermore, they were not shy about speculating how strangely the circumstances of the Nativity must have struck those ordinary folk lacking the benefit of an Archangelic visitation— including Joseph himself, the subject of numerous songs that speak to his cluelessness and resentment of the implausible claims of his pregnant fiancée.

Christians of an earlier time could meld greater awe and faith with a more intimate human relationship with their Savior than modern man achieves, and all without need of the glitzy sentimentality so typical of our musical chestnuts and greeting card art. The wider, more realistic perspective of our religious ancestors from centuries long past, as expressed in their music, is the best possible antidote to the artificial high and the post-indulgence deflation too typical of the modern Christmas celebration. Life was damned hard for those faithful folk— and they accepted, even celebrated, the melancholy with the joyous. So….

…want a merrier Christmas through MUSIC? – Here’s the prescription:

Rule #1: Listen to NO Christmas music written after 1900.**

Rule #2: Be VERY selective about Christmas music written after 1700.

**[Okay, okay-- we'll make an exception for "In the Bleak Midwinter"-- but that's it! Sheesh.]

Just try it! For one season at least!—yes, you’ll have to give up Bing and his “White Christmas” (but that will also relieve you of his execrable “Mele Kalikimaka” in the process—double bonus).

You’ll hear more than your share of old favorite carols and pop schlock in the stores and elevators—try to filter it out of your head, but if you feel called to absorb some Frosty or Mama Kissing Santa Claus, confine your listening to the muzak of public places.

At home, keep to the older musical traditions, whose texts are rich in the Biblical context and lived experience of the need for redemption through the Divine Child and his generous earthly parents.

Recommended introduction to the world of real Christmas music:

Christmas Now is Drawing Near – by Sneak’s Noyse [Saydisc Records] [my #1 favourite album of all time]

A Tapestry of Carols – by Maddy Prior and the Carnival Band [also Saydisc]

A Garland of Carols, and Fire & Sleet & Candlelight and Voices at the Door– by Coope, Boyes and Simpson [No Masters Voice]

On Yoolis Night or anything recorded by the Anonymous 4

The Carol Albums - by the Taverner Consort under Andrew Parrott

The Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols – lots of recordings, the one from King’s College, Cambridge being the most famous; the one from the London Oratory is different, and very pleasing.

Thys Yool – A Medieval Christmas – by the Martin Best Ensemble [Nimbus Records]

An American Christmas - by the Boston Camerata under Joel Cohen [Erato records]

II. SHOPPING

Buy stuff online.

I’ve had great luck with it, mostly using catalogues I started ordering from by phone long before I had a computer.

There are two benefits to this: (1) It keeps you out of malls, which are symphonies of schlock, crass and brassy pageants of crap-for-sale in the din of lousy music and frantic people with cranky kids. (2) If you get the right catalogues and websites, the stuff is a lot more interesting than what’s in the stores.

Have a look at Acorn, Signals, Wireless, The Smithsonian, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Creative Irish Gifts, Coldwater Creek (women’s clothes, jewelry, decorative stuff), Land’s End (good basic clothing, some household items). And there’s always Amazon and Barnes & Noble for books, music, and games. Harry and David for great food (especially fruit). Hammacher-Schlemmer has a few interesting things for people of ordinary means, tucked in between the junk for gazillionaires. Also visit your favorite blog-sites and find fun political novelties (sold through Café Press and similar businesses) to suit every viewpoint and opinion.

I’m not putting links up for these sites, just to emphasize that no commercial considerations have encouraged me to list them—someday when I get my web-act together maybe I’ll run their ads. So….

…want a merrier Christmas despite the SHOPPING? – Here’s the prescription:

Do whatever it takes to stay out of malls and monster stores. Online shopping is leisurely and peaceful and, in my experience, efficient, creative, and reliable.

If you really have to hit the stores, try something out of the mainstream, like gift certificates from a gourmet cheese and deli shop, or cooking school. They smell good and tend to be located in quiet corners of the world.

III. DECORATING

You’ll start to see everything imaginable for decorating your home, inside and out, slipping stealthily into the stores in late September— early October at the latest.

IGNORE IT.

If you must buy ahead, do it in late November and stow it until at least my birthday (December 11).

Start with some decorations which are attractive and festive but are clearly consigned to Advent: a Jesse tree, an Advent wreath, an Advent calendar [on a religious or wintry theme, revealing angels or artworks or folk around the manger— remember that Spongebob Squarepants and Scooby-Do have NOTHING to do with Advent—no cartoon calendars please!], the Christmas crib [permissible early, but keep the baby in storage until Christmas Eve, and if possible place the wise men and shepherds so they can be walked toward the manger over a period of weeks—kids love to do this, but space doesn’t always allow for it].

Think purple, not red and green yet (even poinsettias will cooperate with you in this).

It is fair to say that the true Spirit of Christmas is not invoked by lighting up your yard like a Vegas whore-house— try to keep it under control. The latest fad seems to be these inflatable nylon giants: snow families, teddy bears, etc. They’re generally sort of cute, but bloated (literally) and ostentatious and a little creepy. And remember— accidents happen— what could be more pathetic than a flaccid Father Christmas lying face down on your lawn.

The centerpiece of any indoor decoration is going to be the Christmas tree. Anyone for whom it is not an untenable financial or physical burden, or a danger to your health (like needles make you break out in hives), should get a REAL TREE—please! The fakes are getting better, but they have one big problem: they’re fake. We try to avoid that in all respects this time of year.

When it comes to decorating the tree, many individual tastes will play their part—and many temptations to no taste at all. Your best bet? Decorate your tree only with things that any small child would like to (1) eat, (2) play with, (3) gaze at for an hour. (If you don’t use actual toys, then plausible, well-made replicas or miniatures will do.) Don't forget to lay in a few olive wood ornaments made in Bethlehem. They are attractive and symbolic, and their purchase supports the disappearing Palestinian Christian community who are caught in the crossfire of the Middle Eastern terror wars.

Supplement with religious symbols, memorabilia specific to your family, animal life (birds, nests, small furry things), anything made by your children. Nothing glads the heart and catches the eye like old-fashioned blown-glass figures and objects, dotted here and there between the less shiny and more natural objects. Garlands of wooden beads, popcorn, cranberries, little gold and silver stars are way more warm and friendly than ropes of Wal-Mart twinkle-garland and sheets of “icicles”.

Everybody likes vases and pots of greens around the house—pine, fir, holly, boxwood, ivy, juniper— which should be real if your allergies can handle it. There are beautiful accents to be found in the shapes and warm colours of fruits and berries, for both the vases and tree ornaments (fakes are getting pretty good, and less likely to bring fruit flies than the real thing). So…..

…want a merrier Christmas through DECORATION? – Here’s the prescription:

Keep it warm (colours); keep it real (if possible), natural and simple (outdoor lights and displays); keep it in reserve till well into Advent. Approach it all with an eye to childish delight. Avoid anything that looks like the work of an interior designer – real people don’t live like that.

IV. PRESERVING ADVENT

Now to the serious part. The best way to guarantee a Merry Christmas is to precede it with a real Advent, traditionally a season of preparation only slightly less somber than Lent. In fact, Advent was once colloquially referred to as “St. Martin’s Lent” since it was originally established to last from the feast of St. Martin of Tours, November 11, to Christmas Day (about two weeks longer than the modern Advent season).

There are still those who try to observe the spirit of Advent fairly strictly, avoiding all parties, trees, decorating, etc., until Christmas Eve. In this mode, our forebears postponed celebration until the actual feast of Christmas, and then enjoyed not just an explosive day of excess and abandon on December 25, but on that day inaugurated a 12-day Christmas “season” in the truest sense.

The modern world makes this arrangement problematic. In “olden times” the whole community agreed that the daily grind would come to a halt for the duration of the festivities, so no one was penalized for slacking off—there was no concern about losing business to competitors when little business was conducted anywhere. Today, however, no employed person is allowed to neglect work for a twelve-day stretch after Christmas— at best, we get one day’s grace before most of the community is called back to the full schedule of work obligations. Luckier folks see their offices close for the whole period from Christmas to New Year’s, but only when the calendar cooperates and there are just a couple of work-days between the two holidays.

For this reason most of us are drawn into abbreviating even our shortened Advent, and start the decorating and partying by the middle of December, in the knowledge that big parties after the 25^th have a way of seeming anti-climactic. It’s hard to know whether this feeling is cause or effect— whether we ourselves have created that weird post-Christmas plummeting of joy because we gave in to the pre-Christmas overkill in the first place— but it is reality, and our collective devotion to work prevents us from turning back the clock on this issue completely.

Still, the recovery of some sense of Advent – achieved by restraining the impulse to start Christmas in September (as the stores would have us do), to get the lights and the tree up in the first week of December (only to put the poor old tannenbaum out at the curb with the other garbage on the 27^th ), to spend the whole of Advent in a stressful buying-spree that takes till Lent to be paid off — is the shortest, straightest path to a truly Merry Christmas: a time to meditate on the coming mystery, on how profound is our need to be saved and to reconcile ourselves with God and each other,

Step 1: tame the calendar—make the effort to schedule the festive activities as close to the 25^th as your routine allows; mark the January calendar with Twelfth Night and do your best to keep the tree and decorations in place until then; schedule some relaxed social gatherings for the weeks AFTER Christmas, see friends and family, watch football, hang out, eat left-overs and drink mimosas. Can’t be beat.

First make Advent a genuine season (not just Christmas foreplay), then make Christmas a genuine season (not just a food-and-toy orgasm).

Step 2: While you’re not partying and shopping like mad in early December, find some contemplative reading material about Christmas.

I have several books that have a prayer or reading per day of Advent (Bishop Sheen compiled one)-- and guess what? I’ve never gotten through one yet. But even if you can’t rely on making time for a reading every day, it’s still worthwhile to keep some appropriate material close at hand for the spare moments that present themselves. There are old books of Christmas poems and stories— some are anthologies, others are the works of a single author like Washington Irving, or Charles Dickens’ short stories that aren’t about Scrooge. Listen to or read Dylan Thomas’s A Child’s Christmas in Wales. Take a random quiet moment here and there if you can’t manage the daily meditation. So….

…want a merrier Christmas, period? – RECOVER ADVENT.

Discipline your calendar, feed your soul, believe in two seasons instead of one or two blow-outs, spend within your means, and remember why we are doing this at all—“Season’s Greetings” and “Happy Holidays” give you no guidance on this matter.

Even if your particular faith, or your lack of it, makes you resistant to involvement in something called “Mass,” you still can’t get around the fact that what we celebrate this time of year is called “Christ’s Mass”— it belongs to him, the little bundle in the straw whose humble, helpless entry into our world tells you all you need to know about how the faith to which he calls us is like no other movement or cult or philosophy that has ever captured the heart and imagination of mankind.

And therefore be merry,
Rejoice and be you merry,
Set sorrows aside--
Our Savior, Christ Jesus
Was born on this tide.

A Virgin Most Pure, from A Tapestry of Carols

"AT HOME"
as they used to say,
in the world of calling cards and social seasons


It seems like forever since I've been into anything like a routine, and I have a number of random notes to report on, built up over the past two chaotic months-- including reviews of the many movies I found myself watching as I traversed the skies between Ontario and Texas. However, today only a couple of info-bits have floated to the surface, as we drift quietly into St. Martin's Lent (as Advent was once referred to-- sort of "Lent Lite" by implication).


REDEMPTION! -- film at 11:00!

The Nativity movie opens tonight, but God bless the local critics, they got the word out fast to give us a heads-up on what to expect. The 1.5 star review from Vanessa Farquharson at the Nominal Putz (er, that's National Post) offers these gems:

It's a predictable film... ...many Biblical clichés...

Imagine! Predictable!

If only there was a stronger thread of humour...

Ya-a-a-a-h-h-s--- where were those laughs?

...the young Mary... should have been reinterpreted with a lot more edge.

Ab-so-LUTE-ly! What's a Blessed Virgin without edge?

[mosaic of the Theotokos, Hagia Sophia, Istanbul, Turkey]

Now, it's entirely possible that the film reeks. But we won't know that without seeing it ourselves, since reviewers who have no idea what they're looking at provide us with little guidance.

Ms. Farquharson did enjoy the comic moment where one of the three kings insisted on an extra camel to carry all his valuable stuff. Apparently she didn't connect this high-larious piece of schtick with Matthew 19, Mark 10, and Luke 18.


WORLD PEACE THROUGH SYNCRETISM! -- film at 11:30!

Pope Benedict XVI winds up his Apostolic Journey to Turkey (in the footsteps of St. Andrew, and the shadow of St. Gregory the Theologian and St. John Chrysostom.

His Holiness impressed his hosts in a variety of ways: by attending a lengthy and elaborate Patriarchal Mass at the Cathedral of St. George, with Patriarch Bartholomew as celebrant, from whose hand the Pope received communion.

Earlier he had visited Hagia Sophia, one of the world's architectural wonders, built in the 6th century as the mother church of Christendom, in whose custody it remained for nearly a thousand years-- until it was CAPTURED by invading Turks in 1453 and OCCUPIED as a mosque, until NEUTERED in 1935 when it was proclaimed a mere "museum" in an attempt to settle competing claims by the two relevant religious bodies, one of whom had, in the ensuing 500 years, all but consumed the other.

The only good thing about surrendering the building to the state (when restoration to its rightful religious fathers seemed impossible) is that at least some of the magnificent Christian mosaics which had been hidden beneath the whitewash of its Islamic tenancy could be again revealed and restored-- or not-- they have in fact suffered outrageous vandalism since their post-Ataturk unveiling.

It was under the power of these images, however, and of the legacy of the church itself, that Pope Paul VI spontaneously fell to his knees in prayer during his visit in 1967, which threw his devoutly secular hosts into a momentary international tizzy (yes it did, notwithstanding misrepresentations to the contrary, in an error-filled report of the current Pope's visit by Yuksel Soylemez in the Turkish Daily News).

While Benedict declined to pray openly at Hagia Sophia (and let's call it by its proper name, not this Ayasofya nonsense, a word that is apparently without any etymological basis in the Turkish tongue, but was a handily appropriated bit o' gibberish), the big story seems to be that the Pope made prayer-like deferences in the direction of Mecca when visiting Hagia-Sophia-wannabe, the Blue Mosque.

With his arms folded across his tummy in a way that Muslims chose to interpret as one of their prayer-gestures (and which non-Muslims are free to interpret as arms-folded-across-the-tummy, signifying-arms-folded-across-the-tummy), the Pope turned with his hosts in what they chose to interpret as the act of facing Mecca. Well, maybe.

I guess there's no disputing which direction Pope Benedict faced. But only he can tell us exactly where his interior gaze came to rest. Observe the following map:

The three dots represent, in south-bound order, Istanbul, Jerusalem, and Mecca. Not quite a straight line, but close enough that no one standing in a mosque in Istanbul would be able to perceive the slightest difference.

In the Old Church we used to call it "ad orientam" and we all knew what it meant, even if the building it took place in was not cooperating with the compass.

Works for me, Papa Ratzi.

Further journalistic howlers regarding the history of Hagia Sophia:

"ANCIENT STRUCTURE HAS STRONG RELIGIOUS LINKS" (San Jose Mercury News)

"The Pope spent half an hour in Hagia Sophia, a domed complex that was once a CHRISTIAN CENTRE before becoming a mosque and eventually, a museum. " (my emphasis) (BBC News)

Call it a "Christian centre" if it makes you feel good-- call it a produce depot. It is what it is/was/and ever shall be: The Church of the Holy Wisdom of God.

Peace be upon all who came to this historic meeting with sincerity of heart. You know who you are.

TO EVERYTHING THERE IS A SEASON

Our family has marked the time to die, and now is the time for weddings, for Thanksgiving, and for birth just weeks ahead.



Winefred's Well will still be a-bubble in the deeps, but won't break the surface for awhile. On hiatus for ten days or so.

It is now 11 minutes to
THE ELEVENTH HOUR OF THE ELEVENTH DAY
OF THE ELEVENTH MONTH

Yesterday on the 231st birthday of the United States Marine Corps, and on what would have been his 25th birthday, Lance Corporal Jason Dunham was posthumously awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor for performing the classic act of self-sacrifice in battle-- the one we've all heard about but never conceive of in reality: he threw his own body over a live hand grenade to save the lives of his fellow warriors.

Before me sits a book called The Gift of Valor, by Wall Street Journal reporter Michael M. Phillips, who autographed it for me last April at the first national convention of Marineparents.com. It tells the story of Jason Dunham's brief life and heroic death. I have not yet had the courage to read it.

On April 14, Easter Sunday, 2004, Lance Corporal Dunham shredded his body to fulfill the promise he had made when he voluntarily extended his enlistment to return to Iraq: he wanted so see to it that all his buddies made it back home safely. He lived for another eight days, and then was taken off life-support by his agonized parents on April 22, 2004, at Bethesda Hospital in Maryland.

Celebrate Lance Corporal Dunham's life and sacrifice at his memorial website, and also here, here, here, here, and here.

The observances of this day-- performed with special poignancy in the lands of the British Commonwealth, with poppies, bagpipes, and the weight of grief expressed in the words of Canadian doctor Lt. Col. John McCrae in his 1915 poem In Flanders Fields-- are all about not forgetting.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie,

In Flanders fields.

You have to know something in order to forget it. In 2006 our greatest danger comes from those who refuse to know what Lance Corporal Dunham's mission was and why it mattered-- still matters. Many of those who did know back on September 11, 2001, have forgotten already. It is up to our leaders to remind us, and to remind themselves of the most powerful words in McCrae's poem:

If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

The Marine's Prayer

Almighty Father, whose command is over all and whose love never fails, make me aware of Thy presence and obedient to Thy will. Keep me true to my best self, guarding me against dishonesty in purpose and deed, and helping me to live so that I can face my fellow Marines, my loved ones, and Thee without shame or fear. Protect my family.

Give me the will to do the work of a Marine and to accept my share of responsibilities with vigor and enthusiasm. Grant me the courage to be proficient in my daily performance. Keep me loyal and faithful to my superiors and to the duties my Country and the Marine Corps have entrusted to me. Help me to wear my uniform with dignity, and let it remind me daily of the traditions which I must uphold.

If I am inclined to doubt, steady my faith; if I am tempted, make me strong to resist; if I should miss the mark, give me courage to try again.

Guide me with the light of truth and grant me wisdom by which I may understand the answer to my prayer.

AMEN. OOH-RAH.

WE HAVE ELECTED TO FAIL




And it will
be a
bipartisan effort

It's amazing to me (and to a few others-- too few) that the massive post-mortems and hand-wringing and soul-searching underway amongst a thousand conservative pundits and talk-artists per square mile of America do not, on the whole, appear to have picked-up on the biggest message of both the election results and the post-election dismissal of Donald Rumsfeld. It is a message which has not escaped members of the United States Military, however. And here it is:

Today, every single soldier clearly understands that we are now on the path of leaving Iraq. Elections have consequences, we accept that, we understand that. Our “collective memory” from the 59 year old sergeant that served in Vietnam to the young 18 year old private tells us that we are counting the days until April 30, 1975...

The thought that will occur for every soldier today in Iraq is “Do I want to be the last man to die on the way out?”

The thought that will occur for every military family who has lost a brother, sister, mother or father in Iraq is that they have sacrificed for nothing.

The thought that will occur for every veteran who has left part of their body in Iraq is that they gave for nothing...

Today, every soldier in SW Asia became a “short timer” and they all know it.

from Oak Leaf at Polipundit

Read it all, and weep.

And from Uncle Jimbo at Blackfive[James Hanson, retired Special Ops Master Sergeant, writer on military, foreign policy, intelligence matters]

During a mid-term election that turned into a referendum on W's leadership overall, and in Iraq especially, he stands tall and says Rumsfeld will stay out the rest of his presidency. Knowing full well that this will alienate some of the moderate Dems and Repubs who support the war on terror, but wonder about Rumsfeld's prosecution of it. So these folks decide enough is enough and take their frustration to the only place they can voice it, voting the bums who support Bush out and a Dem majority in...

Having profoundly screwed the pooch and ensured we will have to fight harder here than Baghdad to win the freakin' war, he surrenders to his new Democrat overlords and throws them Rummy's carcass to gnaw on. IDIOT!

...this screws our troops. W may still be C[ommander] in C[hief] but Nancy Freakin' Pelosi is in charge of his allowance...

I'm done, W is dead to me...

Whammo.

Read and listen, far and wide, and you will discover that almost nobody “gets it.” There are exceptions. David Warren is one: see “Abandoning Iraq” at his website, to be followed by “Sunk” in an upcoming Western Standard. Ralph Peters gets it at the New York Post, and outlines a solution so bold and stark that you know it will never be tried.

It’s fun (and it’s also wise) to snort about being “afraid, very afraid” of the Pelosi Pack (see below), but the unspoken fear beneath this election now needs to be spoken loudly: that by pasting together this Hamilton-Baker Commission of realpolitik specialists to hash out an Iraq strategy, and pretending that Rumsfeld wasn’t a goner until after the election [an election that, had we been privy to the firing beforehand, might not have been entirely lost in a wave of disgust], the President has telegraphed to us that he intends to extract himself from Iraq while offending as few people as possible in the immediate term of his remaining political career—those people, of course, not including either the purple-fingered Iraqis nor the American military personnel, living and dead, who have eaten the desert dust for the past three years, to no particular end.

Rumsfeld had to go—some time. Three years ago would have been good, and any time since then. Before the election it would have been a signal of resolve to admit failures and correct them—Bush would have been accused by Democrats of trying to manipulate the election with an October surprise. So? They’ve accused him of creating a war ex nihilo to further his quest for world domination—why should he be getting all sensitive now? And what’s wrong with trying to win over voters by changing policy? This is a crime? This is “impure”?

The firing immediately after the election shows that the move was (a) already in the making, all those excessive and unnecessary public claims to the contrary notwithstanding; and (b) a political stupidity of the highest order, giving the appearance of weakness under pressure, surrender, and zero grasp of even the most rudimentary realities of public perception-- as always, Mr. Bush is the recipient of some of the worst political advice in the history of advice. Karl Rove, far from being, or ever having been, a genius, has underperformed again, even worse than in ’04.

And the President appears to have noticed. In every single sentence uttered at his press conferences of the past two days he has used the same inflection, that of “scolding” mode. He’s pissed, about all sorts of stuff. And he’s taking little digs at his “architect” now that the cracks in the foundation are getting too obvious to ignore. This will be of ongoing interest to the political classes. But in the end it doesn’t matter. Rove’s basic job, winning elections, is finished. The President, however, has many other jobs, and he needs to re-prioritize them, away from conventional thinking about “legacy” and back to real issues of “leadership” and “history.” At this juncture, neither of these is promising to look kindly on him.

Mr. Bush consistently fails to notice advantages when he has them—in this case, the truth is the Democrats dare not be in the seat of power with hand on the helm when Iraq implodes completely, so Bush could have appointed a tough-minded SecDef on the “moderate Republican” McCain or Giuliani model-- or some other unexpected model that a man with political smarts might have been able to genuinely surprise us with-- and then dared them to thwart him. But if Bush leads the way toward a “peace with honor” slink out the back door, the Democrats will be only too happy to accommodate him—and screw what ensues.

Typically for him, Mr. Bush has conducted this major policy move completely in secret, and, without waiting to consult the new Republican congressional leadership (which might have proven more astute than the outgoing crew), has selected yet another Texas crony to fill the new void. Bob Gates is probably well-qualified on paper, if what you’re looking for is somebody who got along well with compromisers like James Baker and Brent Scowcroft, but for many of us he’s just too much a Harriet Miers or Scott McClellan clone. Mr. Bush has gone to the “trust me” well several times too often, and I for one no longer wish to accompany him there.

"Trust me" is, of course, the sole and entire content of the Democratic "plan" for Iraq. And the lemmings are following them to the well in droves.

The news this minute reports that Bush made "conciliatory" noises towards Madame Speaker Pelosi today at lunch. What does he have to be conciliatory about? Did he call her stinking-rich, tight-faced, California cow? 'Cause I think she's called him a reckless, lying incompetent. Where's her conciliatory noise?

Cue the helicopters for the embassy roof run. May my son not be at the throttle when it happens.

WE'RE SCREWED.


GET THE MESSAGE?












M-M-M-M. Maybe.











BYE-BYE.

AND NOW....
BE AFRAID.
BE VERY AFRAID.





























BE VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY,
VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY
AFRAID.















I MEAN SUPER-DUPER REALLY, REALLY AFRAID.

THE HORROR. THE HORROR.

CRUNCH TIME -- MARK YOUR BALLOTS!

AIR FORCE 43 -- ARMY 7

But the cadets of the academies are united on this:


SULLY THINKS HE'S HIT PAY-DIRT

Journalist, blogging pioneer, ex-conservative and former rational human being Andrew Sullivan could hardly contain his glee when he posted that a newsrag called The Army Times is carrying an editorial calling for the resignation or firing of Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld.

See? See? Even the military has now openly turned against him!

There’s just one problem, Andrew—the Army Times (and its identical twin-tuplets the Air Force, Navy, Marine, and Military Times) has nothing whatever to do with the armed forces of the United States, beyond the fact that they are its target customer-base. Editor and Publisher may call them “Four leading military papers” but they are substantially the same paper in content, with a selection of articles tailored to the separate military branches, and different banner names and colors. Moreover, they are the tabloid children of the Gannett Company-- a giant media conglom and America’s largest newspaper publisher (by circulation), whose signature newsproduct is USA Today. Despite the publishers’ self-appointed designation of their "Times” products as the “bibles of the military market”, actual military personnel refer to these clones as the “National Enquirer of our military.”

The editorial staff of these papers does not appear to contain a single member of the military (active or retired), and gives itself away by referring to the Secretary of Defense as “Rumsfeld” in the headline and several places in the editorial—military people would never do this. The pre-election appearance of the anti-Rumsfeld piece is a completely political act on the part of journalistical hacks, and adds absolutely nothing to the arguments it addresses.

Personally, I’m all for dishonorably discharging Rummy, and have been for over three years. I'm sure I am in lots of good, rational, knowledgeable company, and no doubt some of it is to be found within the American military—but the editors of the Multiple Military-Wannabe Times ain’t among them.

GENERAL CLARK JUMPS ON HIS HORSE
AND RIDES OFF IN ALL DIRECTIONS
General Mayhem (ret.), a.k.a. Wesley Clark [failed and fired Supreme Allied Commander, Europe, under fellow Rhodes Scholar and egotist Bill Clinton, and lone-wolf architect of the sky-high war against Kosovo (for which he failed to get approval for his planned ground invasion by 200,000 troops via an unpaved road through the ruins of Albania)—and who, like Pennsylvania Congressman John Murtha, turned anti-Bush and anti-war when insufficient attention was paid to his self importance: Clark here, Murtha here] –- is the centerpiece of a current television ad which is not only a HUGE, OUTRAGEOUS, BREATHTAKINGLY WHOPPING BIG LIE, but now fixed-in-history testimony to Clark’s being just STUPID.

Michelle Malkin has the whole tale on video here, but the gist of it is as follows:
each of three Iraq war veterans makes a brief, categorical assertion of a cause-and-effect relationship between “Iraq” (whatever that means—they don‘t even bother to say “the war in Iraq”) and some particular threat to world security.

“Because of Iraq,” the viewer is told,

(1) Osama Bin laden is still a threat.
(2) Iran is closer to having nuclear weapons.
(3) The military is spread too thin.

Now even ignoring the prefatory “because of Iraq” clause, only one of these statements is demonstrably true: that the military as it is now deployed is spread too thin. We have about 1.3 million people in the military. Shut down obsolete operations in Germany and Korea, for starters, and this "thinness" might correct itself.

The first unprefaced claim (about Osama) is at best disputable, and the second (nukes) is technically true, but rendered laughable when characterized as an effect of the U.S. presence in Iraq. Iran is closer to having nuclear weapons because they have encountered no credible or effective opposition to their program from anyone, least of all the Euro-club that wasted three years negotiating with them.

There was originally a fourth vet in Clark’s ad, one Josh Lansdale, but his spot has since been excised since it appears that he may have given a false account of his battle injuries and treatment in another ad, stumping for Democratic Senate candidate Claire McCaskill of Missouri. (See Malkin again) Lansdale's assertion in the Clark ad was that, because of Iraq “there are more terrorists in the world”-- again, disputable at best.

Clark himself winds up the ad by asserting that, because of Iraq, “America is less secure”—a conveniently vague claim severely hobbled by a five-year absence of terrorist acts on American soil.

General Clark then closes with the Out-and-Out Lie of the New Millennium:

...so if you see commercials telling you to be afraid of terrorism, remember: it’s because of Iraq.

Oh I see, General. Because of Iraq.

Let's review:

We invaded Iraq in March of 2003.

Prior to that we had no need to be afraid of terrorism (?)-- terrorism which, in its most recent Islamist incarnation (forgetting for the moment the IRA, Basque separatists, Quebec separatists, Sikh separatists, Red Brigade, and the Tamil Tigers) has killed tens of thousands world-wide in the past 40 years alone (forgetting for the moment the past 14 centuries), in such places as Russia, Indonesia, India, Egypt, Algeria, Argentina, Scotland, Thailand, Spain, England, China, the Philippines, and of course, the United States.

General, Sir, peruse if you will a Wikipedia-style ballpark sampling of the terrorism death toll prior to 2003 (when, as you may recall, we invaded Iraq):

2,996 - September 11 attacks, (New York City, Arlington, VA, Shanksville, PA, United States, 2001)
329 - Air India Flight 182 (Atlantic Ocean, south of Ireland, 1985)
299 - US and French barracks bombings, (Beirut, Lebanon, 1983)
270 - Pan Am Flight 103, (Lockerbie, Scotland, 1988)
257 - 1993 Mumbai bombings (Mumbai, India, 1993)
225 - 1998 U.S. embassy bombings, (Tanzania, Kenya, 1998)
202 - 2002 Bali bombing, (Indonesia, 2002)
171 - UTA Flight UT-772, (Niger, 1989)
170 - Moscow Theatre Siege, (Russia, 2002)
168 - Oklahoma City bombing, (Oklahoma, United States,1995 —included because McVeigh & Nichols likely had ties to Al-Qaeda in the Philippines)
116 - Superferry 14 bombing, (Philippines, 2004)
112 - Avianca Flight 203, (Colombia, 1989)
91 - King David Hotel bombing, (Jerusalem, 1946)
90 - Central Bank Bombing, (Colombo, Sri Lanka, 1996)
88 - TWA Flight 841, (Ionian Sea, 1974)
86 - AMIA Bombing, (Buenos Aires, Argentina, 1994)
63 - April 1983 US Embassy bombing, (Beirut, Lebanon, 1983)
37 - Attack on USS Stark by Iraq, (Persian Gulf, 1987)
33 - Pan Am Flight 110, (Italy, 1973)
33 - Coimbatore blasts, (India, 1998)
30 - Passover massacre, (Israel, 2002)
29 - Israeli Embassy Attack in Buenos Aires, (Argentina, 1992)
29 - Mosque of Abraham massacre, West Bank, (1994)
26 - bus No. 18 Jerusalem massacre, (Israel, 1996)
26 - Lod Airport Massacre, (Israel, 1972)
26 - Ma'alot massacre, (Israel, 1974)
22 - No. 5 bus Tel-Aviv massacre, (Israel, 1994)
21 - Dolphinarium massacre, (Israel, 2001)
21 - Beit Lid Junction massacre, (Israel, 1995)
20 - Khobar Towers bombing, (Saudi Arabia, 1996)
19 - Patt junction massacre, (Israel, 2002)
18 - Kiryat Shmona massacre, (Israel, 1974)
17 - USS Cole Bombing, (Yemen, 2000)
17 - Haifa bus 37 massacre, (Israel, 2003
15 - Sbarro massacre, (Israel, 2001)
15 - Matza restaurant massacre, (Israel, 2002)
12 - Avivim school bus massacre, (Israel, 1970)
11 - Jerusalem bus 20 massacre, (Israel, 2002)
6 - World Trade Center bombing, (New York, United States, 1993)

Prior to September 11, approximately 800 Americans had died at the hands of jihadist terrorists, picked off by ones (Leon Klinghoffer or Robert Dean Stethem) and by hundreds (U.S. embassy bombings of 1998), Then they died in thousands, on American soil. And it’s all because of Iraq?

Wesley Clark, you are an idiot.


Postscript:
The Clark ad draws attention once again to the left-wing penchant for letting “victims” make their arguments for them, on the assumption that, out of some combination of moral authority and guaranteed sympathy, the victims and their claims are unassailable. (Cindy Sheehan, Max Cleland, Michael J. Fox)

The vets in the Clark ad, one of them an amputee, are the putative victims of the Iraq war and the war on terrorism in general. The list above shows that there are plenty of victims to go around (and that doesn’t even include the brainwashed fools who “martyr” themselves in the cause of mass murder). But members of a volunteer military are not among them—they are adults, they made as informed a choice as anyone who is of age can make.

If there is suffering in that choice, it is as voluntary as it is real, and it has parallels in other walks of life. Welcome to adulthood, guys—welcome to the eternal human conundrum—it can hurt.

It’s because of Iraq... Make me gag, General.

THE CANCER METAPHOR -- a meditation on National Security voting

I’ve spent the last month and a half dealing with the swift and deadly course of metastasized cancer in a family member, and will keep the details of that experience pretty much to myself. But in retrospect one can’t escape its perennial usefulness as a political metaphor.

Imagine the war on terrorism, with its primary mass lodged in Iraq, as an increasingly lethal cancer on the gasping lungs of the body politic.

Dr. Republican says:

You can try chemotherapy, radiation, surgery, or some combination thereof, all of which can be painful and physically devastating to the point where you may consider the cure worse than the disease and may wish for death—but at the end of the day, you could very well extend your life for many healthy years. You could also opt to co-exist with the disease as long as possible, managing it with pain medication and a healthy living regime (and possibly a Mediterranean cruise or two), until such time as you enter into professionally managed palliative care towards a peaceful end.

Dr. Democrat says:

You should never have smoked.

Because you did we’re now going to spend years issuing subpoenas to everyone you ever met, and probing your past until we find out who offered you your first cigarette, whether that person owned shares in a tobacco company, whether the package had a warning label, if you were sold cigarettes as a minor, if the manufacturer had engaged in false advertising or covered up medical research on the negative effects of smoking, if your school provided adequate anti-smoking education, if your mother smoked while driving your to school, and (if you’re female) whether you took up smoking in order to eat less and conform to unrealistic ideals of body image foisted on you by the fashion industry.

Have I left anything out?

Stop that coughing—I can’t hear myself think…

Impeach Joe Camel, and have your lungs removed by a date certain.

Everybody dies. But most of us don’t advocate refusing even to confront a fatal disease. Death may be inevitable—the blood-soaked triumph of a new Muslim caliphate is not. That IS the jihadists’ goal. We should stop at nothing to cure them of that ambition. With Dr. Republican (ideally) you get some course of treatment—with Dr. Democrat you get diagnosis of everything but the cancer.

We achieve a brand of immortality only through our children. Yes, we and they will die-- but let it not be by suicidal distraction, myopia, or indifference. “Not today, O Lord / O not today...”

FUNNY HA-HA, OR FUNNY PECULIAR?

Kerry is a stereotypical Northeastern liberal in a country with a prevailing Southern, Midwestern and Western mainstream that eschews his region and his philosophy. He's a plodding elitist in a game that, as the successes of Bill Clinton and George W. Bush demonstrate, places its premium on ease and common touch.

And that’s from somebody who wanted him to win in ‘04!
(John Brummett, Las Vegas Review Journal)

The Kerry Kerfuffle goes on and on, which it should, at least until somebody nails exactly what he meant, and what it all means. I’ll take my stab.

I truly don’t think that when Senator Kerry spoke his fateful words -- about dumb clucks getting stuck in Iraq-- he had at that moment formulated in his mind the specific intention to call people in the military stupid. I believe he intended the remark to be about George Bush, and I think he thought that’s what those words actually said.

That is because Kerry, like so many Democrats and other assorted liberals, thinks that there is only one person engaged in fighting the war in Iraq, and that person is George Bush, with some assistance from the inner circle of his administration.

When these people think of who is butting heads with terrorists in Iraq, who is running (and running rings around) the new government there, who is being ambushed and sandbagged by suicide bombers, they see only the hapless Bush swaggering and waving his hands, with a ten-gallon hat in one and an empty pistol in the other. These folks can appear all too often to be on the side of the enemy, standing up for his human rights and thwarting American efforts to conquer him, because the enemy of my enemy (Bush) is my friend.

Kerry did not consciously mean to insult the individuals in the ranks of our military because, for him, these people don’t exist—they are not real. They are a collective chess piece in the hands of a Republican president, and his every move with them must be checked and checkmated.

Kerry himself has been remarkably consistent on two themes throughout his public life (going back to his college days as chairman of the Yale Liberals):
(1) that he is morally and intellectually superior to just about everybody, and
(2) that the American military (himself excepted) is a faceless mass of thugs and murderers.

Apply these two principles to Kerry's humiliating defeat in 2004 at the hands of a goofball rube, and you get this tunnel-visioned personal focus on the heart of the Iraq war, in which the human beings actually in the line of fire disappear into the outer margins, and the guy getting his butt deservedly whupped in Baghdad is just George Bush.

Kerry now appears to be permanently down for the political count—at last—but he is such a uniquely preposterous, rather Dickensian caricature on the political canvas, it’s just too much fun to resist embellishing the portrait. Mark Steyn has a go in the Chicago Sun-Times:

A vain thin-skinned condescending blueblood with no sense of his own ridiculousness, Senator Nuancy Boy is secure in little else except his belief in his indispensability…

[T]empting as it is to enjoy his we-support-our-dumb-troops moment as merely the umpteenth confirmation of the senator's unerring ability to SwiftBoat himself, it belongs in a slightly different category of Kerry gaffe than, say, the time they went into Wendy's and Teresa didn't know what chili was.

…[W]hat he said fits what too many upscale Dems believe: that America's soldiers are only there because they're too poor and too ill-educated to know any better. That's what they mean when they say "we support our troops." They support them as victims, as children, as potential welfare recipients, but they don't support them as warriors and they don't support the mission.

So their "support" is objectively worthless.

And so they signed up with the weirdly incoherent narrative of John Kerry -- a celebrated anti-war activist suddenly "reporting for duty" as a war hero and claiming that, even though the war was a mistake and his comrades were murderers and rapists, his four months in the Mekong rank as the most epic chapter in the annals of the Republic.

ouch, ooch, ugh, ouch, eek, arg-g-g-h-h-h-h-h-h......

If Kerry can stand up to that, he might deserve another Purple Heart. Or he might be up for a Purple Heart he finally deserves. Or something like that.

Nice to see Steyn still has his sense of humour, since he has just this minute published (at last) a new volume called, auspiciously, America Alone: The End of the World as We Know It. Buy. Read. Absorb. Hit the sheets and save the planet.

VOTE EARLY AND VOTE OFTEN

BACK AGAIN

SEMI-CONSCIOUS

IS IT ALL BAD NEWS?

It's been a long five weeks, and the outcome was as could be expected: cancer claims another victim-- but at age 85 something's going to get you. Surrounded by family and the good folks of hospice care (courtesy of Medicare). Can't really complain. Lots to be said, but sorted out some other day.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch: you gotta hand it to Senator John Fitzgerald Kerry for continuing to demonstrate that, when push comes to shove, he basically thinks he's just so much better than almost ANYBODY. This time (yet again) it's the American foot-soldier, and the senator's large designer shoes have taken up familiar residence lodged firmly in his mouth.

The story's all over the place-- how he thinks you end up in Iraq if you're an under-educated slacker-- video here -- but the best follow-up of all has been from the good-humored members of the armed forces themselves, who have this message for the over-puffed Yale C-student senator (who by the way was a self-admitted war criminal in Vietnam):


Heh.

(Our thanks to the 1st Brigade Combat Team of the 34th Infantry Division of the Minnesota National Guard. LOVE the patch, at right.)

Jonah Goldberg of National Review Online nails it:

Kerry insists he was making a joke about President Bush, not a joke about students who aren't smart enough to do better than the military. While there's virtually nothing in the text or video of his remarks to lend support for this, save for a wan smile he offered to the mute audience, it's possible that was his intent. After all, Kerry is an awful politician, a human toothache with the charisma of a 19th-century Oxford Latin tutor. One can't rule out the possibility that he simply botched a joke. [emphasis added]

Unfair to Latin tutors.

HIATUS

Apologies. Family currently dealing with the Big "C" in the greatest generation. All else goes on hold.

On the other hand, when homicidal creeps are shooting Amish children, do any of us have much to say?

Global "KABOOM" factor increasing five-fold in my absence. Nothing to be done about it now.

AS LETTERMAN WOULD SAY: WILL IT FLOAT?

The Toronto Sun headline for the hottest newsmurmur going:

Perhaps we can also anticipate the follow-up article to Mark Steyn's October 2004 speculation that "He's Bin Laden to rest":

As for this Bush-failed-to-get-bin-Laden business, 2-1/2 years ago I declared that Osama was dead and he's never written to complain. There's no more evidence for his present existence than there is for the Loch Ness monster, which at least does us the courtesy of showing up as a indistinct gray blur on a photograph every now and again. Osama is lying low because he's in no condition to get up.

This most recent Frenchly-rumored scenario-- that OBL succumbed to typhoid in remotest AghanoPakistan-- would go a long way to explain why his #2, Ayman "Big Al" Zawahiri, and not OBL himself, turned up in the "Favourite Fatwas: Bridges to Babylon Fifth Anniversary Tour" video released to Big Al Jazeera this past 9/11.

OBL-ah-dee, OBL-ah-dah, OBL-ah-dead?

It works for me. And, oddly, for President Dubya too, since it takes OBL off the table (as it were) as an election issue, without anyone being able to accuse the Republicans of having busted, bombed, or buried him and then held back the news until it fit the "October Surprise" model.

The truth is OBL is more or less a dead issue anyway in the grand scheme of thwarting Big Al Qaeda-- despite the Democrats' best effort to periodically dredge him up into an anti-Bush bat-- since (to quote another British invasion limey bastard, Donovan) "the organization ain't really organized", and has pretty much outgrown his control. His money was probably not getting out as freely as it once did either, major funding having been taken over by their good friends in Iran, and perhaps some quarters of Saudi Arabia.

So we'll wait with less than baited breath to see if, like Twain (in this and no other way), "Rumors of his death will prove to have been greatly exaggerated."
May he rest in pieces.

OMIGOD! OMIGOD! OMIGOD--
it's H-i-i-i-i-m !!!!
(leftover stray enthusiasms from attending Toronto Film Fest premiere of "Alatriste" with Lord Aragorn, or as they say in Elvish, "King Ethelstud the Uncoiffed", traipsing the carpet. He had the jacket, but didn't seem to own a tie.)

OH MY BLOG! OH MY BLOG! OH MY BLOG!
It's......
Yes, it has fallen silent this past week, and will be so again for the next ten days. Trips to Texas, Quebec, and Newfoundland in the offing.
And this at a time when there is so much happening it’s hard to know where to begin.

NEWSFLASH—House minority leader NANCY PELOSI seen WEARING WHITE AFTER LABOR DAY.
Northeastern establishment aghast—would this have happened in a Kerry administration? Mrs. Heinz could not be reached for comment.
Neither could Mary Jo Kopechne.

DEPARTMENT OF ORWELL STUDIES:
THAT’S THE TIN-POT DICTATOR CALLING THE BARBEQUE BLACK—

Venezuelan kleptocrat HUGO CHAVEZ did his well-prepared stand-up routine against the golden backdrop of the United Nations Chamber, and had ‘em rolling in the aisles with the old “What is that smell?” schtick

"The devil himself is right in the house. And the devil came here yesterday. Right here. It smells of sulfur still today, this table that I am now standing in front of.”

And then he made a dandy sign of the cross that would have put Madonna to shame, folded his hands, and cast his eyes heavenward. [By “devil,” of course, he meant President George W. Bush, who had addressed the august body the day before, with a veritable slurpy of conciliatory words about the world’s reasonable expectations of the nasty nations. Chavez also called him a liar and tyrant, and has since announced that Bush plans to have him assassinated.]

Chavez had prefaced these diplomatic overtures with a brief commercial message peddling Noam Chomsky’s latest pastiche of re-cycled columns in book form, called "Hegemony or Survival" . This show of America-hating unity, this delicious juxtaposition of venomous madmen cuddled together on their surrealistic pillow was an inspiration to see.

CHAVEZ’s clown act was such a hit he took the show on the road to a Harlem church (where he was joined by patriots Danny Glover and Cornell West, representing Hollywood and academentia, respectively) and re-played the devil routine, supplemented by an equally hilarious bit about George Bush’s battle with alcohol—what a hoot!

But of course, Chavez was only the opener for the nutty Iranian comedy stylings of:

MAHMOUD AHMADINNERJACKET
(He’s got the dinner-jacket—but he doesn’t seem to own a tie.)

Later that same day, Iran’s spunky little president mounted the podium (and probably an orange crate) to address the august body (or was that the September corpse?) of the United Nations General Assembly with several pages of the kind of Zionist-butt-kicking banter that always kills ‘em (literally) in the Catskills.

He closed his remarks by addressing someone else who, as far as we know, has not been formally admitted to the august body, that is, our buddy Allah (no relation to Kevin Smith’s “Buddy Christ”? But I digress).

That’s right—Mahmoud took it upon himself to make a public prayer.

Whether we like it or not, justice, peace and virtue will sooner or later prevail in the world with the will of the Almighty God…All divine prophets… have all called humanity to monotheism [Hindus take note—emphasis added—ed.], justice, brotherhood, love and compassion. [Zionists take note—this does NOT mean you—ed.]…
Oh Almighty God, all men and women are your creatures and you have ordained their guidance and salvation. Bestow upon humanity that thirsts for justice, the perfect human being promised to all by you, and make us among his followers and among those who strive for his return and his cause.

AMEN, MahDUDE.

He refers, of course, to the coming of the 12th imam, Muhammad al Mahdi, whose reappearance has been awaited lo these thousand years. And when it happens, well, Kaboom. Or something like that.

What do I like best about this Cirque de Psychosis? That the tent, the bleachers, the clowns, and the verbal candy-floss were all on the generous tab of the United States of America, THAT BASTION OF THE SEPARATION OF CHURCH AND STATE.

Where were the voices of the left complaining about this egregious highjacking of the mechanisms of government in the name of private superstitions? (Probably the same place they hide every time the Dalai Lama comes to town, who once famously condemned homosexuality as "astonishing" and "wrong, full stop," and condemned all sexual acts carried out in, ahem, alternative orifices. But this doesn't keep him off the cocktail circuit. But I digress.)

Can any of us imagine the baying at the moon if President Bush had stood at the UN podium and folded his hands in prayer? If he had prayed to Jesus Christ to bless this world and all its people until He comes again in glory? If he had referred to any of the declared enemies of the nation that he governs (or, Allah forbid, his nation’s best customer for its principal export) as a malodorous Satan?

Imagine.

Imagine there’s no Heaven—it’s easy if you try.
No hell below us—just the devil in a dark suit and tie.

From the preamble of the United Nations Charter—1945:

WE THE PEOPLES OF THE UNITED NATIONS DETERMINED…to practice tolerance and live together in peace with one another as good neighbours...

As "speech codes" go, this is it. It’s sad to discover that the UN Charter does not appear to contain another single word that might be construed as a standard of conduct of the representatives of member states assembled.

I suppose if it did, we might have seen some penalty imposed Krushchev for his shoe incident, which seems to have been, up until the Chavez speech, the only overtly boorish act to ever disturb the playing out of the raving farce which is the daily business of the General Assembly. Maybe it’s time to enact some regulations about ad hominem attacks and name-calling—perhaps that such acts would incur a six-month suspension of participation.

After all, ideally shouldn't one be unfailingly courteous when presenting resolutions to blame Israel and the Jews for everything wrong everywhere (also the daily business of the General Assembly). We could call it Gibson's Law.

BURR LODGED UP EX-PRESIDENTIAL BUTT

The second-worst ex-president, WILLIAM JEFFERSON BUBBA CLINTON, lost his composure while taping an interview with FOXNewsDude Chris Wallace—one in which the ex-prez's own ground-rules were that half of the 15-minute session must be devoted to Clinton’s Global Initiative project, and half to topics of Wallace’s choosing.

Clinton’s explosive response to Wallace’s question about whether he might have done more in eight years to stop Osama Bin Laden says a lot about the ex-president’s monumental hubris— in view of the recent docudrama Path to 9/11, this is a timely and obvious question, one that would have guided a man of lesser ego to prepare an answer, so as to parry with his customary deftness any accusation of negligence under his administration.

But Clinton appears to have been blind-sided—as if he could not have conceived that anyone to whom he had granted audience would dare to be so unpleasant. And, to his (I expect) regret, his ire manifested itself in precisely the same red-faced, squint-eyed, scolding, finger-wagging, steam-shooting-from-the-ears posture that most Americans recall from his bald-faced lie about what he did or didn’t do with “that woman—Miss Lewinsky.”

BOTTOM LINE ON THE PATH TO 9/11:
Mr. Clinton and his hench-persons railed like Cassandra against scenes of his cabinet's bumbling or even deliberate dropping of the Osama ball, scenes said to be more drama than docu. But from what some insiders have reported, Bill should consider himself LUCKY that the scenes did not reproduce, verbatim, what was actually said-- by many accounts, the TV show only scratched the surface of the Clinton administration’s “own goal” on the matter—and the less of it recounted factually, the better for the Clinton legacy.

Which insiders? Well—take them with a grain of salt, to be sure—Michael Scheuer and Louis Freeh, for instance. Each has axes to grind and his own nest to feather (not unlike Richard Clarke, whose self-serving book provides much of the basis for the TV drama, and makes of him the towering hero.) But they are not alone, and should not be ignored.

Captain Ed looks at the Clinton fault-line: You say Al Kayda, and I say Al Kyda-- "Let's call the whole thing off" -- and move on to figuring out what we do now. He's got a point.

Anyway, when it comes to rotten representations, it's basically a cat-fight: hard to say whether Condi Rice or Madeleine Halfbright comes off as more of a bitch. Clinton and Bush do not appear as characters, and both should be grateful.


Want to know what Pope Benedict actually said about Islam (or rather, about Socrates)? Look here.

Want to know what he meant? Start here.
Nice capsule comment here.

Au revoir, y’all.