There’s talk about Fred Thompson jumping into the Republican presidential nomination race. I know I’m going to get myself all worked up about this and then, in the end, an authorized spokesperson will announce that after much thought and conultations with his family, Mr. Thompson will not pursue, etc, etc. But a guy can dream, can’t he?
This Australian guy, David Hicks is captured on a battlefield in Afghanistan in November of 2001 fighting for the Taleban, arguably one of the most reprehensible governments in modern history. Because of the circumstances of his capture, the U.S. was entitled without any question to hold Mr. Hicks for the duration of hostilities in Afghanistan. But that war ended in 2002 and Mr. Hicks is still in custody.
The Iranians grab 15 British sailors and marines in the Shatt-al-Arab waterway which happens to seperate Iraq from Iran at that point along their common border. The Iranians say that the British were inside their territorial waters and the British say they were well inside Iraqi national waters.
So this should be simple to sort out. Protest sharply to the British Government, maybe even grandstand at the UN. Confiscate their equipment. Publicly humiliate them with a televised stern warning not to do it again. Then send them home. It should be that simple.
OK, so I was wrong about who went home. Doesn’t mean I’m wrong about anything else. Shoulda followed my own rule #3!
General George S. Patton supposedly says (to a subordinate): “Compared to war, all other human endeavor shrinks to insignificance.” At least, in the movie Patton he says it. Yeah? Tell that to Sanjaya Malakar, General George!
I can’t find any reference to Patton actually having said that in the real world, so my best guess is that it was just screenwriter Francis Ford Coppola putting the words in George C. Scott’s mouth.
So why us? Blogging, we know is sheer ego. Nobody cares about your stupid blog…or my stupid blog, for that matter. Still, thousands upon thousands — maybe even millions — of earnest, self-indulgent scribes sit in their pajamas (as I write this I am wearing a navy blue, white-piped, terry-cloth bathrobe…and I will leave it to your vivid imaginations what is underneath) pounding away on their keyboards, pouring forth their most precious thoughts.
OK, so the story is that Plato was asked for a definition of man — a philosophical denfition, of course — and after a little thought he comes up with the remarkably astute observation that humans are: Two-legged creatures…without feathers.
Of course, all Athens is just agog with this breath-takingly elegant formulation and Plato is the toast of the town. Well, one Athenian is not impressed: Homeless loon (and favorite pundit of Alexander the Great), Diogenes. He grabs his cock…er, um…a male chicken, plucks it, strolls into the Academy, where a bunch of prominent philosophers happen to be philosophizing, holds up the bird and says: “This is Plato’s man.”
To me, this story neatly sums up the dilemma of philosophy: You can’t get any more cerebral than philosophy, but philosophers are always this close to sticking their heads up their own asses.
So, the obvious question: Do I think I’m Plato or Diogenes? Neither, actually. You can think of me as the plucked chicken.
Testing, 1, 2, 3… Testing, 1, 2, 3 — Is this thing on?
<tap> <tap> <tap>
Hellooo…Hellooo…can you all hear me?
OK, good…let’s get started then.