Seriously, I really think the NY Times has done it this time. The Times, and a fair number of other old-style media have been puttering around in the lagoon, testing the engine, measuring the angle, paying out the tow rope, contemplating the shark… and with this compromise of the Swift program…The good old Times has taken a dead set at that puppy, roared up the ramp and gone sailing into the air, to come down again who knows where, although I personally think they are still tumbling in free-fall. The last couple of days have reminded me rather of the dissection of the infamous 60 Minutes-Bush-AWOL-Memo story, only in slow-mo. People who knew about typefaces, and how Reserve units operated back then and what official documents look like took a long, hard look, and got angrier and angrier about how a clumsy and nakedly political hit piece was perpetrated by an ostensibly respectable, big-name media showboat.

And now, personnel who have worked with classified materiel and operations, who know anything about classified, who deeply care about classified are becoming angrier and angrier about the revelation of a legal, useful and productive effort was blown by the newspaper of record— another big-name media showboat, the so-called “newspaper of record”— for nothing more rewarding than affording the “newspaper of record” an opportunity to preen themselves ostentatiously on their wonderful “scoop”. The NY Times response to criticism for doing so appears to throw gasoline on a smoldering fire, for the sheer lordly arrogance of deciding extravagantly that the “public” just had to know all the details of a war-time effort to prevent terrorists from transferring funds… the funds that buy enormously loud explosions in a variety of public places, explosions that potentially turn an assortment of random human beings into so much bloody mush.

I can only assume that the editors of the NY Times are operating in the happy confidence that none of those potentially and so suddenly transformed will be those known personally to the grandees of the “newspaper of record”. It must be marvelous to live on such an elevated plane, to be totally removed from consequences. Now, I am not so far gone in brutal cynicism as this gentleman to assume that this whole thing was done out of a particularly ugly fit of pique— “You stupid red-state proles had better vote as we tell you to vote, or we’ll blow the gaff on every secret plan we can find until you do, and damn the consequences!”… but I am of a sick enough humor to think that spilling the details of the Swift project is a win-win for the NY Times, all the way around. It means Pulitzers for all, and the fawning adoration of the usual suspects for their courage in speaking truth to power, or at least biting it in the ankle. The odds are increased that they will be able to cover the next terrorist atrocity in really splendid, breathlessly late-breaking-development style, milk a couple of tears for the resultant obituaries, and get at least three or four hard-hitting exposes of the various government departments or persons who “allowed (insert meaningful date or place name here) to happen”… which will result in at least two more rounds of Pulitzers. Think of the New York Times as the gift that keeps on giving.

I try never to attribute to malice that which can be attributed to stupidity… or at least, a horrible sort of tone-deafness on the part of the major media, first articulated by James Fallows in “Breaking the News” (And here I am again, plugging his ten-year old polemic… honestly, the man ought to be giving me a commission.) His point then, and one which I have come to see validated over the last four or five years, is that that the elite media seem to increasingly see themselves as some sort of aristocracy, floating serenely above the vulgar hurly-burly, and dispensing their magisterial pronouncements from on high, with little care for how they may affect— and sometimes they do affect, markedly and even horribly— and it matters not to our aristocracy of the media, for they float imperiously away, on to the next big story, the next big scoop, and the next breathlessly-detailed horror of the moment.

Mr. Fallows intuited that the discriminating news-consumers were on to the media grandees, and felt considerable contempt for them, based on how they were increasingly portrayed as buffoons on movies, and in television. Reporters were once portrayed as rough-hewn heroes, competent, well meaning, and worthy of respect— but even as Woodward and Bernstein were still respected as selfless heroes of the newspaper reporter profession, we were laughing at the chipmunk-brained Ted Baxter, on the Mary Tyler Moore Show. Over the next decade, the lake of contempt has deepened and broadened; perhaps television, books and movies have caught on to something, in advance of our so-sensitive news media. Reporters are more like to be portrayed as a Ron Burgundy clown than a hard-working and ethical Edward R. Murrow, or an Ernie Pyle type.
This is not to say that all major media reporters have sunk to such a sad state— those who hold to the old standards are perhaps as much distressed as I am about the spectacle of a major newspaper trading the security of their fellow citizens for a mess of Pulitzer pottage. But this whole Swift thing does not reflect well on the NY Times, and their pretensions of being the major American paper of record.

It does not, and they are richly deserving of all the contempt and cancelled subscriptions thrown in their way.

Not being a regular visitor west of the Rockies (my last trek was to Pasadena on 9 Sep 01 – a whole other story), I always find California to be an experience worth commenting on. As I write this I realize that I may not be able to make the post until my return. I am staying at the Atrium Hotel in Irvine, which purports to have free high speed Internet in every room. Sounds good in theory, but I have spent 3 hrs. so far on the phone with the hotel’s Internet provider trying to get the “automatic” connection to work – with no luck so far. This is a pet peeve of mine because usually, in order to get connectivity away from home, I must go through a process of iterative setting changes that render my home and work connections inoperative on my return. And, of course, because the changes were iterative (and not recorded – my fault), reversing the process involves an equal dose of frustration. I see a Blackberry in my future.

Anyway, my mission is to evaluate a new technology in which my employer is considering an investment. The entrepreneurial community here always amazes me, along with what its interaction with “old industry” is like (when it goes well). Not in a bad way, but rather in the sense that we old liners are impressed with their vision, and they are impressed with our ability to point out the obvious legal/market/reality checks. We spent about 14 hrs. brainstorming at their Santa Ana office, located in one of many complexes with small office spaces arranged not unlike large self storage facilities – relatively cheap rent, undoubtedly high turnover. The mind is boggled by the amount of venture capital discussed within each “unit”, and the dreams and disappointments that accompany each change in tenancy. I long ago resigned myself to a life of servitude, albeit fairly compensated, but not these people. Dot com bust – what was that? A fourteen-hour day in my business usually equals mind numbing grind, but not when I do these meetings. Not a stupid person in the room, with the possible exception of yours truly, and get this – no bringing in Subway sandwiches! Lunch at the Cheesecake Factory and a (very) late dinner at some great seafood joint – I think McCormick Schmidt (although I could have done without the karaoke).

I arrived yesterday afternoon and decided to chill at the Atrium. It’s a pretty cool hotel that I can heartily recommend (as long as Internet connectivity is not a priority) at $139/night. It has been around for a while and the blush is somewhat off the rose, but it seems to capture the essence of this part of California. At only three stories, it is a rambling place that surrounds a rather nice courtyard with palm trees aplenty and a nice pool. I love the lizards too. Navigating the complex can be a challenge, but once getting the feel for the place it seemed that the meandering is one of its charms. After spending the three hours trying to achieve connectivity, I wandered to the bar and grill for a double scotch and a steak sandwich – both of which, by the way, were excellent. I struck up a conversation with the barkeep and some locals, who told me that it was unseasonably hot and humid – at 83 deg. and not-so-bad humidity! Having lived in west central Illinois for so many years, where 95 – 100 deg. and 90% humidity is not unusual, I was a little (lot) surprised. After all, L.A. always seemed like a hellhole to me -–much like Phoenix. It turns out that their proximity to the ocean results in a normal high of around 80 deg., but with little humidity. One of my new friends, an Irvine native, BEGGED me to not tell anyone about the true state of the climate – he says there are too many transplants as it is. Sorry Carl – this is newsworthy and the American public has the right to know. You should appreciate this based on your vocal support of the NY (and LA) Times of their exposure of the insidious terrorist wiretapping and financial record tracking. Anyway, I expect Carl will still greet me as an old friend the next time because I doubt that he is a regular reader of this august blog.

I was in Washington DC three weeks ago, and did write a piece called “Foggy Bottom” that I intended to post, but it seemed too cynical upon further reflection. The memorials and monuments were great, but the landscaping sucked and the people were either tourists or overflow from K street lobbyists. At least the SoCal people freely admit that its about the money. Funny though, once they get it a lot of them decide that money (but not theirs) is the root of all evil

Anyway, later that night I was sitting in my room’s balcony watching the flight attendants arriving, and casually eavesdropping on their conversations as they came through the parking lot. The content was not memorable, but the tone, and the manner in which they made their way to the check-in area, reminded be so very much of TDY’sThe and overnight trips this young airman took so many years ago, when the world was not a place to be wary of, but rather a kingdom to be conquered. It is good, I think, to sense a glimpse of that, from however far ago, while in a tropical climate.

Trouble brewed on the home front with both Red Haired Girl and Real Wife when I mentioned that I was about 10 – 20 minutes from Disneyland (God as my witness – I did not know this when I planned the trip). I am searching for a t-shirt with the legend “My Dad Went To Disneyland And All I Got Was This Crappy T-Shirt” Links would be appreciated.

UPDATE – I am now home, and have at least reintroduced the IBM X41 to the home wlan. I feel younger, helped a bit perhaps by being in the aisle seat as a self-appointed guardian of two young ladies aged 11 and 9, travelling alone by plane for the first time to visit their grandparents. With their necklace-displayed credentials and travel papers, and the question “Mister, have you done this before?”, I knew it would be a good plane ride, and it was. The noise and sensation of landing gear and flap motion etc. gave me an opportunity to explain engineering principals (including the Bernoulli principal); topics long since banished from our normal family discourse for reasons unknown to me (Real Wife and Red Haired Girl don’t want to hear about entropy anymore either – go figure) I even got free snacks and headphones from the flight attendant (now $4 and $2 respectively on AA). That whole experience was a not-so-small serendipitous gift that, although reminding me of my grandfatherly age, also reminded me of how the world looks to the young.

As I write this, I am back in Illinois; on the patio with a cold beer and Springsteen on the box. Grilled cheese sandwich for supper. Life is good. I don’t see myself ever living anywhere with palm trees, but visits to such places, and often the transit to and from thereof, makes life worthwhile.

With regard to Disneyland, Red Haired Girl on the way home from the airport lamented that she once again missed a ride on a “real” rollercoaster, to which I argued I didn’t like the odds of 1-2 fatalities per year on said rollercoasters. Got home – another twelve year old killed today at Disneyworld. Am I missing something here?

Lastly, 13 June marked fourteen years of wedded bliss with Real Wife. For our anniversary, I traded her Barbie Jeep on a new Grand Cherokee – red – with a Hemi. Of course, the main selling points were back up sensors, extended warranty, etc. Did I mention that it has a Hemi?

By the way, for any computer whizzes out there, during my California Internet hell, I was able to connect, but if it took longer than a few short seconds to bring up a web site, everything timed out and the connection went dead – any ideas on why?

Radar

(The following is one of those e-mail things that go around: it just seemed to be an interesting coincidence that a friend sent it to me, just when Timmer’s Miko re-appeared, and my own Spike and Percy seemed to be fast becoming very, very good friends… not that there’s anything wrong with that!)

EXCERPTS FROM A DOG’S DAILY DIARY:

8:00 a.m. Oh, boy! Dog food! My favorite!

9:30 a.m. Wow! A car ride! This is a blast

9:40 a.m. A walk in the park! Ate some crap…Delicious!

10:30 a.m. Getting rubbed and petted! I’m in love!

12:00 p.m. Lunch! Yummy!

1:00 p.m. Playing in the yard! I just love it!

3:00 p.m. Staring adoringly at my masters…they’re the best! I’ll wag
my tail in joy.

4:00 p.m. Hooray! The kids are home! I’m bouncing off the walls!

5:00 p.m. Milk bones! Great!

7:00 p.m. Get to play ball! This is too good to be true!

8:00 p.m. Wow! Watching TV with my master! Heavenly!

11:00 p.m. Sleeping at the bottom of my master’s bed! Life is soooooooo
great!
(more…)

This thread over at FTTW got me thinking. (And post your first concert experience while you’re at it.)

How many different bands/songwriters have ripped off Neil Diamond?

The first one that comes to my mind is “What I Like About You” by The Romantics. I remember a DJ at “Crackers” in Vegas (great rock barn) back in ‘85 used to fade “What I Like About You” right into “Cherry, Cherry” and my roommate freaked when he found out that was Neil Diamond. Actually, now that I think about it, my MOM freaked when she found out “her” Neil wrote “Cherry, Cherry.”

But I don’t know how many times I’ve heard a song and said to myself, “Wait a minute, that’s a Neil Diamond riff.”

So what else can you think of?

Going to be a crazy day tomorrow so thought I’d kick this off early.

Winners on Sunday. Might even do another on Sunday.

I know I normally do mil-related photos, but this one begged to be captioned.

Other caption blogginess:

Oh just leave a trackback for goshsakes.

Da Winnah!

Sgt Schultz: C’mon Pamela and Paula, do that again.

Yes, I’m posting the winner on the original post now. There’s just not enough cyberspace between the two to justify seperate posts.

Via Wizbang.

And I thought the President just listened to two kinds of music, Country and Western. Sunday Bloody Sunday.

I’m thinkin’ this will give Pablo nightmares.

Why do I get spam in other languages? You know, most folks in other parts of the world have figured out that we simply aren’t all that multi-lingual. Do Media and Advertising Execs not talk to most folks? Wait, I forgot, we’re talking about people that keep making the creepy Burger King commercials. And while I’m thinking about it, anyone know where I can get a hold of that song they play on the Ford Commercials? Not the one with Taylor, the other ones, “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s jump right in…come on baby let’s riiiiiiide.” That song gets stuck in my head faster than “It’s a Small World” without causing convulsions.

Basic Communication. In every speech class, acting class, briefing class I’ve ever had, the basics are the same. There’s the sender, the message, and the receiver. How the message is presented is a pretty big part of what decides how the receiver is going to accept it. Call me weird, but I’m thinking that sending a message that could be understood might just possibly be more desirable than say, oh, I don’t know, a message in Arabic, Chinese, Russian, or Hebrew. Spanish I kind of understand in a “If I don’t overthink it, I’ve got it.” kind of way, and let’s face it, at the current rate of “open immigration” we may as well get used to the fact that we’re going to be Mexico in another decade or five, it’s time to yo hablo. But I digress.

Spammers, do me and yourselves a favor; If you’re going to send me crap about ways to enlarge my penis, enlarge my vacation, enlarge my record collection, enlarge my choices in my medicine chest, or enlarge my breasts, please do it in English. It makes me just a little crazy to mass delete stuff I don’t understand. Perhaps there’s something there that’s different. Something I might actually want to buy. Say, a reasonably priced dog run or cat trails for the walls of my home that don’t require a freaking building permit.

So Max and I are taking our evening constitutional and we’re walking in the empty lots behind Chief’s row and there’s this cat laying under the tree with a (yeesh) pink flea collar on. I look at her, she looks at me, Max is straining at his collar, she looks at him. I’ve been fooled a few times in the past couple of weeks by lookalike cats, but this one actually said, “Murph?!” while looking from the dog to me. I don’t know who this Murphy person is or why all the cats seem to know him, but Miko has a particular way of speaking Irish, and I was pretty sure. Max got tied to a tree while I walked closer and I could hear the cat purring and I looked at the paws and sure enough…THUMBS! MIKO!!!!!

So know I have 15 pounds of cat who’s not getting anywhere near that dog and I’ve got a dog tied to the tree, and I’m about a quarter mile away from home. From now on, the cell phone goes with me where-ever I go, even on short walks. I walked over to one of the houses with arms full of fast-becoming-tired-of-this-carrying-thing cat and ask if I could use their phone real quick. I call Beautiful Wife, tell her the news, she’s down the street faster than the 15 mile an hour speed limit should allow. She’s practically in tears. I put Miko into the Santa Fe and she takes her home and Max and I finish our walk. And yes, he did his business, he’s such a good puppy.

Max and I get home. Beautiful Wife tells me that Boyo was in tears he was so happy. When he could talk, his first words? “They didn’t even brush her out.” No, son, they didn’t, and don’t use that phrase in mixed company, especially when the gay boys are around, they’ll focus on you like a lazer on Zarquawi’s SUV.

Gypsy Cat is thoroughly disgusted. Not only is THAT CAT back, but the dog’s still here too. Bedtime should be interesting.

Miko and Max? Miko is sitting on top of the cat tree looking down at Max thoroughly disdainful but holding her ground. Gypsy gave up the main floor of the house when Max is unkenneled a week ago. I don’t think Miko’s going to give any ground whatsover.

So now we have two cats and a dog and we’re happy as could be. The animals are adjusting.

And in case you were wondering, no, I’m not going door to door on Chief’s Row and asking who’s the dickhead who presumed to steal our cat. One of those guys is the new Wing Command Chief. I may be pissed, but pissed doesn’t make me as stupid as it used to.

Oh, and one more thing? The fact that I would never walk around base housing if it wasn’t for Max isn’t lost on me one single bit. I don’t know about you, but my God has a very twisted sense of humor.

Love him, hate him, both…he will be missed.

If you never read Gut Rumbles, go there now and read some of the archives. I do love a man who can rant with no apologies.

This week was tougher than most.

1.) SgtFluffy: “Pvt Englands next assignment didn’t go to well either.”

2.) Paul: “It was about this time that Capt Hypoxian regretted having that 5th cup of coffee. Luckily, the suit was yellow and no one would notice if he…ahhh”

3.) AndrewV: “Out at Area 51 Airman Jones is escorting the alien prisoner during its’ daily exercise.”

Get this video and more at MySpace.com

Timmer, you’re the best. So I give you this tribute.

The stone ruins of Imperial Rome underlie Western Europe and the Mediterranean like the bones of a body, partially buried, yet here and there still visible and grandly manifest above ground, all but complete. From Leptis Magna in North Africa, to Hadrian’s Wall in the contentious border between Scotland and England proper, from Split in the Former Yugoslavia, to the 81 perfectly preserved arches of the ancient bridge over the Guadiana River, in Merida— that part of the empire called Hispania –and in thousands of lesser or greater remnants, the presence of Rome is everywhere and inescapable. The same sort of cast- concrete walls, faced with pebbles, or stone or tile, the same sort of curved roof-tiles, the same temples to Vesta, and Jupiter, to Claudius, Mars and Mithras; the same baths and fora, market-places, villas and apartment buildings, all tied together by a network of commerce and administration. Goods both luxury and otherwise, adventurous tourists, soldiers and civil administrators— the very blood of an empire, all moved along the veins and arteries of well-maintained roads and way-stations, of which the very beating heart was Rome itself. Carrying that image a little farther than absolutely necessary, I can visualize that heart as being a human, four-chambered one; of which two— the political/imperial establishment, and the flamboyantly military Rome of battles and conquest— have always rather overshadowed the other two in popular imagination. Commerce and civil administration just do not fire the blood and imagination… unless one is wonkishly fascinated by these things, and it would take a gifted writer to make them as interesting as imperial intrigues and soldiering adventures.

But close to the Palatine Hill—where the sprawling palace of the emperors looked out over the linked fora, law courts and temples in one direction, and the Circus Maximus in another— Trajan’s concrete and brick central market rambled over three or four levels, from the great hall of the Corn Exchange down to the open plaza of the meat market at the level of the forum below . Here was the embodiment of the great heart’s economic chamber. Every sort of imaginable commodity moved from one end of the empire to another and from parts outside the Roman hegemony: corn from the Egyptian breadbasket, silk from faraway China, spices from India, African ivory and gold, olive oil, oranges and wine from the Mediterranean to everywhere else. And that trade was enabled by law and technology. Roman roads, waterworks, and civic infrastructure like harbors, lighthouses and bridges would in some cases, not be equaled or bettered until the 19th century. While emperors and soldiers came and went, sometimes with messy and protracted splatters of blood, the unspectacular and dull work of the empire went tirelessly on and on, little changing from day to day, decade to decade, until Rome itself seemed eternal, fixed forever, immutable like the stars in the sky.
(more…)

Just ask The New York Times.

Mohammed on a moped do these miserable excuses for human beings not understand the word “classified?”

Definitions of Classifications:

Confidential: Release may cause damage to the United States.

Secret: Release may cause serious damage to the United States.

Top Secret: Release may cause grievous damage to the United States.

Understand you fucking idiots?!!! It can and probably will damage the United States!!!

Once again the Times has taken it upon itself to disclose a classified program, this time where the CIA is tracking terrorist’s financial transactions with the Treasury Department’s oversite. We’ve had successful results from this program. We’ve caught bad guys using this program. Now everyone knows about it.

Thank you to the New York Times for once again telling the bad guys how we’re doing it.

UPDATE: Looks like the Wall Street Journal ran the story also.

Hammersmith Odeon, London ‘75 may be the most legendary Springsteen Album that never was…until recently. I had a copy on vinyl that I bought in ‘76 from the “Rare and Collectable” store in my neighborhood. When Springsteen broke big in Chicago in the early 80s, due to some play at the Steppenwolf, before Born in the USA, all of sudden, my Springsteen collection was requested with my presence at various and sundry parties. Everyone wanted to tape a copy of it…from the vinyl. Ummm, no, but you can borrow my tape. The vinyl copy disappeard years ago and I long since wore out the last good taped copy I had.

I almost lost it when I found out that it had been remixed by Bob Clearmountain and “officially” released on Columbia. Ya see, to me, this is Springsteen. It’s live, it’s raw as hell, E-Street was still jamming, testing one another out. Outside of actually attending a live performance, this is the album that converted disbelievers.

If you didn’t grow up in a city of over a million folks, don’t tell me how you never got Springsteen…I know. Trying to explain street rythms to you is sort of like you dumping me in the middle of nowhere and trying to radio in how you want me to track a deer. And if you did grow up in a city of over a million and you still don’t get it…I don’t know what to tell ya. This is the music that spoke to my teenage heart and often times kept me alive, which is another long story that I’m not ready to tell you about yet.

I was going to write a song by song but it would just be my opinion mixed with 30 year old emotions streaming back.

If you just kinda like old Springsteen and have often wondered what all the buzz was about. THIS is the album you want to buy. If you’ve already got it on vinyl tucked away safe and sneer at a CD or digital version, I’ve got to tell you, the freaking keyboards never sounded this good on vinyl and I don’t know how they got the bass response amped up, but then, I had a bootleg piece of vinyl and not a master to work off of.

Other Caption Blogginess

OTB.
Bravo Zulu.
Wizbang (who promises to catch up this weekend on the last two contests).

The 2006 school year has ended and the class of 2007 is in the barrel. Triggers will be pulled and rounds will go down range in a couple months. This is a time of year where a recruiter’s future will hang in the balance. It’s a well established mantra in the military recruiting realm that a high school program is the key to a recruiter’s success. Knowing the administrators, teachers, coaches, counselors, and custodial staff are important parts to that success. But, where the rubber meets the road is the students themselves. In my particular station we’re preparing to launch our first foray into the newly minted senior class.

I’m not a parent, but I deal with them a lot. I’ve seen first hand the emotions that a parent can feel when they’re confronted by the military talking to their child for the first time. For my experiences it has gone both ways. Some parents are eager to get their kids into the military. When I call they wake Johnny up and tell him to talk to me, or tell me to come by and put their kid in boots and out of their hair. Others are less enthuastic and are concerned that I’m trying to take their young from them, they challenge me to prove why their child should serve. Still others are repulsed by the “US Government” that appears on the caller ID and I’m greeted with threats of violence to my person before I can even identify myself.

In my area the first attempt to contact will be starting soon. A mail out has been prepared that will go to all seniors in our schools identifying the school’s assigned recruiter, as well as listing some of the benefits of the Army and the Army Reserve. This may be a wake-up call for some parents so I figured I’d use my kindly provided pulpit to explain a couple of things, and maybe correct some misconceptions.

It’s the job of a recruiter to contact high school seniors. We’re required to do so, and we’re required to do so about three times. Once at the beginning of the year, again in the middle, and finally at the end prior to graduation. If you tell us “no” we won’t keep calling. We will keep calling though if you never answer the phone, or if you keep hanging up on us when you do answer.

Despite what someone may think all the services are not connected. We don’t share lists. This is frustrating to you as the senior/parent and me as the recruiter. You may tell the Marine recruiter “no” and the next day the Army recruiter will call. Don’t be upset that you’re getting another recruiting call a day after you just told one to leave you alone. I do empatize with your plight, between the Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, Coast Guard, and the Reserve and Guard forces for all services you’re looking at a lot of “no”. All I ask is that you treat us as kindly as we will treat you.

We don’t know your child from Adam. If your child is disabled or special needs, just tell us and we’ll leave you alone. And, God forbid, they died, you have our deepest sympathies, but we didn’t realize it when we called. We’re not trying to bring up painful memories.

Your child may have different desires than you. Just because you don’t want your child to join doesn’t mean you child doesn’t want to, or at least isn’t curious. Have an open mind and at least discuss it with your younin’. If you’re still not interested, let us know.

We are able to help. All people who enlist into the Army are eligible for $4,500 a year in tuition assitance, most will be eligible for the GI Bill that can help with at least $30,000 for post high school education. It’s a rare family who can totally dismiss $39,000 for college. Even through the Reserve you’re still looking at $30,000 to help with an education.

It’s an interesting time for recruiting. We’re moving into five years of a volunteer force in an active war. It’s a challenege that’s been met for the most part. Despite a constant barrage of the horrors of combat, and a lack of reporting on the good deeds conducted, and made possible, by the men and women fighting the fight, people still continue to sign up. The plan of Al-Qaeda, our enemy, to win is to generate enough ill-will and bad-press so as to break the back of our country. The unwilling (hopefully) complicity of some major media in that plan hasn’t succeeded because of the grassroots efforts of veterans, the troops themselves, and those who support them.

Recruiting in the time is a challenge, and it’s a challenge for which I didn’t volunteer (”detailed” is a nice way of saying “dragged kicking and screaming”). But it’s a fight that is almost as important as the ones being fought overseas. When my recruiting class graduated we were graced to have CSM Michelle Jones, the Command Sergeant Major of the United States Reserve, as our keynote speaker. During her address she told us to view our time in recruiting as our deployment. That without NCOs going out and finding the next Soldiers, team leaders, squad leaders, even sergeants major any progress made in the War on Terror would be for nought. I do believe in what I do as a recruiter. I hope that some day, 20 years from now, I’ll be reading the Army Reserve magazine and recognize some 1SG or SGM as someone I enlisted. Assuming I can still remember by own name 20 years from now that is.

Anyway, parents of high school students, please be aware that the time for your children to be adults is coming. Recruiters really are just doing our duty. We’d like you to help us while we help your progeny.

As an aside, I typed this on the laptop and it has a picky space bar. If a word runs together I’m going to blame it on my equipment, not that I’m a moron who can’t type.

To: Amnesty International, the IRC, Human Rights Watch and other professional international worry-warts
From: Sgt Mom
Re: The Treatment of POWS:

1. So, once the oozing layers of condescension and spurious moral equivalence are wiped off, this guardian of the imprisoned and mal-treated is on the record as condemning the treatment of Privates Menchaca and Tucker. Ummm. Yeah. Thanks. Heaps. I am sure their families will be really appreciative of your concern. You probably will want to remove them from your mailing lists for the immediate future, though. Don’t thank me for this bit of advice, I live to serve.

2. I am sure the above-named parties would have been assiduous, tireless, noisy, and above all, effective in protecting the basic rights of all Americans, military and otherwise, who were taken captive by insurgents, free-lance Jihadists, Talibanis, Baathists… or whatever we call the gentlemen with the mad enthusiasm for the “Religion of Peace”, depending on the week, and the location. Oops— they would have been, should those various captives have… you know… lived long enough, after having been taken captive.

3. Tortured, decapitated, eviscerated, mutilated to the point of having to resort to DNA analysis to make a positive ID… sort of puts that whole panties on the head, dog-leash, kinky humiliation games, locked up in Guantanamo and having your Koran flushed in the crapper into a whole ‘nother perspective, doesn’t it? Reminds you of what you were all about, once upon a time? Maybe? Just a teensy bit?

4. Frankly, I rather think your dilemma as regards this matter may be rather short-term: it’s pretty well acknowledged among military circles that there is no surrender in this war. There just is not. There is a Marine axiom to the effect that an enemy may kill you with your own weapon, but they’d have to beat you to death with it, because it had better be empty. One way or another, there will be no American POWs. No retreat, no surrender.

5. And after this episode, there may not be many of the insurgents taken prisoner, either. Think on that, gentlemen; think on WWII in the Pacific theater, once it got around what kind of treatment the Japanese accorded to prisoners. Surrender was neither offered, nor accepted. You might be able to work up some sort of retroactive campaign about this brutal disregard of human rights, but you might want to hurry, since most of the participants are well into their third quarter-century.

6. Thanks for your expressed concern, though. We shall take it into active consideration. (Which is military code for thrown into the recycle bin, wadded up, and with great force.)

Sincerely
Sgt. Mom

PS—a note to the usual commenters, you know who you are. Please consider very carefully, any response you may make to this post. This is a matter I feel deeply and personally about, ever since my daughter told me about the conference she and the other female Marines had at their base in Kuwait, after the capture of the Army convoy which contained Pvt. Jessica Lynch, and other female Army personnel. Please do not try to provoke me on this issue, I will delete the comment without a backwards look, and if I am sufficiently offended, I will blacklist the commenter. Word to the wise, chaps, word to the wise.

Later: Additional words from New Sisyphus, via Rantburg and Daily Pundit.

…well…kind of…sort of…in a way…obviously violates UNSCR 687 . I wouldn’t be doing the “liberals are such idiots” happy dance just yet. It’s like 500 shells of old crap. If the report gets fully declassified and we find out there’s all sorts of newer stuff that we weren’t told about, then I’m going to be scratching my bald noggin a lot wondering what the hell they were thinking not releasing this? If this is another case of intelligence folks playing, “Mine-mine-mine, alllllll mine!” they’re just screwed.

If it had been anyone but Senator Rick Santorum I might care a bit more but he’s one of those politicians that just annoy me with their way of believing that they know what’s best for us. I don’t care if it’s the “anti-smoking nazis” or the “you must eat better nazis” or the “my religion says this so you must all believe it nazis,” they just make my teeth itch.

I’ve said it before though…I was pissed that we didn’t take Saddam out back in ‘91, ya know, when we still had a LOT of people in uniform. The WMD thing was just a very small part of it for me.

Get this video and more at MySpace.com

Via Althouse.

I don’t agree with her on this one.

Oh it’s clever. But not being a “morning person,” I have to say that it disturbs me on a fundamental level. I don’t have “a happy morning” until at least two cups of coffee and some time.

Although…I do like that brand of coffee and really like the handle built into the plastic can.