Who's Calling?

Usama Bin Laden is, by the best estimate, hiding in the region of the Afghanistan/Pakistan border known as Waziristan. The best estimate of American intelligence is, as we are all too well aware, not something on which we can bank unconditionally. Waziristan is a cold, rocky, barren region know for lawlessness and tribal rule. It has been inhospitable, both personally and physically, to outsiders for millennia. It is isolated, and Islamic. In other words, it is the perfect place for an Islamic sheik with millions, both on his head and in his pockets to hide. It is here that many believe Bin Laden is holed up in a cave, shaking his fist at the West, apparently reading books by miscreants, and plotting our demise through Islamic Jihad.

Waziristan cannot be taken by military force. Of that there is no disagreement. We cannot then, get at Bin Laden now. We must fight, and kill, his terrorist minions as they go about their murderous master's pursuits. Terrorists do not wear uniforms, and they announce their dissatisfaction with the way of the world via explosives, not government decrees. They alternately inhabit the sunlit expanses of the world, and the seedy, shadowy underbelly of criminal refuge. They are not, usually, as they seem. They walk among us plotting our violent demise. We must be able to eavesdrop on their conversations, casting ever widening nets if we are to catch them before they kill innocents. That is what has, as of late, been called into question by the leftist fringe. Specifically, the recently revealed NSA electronic eavesdropping program. "Intelligence agencies can't spy on citizens," they stammer, self-righteously; forget that we do not even know if citizens are involved. Quoting Ben Franklin they scream, "Those who would trade freedom for security deserve neither." A wonderful part of our history, to be sure, but a part that ignores 21st Century concerns. Simply put, if Al-Qaeda is calling someone in the United States it is crucial, inescapable, and obligatory that we know who they are calling, and why.

The same people who are currently decrying the electronic eavesdropping are the same one's who complain we have not found Bin Laden after four years. They ignore the fact that Eric Rudolph, the murderous right-wing fanatic, hid in North Carolina for five years, while every law enforcement agency in the U.S. searched fruitlessly for him. They want us to catch Bin Laden, but do not want us to do anything unseemly. Unseemly is what the NSA program is. Illegal it is not. The law so casually espoused was written in a different age, technologically speaking. That it needs to be addressed by Congress is not in doubt, that the program it seeks to cover should be stopped, is. We simply cannot move forward in this global war without every tool at our disposal.

Let me say that I do not believe the membership of the Democratic Party is unpatriotic. I believe that we, as a nation, are stronger for diversity and legitimate dissent. What we must not do though is allow ideological differences to prevent us from fighting a war against those who would destroy us specifically because of our freedom to dissent. I believe this war can be won, but only if we are united as a people. The Democratic Party must leave the lunatic fringe behind in the fight against the evil of Islamic Fundamentalism. If someone had been listening to overseas calls on 8/11/01, maybe, maybe, we could have prevented the attacks that occurred a month later. Balanced against the lives of 3,000 of our fellow Americans, isn't maybe enough?

Usama Speaks

It is a peculiar condition in the United States that when murderers speak in the media everyone is rapt with attention. No mass murderer conveys that notion better than Usama Bin Laden. After his latest vitriolic speech was released yesterday it seemed that everyone, from the postman to the girl behind the counter at the deli, had an opinion on what it meant. The substance of the speech could have been written by Michael Moore, MoveOn.org and the rest of the far left apologists here in the US, but the spirit was meant, I am sure, to warn us of an impending attack.

It is an historical maxim that Muslim warriors from Mohammed, to Salah-ah Din, to Bin Laden, have always offered these types of statements immediately before attacking. The statement sent to Constantinople right before its fall in 1453 mirrors Bin Laden's language. So, the offer of a truce is more than disingenuous, it is an established tactic of lies and deceit; a practice the Quran specifically allows when dealing with infidels. Funny how Bin Laden fails to mention that when he speaks of being, "a nation to which God has disallowed treachery and lying." Moreover, when Bin laden quotes polls in the US he is, in effect, talking to the far left, "Keep it up. Convince that thick-headed Bush to quit Iraq." This, too, has always been a tactic of the Muslim warrior. They believe in fanning the fires of dissent to tear apart confederations they could not otherwise dominate. That's exactly how they took parts of Europe in the 15th century; by fostering animus between the Catholic and the Eastern Orthodox Churches.

I am certain the hand-wringing set of the fringe left will shortly take up the call to negotiate. "You see," they will say, "it's all our fault. He really wants peace." Well, his own words belie that notion in spirit, and deed. He leaves no doubt that he would consider it a win if we were to leave Iraq now. Bin Laden himself calls the war in Iraq, "a point of attraction and recruitment of qualified resources." Are we to believe that a pull-out now of American forces would send those resources back to the bazaars and date farms? He also mentions attacks that are currently in the planning stages here in the US. Would those resources pack up and leave if a truce was offered? If you did not have a reason to back the NSA program which was revealed to be tapping phone calls of foreigners here in the US, you should now. Some citizens may have had their phones tapped too, but only those calling persons of interest in other countries. Of course, reasonable discourse is impossible with those who believe that there is never, ever a reason to go to war. So, convincing them of this fact is not worth the air I would expend trying, but for those who truly understand that there is no way to negotiate with these monsters this speech should be the final piece of the puzzle. We cannot negotiate a truce with monsters. We must kill Bin Laden and his followers. Bin Laden is a murderer who, no matter what Michael Moore tells you, murdered 3,000 of my fellow Americans because they had the temerity to go to work on time one sunny Tuesday morning in September. Not that you should need a reason beyond that why we should not negotiate, but if you do, here it is: murderers do more than kill, they also lie.

the beads

I was planning to start this post by mentioning how difficult it has been lately for me to work up any outrage. The truth though, is that I have been inundated with outrage. The conduct of the honorable men of the US Senate during the Alito hearings nearly caused me to blow a vein. The self serving comments of John Murtha on 60 Minutes all but caused me to stroke out. Mayor Ray Nagin's racist, sanctimonious, rambling, Almighty-invoking statements almost caused the television to leave my apartment via the window. And those were just the highlights of the outrage that has caused me to recognize the general, appalling, illiteracy of the masses, and the propagation of the same by supposedly objective members of the press. Before any of you reading this consider dashing off a vitriolic diatribe know this: I am a Pro-Choice abortion clinic volunteer, US Army Infantry veteran who hails from New Orleans, so save the otherwise crayon written missives you feel are warranted for someone who does not have a vested interest in all the things mentioned.

I could dissect every one of the points I mentioned with calm, reasoned responses that would provoke dispassionate comments from those predisposed to such dialogue, but I know that no such animal exists any longer. 40% of people are wearing republican party jerseys, and anything not espoused by the party leaders is anathema to reason. 40% of people are wearing democrat party 100% hemp t-shirts, and anything not sanctioned by George Soros is, well, the byproduct of a maladjusted mind. That leaves 20% of us who have a foot in either camp, depending upon the issue. Well, dear friends that just does not make for any sort of genteel conduct.

A friend and I were teaching a combined class recently when he said something that perfectly encapsulates my thoughts on this subject. He related how, while watching one of the 345,912 episodes of Law and Order that are broadcast daily, one episode caught his attention in a profound way. The episode revolved around the death of a rather dour, mousy, high school teacher who apparently functioned as a dominatrix in her off hours. When one of the detectives questioned how these two things were even possible, a student of the victim responded candidly, "Hell, people ain't just one thing." That statement fuels my friend's teaching style, and, probably, his off hours too. Unfortunately too many people cannot, or will not, remember this, but prefer to get caught up in the rhetoric of whomever they currently fancy. Al Gore and Ted Kennedy rant about things they are personally complicate in, just not today, and DeLay and his boys circumvent the rules, albeit probably not illegally, to enrich themselves. Scooter Libby is indicted as a "leaker" and the NSA is revealed to be tapping phones by a "whistle-blower." I am personally just sick of it all. I am sick of the rhetoric and sick of the rank and file who popularize the demagoguery of the elected few. All I can say is, when I take over, things are going to change.

Baby's Blood, Sweat and Tears

My 15 month old daughter required a visit to the emergency room last night. She attempted to leap 3 feet from a kitchen chair to the kitchen table. She missed. In the split second my wife and I took our eyes off her, she fell to the floor with a resounding THUMP! This was followed immediately by high-pitched wails of pain and gushing fountains of blood, flowing over her lips, onto her, and me. I live less than three blocks from a hospital which bills itself as "One of the Nation's Best." So, wrapping my daughter in a blanket, with my wife in tow, I sprinted to the emergency room.

I would like to say that Pennsylvania Hospital in Philadelphia, PA lives up to it's motto, but nothing could be further from the truth. As I entered the emergency room, bloody, with a bloody, swaddled baby in my arms I had to interrupt the person tasked with patient registration. A nurse directed me to the triage area, while my wife began the paperwork process. The triage nurse then took my daughter's pulse, while telling me, "She probably just bit her tongue. They tend to bleed a lot." I seethed. "Obviously she has a pulse. Check her out." After collecting the most perfunctory of information on her he sent me back to the waiting room. Ten to twelve agonizing, angst filled minutes later I approached the check-in desk. My bloody daughter and I once again interrupted a 'patient registration specialist,' this one reading a book, to question when my daughter would be seen. She visibly started at our appearance, and hastily retreated to find out her status. At this point I directed my attention to the other registration window where a uniformed security officer was surfing the web. Before I could utter a word he soundlessly slid the glass separating us closed, without once taking his eyes from the computer screen. Mercifully, for all involved, the door to the inner snactum opened and we were taken back to an exam room. You know the ones, hospital white walls, gurney, steel cabinet with medical supplies and the required "Biohazard" bin.

After some forty minutes of attempting to console a quietly sobbing, anxious baby, a nurse wandered by with two stickers, which she offered my daughter. At this point, nearly losing any semblance of composure, and with blood staining my shirt and hands, as well as boiling in my ears, I said, "I want a doctor in here now." She replied, "There aren't any available right now." Well, as I had just seen three MD emblazoned lab coats saunter by, I checked my Irish rage and said, "What about the three who just went to check their portfolios?" "Them. They're just interns." "Well Get One Of Them In Here To Do The Preliminary Exam. NOW." Seconds later a second nurse was plying my daughter with toys, and then, magically, an MD emblazoned lab coat materialized. She apologized for the absence of a "doctor" explaining that she was just a med student. She did, however, begin the first physical exam of my daughter some 80-90 minutes after I entered the hospital. Gritting my teeth I said, "Doc, I'm not upset with you per se, but this is unacceptable. I am furious that you would all leave a BABY to suffer. Unless there's a gunshot wound, or a heart attack there's no excuse for this delay, and there's no gunshot wound or heart attack. Since you are all educated people I know you can read. So my now bloody shirt probably hasn't escaped your notice." The shirt I was wearing was a, you guessed it, PENN medical tee. You see I am employed by the hospital system at another site.

Eventually, this well meaning intern, or med student, I do not remember which she identified herself as, got my daughter to suck on an ice-filled glove,while apologizing for the under staffing. Eventually, the attending did arrive, and after a slightly more than perfunctory exam she pronounced my daughter fit, albeit with a split tongue. Then, with no attempt to clean her off, we were told we could leave. A stop at the counter on the way out to ascertain the name of the offending security guard provided, no big surprise, responses of, "I don't know his name."

I should say that my calls to the hospital the next day were not all unpleasant. Three people, none of them doctors, were compassionate, empathetic and sincere in their apologies. From the medical staff I contacted, it was more of the same. Apathy and disdain apparently rule the day once you have gone to medical school. The mission statement of the executive director of the hospital, who was too busy to speak to me, states, "Another key area of focus is to ensure that all of our patients have a positive experience at our hospital." Well, those certainly are nice sentiments, but they are not backed up by practice. The next time I need a hospital, even though I work for the system, I will simply use the competition. After all, Thomas Jefferson University Hospital is only three blocks away.

Gay Cowboys

Brokeback Mountain is truly worth seeing. The hype is that the movie is about gay cowboys. While that may be technically true, it does not accurately define what the movie is about. The message of the movie is the oldest of messages, namely man's inhumanity to man; no pun intended. Ang Lee presents us with stunning visuals of endlessly blue skies and sweeping mountain vistas. He frames a nearly twenty year relationship within the confines of a small western town, and even smaller morals and values. It is an important movie specifically because it adds another dimension to everyday dialogue. It is important because it forces us to confront inhumanity, and decide exactly where we stand.

Unfortunately, the story is too thin to carry the assigned load. Otherwise poignant moments become, "ahh isn't that sad," as opposed to actual tear-jerkers. Mainly the problem seems to be a superficial approach to character development, which leads to an almost apathetic response to the character's plight. Better than average acting and dialogue, coupled with truly awe-inspiring visuals, isn't enough to move this movie from the good to great category. Sadly, it just falls short.

I am unabashedly liberal when it comes to gay matters. I have many gay friends, support gay marriage and gay rights, and hold a visceral hatred for gay bashing. None of which explains why it is important to see this movie. It is important because as a gay friend recently told me over dinner, "I don't feel safe holding *******'s hand walking down the street. I'm just afraid some thugs will pummel us for it." That anyone needs to have that particular worry in the U.S., in 2006, is just incomprehensible to me. That is why it is important to see this movie, and urge others to do likewise. Not because it furthers anybody's agenda, but because everybody deserves the right to hold hands in the sun.

Home for Christmas

Hurricane Katrina irrevocably altered my life. For most people in this part of the world the news footage of New Orleans after Katrina was an abstraction at best, and good television at worst. For me it was abject terror, and utter sorrow. Terror because for several days I had absolutely no idea where numerous members of my family were. My brother, two sisters, aunts and uncles, as well as their families, were all missing in action. Phone lines and cell towers were blown away, so for four stress ridden days I barely slept. I worried that one, or all of them, had perished. I scoured all the news channels hoping to see one, or more, of them, while dreading the possibility that I would. Add to this, the pictures of water flooding into my city unabated and you get the sorrow. It was if my entire youth was being washed away. Twenty-eight years of my life, from birth through college and beyond, were spent walking those streets. I loved, laughed, cried and despaired on the streets that just disappeared. My most cherished memories were swept away in the blink of an eye, and the reputation of the city I love above all others was tarnished forever.

I will not dwell on who was at fault for the catastrophe. There's more than enough blame to go around, but I will say I am sick of those who weren't there, telling me what happened. On the Thursday after the levees broke I finally heard from my brother. He had escaped to his in-laws in Mississippi. The next afternoon I loaded my wife and eleven month old daughter into my truck, which I packed to the gills with bottled water, diapers and baby food, and headed for the disaster zone. Twenty-two hard hours later I reached the edge of the wreckage, where I encountered the National Guard and the Red Cross. I gave them the supplies I had loaded, surveyed my world and then, with tears in my eyes, headed for my brother's sanctuary. By this point I had accounted for all the other family members. My sisters were also in Mississippi. My aunts and uncles were in Dallas. Seeing my brother and his family was relieving, but also strange. It had been five years since last we laid eyes on each other, and I am not really sure how long since last we spoke. There was no reason for this; no animus or schism. We had just gone different ways. I spent the better part of the week in West Point, Mississippi, population 1,500, give or take. We didn't really do anything. There wasn't anything to do, not really, and it was more about being close. They had nothing but what they had managed to squeeze into their vehicles before they ran from the storm. Their bank cards didn't even work because their bank had been washed away. To prevent fraud the cards were all cancelled, and new ones couldn't be mailed out. So, I hugged him and we both cried.

Fast forward to December 26th and I was standing at gate C-26 of the Philadelphia Airport. My brother, sister-in-law and 5 year old niece ran into my arms, and, once again, we cried. They spent three days living at my house. We ate out, visited New York, (where we paid our respects at Ground Zero, ice-skated in Central park, ransacked F.A.O. Schwartz, reveled in Times Square and oohed and ahhed at the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree), and finally, saw Philly via horse and carriage. This morning I dropped them off at the airport with tears in my eyes. In the end my family lost several houses, but all the people and pets were present and accounted for. They have all rebounded. Maybe not quite to where they were before Katrina, but they are all still striving. See, that's what I thought was washed away with the flood waters, but it's still there. As my niece walked into the airport she turned, ran back to me, and hugging me said, "Will you come and see us soon Uncle Chris? We can go eat beignets at Cafe du Monde." At that moment I was home for Christmas; home where Christmas means 68 degrees and outdoor seafood boils. So, once again, with tears in my eyes I said, "You just try and stop me." Too much time has been wasted worrying about my state of affairs, and I have new memories that need to be created. So, though there is much work to be done, it is time to do as the motto of New Orleans orders and laissez les bon temps rouler. That is the only thing that will ever bring the city I love back, and the only thing that will ever let me be truly home for Christmas.

the beads

"While it is good that there be a world full of peace, fraternity, justice and honesty, it is even more important that we be in it." That quote is from a letter written by David Ben-Gurion. At the time, Israel was a fledgling country fighting for its very existence. The surrounding Arab nations were aligning against Israel, with the stated intentions of pushing her citizens into the sea. Ben-Gurion was not advocating inhumanities, illegalities, or an absence of compassion, but rather that Israel must exist. Last week, the U.S. congress in two instances, and the press in one, proposed peace, fraternity, justice and honesty, with no regard for our well-being. The euphemistically named"torture bill," sponsored by Senator John McCain, sailed through congress, the Patriot Act was torpedoed, maybe indefinitely, and the The New York Times revealed the existence of a secret program conducted by the ultra-secret NSA. A program designed to catch those who would destroy us.

I recently met Senator McCain. He is witty, sincere and, I am sure, well meaning. What he is not, is an expert on terrorism. Being tortured does not make you an expert on terrorism, any more than having brain surgery makes you an neurosurgeon. Khalid Sheik Muhammad, the alleged mastermind of 9/11, reportedly broke after two and a half minutes of a technique known as water-boarding. Applied correctly, it works. While I am against using torture as a means of coercing confessions from drug dealers, or other reprobates here in the U.S., I have no such qualms with us using these techniques to garner intelligence from the people who murdered 3,000 of my fellow Americans on 9/11. Our soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines cannot expect fair treatment from these animals, no matter what our official policy is. Why then should we hamstring our interrogators when torture is already against the law? This is nothing more than a concerted effort by defeatists to force us into a position from which we cannot fight, and McCain has been co-opted into the effort.

The Patriot Act, which has been shown to be effective in combating terrorism, was tabled. This when not one abuse by federal authorities has been reported. You can believe that The Washington Post, The Los Angeles Times and The New York Times would have reported it ad nauseum had it occurred. What has happened is that a handful of local jurisdictions have used it inappropriately to prosecute drug dealers, and the like. In that instance, those jurisdictions should be dealt with harshly, and to the fullest extent of the law. Civil liberties have always been suspended during wartime, and quickly returned when the threat was vanquished. Lincoln did it during the Civil War and FDR, the hero of the Democratic party, did it during WWII. I am not suggesting we make the Patriot Act permanent. I applaud the "sunshine" clause. When the threat is removed so too should the Patriot Act be removed, but not before.

Finally, it was reported that the NSA, an agency so secret that its employees refer to it as No Such Agency or Nobody Says Anything, was revealed to have been tapping the phones of people in the U.S. who were talking to people with known ties to Al-Qaida. Multiple members of congress, both democrat and republican alike, as well as a judge specifically tasked with intelligence oversight knew of the program, had in fact, been consulted both before it began, and every six weeks thereafter. This fact though was curiously omitted from The Times report. No, it was reported as a secret move by the President. Curiously, it was released in time to coincide with the congressional vote on the Patriot Act, as well as the release of a book by a Times reporter. Personally, I do not care one bit what communication mode we tap when it comes to those who have publicly stated over and over again that their entire purpose for existing is our violent demise. Had this program been in effect in August of 2001 Muhammad Atta's calls could have been intercepted, and 9/11 averted. Ask the 9/11 victim's families if they would trade their loved ones lives for the perceived loss of civil liberties by those who are not citizens of this country.

On that clear Tuesday morning in September of 2001 we reacted as one in horror, and then with sadness and rage. We railed against those who had so cowardly attacked us. We were united in a way not seen since the dark days of World War II. We were prepared, as one people, to fight those who had bloodied us so reprehensibly. When we are thus aligned, no country, no organization, no concept even, can defeat us. Militarily we cannot be beaten, but we can lose. Here at home we can lose, and abroad be forced into retreat. The Islamists have repeatedly stated that first they will drive us from Iraq, then the Middle East. Then they will establish a caliphate, an Islamic theocracy that spans the Islamic world, before once again commencing attacks on Europe and us. World domination is their none-too-secret goal and it can only be achieved with our help. Honest critics of our actions are patriots, and have a place in the discussion, defeatists do not. That, is the only choice left.

Thank You America

I dyed my index finger a deep, purplish-blue yesterday. Why I did that will be evident to those of you reading this, but to the overwhelming majority of people I encountered yesterday it was foreign. Most asked how I hurt myself. I dyed my finger in recognition of the birth of democracy. Regardless of what you think about war in general, this war in particular and the hows and whys of our participation, yesterday was a momentous day in history. A new democracy joined the world's ranks. People stood up to be counted. Today's New York Times reported the statements of a 38 year old teacher, Emad Abdul Jabbar, "Before we had a dictator, and now we have freedom, this is democracy. This time, we have a real election, not just the sham elections we had under Saddam, and we Sunnis want to participate in the political process." Lest you think this was an aberration, his quotes were not alone. The very last paragraph quoted a Mr. Saleh, himself critical of the American troops, "they came as liberators, but stayed on as occupiers." When the reporter pressed others on the question of troop withdrawal, most seemed cautious, favoring a gradual drawdown. "Let's have stability, and then the Americans can go home," said Mr. Sattar, a shop owner. When he was told by the reporter that this sounded similar to President Bush's formula for troop withdrawal, he replied: "Then Bush said it correctly." An online video showed long lines of Sunnis literally braving death to vote. As the camera panned across one well-worn Iraqi he stood up a little straighter, put his hand over his heart and said, "Thank you America." Some have told me how cornball that moment is, but to me it perfectly encapsulates what yesterday was all about. Whatever you think about the war, yesterday's events were good and beneficial to us and them. On my lunch break I went to a lunch cart I am in the habit of patronizing. The owner and workers are Pakistanis. The newest worker noticed my dyed finger and, in broken English, with a large smile lighting his features said, "Is good democracy, yes?" Yes my friend. Is good democracy, is good.

Grin Like A Dog

"If you are not in this room, if you are outside those doors tonight, YOU DO NOT FUCKING EXIST!" That statement led off last night's ShineDown concert at the House of Blues in Atlantic City. The front man, Brent Smith, is a terribly brooding, angst-ridden kind of rock star. He also plays crazy a little bit too well. He waxes profoundly between each song on the ills of society. There are no macrocosmic events in Brent's life though. He remembers every slight ever committed against him, and wants nothing more than to get even. If this were purely spoken word it might wear thin, but the bands power chords and edgy, nearly dark lyrics provide the proper backdrop for the show. Think The Doors sans acid, plus bipolar disorder and a healthy dose of obsessive compulsive and you approximate ShineDown. 45 is their Black, with people yelling for it nearly before the band had taken the stage. The stage show has come a long way since I first saw them open for Default at the Stone Pony a couple years ago. Late '70s/ early '80s hard rock band light shows and loud, guitar riffs fill the space between the audience and the band in a way that makes the crowd's energy seem to propel the show. Most of the current song list is entertaining, even good, but without any true staying power. 45 though, has the power to be good twenty years from now, provided the band can manage to keep their synapsi from imploding. All in all, at $20 a ticket you cannot go wrong with a ShineDown performance. The last few times I have seen them Silvertide, of Northeast Philly, has been the preceding band. The boys from the Northeast are enjoying themselves being rock stars, which perfectly balances the "I'm so deep" aspect of ShineDown. Halestorm, a hard rocking band from York, PA, fronted by an ambitious female rocker, who growls and screams better than anybody I've heard lately but Chris Cornell, provided the opening salvo of the evening. After the show I approached Ms Hale and said, "You know my wife doesn't let me date, but when you screamed I fell in love." Leaning in, taking my hand in both hers she looked deeply into my eyes and said, "That's the sweetest thing anybody's ever said to me. I really appreciate that." The band needs a little polish, but get close to their lead singer and you'll be willing to see any bill their on.

War, What Is It Good For?

Gomer Pyle, USMC was televised, in prime time, from 1964 to 1969. Although it was the height of the Vietnam War, no mention of war, or Vietnam, or body counts was ever made. This blog will not be so squeamish when it comes to discussing the news of the day. Okay, so I am a veteran, which will convince some of you that you know exactly where I stand. Well, you would be wrong. I do not believe that Operation Iraqi Freedom was particularly well thought out. The intelligence that sent us there was wrong. That does not mean that President Bush lied, anymore than it means President Clinton or the United Nations lied. What it means is that the intelligence was wrong, period. Saddam bluffed, and lost. He did not have any measurable weapons of mass destruction. That does not mean that the war there has been for naught. Things are not going perfectly, but neither are they going as dismally as the sound bites would have you believe. Today's New York Times published a "State of Iraq Update." On this, the eve of an historic election, in which the previously separatist Sunnis are poised to vote, there is good news. 87% of Iraqi households have fuel, average electrical power is only 3/10 of 1% below prewar levels, unemployment is down to 32%, from a high of 50%, there are 5,000,000 telephone subscribers, from 800,000 prewar subscribers, annual GDP is a statistical match to prewar (and climbing), felony court cases are being prosecuted, the number of registered cars has doubled to 3.1 million, and the suspected number of terrorists is down 2,000 from this time last year; hopefully due to termainal lead poisoning. All this comes courtesy of the Times, you need not believe me. Okay, so people, American men and women, are still dying, and as a soldier that hurts my heart, but the number pales in comparison to the number of Iraqis who are dying. That's the most telling number. The Iraqi government is the most threatening enemy of the terrorists, and that's why bombs explode daily where men and women are standing in line to become soldiers and police. Each day these lines are targeted, dozens, if not hundreds, are killed and yet they line up again the next day. The reason is simple: the average Iraqi wants democracy and self-determination, something we take for granted. That is why our troops leaving immediately would not solve the problem. The bombings would not stop. The Iraqi government is the real target of the terrorists. We are just it's most visible proponent. Millions of Iraqis will go to the poll tomorrow, risking their own lives, to participate in democracy. That's what we are protecting and that's why the war is so important. Civil war in Iraq is not a given. Stability can be attained, if given time. The prediacte for war was faulty, but that does not make the end result any less noble. Eventually the Iraqis will have to provide stability, but they cannot, at this point, do it alone. Success, not just militarily, is within our grasp, within the grasp of the Iraqis, if we can just hold on long enough to give it to them.

the beads

It occurred to me lately that life is too short not to put my thoughts into the air. On a daily basis I rant, and sometimes rave, about life's daily trials and tribulations to anyone who will listen, and some who won't. I have considered myself a writer for as long as I can remember. Not many others have seen the wisdom of this notion though. So, more as a means of shaking my fist at the universe and screaming, "SIR, I EXIST," than a desire to perfect my craft, I have decided to join the 1990s and start my blog. My goal is to put into words my weekly, if not daily feelings on things I deem important. Frequently these thoughts will be, by nature, political. Often they will be social, and, as regularly as possible, they will be purely whimsical. This will be my space, for me, but I truly hope that anyone who reads these thoughts will be, at the least, engaged, if not occasionally outraged. Therefore, the segment I deem the most important will always be "the beads," as in predestination. Hopefully, I will find a way to become better simply by being, and hopefully so too will you.