I still can’t believe my dad can even log onto the internet, let alone have a friggin site……

William Burton hits another brilliant post out of the park. he expresses, in one post, the process that took me months to understand and realize; that while I didn’t like the Israeli policies, they never, ever, in any way, justified the current spate of suicide bombings.
Zika reminds me that the people on both sides are human, and they are. But some of them haven’t been acting that way. He also reminds me of the campaign of the Tamil Tigers, who also used suicide bombers…including those who assassinated an Indian P.M.
I’ll do some more research, but I’ll bet that the prime targets of the Tamils weren’t pizza parlors, but military bases and military and political figures.
Different game, Ziska…guerilla war, not terrorism.
The good news is that the Palestinian ‘moderate middle’ I looked for appears to be appearing. I’m sure it’s hard to give Sharon credit for anything, but it looks like something is working.

Ziska points out, in a comment below:

Actually, the point I was trying to make, and failed completely to make, was that you shifted gears between the Israeli individual and the Palestininan “they”.
You could have commemorated a Palestinian victim without even softening your opposition to what “they” are doing, simply by commemorating (for example) commemorating the 18-year-old woman who was recently killed by thei’m Palestinian Authority because her uncle (who was also lilled) had implicated her in Israeli intelligence work. Or you could have commemorated apolitical Palestinians who die because of the curfew.
So what we got from you was a humane comment about real people with real lives (Israeli) followed immediately by the same old objectifying talk about “they” (the Palestinians).

I was wrong, and will remember that.

Here’s a new-to-me blog with some sensible commentary on the Central Park case: Just One Minute; take a look. I’m working on a more philosophical piece, but having stayed up Really Late last night (the concert ended close to midnight and was an hour and a half away) and danced a little too hard, I’m taking some Motrin and going to bed. I wonder if the twenty-year olds have to do that…(not really)…
(Link from Instapundit.)

The family of a terror victim in Israel has asked bloggers aroundthe world to link to her memorial page. I’m honored to comply. Go to Remembering Shiri Negari, and be reminded that while we wave our hands and have high-level discussions about policy, real people with real lives bleed and die. It will give you perspective.
I do not doubt that there is real tragedy on the Palestinian side as well; when they stop trying to get my attention by killing Shiri’s, I’ll be happy to talk about it.
Link thanks to Ted Barlow.

Well, two of my favorite bloggers are having a dustup over fun, of all things. Instapundit and Ted Barlow are bickering over Alex Beam’s column in the Boston Globe, in which he discusses the idea that:

Is it true, to paraphrase the famous Clairol marketing campaign: Do conservatives really have more fun? The answer is yes, incontrovertibly so. Who would you rather be? Me, plodding through errands on my bicycle, sporting my pathetic ”One Less Car” T-shirt, or one of the many SUV drivers who blast exhaust in my face as they roar off to fill up on cheap gas?

Instapundit gets all ironic about it:

This is funny, but it’s a serious problem for the Left. Like Sweden, it’s cruised for a long time on a reputation for free-wheeling hedonism that no longer holds. The hair-shirt left is alienating to a lot of people — I mean, which would you rather have, wild sex and high living or Andrea Dworkin and a spare lifestyle relieved only by an affected moral superiority?

and then Ted gets genuinely upset:

Glenn has fairly complained about liberals who look at the Right as if it’s always and everywhere Birmingham in 1963. Then he turns around and talks about the left as if it’s always and everywhere Berkeley in 1985.

Geez, guys, lighten up.
First, and foremost, am I the only one who caught a whiff of self-depreciating irony in Beam’s column? The last half of the paragraph above drives the skewer right home:

Who would you rather be? Goo-goo good guy Warren Tolman, painstakingly explaining his position on the School Building Assistance Program? Or Mitt Romney, who has his own, no-frills education plan: Send them to (private, tony) Belmont Hill! It worked for his kids – why won’t it work for everybody?

and does it in what I’d consider to be a pretty damn fair (hence pro-liberal way). I read Beam’s column as a mild satire, playing on the stereotype of the humorless, crunchy liberal while actually hammering home a few pretty good pro-liberal points – good government and building schools is a liberal program, sending your kids to tony private schools isn’t. Beam then goes on to throw a few well-placed elbows at the stereotype…including Taki as an example of the ‘fun-loving’ right.
The danger of daily punditry is that quick reads miss obvious things, and we’re all reading too damn quickly. I think that Beam’s column was a bit of pointed fluff, that Glenn picked up on it to beat one of his favorite dead horses, and that Ted rose to the bait like a trout.
Look, here’s the deal. There are a bunch of people in the world…on the left and right…who are pissy and unhappy by nature. They tend to become bad bureaucrats and bad pastors. Somehow, about the time George McGovern got nominated, they captured the levers of liberal power over here (I don’t know European political history well enough to know when it happened over there, but it did), and the ‘don’t play with scissors’ crowd became the vanguard of leftist thought.
Me, I’m a leftist; how are — government-sponsored health care, support for unions, a higher minimum wage, stronger environmental laws, a biiig gas tax, support for same-sex marriage, progressive taxation, strong public schools, support for a woman’s right to choose – as credentials? I do think we need to temper those with the understanding that Stalinist command-and-control aren’t always the best way to get there, and that the new information technologies and the social and management structures enabled by those technologies ought to change the tactics we use to get from here to there. And most of all, I think that we need to design these in a way that encourages responsibility and individual accountability.
But enough serious stuff; I’ve led a life with just too damn much fun; my sexual history would make Dawn blush; vodka, hell – I’ve pretty much exhausted the possibilities in the pharmacopoeia; I’ve seen U2 at the Roxy, Nureyev at the SF Opera House, the Beatles at the Bowl; dated centerfolds from Playboy and Penthouse; been married to two great women; held my sons when they were born, and spent their first night with them sleeping on my chest; driven away from my oldest son as he moved into his own home (but still took him to the drugstore to buy him condoms); sailed in through the Golden Gate at dawn; seen 145 on the speedometer of a motorcycle; spent the night with a dying friend; and seen the dawn just sitting and talking with the amazing friends I have made; and maybejusy maybe am lucky enough to have finally found the right woman for the rest of my life.
I’m off today to take my 15 year old to the ‘Inland Invasion’ punk show. I’ll be the 49-year old guy with glasses in the mosh pit.
So here’s the deal folks. I do think that the visible Left needs to connect with its joy, and its aggressiveness. We need leftwing Vodkapundits, and leftwing Rush Limbaughs…well, maybe not…and leftwing Instapundits, too. And we need the same things on the Right, and in the Radical Center and from the Libertarians, and the Vegitarian Unitarian Veterinarians, for that matter. I said something once on this blog a while ago:

Forgive me if this sounds sappy, but there are voices out there folks, a great chorus of different voices, and when you listen to the song we’re all singing…well, to me, the song sounds sort of like America.

William Burton lays out our foreign policy pretty damn clearly. A sample:

So, remember. We don’t want to kill anyone and we’ll try hard not to, but if we have to defend ourselves we will. Don’t think that any bad stuff that may happen is intentional. It’s not. We’re just as likely to fuck up as anyone else, we just do it with bigger ordinance. And if there’s any way to interpret what we say in a way that doesn’t make you angry or sad, that’s the way we meant it. Honest.
We’d also like to apologize for not learning your languages. We bought the tapes and have been meaning to get around to it, but the game was on and a friend came over with some beer. Next thing we knew it was 3am and we were on our way to Padre. You know how it is.

“Two Cities”, by Mark Doty

I had grown sick of human works,
which seemed to me a sum
and expression of failure: spoilers,
brutalizers of animals and one another,
self-absorbed until we couldn’t see
that we ruined, finally,
ourselves – what could we make?
An epidemic ran unhalted,
The ill circumscribed as worthless and unclean;
the promises of change seem hollow,
the poor and marginal hopelessly marginal,
endlessly poor. I saw no progress,
and the steeping ink of this perception
colored everything, until I felt surrounded
by weakness and limit, and my own energies
failed, or were failing, though I tried
not to think so. I awoke
in Manhattan, just after dawn,
in the tunnels approaching Grand Central:
a few haunted lamps, unreadable signs.
And with a thousand others,
Each of us fixed on the fixed point
of our destination, whatever
connection awaited us, I spilled
up the ramp and under the vault
and lugged my bag out onto 42nd Street,
looking for the Carey Bus.
The dawn was angling into the city,
A smoky, thumb-smudged gold. It struck
first a face, not human, terracotta,
on an office building’s intricate portico,
seeming to fire the material from within,
so that the skin was kindled,
glowing. And then I looked up: the ramparts
of Park Avenue were radiant, barbaric;
they were continuous with every city’s dream
of itself, the made world’s
angled assault on heaven.
The city was one splendidly lit idea –
its promises intact and held
in a disturbed, golden suspension.
Weeks later, there was a second city;
not really a city at all:
nights, in the coastal town
where I live, voices, engines
cough over the water
from the end of the pier
where trawlers cluster
and fog-rimmed lamps shimmer
the undulant harbor, so that wharf’s end
becomes a distant city,
foreign, storied: extended downward
in the flung glitter of reflection
(as if it floated, on pylons of light,
above a gilded, Oriental double,
domes and towers blurred by rising smokes)
and radiating upwards, also, above itself,
in the mist’s ethereal wash: a Venice,
a city dreaming itself into being?
Had I walked out there,
as I have, some nights,
I wouldn’t have reached it;
That city’s coherent only from this distance,
a fable, a Venice not merely
because it is built on water,
but because it is built,
even though it is the capital of inwardness,
built and erased and drawn again
as surely as Manhattan is:
liquid avenues, archives of all
we’ve imagined, our haunted, interior architecture
“Venice,” Nietzsche said,
“is a city of a hundred solitudes.”
New York is a city of ten million,
And my American Venice
– phantom boulevards rippling
and doubled in the dark – a city
of two hundred and fifty million
solitaires, the restless dreamers’
dreamed magnificence: our longing’s
troubled mirror, vaporous capitol.

A slightly different version is in the book Atlantis: Poems.
I feel in my gut that posting this entire work is probably a violation of Doty’s property rights; I hope that some people will buy his book and get him paid a bit for it. After doing it twice tonight, I won’t do it again.
But to me, this poem perfectly symbolizes the antidote to the anomie and despair below. You don’t need brutality and death to transcend despair; the human mind and soul can find it in the brilliant smudge of sun on a building’s wall, and in the appreciation for the “banal” works of humankind, for ‘the made world’s angled assault on heaven’.

Full of news some good, some bad, some awe-ful. The fool with ‘Daddy’s Money’ is back in the race for Governor against ‘SkyBox’ Davis. There’s a ship which may be radioactive off of New Jersey. Bush gave a damn good speech, and the hopes in my letter below seem to be being supported.
Close to home, some terrible news about Warren Zevon, who I don’t know, but who is a friend to Brian Linse, who I do. I’ve been glancing at my poetry books, trying to readjust my attitude, when this came to mind:

He said it doesn’t look good
he said it looks bad in fact real bad
he said I counted thirty-two of them on one lung before
I quit counting them
I said I’m glad I wouldn’t want to know
about any more being there than that
he said are you a religious man do you kneel down
in forest groves and let yourself ask for help
when you come to a waterfall
mist blowing against your face and arms
do you stop and ask for understanding at those moments
I said not yet but I intend to start today
he said I’m real sorry he said
I wish I had some other kind of news to give you
I said Amen and he said something else
I didn’t catch and not knowing what else to do
and not wanting him to have to repeat it
and me to have to fully digest it
I just looked at him
for a minute and he looked back it was then
I jumped up and shook hands with this man who’d just given me
something no one else on earth had ever given me
I may have even thanked him habit being so strong

— “What The Doctor Said”, By Ray Carver.

From the controversial Salon piece, ”Forbidden thoughts about 9-11: Readers respond”:

When the towers started collapsing and all chaos broke loose, I felt actual excitement. Here was an event that broke banality. Finally, here was something meaningful. I had grown so tired of the meaningless fluff our continent had become so enamored with. Here was an issue of raw emotions. I was glad that this was happening to snap people back into reality, to snap them back to mortality. My last sinful thought was that of genocide — lets just send nuclear missiles to all of the Middle East and let it be done once and for all.
– Name withheld
I played the part, of course; I expressed the mandatory shock, outrage and sadness while watching events unfold with co-workers. I was, in outward appearence, the very picture of solemnity and sympathy. Inside, though, I was excited. I got the same weird sense of roller-coaster joy I do when a hurricane comes up the coast or a blizzard shuts down the city. In the chaos of the initial reports, I found myself disappointed to find out that some of the early reports of additional targets being hit were erroneous.
As the second tower collapsed, I found myself with a terrible sense of satisfaction. It was almost like, somewhere deep in the parts of my soul that don’t see the sun, I was rooting for the event to be even bigger — for it to cut so deeply through the banality of daily life, that things would never be the same. I suspect I am not alone. Whether it’s shark attacks, wars, school shootings or child abductions, something in human nature gives people a sick thrill in such horrific voyeurism. That’s what drives the infotainment industry we like to call the nightly news. In the Civil War, spectators went out to watch the battle.
Until fairly recently, watching public executions was regular entertainment for the masses. Few have the guts to admit it publicly, but we’re all monsters.
— Michael Middleton
For nearly every single day since Sept. 11, 2001, I’ve been saying, “When’s the other shoe going to drop?” The dirty secret that I’ve never revealed to anyone is that there’s a part of me that actually wants it to drop. Rationally, not really — I’ve got family and friends who would be in serious danger if something happened in our major cities.
But the little devil on my shoulder keeps saying, “Come on already, let’s get this fucking apocalypse OVER WITH.” I mean, there are times when I’d almost feel relieved if something happened — it would be better than this awful waiting accompanied by an overwhelming sense of looming doom.
— Female writer, living in Texas

…emphasis added

So what do you think the odds are that this yearning to “break through the banality” has anything to do with the Romantic urge for the ultimate self-affirming, all-consuming moment? That orgasmic instant of annihilation when the will to power overcomes the humble stones of the world around us? And if you lived in squalor, felt oppressed, were told every day that the hated oppressor was the reason for your misery, would this underlying repugnance of the world as it is be a fertile medium of the kind of memes that make strapping on a Semtex belt seem like the absolutely right thing to do?
I’m suddenly finding myself becoming a fan of banality.