The Real Pigs

Back in my young idiot days we called the police "the pigs." This article in City Journal identifes who the real pigs are today.

Cash-strapped police departments are already stretched to the breaking point by their new anti-terror obligations. Every officer taken off his beat to prevent street violence or arrest civil disobedients is one less set of eyes to notice a cell member surveilling a power plant or leaving a bomb in a train station.

Here in Portland, where a slumping economy and over-spending by liberal politicians have resulted in the need for recent painful cuts in education, social services, and law enforcement, the mayor recently admitted that policing the anti-war marches is costing upwards of $200,000 per day. At time when our country is at war with an enemy that won't hesitate to lash out with terrorism, war protesters are hogging not only our streets but our police resources, as well. Resources that could be crucial if, and when, the next terrorist strike occurs.

Fellini's Roma

One of his later movies. I remember being a little disappointed and confused seeing it when it first came out around 1972. But I used to find all his movies a bit obscure. I'd look for "symbolism" in them like a tourist looks for a movie star in Hollywood and I'd never quite find it. Now Roma makes total sense to me. Maybe I just needed to be as old as Fellini. Or maybe Fellini's vision has slowly seeped into mainstream movies, and from there it has seeped into me---his movies have created their own appreciating audience. Roma is a documentary about Rome in the form of a fake documentary about Rome that comprises memories, daydreams, and mundane observations. It jumps around in time and it switches plots with a total lack of reverence. Who's in charge: time and story form, or Fellini? Fellini, of course. An eclesiastical fasion show, stoned hippies bathing in Roman fountains, a burlesque show in Musselini's Italy, a film crew in a rainstorm on a highway, human flesh from the disgusting to the sublime. It's very personal. Fellini is the director, and Fellini, young and old, is the main character (if there is one). But it still, somehow, defers to Rome herself as the real star. Fellini's self-absorbtion is more honesty than it is ego. He says, "Yes, it's me making this film. Now, here, look at this wonderful city."

I'm going to have to watch "8 1/2" again, now that I've caught up in age with Fellini. Oh, and "Juliette of the Spirits." I saw that at the "Hemisfair" in San Antonio circa 1969. It made absolutely no sense to me. I can hardly wait.

Than Never

Still against liberating Iraq? Read this article about yet another benighted anti-warrior who has finally seen the light. It's not too late to come into the fold, you know. Our president's house has many mansions. And it's better late than never. Come on over to the side of truth, justice and the American way. Join the anti-anti-war movement. A switch in time saves nine. We will welcome you with open arms. Nothing is worse than a mind that won't change. Oh, and this is your brain on peacebabble.

More on the War

In a worthwhile article in the Spectator, Mark Steyn discusses the weird bias of the press. I like this line about Sadaam's psychotic---and, we hope, dead---son, Uday, from the article:

Alas, it seems that, in that opening salvo, Saddam’s baby got thrown out with the Baath water.

What's a Pooka?

This week's movie features James Stewart in his best role, as Elwood Dowd, the man with an invisible friend. One of the few comedies of my youth that are still hilarious in the autumn of my years: Harvey. My one quible with the movie is that, at first glance, it seems to somewhat glorify drinking. I don't like the idea that Elwood is a drunk. So I'm going to practice intense Personal Movie Revisionism to rationalize away my nagging feeling of cognitive dissonance. Ostensibly, drinking gives Elwood a wonderful personality. And, it's Elwood's wonderful personality that kindles the affection everyone has for this film. This is problematic. Have you ever known anyone to become a wonderful human being because they drink? I mean not just in the drunk's own mind, but to those around him. However, pay close attention to what goes on in the movie and you'll see his character actually has little or nothing to do with alcohol. In fact, it seems obvious that Elwood is not an alcoholic at all. (And I speak as one who knows alcohol.) You never see him stagger or hear him slur his speech. The problems that his sisters attribute to alcoholism turn out to be not problems at all. He invites everyone he meets to come over for dinner, not because he's drunk but because he likes everyone he meets, he sees the good in them. And, as we find out, Harvey, the giant, invisible bunny---who initially appears to be a gentle gift of the DT's---is not so imaginary after all. Elwood does enjoy a drink, but he retains his lovable qualities despite hours without a drink at the asylum. If anything, his ability to accept everyone and resent nothing makes him more of an enlightened saint than an alcoholic.

The line that best expresses the theme of the film comes when Elwood relates what his mother told him:

She said, "In this world, Elwood, you must be either oh so smart or oh so pleasant." Well, for years I was smart---I recommend pleasant.

So that's my preferred take on what's really going on in the movie. Elwood isn't a deluded alcoholic, he's an enlightened being walking among us accompanied by a minor woodland deity. But don't take my word for it, rent Harvey, then, if you need to, look up "Pooka" in the dictionary...

Thunder Road

Here's a nice essay by David Warren (pointed out by Sullivan) that summarizes the fantastic success of our operations in Iraq so far.

One explanation of why we have made such speed on the road to Baghdad occurred to me: most of those tanks, Humvees, and Bradleys are driven by young men between the ages of 18 and 25. These are the same young guys who squeel tires in front of my house at 2:00 am, who swerve into the slow lane to pass me at 95 on the way to work, and who all too often kill themselves playing with their cherry-red Mustangs and turbo-charged, devil-blue Cameros on our highways. They probably race each other across the open stretches of Iraqi desert. God bless 'em all.

Unpatriotic Protesters

A "patriot" is someone who loves, supports, and defends their country. The anti-war protesters often claim to be "patriots" because they are exercising their constitutional right to free speech. They reject all criticism of their actions, because political protest has a long tradition in this country and it's their right to take part in it. These things are true, but they are also beside the point. I don't call them unpatriotic because they are exercising the right to free speech, but because the content of that speech is anti-American. Of course they have the right to protest, but when the effect of that protest is to hurt our country, demoralize our troops, and encourage the enemy, the protesters are being very unpatriotic. They have the right to say what they want, but they have the responsibility not to hurt their country with what they say.

Sadaam's Tactics of Disgust

Andrew Sullivan's assesment of Sadaam's tactics are chillingly in accord with my own fears.

Liberation

From an article in a Canadian newspaper, the National Post:

"All the peasants were cheering us, even the soldiers. They gave us the thumbs-up, they blew us kisses. I couldn't believe all the boots that were lying on the road. The soldiers just left them there.

"Man, this is an army in full retreat."

So, why don't they all just surrender? They still feel the terror inspired by Sadaam.

War Updates

If you've surfed here looking for current info on the war, I recommend the Command Post.

Are The Stars Out Tonight?

Boycott the Academy Awards.