FIRE 'EM ALL

Don Imus said something that was not very nice, pretty revolting actually, and he was fired. Tom Delay is now seeking to have Rosie O’Donnell fired for intemperate, inflammatory remarks regarding 9/11, terrorism, and other stuff. This trend has possibilities. Why don’t we fire everyone who annoys us? Here is the cranky old guy’s list of those who should go.

Tom Delay: He’s already been fired, or an equivalent thereof.

Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson: Yeah, Imus needed to be chastised and taken down a peg, but Al and Jesse certainly didn’t come to the task with clean hands. They have had their own problems with foot-in-mouth disease over the years, as well as some more serious matters. But mainly Al and Jesse should go for seeking to perpetuate the notion that African-Americans are nothing more than victims requiring the protection of Al and Jesse.

Bill O’Reilly: He must have said something not politically correct over the years, but if not he should go simply because he falls into the basic-jerk category.

Sean Hannity, Fred Barnes, Brit Hume, Charles Krauthammer: As knee-jerk right-wing whack-jobs, they should go.

Fox News: Why stop with Bill O’Reilly and the preceding four? Can the hold lot.

Nancy Grace and that Beck guy: They habitually violate reasoned discourse. Outta here.

Dick Cheney: Despite all the evidence to the contrary, he keeps insisting that Saddem Hussein was somehow responsible for 9/11. Because that assertion has almost reached the point of being an outright lie, Dick should go.

George Bush: Incompetence has always been a reason for dismissal.

In short, the cranky old guy says fire ‘em all.

DSH

IS BUSH THIS DIABOLICAL?

The President’s threats about vetoing any Iraq War funding legislation that contains even a hint of time lines may not reflect his, and his allies, actual desires. If one were a cynic, which, of course, the cranky old guy is not, one might conclude that what W and his cronies really want is to pin the Democrats with the blame for the Iraqi debacle.

And even if the so-called “surge” strategy has some temporary success, the Iraqi effort will almost certainly be viewed as a debacle. Oh, perhaps historians in the distant future might conclude, “in the short and medium terms, it was a debacle, but in the great scheme of things, at the level where any analysis is far removed from individual human costs, the blundering of the United States under the so-called leadership of George W. Bush set in motion forces that ultimately were beneficial.” But that is certainly speculative and is of no solace to those who have suffered in the here and now.

But back to W’s current predicament. If he truly believes that “victory” is possible in Iraq, there is no predicament. He simply wants unfettered commander-in-chief power to pursue this “victory.” But it is possible that even he has come to realize the extreme unlikelihood of anything approaching “victory.” Thus the possible attractiveness of being able to say, “if the Democrat (opps, Democratic) Congress had only given me what I asked for, we would have achieved victory. But it didn’t, so Democrats are the reason we failed in Iraq.”

And if that is indeed W’s strategy, the nation is in for a great amount of unseemly political jockeying. The Democrats will push for time lines and other goals to get U.S. troops out of the line of fire, and ultimately Iraq. W will dig in his heels, avoiding any compromise or effort to find a middle ground. The Democrats then will be faced with two alternatives: capitulate to W’s apparent desires (which under this argument is a result he really doesn’t want because his ownership of the debacle would be uncontested); or be more and more assertive in efforts to bring the troops home. And the more assertive the Democrats are, the more they can be blamed for the almost inevitable messy—at best—outcome.

In other words, by being stubborn and not giving an inch, W either gets everything he wants (a result he actually might not want) or he gets to blame the Democrats for the failure to achieve victory.

Is W indeed this diabolical? You’ve observed him for the last six years. What do you think?

DSH

CUZ THE 2ND AMENDMENT SEEZ I CAN

I own a gun cuz the 2nd Amendment seez I can.

I drive on the beach cuz the 2nd Amendment seez I can.

I smoke in restaurants cuz the 2nd Amendment seez I can.

I ignore the speed limit cuz the 2nd Amendment seez I can.

I look at porn sites on the web cuz the 2nd Amendment seez I can.

I hate people who are different than me cuz the 2nd Amendment seez I can.

I give liberals the bird cuz the 2nd Amendment seez I can.

I drive a pickup truck with big wheels cuz the 2nd Amendment seez I can.

I shoot endangered species cuz the 2nd Amendment seez I can.

I litter cuz the 2nd Amendment seez I can.

I drink and drive cuz the 2nd Amendment seez I can.

I cheat on taxes cuz the 2nd Amendment seez I can.

COLD IN THE SAWTOOTH

How cold was it? So cold that the water in my Army-style canteens froze solid, top to bottom, front to back, side to side. So cold that my wet boots were blocks of ice in the morning. So cold that my fingers were still numb and tingly a month after the trip.

Why didn’t I put canteens and boots in my sleeping bag to use body heat to keep them from freezing? Because I had too much other stuff in there that I was trying to keep warm.

In short, cold, and its sibling snow, were the central ingredients of a late September backpacking trip into the high country of Idaho’s Sawtooth Wilderness Area. A winter backpacking trip had not been the plan. No, the plan had been a pleasant fall stroll into the mountains, with warm days and cool put not disagreeable nights.

More specifically, the plan was an eight-day sojourn exploring the southern and western portions of the Sawtooth. I was to enter at Alturas Lake in the southeastern corner, work my way west and north, perhaps going as far as the western boundary, and exit at Pettit Lake, which was just a few miles north of the starting point. Thus I would be making a loop, a loop that could be as short as 30 or so miles if I took the most direct route or much longer if I was ambitious and had good weather.

Fortunately, I was mostly, but not completely, prepared for cold, wet weather. The synthetic sleeping bag was rated to zero degrees. In addition, I had a military poncho liner that in essence was a blanket of nylon and polyester. It had proved its usefulness many times in the past in a variety of conditions. Clothes-wise, I had rain gear, an outer shell coat of heavy nylon, two fleece inner garments, military pants and shirt, several long and short sleeved tee shirts, medium weight long underwear, two knit hats, and one floppy-brimmed hat. The major inadequacies in the clothes department turned out to be socks and gloves or mittens: I only had two pair of wool socks and not the best collection of hand warmers.

Shelter was a three-season tent that survived the snow in part because I kept the snow from accumulating on it.

The first three days were cold but relatively uneventful. The trailhead was a little beyond the western end of Alturas Lake, at approximately 7,100 feet in elevation. The trail went up Alturas Lake Creek (yes, “Lake Creek”), over an 8,800-foot pass to Mattingly Creek, and down the creek to the Boise River. On the afternoon of the third day, I followed the river north for about three miles, making camp at an old campsite on the bank. Firewood was relatively abundant, indicating that even during the summer the area did not see much traffic. A good fire and a starry sky made for a pleasant evening, the first, and last, on the trip.

Pleasantness ended the next day. The old nautical saying proved true: “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight; Red sky in the morning, sailor take warning.” The early morning sun reflected red off clouds moving from west to east. The trail crossed and recrossed—several times—the Middle Fork of the Boise River. Each crossing required taking off boots and socks, putting on wading shoes, and working my way gingerly, with the aid of two walking sticks and under the bulky backpack, through the water and over slippery rocks.

Rain arrived in mid-afternoon. It was steady and occasionally heavy. The campsite was at the junction of the Middle Fork of the Boise and Flytrip Creek. The elevation was 7,500 feet. Rivulets created by the rain flowed through the campsite, making selection of a specific location for the tent no easy task. I finally located a spot that, with a little trenching and damming, avoided major water. With difficulty, supper was prepared—that is, water boiled for the dehydrated food—just outside the tent door, under the small vestibule.

By morning the rain had stopped, but the wetness was pervasive. I debated whether to continue on or to backtrack down the Middle Fork of the Boise. Ahead was high country—8,000 to 9,000 feet—four hard climbs, and uncertain weather. Back was an outlet at the southern edge of the Sawtooth. The journey would not be as long, the elevation not as great, and the margin of error a bit lower. I decided to tackle the high country. The only rational part of my reasoning was that my pick-up-person, my daughter, expected me at Pettit Lake. We had reconnoitered the trailhead. If I took a different route out, I would face the problem of notifying her of the change
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So I headed north, into the high country. It was only eight or so miles to the last pass, 9,200-foot Sand Mountain Pass. If I did just one climb a day, I would be in the high country for four days and three nights. The major risk was getting snow bound.

The first objective was Spangle Lake. It was 10:30 a.m. before I got started. Packing in the cold and wetness was time-consuming. The route was up. . . , and up, and up. The distance was only two and a quarter miles, as the crow flies, but it took four hours. Initially, my hands were so cold that I had tears in my eyes. Note to self: next time, heavy mittens. Boots and socks became soaked in a poor effort at crossing a small stream. Fortunately, the afternoon and early evening were clear. I had a large fire, a roaring blaze actually—much too close to the tent—and dried out myself, boots, and soaks. The warmth was the last I was to have for two days.

Snow fell during the night, a heavy, wet snow that built up on the sides of the tent. In spite of the zero-degree rated sleeping bag and the Army poncho liner, I woke up cold and miserable. The thought of packing up was more than unappealing: it was down right scary. But I had to move. Shivering in the tent would accomplish nothing, and would have to end sometime.

Skipping coffee, fumbling with totally numb hands, I broke down the tent, stuffed stuff into the pack, struggled with buckles, straps, and snaps, and got underway at about 9 a.m. Again, the trail was up, only a mile, but it was stairway-steep. On the other side of the highest point, the trail was a switchback down an open mountain side and hidden in calf-deep snow. Gingerly, I made my way down, arriving at Ardeth Lake around 1 p.m. For the second day, it had taken four or so hours to cover a bit over two miles.

The choices were to stop for the night by the lake on which a cover of ice was beginning to form, or to go over the third of the four passes that separated the high country from warmer temperatures and civilization. I decided that the quicker I could get to lower elevations, the better it would be. Thus I set off for another climb. It was steep and snow covered but relatively short. By 4 p.m. I was over the pass and near Vernon Lake. I got the tent set up just as a heavy thunder snow storm broke.

Inside the tent I watched as the snow accumulated. The sides and top were, of course, not transparent. But the areas of accumulating snow on and against the tent were darker. I spent the remaining hours of daylight kicking and pushing the walls and top to keep the tent from collapsing. During a lull in the storm, I got out and packed down an area around my abode.

Sometime after dark the snow eased up. But a strong wind blew the cold air through the tent walls and into the far depths of my sleeping bag. And the temperature fell as the night wore on. In the sleeping bag, I had on a layer of clothes and the poncho liner wrapped around my neck, shoulders, and upper body. I did not feel I was dangerously cold, but only portions of my body approached warmth, and I was distinctly uncomfortable. It was a long night.

The morning dawned bleak and discouraging. Outside the tent, the snow was up to calf deep. I had one only more pass to cross, but it was the highest, and the previous night’s snow meant the way was more uncertain. I was not in the best of spots. Maybe it was even a dangerous spot. Dire scenarios ran through my mind. I hoped that if I was not at the trailhead at the appointed time three days hence, my daughter would call search and rescue pronto. Our usual plan for such wilderness endeavors was to give the overdue party some leeway before calling for help. But this approach ignored a troubling realty: if the overdueness was caused by real difficulties, pausing before calling for help would not be good, indeed could be tragic.

For a second morning, I forwent coffee, struggled with unfeeling hands to pack up inside the tent, broke down and packed the tent itself, and finally got underway. I had cleared one hurdle: the simple act of getting going. Now I had another hurdle: 9,200-foot Sand Mountain Pass.

An annoying problem soon developed. The ends of the boot laces and the draw strings at the bottom of the pants were somehow manufacturing ice balls. The ice balls formed around the ends of the laces and strings, reached the size of baseballs, and banged into my legs with each stride. I had to stop every so often and spend considerable time bashing ice balls. Tucking in the ends of the laces and strings only partially alleviated the problem.

I struggled upward. Once out of the treeline, the switchback trail became obscure. The steep slope was just an unbroken, smooth white blanket. I gingerly poked the walking sticks into the snow ahead of me, finding the trail a step at a time. The altitude was exacerbating the fatigue from the climbs, the cold, and the nights of fitful sleep. I was close but concerned about loosing the trail, running into an unnavigable section, or taking a tumble down the steep slope.

Fate was kind, however. About 1 p.m. I reached the top of the pass. I was elated but it was a subdued elation. Fatigue hindered exuberance. The first thought was that the need for rescue was now unlikely. Eight or so miles and a day and a half lay ahead, but it was mostly downhill.

The trail followed the contour line for a while and then started sharply down. The snow soon disappeared. I camped for the night at Toxaway Lake. It was still a cold night, but certainly better than recent ones, both physically and mentally. The next day—finally a sunny day—I encountered my first humans in a week, several small groups. I also encountered the pleasant fall day that my trip had anticipated. It was Saturday, and day hikers and overnighters were exploring the edges of the Sawtooth Wilderness.

I had that disconnected feeling one gets when, after a draining, challenging experience, communication is attempted with others who were not involved. I was on a populated trail, the day was warm and sunny, and I was wearing just a shirt. A day earlier and a few miles to the west, I had been alone in near winter conditions, dressed in multiple layers, and harboring concerns about basic survival. Small talk with those I encountered did not come easy.

DSH

(SMALL) WINDOW OF OPPORTUNITY

Okay, so in spite of the advice from across the political and ideological spectrum, George Bush, the Decider, the Decision-Maker, is bound and determined to up the ante in Iraq. A cynic might note, what has he got to lose? If things continue to show no improvement, he is destined for historical infamy. But if by some chance the new strategy, the “surge,” causes even a small improvement, he might avoid making the list of the worst Presidents in U.S. history. He might even place above Millard Filmore.

But a favorable outcome will require a level of nimbleness and nuance that this “Bull in the China Shop” Administration has not displayed in six years of governing. Yet it does have one thing going for it. The Bush Administration could contain the best practioners ever of “spin.” If an award is given for talking a pig pretty, George and company certainly deserve it.

So here’s how the Decider and crew might stagger to 2008 with a pinch of dignity left. The “surge” is large enough to actually tap down violence in Baghdad for a short period. And latching on to the unfollowed advice given in another war, the Decider declares victory and leaves. If there is a short period before the inevitable chaos follows, the Decider can argue that he brought peace to Iraq. It wasn’t his fault that things later (a week, a month, whatever) deteriorated. After all, one can only lead the unwilling and ungrateful so far.

Of course, not everyone will buy into the notion of victory. But enough might that the Decider can convince himself of his greatness, and the true believers—the Wall Street Journal editorial page, Hannity, Coulter, Beck, O’Reilly, neocons everywhere—browbeat the unthinking into intellectual submission.

dsh

SIX-POINT PLAN

Yesterday, in his weekly radio address to the nation, the President challenged those who oppose his new “surge” strategy for Iraq to offer a different plan. Okay, Mr. President, here is an alternative plan. It may not be perfect, but it sure beats yours.

1. Stop yakking about victory. By viewing the struggle in such classic terms, you and others who have disagreed with you but still speak in your language, such as Senator John McCain, are striving for an impossible goal. In your speech the other night, you finally acknowledged that, even if your proposed strategy is followed, the struggle in Iraq will not end in “victory” in the sense of signing surrender documents on the deck of a battleship. Yet you still set up victory as the goal.

2. Similarly, stop yakking about the only alternative to victory as being defeat and some sort of great Middle Eastern catastrophe. The Middle East is going to be a mess for decades if not generations. But it could be a controlled mess. The challenge is to prevent the level of chaos from rising too high.

3. Stop shifting the blame to the Iraqis. We are trying to impose a complex, sophisticated form of governance on a politically backward people. Chiding them for not “stepping up” is more a comment on our naiveté than on their abilities.

4. Stop trying to preserve the nation of Iraq. Ninety years ago—a mere hiccup in human history—there was no nation of Iraq. Iraq is the home of three distinct peoples: Kurds, Shiites, and Sunnis. Maybe we can find a way to hold them together under one sovereign entity, and maybe we can’t. But our focus ought to be on building from the bottom up rather than imposing a national government from the top down. Concentrate on forming three sub-governments, and if they eventually are able to come together, fine. If they can’t achieve a sort of federalism, it is not a catastrophe. And how come Joe Biden is the only U.S. national figure that shows awareness of Iraqi history?

5. Stop making the false argument that a “defeat” in Iraq will result in a safe haven for terrorists. First, as noted above, just as we will not achieve a classic “victory” in Iraq, so we will not also suffer a classic “defeat,” unless we insist on defining the outcome as such. Second, if even what results becomes a Taliban-like rogue state that has to be thrashed periodically, okay. We will still be fighting on their ground rather than ours.

6. Learn from those who oppose us. They practice subtly and nuance. We are the proverbial bull in the China shop, aggressively threatening, thrashing around, smashing everything within reach, creating an image of gross incompetence. Whatever happened to Teddy Roosevelt’s “speak softly and carry a big stick?”

MORE TROOPS TO IRAQ?

A “surge” of U. S. troops to Iraq seems to be a distinct possibility. The numbers being bandied about are in the 25,000 to 30,000 range. An official rationale has not yet been provided, but the general, ephemeral idea is probably that more troops will reduce the overall level of chaos. Maybe. Or maybe it’s a case of a day late and a dollar short. Or maybe by this stage it’s just plain too late and any number of U.S. troops short of the 500,000 who should have been sent initially won’t, in the long term, make a difference.

Here are some facts about the U.S. involvement in Iraq. First, at some point in the not-too-distance future we are going to leave. It may be three years, it may be five years, it may be ten years or longer. But we ain’t staying permanently. They don’t want us there, and the American people don’t have the patience to be long-term occupiers.

Second, there will be no “victory” in Iraq in the classic sense: no surrender by the opposing forces, no wiping out of all opposition by us, no victory parade down 5th Avenue by triumphant returning troops. At best there would be a semblance of stability, most likely imposed by an authoritarian government whose human rights record will be dismal. The chances of this “best” scenario coming about are slim.

Third, to counter the nonstate forces that would do us harm in this world, we need to be one helluva lot smarter than we have been over the last few years. We have sought to meet the threat posed by a relatively small number of nihilistic terrorists by waging a conventional war. A major consequence seems to have been the creation of a lot more potential and actual terrorists. We have come to be viewed by much of the world as a lumbering ineffectual bully and are being treated accordingly.

Fourth, the nation of Iraq is a relative new concept. The nation was created by some mid-level British and French diplomats after World War I. The three distinct groups in Iraq—Kurds, Sunnis, and Shites—share one thing: a distinct dislike of one another. Why try to hold together these three ancient adversaries?

From the United States’ viewpoint, the major problem—other than George W. Bush’s pride and stubbornness—is summarized by former Secretary of State Colin Powell’s observation that if we break the pottery, it becomes ours. Well, we broke it. So now what?

Well, here is one solution from the peanut gallery. First, stop yaking about victory, accomplishing the mission, bringing freedom to the people of Iraq, and the like. Second, accept the fact that Iraq is really three distinct “nations.” If they can manage to live together under a federal umbrella of some sort, fine. But stop trying to mix oil and water. (Not a very good metaphor or analogy, but you get the picture.) Instead of trying to create an Iraqi army, an Iraqi police force, an Iraqi government, let the Kurds, Sunnis, and Shites each create their own. If in doing so the various sides feel they have to pound the crap out of each other every now and then, fine. Let them get it out of their systems.

Third, pull U.S. troops back to a few isolated bases. The near term mission would be to, when the fighting between the factions gets excessively rough, emerge and pummel the participants a bit. The long-term mission—18 months or so—would be get all U.S. troops out of the country.

Finally, in 2008 elect a U.S. President who does not believe the neoconservative notion that bringing democracy and freedom to the world is a task easily accomplished with just a modest expenditure of resources and the appearance of a few U.S. soldiers. In short, elect a President whose idealism is tempered by reality, who is not the slave of an ideology, any ideology, right or left. Core values are one thing. Trying to ram your view of the world down the world's throat is another.

DSH

NANNIES AGAIN

Wow! The cranky old guy didn’t realize that nannies were such a hot, er, touchy, er, compelling subject.

Let’s be clear. Cranky is not against nannies. And he does not mean to imply that having an attractive young foreign woman in a household is necessarily a source of tension and stress. Although to be perfectly honest, it certainly can be. No, the cranky old guy is mainly an interested observer of the nanny culture that has grown up in many localities, including his own. Nannies were once limited to the households of the elite super rich. No longer. In a middle class community such as the cranky old guy’s, nannies are now as common as cats (and not nearly as annoying).

The issues raised by the nanny culture constitute a sizeable proportion of the comments and queries on the website of the cranky old guy’s neighborhood. How do I find a nanny? What do I pay a nanny? What should the nanny call me? How do I discipline a nanny? Is a nanny my partner in raising my children, or my employee? What if my children don’t like the nanny? What if my children are little hellions who need a drill sergeant rather than a nanny? (No one ever asks this question directly, but Cranky can read between the lines.) What if my children get too attached to the nanny? What if my husband gets too attached to the nanny? Okay, the cranky old guy’s mind is wandering again.

A major topic concerns part-time nannies. “I need a nanny between 1 and 4 on Tuesdays, 3 and 6 on Thursdays, and for any hour Friday morning. Can anyone help me?” Or “Anyone need a nanny Wednesday afternoons? Our nanny has Wednesday afternoons off and would like to work during that time.” Or, “Need a nanny for two adorable children [yeah, right] and a dog on alternate Thursdays, except in November.”

Of course, nannies also have their side of the story. The cranky old guy has been doing some research into this (No, not in the way your dirty little mind is thinking). Some families apparently think nannying is a 24/7 job. Time off? Not from our household, Sweetie. Our jobs require emailing, cell-phoning, and Blackberrying around the clock, so don’t even think of time off.

Many nannies are found through agencies, and in theory the agencies have hotlines that a nanny can turn to if she is having problems with her family. But to the nannies, the hotlines appear to be manned only on the second Monday of every week. Not getting along with your family? Required to work on weekends? Being followed around by ol’ lecherous eyes? Forget about getting any help through the hotline.

Finally, the cranky old guy himself is in the market for a part-time nanny. He is a member of a neighborhood group of cranky old guys who play poker once a month. We need someone to serve drinks, stack chips, and other stuff. And no, a spouse would not be an acceptable substitute.

WHAT TO GET THE NANNY FOR XMAS

The cranky old guy lives in an upscale suburban neighborhood of the nation’s capital. A goodly proportion of the climbing, networking young families populating the neighborhood depend upon au pairs, or nannies as they are sometimes called, to hold the household together. The two adults can thus pursue their dreams and careers in government, the K Street law firms, or whatever, while the children are under the protective care of the finest young women of Europe, Latin America, or the Far East.

Of course, a nanny-dependent economy is not without its issues. One such issue was recently posted on the website of the cranky old guy’s neighborhood. Incidentally, communication via neighborhood website is fast becoming an integral component of modern urban and suburban life, but comments on this phenomenon are beyond the scope of the present piece. Anyway, the issue posted on the cranky old guy’s neighborhood website concerned nannies and Christmas bonuses: “Is there a standard for nanny Christmas bonuses? Any advice?”

Before responding to this inquiry, the cranky old guy, prompted by his too-much-time-on-his-hands son-in-law, must ask a question: “Is the nanny hot?” Depending on the answer to that question, the cranky old guy has two lists of suggestions.

BONUSES FOR THE NON-HOT NANNY

1. Christmas morning off.

2. Twenty-five dollars.

BONUSES FOR THE HOT NANNY

1. The gentleman of the house serves the nanny breakfast in bed.

2. The gentleman of the house gives the nanny a therapeutic massage.

3. The gentleman of the house and the nanny take Christmas week off, and maybe the next week too.

4. At least $500, more in "special" cases.

Okay, so the cranky old guy is also a dirty old man. He’s just happy that back when he and the Mrs. were a young couple, he was not surrounded by the temptations that now pervade his neighborhood.

WHERE HAS THIS GUY BEEN?

The President had a post-election press conference today, the day after his party took a “thumping” (his words) at the polls. He acknowledged the significance of the defeat, expressed a willingness to work with the opposition party, did not demean and denigrate those who have been disagreeing with him, subtly dissed Dick Cheney, and fired Donald Rumsfeld.

Where has this President been? If he had been in evidence over the last few months, the Republican defeat might not have occurred. But what had been in evidence for some time was a close-minded, arrogant, intellectually narrow man who spoke only to the lowest common denominator among the American people, was contemptuous of those who disagreed with him, and was incapable of admitting error.

Which President will be in office for the next two years? That is the sixty-four dollar question. The answer will depend in part on the Democrats. If they follow the path of the Congressional Republicans who came to power in 1994 and attempt to ram their righteousness down the nation’s collective throats, the Old George will likely resurface very soon. But if the Democrats can restrain their baser instincts, can keep in focus the message that the American people want less partisanship and more pragmatism, maybe the New George will be persuaded to stick around for awhile.

Every so often in the flow of history, clear alternatives are evident. The leaders of the United States are now at one such moment. The clear alternatives are not of policies or about the war in Iraq. The clear alternatives are about how policies, including a policy for Iraq, are determined. The leaders can continue the vituperative approach of the recent, and not-so-recent, past, berating, insulting, and maligning one another. Or in addressing the nation’s problems and difficulties, they can exercise a civility and respect that might actually get something accomplished. One can only hope.

DSH

BENCHMARKS

The new word for the nation’s Iraq policy is “benchmarks.” We’re going to establish some benchmarks for the Iraqi government and armed forces to meet, although there won’t be any penalty if the benchmarks are not met. But perhaps we need some benchmarks of our own. Here are some suggestions for our nation and its leaders.

1. The President admits that the war in Iraq has been a colossal blunder.

2. The Vice President admits that we weren’t greeted with flowers and the thanks of multitudes of grateful Iraqis.

3. The Vice President acknowledges that the insurgency may not be in its last throes.

4. The Secretary of Defense admits that he is a bonehead of the first order.

5. The President and the Secretary of Defense acknowledge that the generals wanted much more than what they were given.

6. The generals acknowledge that they were pressured into asking for much less than what they wanted.

7. Neoconservatives admit that they have little understanding of how the real world actually functions.

8. The citizens of the United States admit that in 2000 and 2004 they put the nation in the hands of simpletons.

9. Fox News admits that “Fair and Balanced” is a misnomer.

10. The Republican Party admits that it no longer welcomes centrists.

DSH

TACTICS, STRATEGY, GOALS, MISSION--AND RESPONSIBILITY

Any thinking individual who has spent time in organizations, government, or the military has to be at least a little cynical about the current word games concerning the war in Iraq. This past weekend, the President sat down with his generals to consider new tactics, but new tactics only. Anything else—strategy, goals, mission, whatever—was off limits. Just a day or so later, it came to light that the Administration was no longer characterizing its approach to Iraq as “stay the course.” Indeed, the President even appeared to claim initially that he had never used the term, but this assertion quickly fell victim to the videotape. In any case, “stay the course” was being jettison because it failed, as a strategy, goal, tactic, or whatever, to capture the supposed dynamism of our strategy, goal, tactic, or whatever.

The many talking, blogging, and writing heads have entered the fray, arguing about which policies and actions of the United States are properly termed tactics, which constitute strategy, which are goals, which are the mission, which are objectives. To anyone who has had the pleasure of sitting through an organizational session to develop a mission statement, an organization vision, a plan of action, or the like, the blather is familiar. Just think of the last time you were imprisoned in an “offsite” location for two days and came close to strangling the bonehead across the table who insisted on endlessly debating the theoretical differences between tactics, strategies, goals, missions, objectives, time lines, et al.

Here’s the cranky old guy’s take on the matter. If you’re bogged down on where a particular action or policy fits in the nomenclature spectrum, you should not be making decisions about, or even debating, important matters of national interest. Maybe you need to get an MBA. Conversely, maybe your MBA has muddled your brain. Whatever the case, you’re part of the problem rather than a contributor to a solution. You should be selling toothpaste rather than dealing with life and death matters.

Noticeably absent from the Administration’s rhetoric has been any acceptance of responsibility. The President said his generals presented him options and he told them, “You choose.” The abandonment of the “stay the course” approach occurred because us citizens didn’t understand what it meant. In short, the groundwork is being laid to pin the blame for the likely failure in Iraq on anyone but the decision makers, the “deciders,” who got us into the mess.

DSH

SENATOR TWO-GUN: IT COULD BE WORSE

One of the criticisms Virginia’s Senator George Allen has had to endure the last couple of months is that he has yet to outgrow a pre-puberty infatuation with cowboys. In a state bordering the Atlantic Ocean, he romps around in cowboy hat and boots, apparently fantasying that he is riding the open range in search of lost doggies, or something. (That Virginians put up with this infantilism says something about how far they have fallen since the state’s glory days.)

But it could be worse. When the cranky old guy was a youngster, he too had an infatuation. It was with Indians, or Native Americans as one is suppose to say nowadays. He ran through the neighboring woods in nothing but a loincloth and moccasins, dodging snakes and catching poison ivy.

Now a loincloth is not a particularly restraining piece of clothing. It is just a rectangular bit of material that is centered in the crotch of the wearer. The front and back rise to a belt around the waist, and the ends hang over the belt. Vigorous, or even minor, activity tends to result in exposure of portions of the anatomy best kept unexposed.

As he grew older, the cranky old guy’s interest in the history and culture of Indians, or Native Americans, continued, but his need to play make-believe waned. Perhaps it was the loincloth. Or maybe the poison ivy.

Senator Allen’s childhood infatuation is still front and center. Many of his constituents might find it strange, even irritating, but it could be worse. Instead of periodically donning the regalia of the make-believe cowboy—the hat, the boots, the chaw, the big belt buckle, the string tie—the good Senator could inflict has enormous girth on us covered only by a loincloth. Even the Senator’s most loyal constituency—Southside Virginians—might draw the line at that spectacle.

DSH

US DISLOYAL APPEASERS

The latest Bush Administration effort to counter critics of its incompetence is to raise the specter of Hitler, fascism, and World War II. In a speech before the American Legion in Salt Lake City, Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld implied that critics of the Administration’s War on Terror, or War on Islamic Fascism, or War on Whatever, were like the appeasers of the 1930s who allowed Germany and Japan to become powerful enough to threaten the free nations of the world, or Western Civilization to use a now politically incorrect term.

An obvious point is that being critical of the Administration’s incompetence is certainly not the same thing as wanting to appease our enemies. Indeed, much of the criticism of the Administration rises from the belief that it is not countering our enemies very successfully. Sure, there have been no attacks on the American homeland since 9/11. But that would have likely been the case whoever was in charge. Does anyone honestly believe that the massive buildup in homeland security would not have occurred but for George, Dick, Don, and company? The real long-term battle for our security is being fought beyond our borders, and many Administration critics think this battle could be fought smarter, more efficiently, and more effectively, in spades.

Mr. Rumsfeld appears to think of the Bush Administration as the Winston Churchill of the 21st Century. Well, equating George, Dick, and Don with the likes of Churchill, Franklin Roosevelt, and George C. Marshall is a bit of a stretch. Indeed, if the likes of George, Dick, and Don had been in charge six or seven decades ago, we might now be saluting the Rising Sun with extended arms.

A real cynic might argue that what George, Dick, and Don want to do at this point is to get by the next two years with their policies intact. Then they can hand the mess off to someone else. They must realize by now that Iraq will be chaos for some years to come, chaos for which their bad decisions and poor implementation will be largely responsible. But if they can just hold the lid for two more years, they will be able to say when the crash comes, “If only you’d stayed the course, as we were doing.”

DSH

SENATOR PHONY

Lost in the brouhaha about Virginia Senator George Allen’s labeling of a native born Virginian as a “macaca” (say what?) is that fact that George himself is most certainly not a native born Virginian. Indeed, Senator George might be considered something that was once abhorrent to real Virginians: a carpetbagger.

Senator George is prone to wax lyrical about such things as Virginia values and Jeffersonian principles. In his “macaca” speech, he went on to talk about showing the “macaca” the real Virginia. If by real Virginia, he meant what sounded like a crowd of boisterous, at least slightly bigoted rednecks, then he did so.

But us true Virginians like to think there is more to our state than boisterous, bigoted rednecks. And many of us true Virginians have marveled at how a cowboy-boot-wearing native of California—the birthplace of Senator George—has so completely adopted the trappings of a Virginian, and even more surprisingly been accepted as a Virginian by so many of our fellow citizens. It’s certainly nothing wrong with an individual pursuing a political career in a state other than his or her birthplace. But the individual should have the humility and decency to not oversell his or her connections to the adopted state.

Which brings to mind another politician who has successfully distanced himself from his birthplace and background. Born to an old New England family that has a palatial summer estate in Maine, educated at Phillips Academy in Andover, Massachusetts, and Yale, George W. Bush has a goodly proportion of the population believing he is your basic Texas oilman and cowboy. His image is much of his appeal. Many of his supporters would no more vote for an individual who identified himself or herself as being from New England as they would vote for a, well, “macaca.” Yet they have no problem with a New Englander who has developed a Texas accent, cuts brush on a Texas ranch, and cultivates an air of anti-intellectualism

Is it just a Republican phenomenon to be taken in by image? Probably not, but at the moment the leading image politicians, most notably Senator George and President George, happen to be Republican. Maybe it is the nature of the image: Good Ol’ Boy. A sizeable segment of the population thinks of themselves as Good Ol’ Boys or the Gals of Good Ol’ Boys. So when a politician adopts the pose of a Good Ol’ Boy, that segment is sufficiently flattered to overlook the silver spoon in close proximity to the alleged Good Ol’ Boy’s mouth.

DSH

GEORGE, DICK, AND DON OF ARABIA

Okay, so maybe none of the top policy makers who have given us the Iraq quagmire and caused our standing to plummet across the Muslim world had much knowledge of that world, particularly its history, culture, and religion. Maybe any pertinent courses they took in their long ago college careers glossed over the field. Maybe their highest level of academic accomplishment on the topic was the proverbial “Gentleman’s C.” Maybe their reading habits didn’t include such esoteric matter.

But didn’t someone at least see the movie Lawrence of Arabia?

The dominant, pervasive role that tribal and ethnic disputes played in the lives of the folk that poor naïve Lawrence was attempting to educate about nation-building certainly must have left some impression. Any viewer of that movie surely had to come away with the thought that maybe the Middle East and New England-style town hall meetings lacked compatibility.

But apparently not. How else does one explain the actions and rhetoric that have probably enlarged many times over the ranks of those who would do us harm? How else does one comprehend the crusade to bring “freedom” and “democracy” to a part of the world that has known practically nothing but authoritarianism during its recorded history?

So now we have a world wrought by George, Dick, and Don of Arabia. It is a world in which our enemies are more numerous than they were five years ago, in which our military is dangerously over-extended, and in which we are fed such pabulums as the insurgency is in its last throes, Hezbollah has been defeated, and we will achieve victory in Iraq. It is world that caters to the unthinking. It is a world in which anti-intellectualism has triumphed.

The only victory that George, Dick, and Don of Arabia have thus far achieved is over any intelligent, objective analysis of the world situation. They brought myopic ideology to the table. They have lowered the level of debate to little more than slogans and buzz words. They have reached for the lowest common denominator among the American people, and they have found it.

In just over two years, the nation will have new leadership. The challenge for that leadership, whether it be Democrat or Republican, will be to make critical thinking again respectable. The challenge will be to base policy and actions on facts and not narrow ideology. The challenge will be to refocus the nation from the lowest common denominator to a more thinking part of the electorate. The challenge will be to return America to its better self.

DSH

"MY GOODNESS!"

The Secretary of Defense interrogates himself:

“Have mistakes been made in Iraq?”
“Gee wiz, certainly. Mistakes are inevitable in everything.”

“Did things go according to plan?”
“Golly, no. Everyone knows that the plan goes out the window when the shooting starts.”

“Were more troops needed?”
“Gee willikers, I gave the generals what they asked for.”

“But weren’t the generals intimidated by me?”
“Golly gee, how could anyone be intimidated by such a nice guy?”

“Shouldn’t we have foreseen the breakdown of law and order?”
“Holy moly, you can’t foresee everything.”

“Why have the optimistic predictions not come to pass?”
“Gol darn, I never made such predictions.”

“But didn’t someone say this would be an easy war?”
“Stacey wacey, it certainly wasn’t me.”

“Did I approve torturing detainees?”
“Lucy wucy, certainly not.”

“But didn’t I imply that the normal rules didn’t apply?”
“Hunky dory, I only said that I stood at my desk all day.”

“Did the President ask me whether or not we should go to war?”
“Foosy woosy, no.”

“Did I advise the President on whether we should go to war?”
“Lacey dacey, he didn’t ask.”

“Am I the best Secretary of Defense ever?”
“Tory dory, probably not.”

“But am I in the top two or three?”
“Funky wunky, quite possibly.”

DSH

PUDGY BOY TOUGH GUYS

The problem with American foreign policy in this century, including the nation’s misnamed war on terror (it’s actually a war against radical Islamic anti-modernists), has been that Pudgy Boy Tough Guys are calling the shots. What’s a Pudgy Boy Tough Guy? Simply someone who talks tough but who has rarely taken or delivered a punch, either physically or metaphorically. In short, someone who has little understanding of the difficulties in actually getting things done in this world.

Pudgy Boy Tough Guys have spent most of their lives talking for a living. They may have been politicians, such as Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld. They may have been CEOs of mature corporations, also such as Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld. CEOs primarily talk for a living? You bet, particularly if the organization is a mature one. Bill Gates built an organization from scratch, a real accomplishment. Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld stepped into the leadership of existing organizations, yelled at a few subordinates, made a few decisions from a selection of options handed to them by those trembling subordinates, and concluded to themselves that they were great leaders. CEOs are the most overly compensated, overly worshiped individuals in American capitalism. Mature corporations run themselves, sometimes successfully, sometimes not, and the CEO is little more than a busy bee figurehead.

Another Pudgy Boy Tough Guy is George W. Bush. He may look trim and fit but at heart he is a Pudgy Boy. Born to wealth (visit Kennebunkport sometime and gaze upon the Bush island estate; that ain’t no log cabin, folks), a business career greased by family and political connections, a political career similarly padded, George Bush learned tough talk without having to think much about the consequences of failure. He had a safety net—family, money, and alternative opportunities—that ordinary folk don’t have.

Advising George Bush may be the ultimate Pudgy Boy Tough Guy, Karl Rove.

And then there are the Pudgy Boy Tough Guy cheerleaders—the think tankers from the Heritage Foundation, the Cato Institute, and similar institutions and the sympathetic members of the media. Let’s name some names: neoconservatives in general, the Wall Street Journal editorial board (Paul Gigot, Daniel Henninger, and friends), Fox News, Sean Hannity, William Kristol, Fred Barnes, Brit Hume, Bill O’Reilly, Charles Krauthammer, Newt Gingrich, Kate O’Beirne, and Rush Limbaugh, for starters.

Religious leaders are also among the Pudgy Boy Tough Guy cheerleaders. Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson come readily to mind.

All of these individuals and groups make their living by talking, and their talk is tough. What they haven’t had to do much of is physically get something done, is implement the tough talk. They talk and someone else does the implementing. In particular, most of them have little first hand knowledge of the messiest, most difficult environment in which to get things done, the battlefield. And they have no recognition of or humility about their lack of experience.

Let’s bring the discussion down to the essence, remove it from esoteric level of, well, talk. If you were about to enter a badass biker bar, would you be comfortable with any of the aforementioned groups or individuals watching your back? Karl Rove? Fred Barnes? Dick Cheney? That’s right, they would be out of their element. Similarly, they are out of their element when they talk tough about the world’s problems without having much background in implementing tough talk. Yes, Dick Cheney was Secretary of Defense during the First Gulf War. But some guys with real world experience in implementing tough talk were around him: George Herbert Walker Bush, Colin Powell, and Norman Schwarzkopf.

Just because you have been a talker all your life doesn’t disqualify you from being a leader, from policy making or policy influencing positions. But you need to know what you don’t know. And the Pudgy Boy Tough Guys haven’t shown that they realize their limited life experiences have left major gaps in their knowledge.

This nation has for real tough guys, and gals. They, and the rest of us, deserve better leadership than has been provided in the first years of the 21st Century by the Pudgy Boy Tough Guys.

dsh

FLAG BURNING

The Fourth of July is upon us, so the Cranky Old Guy will give you the benefit of his view on the proposed Constitutional amendment to prohibit flag burning and other forms of flag desecration. Cranky’s view is simple: he thinks the proposal is ludicrous. The Constitution of the United States expresses fundamental principles. A flag burning amendment would trivialize it.

But that is the logical, rational argument. Now let’s go to a gut argument. The Cranky Old Guy doesn’t like the flag burning amendment because he is an American, and like most Americans he doesn’t like to be told what to do. You see, this is a nation that was born in rebellion. It’s in our genes. We don’t like authority.

Oh, we get told plenty what to do. And we usually do it. A long, long time ago, Cranky was in the Army. The Army told him what to do, and he did it. Cranky has had many jobs through the years. Many jobs means many bosses. Bosses told Cranky what to do, and he did it. Governments tell Cranky to pay taxes, to stop at stop signs, to do a thousand other things. For the most part, Cranky does them, as do most of his fellow citizens.

The reason Cranky and most of his fellow citizens do most of the things they are told is that a sensible reason usually exists to do those things. But what is the sensible reason not to desecrate a piece of cloth? That desecration would offend some people? Hey, if mere offensive conduct is grounds for legal prohibitions, Cranky has a whole list, starting with public use of cell phones and extending all the way to just being a general jerk.

Cranky is as patriotic as the next guy. He’s done his military service. He doesn’t like the wising off that use to take place, before 9/11, during the playing of the National Anthem. He gets a lump in his throat at Memorial Day concerts.

But this idea that he has to be commanded by the Constitution to treat the flag of his country a certain way is touching a raw nerve. Someone wants to require Cranky to do something, and there’s no sensible reason for the requirement. Deep within Cranky, a little spark of rebellion is beginning to smolder.

You see, Cranky is an American, and Americans don’t like to be told what to do.

DSH

BIRD FLU

So when is this bird flu gonna happen? Governments, the media, and elements of the medical community have had us in a semi-panic for more than a year now. But the pandemic, as it is currently being called, keeps refusing to materialize.

The cranky old guy has come to this conclusion: it ain’t gonna happen, at least in the form and manner of the predictions. After a lifetime of surprises and dashed expectations, the cranky old guy has arrived at this truism: things you expect to happen, don’t; and things you don’t expect to happen, do.

What purpose bird flu is serving is to provide fodder for slow news days. No bombings in Iraq today? No young blonde white girls gone missing? No member of the Bush Administration putting his or her foot in his or her mouth? No member of Congress caught in a scandal? No hurricane bearing down? No earthquake or tsunami devastating Indonesia? No update on the shrinking Antarctic ice cap? West Nile virus no longer interesting? No new whack job third world country about to get the bomb? Then let’s go to bird flu. Nothing to report, actually, just that it is on its way and when it arrives, civilization as we know it will be over. Come to think of it, that might not be such a bad result after all.

And what is the relationship between bird flu and mad cow disease? Is this the revenge of the food chain? The next thing you know, broccoli will be attacking Philadelphia.

In a recent report, the Bush Administration—the folks who brought you the Katrina response, who are monitoring your phone conversations, and who are doing such a great job bringing democracy to the Middle East—put forth some bird flu rules. When it happens, employers are to keep employees at least three feet apart. Now really, who gets within three feet of a co-worker anyway? Unless, of course, . . . oh well, you know.

No, the cranky old guy thinks bird flu is not in our future. But don’t feel deprived. You can be sure something nasty is looming just over the horizon. How about a blight that will destroy coffee crops worldwide? Imagine mornings without a Starbucks fix.

DSH