The exception that proves the rule

The exception:

and the rule.

Semper fi

Faithful to its traditions the New York Times has this long story about McCain's youngest son, Jimmy, just returned from serving in Iraq in the Marines. The piece is lightly smeared with glosses to slime the Times' worldview over a young man's service, but the net effect is a compelling case for McCain, his family and the war in Iraq. Here's the rub:

Out of the Public Eye

Mr. McCain has largely maintained a code of silence about his son, now a lance corporal, making only fleeting references to him in public both to protect him from becoming a prize target and avoid exploiting his service for political gain, according to friends. At the few campaign events where Lance Corporal McCain appeared last year, he was not introduced.

The McCains declined to be interviewed for this article, which the campaign requested not be published. “The McCain campaign objects strongly to this intrusion into the privacy of Senator McCain’s son,” Steve Schmidt, a campaign spokesman, said...

Do the Sulzbergers have children?

The view from my room

This is London now, but the white specks don't come from pigeons.

Oh well, there's snow business like global warming, I scoff not only because it isn't warming, nor because warming has not plausibly been shown to be man made, nor because the lingo shifts around, nor because it's brought to you by the same types who've turned science into dogma (y2k, hiv/aids, global cooling...), but because they don't act like people who are seeking the truth, sure of the science or experienced in risk. They act like a coalition of professionals conspiring against the laerty, priests imposing dogma on heretics, Dems pleasuring themselves by taking my money to dole out to their clients, and liberal fascists thrilled by coercion and thought-control. The irony is that I'd be glad were London or NYC to become emission free cycle zones for health, aesthetic and economic reasons - save for the agenda behind it.

The wished outcome may come out by informed consent, but that won't fill the religion hole that aligns modern elites to modern superstitions like iron filings in a magnetic field.

Sylvie Guillem

Last night I went to the ballet with one of my favourite daughters. We saw Sylvie Guillem with Russell Maliphant. This solo made a strong impression. The tempo picks up half way through:

Wright and wrong

Man:


and boy:


McCain was right originally to oppose MLK day, but that's another matter.

Bigfoot security

Why did the director of the Secret Service broadcast that John McCain has no Secret Service protection?

McCain, of Arizona, said in November that he would reject Secret Service protection if he won the Republican nomination and possibly even the White House. While he does use private security guards, he called the elaborate security procedures of the Secret Service an “inconvenience” and a “waste of taxpayers’ money.”

The simplest explanation is that the Secret Service is protecting its empire. That SOB should be fired and I trust McCain will do it.

Lest you think this mere bravado by McCain, in fact it's astute risk management. Bigfoot security magnifies risk by projecting the illusion of an unattainable, undesirable security clampdown and de-emphasizes initiative, unpredictability and profiling. It's the contrast between the effective Israeli approach to air travel security and the dumbass UK/USA methods.

"It's the inconvenience," McCain said. "It's the inconvenience it causes people. It's a waste of the taxpayers money. It's just everything I don't like."

McCain admitted that a modern American president can't live without Secret Service protection. But he said presidents have let the protection get out of hand.

He recalled a time during Bill Clinton's presidency, when Clinton and his wife, the first lady, both had events in New York City, each traveling with large security caravans. "The island of Manhattan was gridlocked," he recalled.

The security overkill, he said, causes presidents to work differently than they otherwise might, he said.

How should it work?

"You got a problem up on Capitol Hill? It's 12 blocks away, right?" McCain asked. "Alright. You hop in a car with tinted glass, and maybe one secret service guy with you. And you drive up. Okay? And you get out of the car, you walk into Sen. Harry Reid's office and you say, Harry..."

McCain recalled seeing pictures of Harry Truman walking, almost alone, along the streets of Washington while president.

"I will admit you can't do that," McCain said. "But you don't need 50 cars and SUV's full of people driving along, stopping traffic."

Ahem, excuse me while I clear my throat, I'll just take a sip of water here, ahem...... vote McCain!

Into The Wild

Into The Wild is Sean Penn's movie about Christopher McCandless who died from starvation in wild(ish) Alaska in 1992. Outside movies Penn cuts a ridiculous figure, full of standard issue liberal crap and ready to advance America's enemy du jour in Venezuela, Iraq or Iran. But it's a decent movie with some first-rate non-standard issue photography. Its sincerity just about floats above the bathos of McCandless' utter selfishness. Kudos to Penn for attempting to depict profound matters, tho, honestly, it falls short. It's hard to argue with this excellent essay by an Alaskan Park Ranger, conclusion:

Consider where he died. An abandoned bus. How did it get there? On a trail. If the bus could get into the place where it died, why couldn’t McCandless get out of the place where he died? The fact that he had to live in an old bus in the first place tells you a lot. Why didn’t he have an adequate shelter from the beginning? What would he have done if he hadn’t found the bus? A bag of rice and a sleeping bag do not constitute adequate gear and provisions for a long stay in the wilderness.

No experienced backcountry person would travel during the month of April. It is a time of transition from winter’s frozen rivers and hard packed snow with good traveling conditions into spring’s quagmire of mud and raging waters where even small creeks become impassible. Hungry bears come out of their dens with just one thing in mind—eating.

Furthermore, Chris McCandless poached a moose and then wasted it. He killed a magnificent animal superbly conditioned to survive the rigors of the Alaskan wild then, inexperienced in how to preserve meat without refrigeration (the Eskimos and Indians do it to this day), he watched 1500 pounds of meat rot away in front of him. He’s lucky the stench didn’t bring a grizzly bear to end his suffering earlier. And in the end, the moose died for nothing.

So what made the difference between McCandless and I fourteen years ago? Why am I alive and he is dead? Essentially, Chris McCandless committed suicide while I apprenticed myself to a career and a life that I wanted more badly than I can possibly describe in so short an essay.

In the end it's all true of director and subject - selfishness, idealism, courage, stupidity. This self-portrait found in his camera shows McCandless outside the bus where he died. Rest in peace, Chris McCandless.

Hookerblogging

Let us recognize hookerblogging as a genre along with dogblogging and photoblogging. My co-smuthound, Dave, points out that Dick Morris is the US entry in the toe-fetish Olympics. Moreover apparently:

“When not nibbling on the toes of the $200-an-hour call girl, he let her eavesdrop on phone conversations he had with his client, President Clinton.”

So the image presents itself of Dick Morris in flagrante, speaking by phone with the President, also in flagrante, possibly toying with a cigar, possibly with a senator on hold on line 2 and Yasser Arafat twiddling his thumbs in the Rose Garden. Meanwhile Mrs Clinton was surging in Tuzla. I think I could pitch that script. The funniest part is that 44% of American voters prefer the Clintons back in the White House to John McCain.

Photoblogging

Oh well, while the Uncorrelated romper room is empty, I'll link some recent photos of ringmaking in France where the Jura plateau meets the Burgundy plain. The music is the prelude to The Valkyrie, from The Ring Cycle.

Dogblogging

Here's an antidote to human cruelty. The term 'anthropomorphize' is often a misnomer. Seeing love, fear, playfulness etc in other species than homo sapiens isn't unscientific. That these are cross-species traits is self-evident to any mind free of the anthropocentrism that normalizes atrocities like vivisection.

Vroom vroom

The delight of the Eliot Spitzer story was seeing a Malvolioesque hypocrite get his comeuppance. The actual sex was banal as far as we know, lacking the absurd details that take the farce to another plane. British politicians have little quirks like toe-sucking or wearing a Chelsea soccer shirt - apologies if these are standard practices in northern Utah, no offence.

But, lo.. there comes a sex scandal worthy of the highest comic imagination. South Park, eat your heart out. It's this (do not open at work!)...

I'd say this is pretty good, but what takes it to comedy heaven is that Max Mosley is the son of Sir Oswald Mosley, founder of the British Union of Fascists whose blackshirts my grandfather fought in the East End of London in the 1930's. Mosley père was immortalised by P.G.Wodehouse as Sir Roderick Spode, leader of The Black Shorts, amateur dictator and designer of women's undergarments. Max Mosley's parents were married in Goebbels' home, A.Hitler in attendance. That gives a twist to the headline "F1 boss Max Mosley has sick Nazi orgy with 5 hookers."

Another teensy detail is that The News of the World (aka The News of the Screws) is owned by one Rupert Murdoch who also happens to own The Times which happens to be the subject of an unrelated libel suit by the FIA, run by....Max Mosley. The ss Mosley is holed below the waterline, but I hope she goes down all guns blazing. To adapt Wodehouse: You can be the boss of Formula 1 motor racing or you can star in a 5 hour video of a sadomasochistic Nazi sex orgy, but not both.