Drooling on the Pillow

Saturday, February 14, 2004

Seeking the High Ground 

I was once so drunk I drove a Porche repeatedly over the grounds of the Montana state house knocking down newly planted saplings. Is that the shameful part or is it that I pretty much got away with it because I had "friends"? There are women whom I dread running into because of the low-down way I treated them.

I had a whole list, but I'm going to stop there.

Who the hell am I to open my disgusting mouth to remark on the Kerry smut-bomb?

I want to, don't get me wrong. And the guy that did those things in the first paragraph? And the second paragraph I left out? He really wants to. But I just can't.

I'll content myself with a quiet little hope that somebody saved a dress.


It's for Democracy. Yeah, that's it. 

It would be lovely if Nader decides the nation needs him to make another run. But after NR's cover ("Please Nominate This Man"), who isn't wary of saying it too loud? Tim Blair, that's who.

Friday, February 13, 2004

Bush Lied, Everyone Else Was Off a Little 

According to Wonkette a new Washington Post survey says that 54% of Americans believe Bush exaggerated or lied about prewar intelligence. I don't get this. There was no space between Bush and Albright or anyone else in the Clinton administration on the intelligence. The argument was about what to do about it. Now I happen to believe that GWB's position on that was the correct one but if 54% of Americans disagreed with that I could understand it. But lied? This strikes me as a rather adolescent response, where every disappointment is understood to be a personal attack.

Thursday, February 12, 2004

If You Weren't Offended, the Hell With You 

Here's the template for public apologies: "My actions were insensitive and inexcusable. I apologize to all who were offended." Or, even more weasely, "I apologize if anyone was offended." It's really beginning to grate.

If your actions were insensitive and inexcusable (or reprehensible or careless or thoughtless or cruel or satanic or genocidal) your apology is only triggered by the hurt feelings of others. If no one has twisted buns your actions have no ethical consequences, or at least none that require contrition. This is pussy-penance. I would just love to hear a politician or sports figure get up and just say "I was wrong. I'm sorry," and half-way look like they mean it.

I Choose to Speak Farsi 

Every war is a war of "choice." There is always the option to submit. The Tories chose to remain with Mother England. The Copperheads chose to let the South be the South. The isolationists chose to resist Stalin rather than Hitler. We chose to defund the South Vietnamese. There are many Israelis who choose to permit the right of return. Just because there are people who have a policy difference with this war and its aims doesn't make it a different or lesser kind of war.

Wednesday, February 11, 2004

Stumbling Along 

The whole GWB National Guard kerfuffle brought to mind my experience with the draft. I'm sure you'll be fascinated.

I was at Webster College in Webster Groves, Missouri from '66 to '70. I wound up there because I had, for all practical purposes, flunked out of my senior year in high school, but Webster was hot for educational experimentation and they took me on my college boards which were good, but not spectacular. In fact, they were similar to W's; somewhere between 1100 and 1200. Webster was, at that time a small Catholic school for girls who couldn't get into good schools. There were around eight hundred girls and my freshman year there were about twenty boys. They began to admit boys in Music, Art and Theatre. I had little talent in music, none in art, but I had been in a couple of plays in high school, pursuant to an unsuccessful attempt to get into Sylvia Hummel's pants. Hey presto, I'm a Theatre major.

Webster was this kind of college: it boasted the only Equity nun. Sister Marita Michenfelder was an adorable woman who ran the department. In my sophomore year she gave up the habit. In my junior year she quit the Sisters of Loretta. She got married my senior year. She was a nice woman. I hope she's doing well. You couldn't turn around at Webster without smacking into a "War is Not Healthy for Children and Other Living Things" poster. Independent studies, co-ed dorms, Kevin Hanlon for homecoming queen, sex, drugs -- god, it was wonderful. I remind you of the 800-20 ratio and point out that at least fifteen of the boys were gay.

In 1967 I received my induction notice. I went to the physical and flunked my hearing test. Little present from my mother; most of my siblings have a small hearing impariment. I certainly didn't think it would be enough to get me out, though, and, apparently, neither did Uncle Sam. It seems that the hearing test is the one most often faked, so they sent me for a follow-up.

In 1967 it never entered my mind to fake the test or that I wouldn't go if called. I'm told that if I had been called two years later my slight impairment wouldn't have been enough, but after two years of being radicalized by Webster and the kultursmog I have no doubt I would have faked it and done almost anything else to get out. It was my duty to youth or something.

I was sent to Barnes Hospital in St. Louis for an intense audiological experience. They hooked me up with electrodes and heart monitors. Ran the test on me then ran it again a little louder until I passed. They ran it at that level several times, each time giving me a little jolt just before the point I had indicated I could hear. Then they ran the real test again. They figured, of course, that I was pavloved to have a cardiological reaction to hearing the tone. Understanding what they were doing only intensified the reaction and when I heard the tone they could have heard my heart without the monitor. Flunked.

I was probably borderline and what a different life I would have had had I passed. It was another three or four years before I began taking the idea of being an actor seriously so if I had gone to Vietnam I probably wouldn't have had that life. I probably would have come home and become a cop or something.

God help me if I decided to go into politics.


Tuesday, February 10, 2004

POTUS Bumpf Snafu 

Whatever records the White House releases today regarding GWB's Guard service are not going to make the fuss go away. Way too many have way too much invested to let go at this point. But it will go away eventually because, well, because it's such complete nonsense. The fools should have waited until next October.

They should, however, come up with a service ribbon for the minions who've spent the last week scurrying around the record stacks looking for something to throw at this.
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