A DAY UNDER THE HOOD: It's been a day of heavy edits to my blog template. While I'm not sure whether my new template rules or not, I know it's better than the old one.

Hmmm. Maybe writing a blog is a lot like fixing up a classic car. There's always something that neads tweaking or polishing, but the work is its own reward.

(Not that I know a damn thing about fixing up a classic car.)

BOOK THE BLOGGER: Speaking of random, here's another random thing: I'm a writer, right? Sure. I write this blog. I write short stories. And I earn a living as a freelance mar-com guy, mostly doing corporate writing. I've been on my own for three years now, and I really love it. Lately, though, my main client is a bit slow, and I've got some free time on my hands. So, on the off chance you need a wildly creative, business-savvy, technology-friendly writer for your next project, well...howzabout me?

Am I any good? You be the judge. Here's a bylined article I recently ghosted that ran in BrandWeek. (If you book me via this blog, I'll give you a fancy little 15% discount off my usual rate.)

Drop me a line.

RANDOM IMAGE: Here's one of my writing heroes, the poet Robert Creeley, hanging out with his dog. I love this shot.

I WRITE THE POEMS THAT MAKE THE WHOLE WORLD YAWN: After a drought of a few weeks, here's a new poem:

INVENTORY
I’ve been stretching out my self again
until I’m pulled so thin
I can almost see
through my skin.

I’ve been reading Alan Watts again
and looking deep within
so that I can be
more of who I am.

MUCKING THE TEMPLATE: Now I've gone and obliterated the "sprawling descriptive text" I mention below. No matter. I was on about "the Chicago Cubs and fine wine and poetry and literary fiction" and all my usual rot. Meanwhile I've mucked with the template and arrived at something of a "Christmas Pumpkin" theme, plus a retro, skating-party logo. Works for now.

BLOGGING META: I was going to write that I don't have the faintest idea what this blog's about, but that's not true. In the sprawling descriptive text up on the masthead, I list all manner of subjects that might appear in this space -- ranging from baseball teams to wine to poetry. So when I get this aimless feeling, I suppose it's less about my end of things -- what I'm interested in writing about -- than it is about your end of things -- what you'll actually spend time reading about.

Thing is, I want to be read. It's true in each of my writing projects, from poetry to prose to blogging. I won't lie -- I peruse my traffic reports daily, and I aspire to a large readership.

Ah, but therein lies the riddle: Where do my abilities and interests intersect with your appetites? This is my challenge in so many of life's arenas. I default to being a mile wide, an inch deep. Does that serve me? You? Will it create demand in any sphere? What's my unique calling card? What's the difference between intellectual catholicism and lack of focus? Who will pay (in time if not dollars) to watch a man wonder? Wander? Etc.

JIM FIXX AWARD: It seems a week doesn't go by that I don't come across a truly bizarre death. Here's what I found today: A couple killed at a sprint car track this weekend had lost their son in a racing accident some 14 years before.

GOOD RADIO IS NOT AN OXYMORON: Believe it or not, radio has been very good to me over the years. When I was a teenager in Ohio, I listened to the shocking funk on WDAO (rumored to stand for White Days Are Over) out of Dayton, Ohio. I heard George Clinton and Roger Troutman years before a certain Dr. Dre rediscovered them for a generation of hip-hop heads. Then I moved to Michigan and got to hear the brief glory days of WLBS, most notably programmed by a guy named Mike Halloran (who eventually became famous at LA's KROQ). I still have cassettes snagged off the radio broadcast, featuring bands like New Order, the Sex Pistols, and the Clash. Then in college it was WOXY (Oxford, Ohio), better known as 97X. That station validated my growing record collection, introduced me to new stuff, and provided a soundtrack for some of the best years of my life.

Anyway, this whole reminiscence was provoked by a charming little article in yesterday's Cincy Enquirer, profiling the still independent, still relevant 97X. Check out the article and, if it sounds interesting, swing by their website to launch a streamed broadcast.

NOTES POST-VEGAS: So I'm back from Vegas, largely intact and ready to blog.

What an odd city. All of society's shadow elements bundled into a singular consumable experience. Sex. Greed. Class warfare. Vulgar displays of power. Vulgar displays of sex and greed. Vulgarity. Inebriation. Titillation.

Ball of confusion.

I lost a couple-hundred, which as far as I'm concerned is a win.

The current hot spot is The Palms, the Maloof-Brothers-owned hotel/casino over by the hotspot of yore, The Rio. The Palms is prison-ugly on the outside but understated opulent inside. And it's where you'll see the biggest men, the most bountiful women, and the longest nightclub lines. Think WWF wrestlers, Baywatch babes, and then a whole lot of Average Joes and Janes (like yours truly) surfing the fringes, vibin' on the energy.

I met a guy on the plane back. He says, "You from Chicago?" Yeah, I say. I'm from Chicago. "I hate Chicago," he says. Nice to meet you, too, I think.

Later he farts into his seat, noiselessly but evidently. Why is it people think their farts are stealth on airplanes? They are not.

Later I spill my water on his pants. I say I'm sorry. I am not.

THE DAILY SOUNDTRACK: But before I go, I'll add this: The song running 'round my head today is Elvis Presley's remade "A Little Less Conversation (A Little More Action)." Hot damn.

BLAB-BATICAL: So after a solid month of blogging -- which has been more fun than I expected, thanks to your nice e-mails -- I'm going to take the next few days off. I'm heading to Vegas for a much-needed "guys weekend," and I doubt I'll be anywhere near a computer until sometime Sunday night. See you then.

BADONNA: Reuters performs the fine service of compiling many of the negative reviews for Madonna's AMERICAN LIFE. My favorite quote is from Tom O'Neil, an oddly-credentialed writer ("author of a book on the Grammy music awards and owner of showbiz web site GoldDerby.com" -- huh?) the story quotes as a sort of Madonna apologist:

"She is the pop music equivalent of a vampire -- she just can’t be killed. She seems to transcend bad reviews and predictions that her career is over."

Here's hoping the double-whammy of her latest failed film and disc exiles her to Michael Jackson territory -- inexplicably beloved by pre-teen Europeans and Asians but regarded as little more than tabloid fodder here in the States.

CANINE LIVES? Did you hear about the dog that was hit by a car, shot in the head, placed in a mortuary freezer...and lived?

No, I'm not talking about Geraldo Rivera's career. This really happened.

THE ENEMY OF MY ENEMY IS MY FRIEND: Three cheers to the Minnesota Wild for giving Red Wings fans something to cheer about this postseason.

POWELL TO FRENCH: I FART IN YOUR GENERAL DIRECTION! This is news? What, did they think we'd just shrug and say, "That's cool, no biggie."

THE DAILY SOUNDTRACK: Detroit's Slum Village may not sell a bazillion records, but their cool grooves and limber rhymes deserve broader attention. Don't believe me? The Roots think so, too.

This is roller-skatin' music, y'all, perfect for cruisin' your block with your eyes at half mast. On a sunny day in Chicago, today's Soundtrack is Slum Village with "What It's All About" -- from their debut, FANTASTIC VOL. 2.

NEW SOSA STRATEGY? Maybe managers have happened on a new strategy for pitching Sammy Sosa -- rather than give him an intentional walk, the "free pass" down to first base, why not make him pay for it? In other words, where your catcher once might have extended his right arm to indicate four wide pitches, simply have him touch his chin to indicate "hit him, he's too good." It could work.

FLASH FERRELL: I've trained for a marathon twice, and injuries knocked me out both times. (My longest run to date is 18 miles, sadly.) So I know how tough it is for a relatively new runner like Will Ferrell to not only finish a marathon, but to knock more than an hour off his time in the most famous long run of them all, the Boston Marathon. I love this guy.

DO AS I SAY, NOT AS I DO, AKA LOATHING MADONNA: "Perhaps you should spend more time celebrating what you like rather than denigrating what you don't like," I jokingly harangued one of my correspondents a week or so ago.

That said, it's always nice to have a few reliable targets of ire. For me, Madonna has long represented all that is loathe-worthy -- although I did admire her body during much of the 80s and, truth be told, also the 90s. Here, again, is an unfavorable review of her new excuse for making a controversial video and changing her hairstyle.

HOPING AGAINST HOPE: It sure looks like Scott Peterson killed his wife. Either that, or someone from the world of Faye Resnick. Thing is, though, I just keep thinking: God I hope that guy didn't do it. It's like I'm rooting for him. Well, not for him, but rooting against the possibility that a seeminly normal person could kill an innocent woman and child. I know it's possible, happens more often than I'd like to think, but damned if I'm not clinging to some microscopic hope that the truth is not what it seems.

ORIGINS OF THE TRUTH? A couple folks have asked me where the Red Wings mockery below came from. Alas, I have no idea. A friend sent me a link in e-mail, which took me to a St. Louis Blues bulletin board, where it had been posted without attribution. Sorry!

THE TRUTH HURTS: This is one of the funniest things I've seen in a while, unfortunately:

WHICH PARTY I BE? I used to think of myself as a Democrat. Then, for a few weeks or so, I flirted with the idea I was a Republican. Some friends patiently asked me to lay out my platform, to recount my stances on the issues of the day. "You're nothing," they told me. "What you are does not exist as an overarching ideology."

My first reaction was to feel lonely, like the only straight guy at a Cher concert. But I'm starting to realize my party-less state is, perhaps, quite common. John Stewart, in an inexplicable and brief AP story observes:

"Liberals and conservatives are two gangs who have intimidated rational, normal thinking beings into not having a voice on television or in the culture," said Stewart, whose show airs on Comedy Central. "Liberals and conservatives are paradigms that mean nothing to anyone other than the media."

So maybe that's my party: The Rational Normal Thinking Beings Party.

THE DAILY SOUNDTRACK: The other day I mentioned how much I've been enjoying WHIMSICAL REVOLUTION, the blog written by theological ethicist (I just love typing that) Mark Gammon. One of the things Gammon regularly writes is a feature he calls "The Greatest Song in the World Today." Granted, he's not the first blogger to memorialize a song-of-the-moment, but nonetheless he's the inspiration for what henceforth will be a recurring feature of our BLIND CAMEL.

The first-ever DAILY SOUNDTRACK (I know, lame name, but I reserve the right to rename it at a later date) is Josh Rouse's "Late Night Conversation," a near-perfect single that glided out of my car speakers this morning. Why this song on this day? (From now on, this question will be embroidered into the subtext of our friendly DAILY SOUNDTRACK entry, but for today I'm all about overt exposition.)

On my way out the door this morning, I grabbed a few of the compilation discs I have from my days as an Internet radio programmer (back during my RollingStone.com days, one of my more entertaining responsibilities was participating in the programming our RollingStoneRadio product) and inserted 'em into the six-CD changer in my trunk. As I pulled out of the driveway, one of the discs kicked off with a meandering acoustiballad that didn't match my mood. Too wimpy. Click. Now a pumped-up techno number, replete with samples from some old movie or another. Click. A punk-tart offering from some young power-chorders with a great producer. Nah. Click.

See it's foggy this morning in Chicago, fifty degrees-ish, dull. Oh and yesterday I took my first emergency-room trip with my one-year-old son, so there's that bit of melancholy still stuck to me. (He's fine, just a high fever as a result of a rampant ear infection.) But then Josh comes on, layered guitars engineered to sound like a string orchestra, full, textured, even a bit like late-career, pre-drum machine REM. "Late Night Conversation" is a kind of propulsive ode to melancholy, an "I came out on the other side" paean to when things went wrong, but didn't kill ya.

BOOBS, CAREER SAGGING: It's true, I'm no Madonna fan. So yes, I did delight in Josh Tyrangiel's unfavorable review of her opportunistically titled AMERICAN LIFE. This part in particular elicited a snicker:

Like Laurence Fishburne's oddball Morpheus in The Matrix, Madonna tries to accentuate the plight of humanity by enunciating like a robot. Her mechanical rap at the end of the first single, American Life--"I'm drinking a soy latte/I get a double shote/It goes right through my body/And you know I'm satisfied"--may be ironic, but it's also thoroughly annoying.

Okay, Michiko Kakutani it ain't. But I liked it.

ADMIT IT: I know I can't be the only one who, upon hearing that a certain "Jay Garner" would be leading our post-war efforts in Iraq, had visions of Jim Rockford swaggering into Baghdad. An excerpt from a funny description of the old TV sleuth:

He looked like Steve McGarrett. He dressed like Joe Mannix. But he acted like no other private detective prime time television had ever seen.

When he threw a punch, Jim Rockford (James Garner) was more likely to hurt his own hand than his opponent. He rarely carried a gun (he didn't have a permit), and on those occasions when he did, he was more likely to point the weapon than fire it. Rockford hated trouble, wouldn't hesitate to quit in the middle of a case if things got too rough, and had no qualms about telling you why ("You're damned right I'm afraid!"). And he never forgot the bottom line -- he charged $200 a day ("plus expenses") for his services, although he usually found that his clients stiffed him more often than paid him.

Sounds perfect, no?

SMOLDERING SIDEARM? The NYT is reporting that Iraq destroyed WMD on the eve of the war, has been shipping same to Syria for roughly a decade, and had been cooperating with Al Qaeda.

WHAT DOES BUSH BELIEVE? Today's DOONESBURY posits that Bush doesn't believe in evolution. I've not seen this belief (or non-belief) attributed to him before, so perhaps this is just Trudeau making light of Bush's zealous Christianity. But I am curious now: Does Bush renounce evolution in favor of...divine creation? I'd love to hear Bush's answer to this.

And yes, I do read DOONESBURY. Although I don't always agree with Trudeau -- and I agree with him less and less over the years -- I think he's absolutely a genius of his form, and I have great respect for his work. Plus it makes me laugh out loud a lot.

SHAWN SHOULD BE GONE (OR AT LEAST NOT STARTING): I love almost everything about the Cubs this year. Choi is getting the lion's share of work at first, and proving more than worthy. Grudzielanek is having a career start, silencing the Bobby Hill boosters. (I like Hill, too, but the kid just wasn't hitting.) Dusty Baker seems to be renouncing Baylor's "small ball" in favor something more aggressive. Team chemistry, which I happen to believe in, seems as good as I've seen it since 1984. And Prior, Wood, Clement, and Zambrano are sharp, as good a starting four as anybody in the National League is putting out there. Oh, wait, I left somebody out.

On purpose.

Depsite Shawn Estes's nice outing last week against the Reds (and say what you will about Cincy, but they can hit), he's just not the answer. Already today he's been touched for seven runs on seven hits (granted, only five of the runs were earned), and he's walked three and only K'ed one. In fact, looks like he's given way to Cruz. Thank goodness.

One of the things that bugged me about the Baylor era is it seemed to take Don forever to recognize what fans and reporters were seeing for months. Farnsworth was an ineffective, unreliable mess. Neither catcher was capable of any offense, ever. Hundley had to go, in fact. McGriff subtracted energy rather than added it. Etc. Let's hope that, among the many positive Dusty brings to this team, it's his ability to see what's right in front of him early, and to take action immediately. Estes is not the answer as a starter. Wouldn't you rather see Cruz given another chance? Sure, he's looked shaky at times...but unittable at others. His upside, though, is like the Sears Tower to Estes's corner-hot-dog-stand. Estes is, by all acounts, a likeable guy. Perhaps he can chew up some innings out of the pen, fill in on days when Cruz self-destructs early. But he's just not an effective starter, and it's time for Dusty to see it, say it, and live it.

MORE NOTES ON THE EGGPIRE: I've just picked up two of the most recent Eggers/McSweeney's projects -- THE BELIEVER, his ad-free, long-form book review/literary magazine; and MCSWEENEY'S MAMMOTH TREASURY OF THRILLING TALES, the Michael Chabon-helmed compendium of plot-driven, genre-positive short stories -- and although I've yet to spend much time with either, I'm already in a sort of analytical funk about them.

For some reason, I'm drawn to the emerging Eggpire, his McSweeney's website/quarterly/publishing enterprise, his memoir, and now THE BELIEVER. There's a varnish of optimism on everything he does, perhaps best expressed in his rambling "I say yes" rant composed in response to accusations he had "sold out." Still, at the same time, there's a gloss of ironic distance painted atop all things Eggers, too -- not to mention an in-crowd, us-against-the-bad-people pose not seen since the glorious heyday of SPY magazine. It's an alluring combination, this mix of earnestness, self-abnegation, and folksy elitism. (There's an implied, "If you're reading this, you must be one of us.") But it's not just the meta-personality that draws me in. There's an aspirational quality to Eggers's empire, an implicit wish that literature and intellectualism, tempered by humor, might reemerge as a core value in our society. Eggers's example is at the fore: Look, maybe I made a bazillion bucks with my memoir and its inevitable cinematic sidekick, but I'm using it to build a benevolent literary empire for all my friends (and you're invited!), so how can you possibly criticize me? And I, for one, tend to root for him, his vision. I wish my dinner-table conversations were more often about books and writers than about reality television personalities and sit-com characters. Actually, I'm not a snob about it. I'm more than happy to share in discussion of all things Fox and Chase and Kelley, so long as I also get to weigh in on Saunders and Klam and Hornby.

But I mentioned above that I'm in a bit of a funk, and here's why: As I read two recent analyses about the enduring nature of literary works -- one, an insightful essay by a New York blogger; the other a piece on Slate.com -- I realized that, at the core of what we often call 'literary' fiction, is endurance. Quite simply, more than the fact that it arose out of a creative writing program or a literary quarterly cabal or a Brooklyn basement workshop, what defines literary fiction is its aspiration and ability to live beyond its sell-by date. Which set me to wondering: Beyond his brilliant, crazed, uneven, and I'll say it again, BRILLIANT memoir, what are Eggers and co. inspiring and funding that might live on? My jury of one is deadlocked, to say the least.

Eggers, by virtue of his talent and his unparalleled habit of reinvesting in his fellow writers, has managed to position himself somewhere out beyond the reach of most critics. (And those unlucky few who have dared question his talent or motives have been sought out and pilloried by Eggers himself, wielding passion and prose like a master). Lately, however, there has been something of a backlash against him emerging, with various literary manifestos, secret societies, and bad-humored bloggers aiming to take the piss out of the mop-haired auteur. I've been uncomfortable on either side of the debate. I'm at once drawn to and distanced by all things Eggers, which is perhaps as he likes it. But finally, finally, finally, I've found the simple, fair question I can ask of his work and his associated projects: Is this more marvelous dust, or the stuff of posterity? Or simply: So what?

QUICK DUMP AFTER BILL MAHER'S SHOW: I just watched the latest installment of Bill Maher's HBO show. Can't remember the name and am too tired to look it up, but it's basically POLITICALLY INCORRECT with swearing. Anyway, some quick impressions:

- Michael Eric Dyson is an idiot. This guy is painful to listen to, and even more painful to watch, the way he screws his eyes shut and just talks without breathing. Ugh. He sucked the life out of the show. He is rapidly becoming one of my least favorite media personalities of all time.
- I don't care if I agree with Ann Coulter or not. She just seems very mean and cold. I wouldn't want to hang out with her.
- Dennis Miller is funny, but his lame attempts to insert bits of his most recent HBO special into the debate fell horribly flat. C'mon, Dennis, improvise, for gosh sakes.
- Bill Maher is a hateful little pug of a man. He makes me uncomfortable. He seems like he's forever tortured by indigestion, the way he grimaces and squirms.

GOOD BLOGGIN': Just a quick pointer to a blog I'm really starting to like a lot: Whimsical Revolution, written by a guy named Mark Gammon who's a...theological ethicist (which must mean he is, loosely, devoting serious study to "What Would Jesus Do?")

Anyhow, his Thursday post about what's pissing him off made me smile and nod in the way you do when you're listening to a friend rant and you don't care whether he's right or not but you just like listening.

Among the interesting things Mark writes about are his campaign to date Maureen Dowd, how he's the least evangelical Christian he knows ("I don't care if you're going to hell), and what song is "the greatest in the world" on a particular day. Go check him out. He's becoming a daily read for me.

PUTTING THE SMACKDOWN ON PACIFISM: Here's an inelegant but simple explanation for why I don't believe in pacifism. I've seen it on several blogs without any reference to who actually first wrote it, so I post it without attribution:

How to explain violence to a Liberal
1. Listen politely while this person explains their views. Strike up a conversation if necessary and look very interested in their ideas. They will tell you how revenge is immoral, and that by attacking the people who did this to us, we will only bring on more violence. They will probably use many arguments, ranging from political to religious to humanitarian.

2. In the middle of their remarks, without any warning, punch them in the nose.

3. When the person gets up off of the ground, they will be very angry and they may try to hit you, so be careful.

4. Very quickly and calmly remind the person that violence only brings about more violence and remind them of their stand on this matter. Tell them if they are really committed to a nonviolent approach to undeserved attacks, they will turn the other cheek and negotiate a solution. Tell them they must lead by example if they really believe what they are saying.

5. Most of them will think for a moment and then agree that you are correct.

6. As soon as they do that, hit them again. Only this time hit them much harder. Square in the nose.

7. Repeat steps 2-5 until the desired results are obtained and the idiot realizes how stupid of an argument he/she is making.

Just a few additional comments:

- I think the title of this might be better as "How to Explain Violence to a Pacifist," but then I'm something of an apologist for Liberals, since I'm still not sure if I am one or not.

- Also, I still think non-violence is the answer. But when someone puts their foot on your neck and threatens you, it's okay to remove his testicles as a deterrent/preemptive strike.

- I'm reminded of something I learned in martial arts, that it's usually relatively easy to pick out a potentially dangerous person or situation well in advance. If possible, simply get away from the dangerous person or situation. If not, assume a posture that's not provocative but that allows you to defend yourself if necessary. And finally, if the dangerous person somehow invades your personal space or otherwise acts in a menacing fashion -- even if they don't hit you, but they look like they might -- you're well within your rights to ask them to step back (or, as the case may be, to give up WMD), and if they don't, to launch a Single Direct Attack at one of their soft spots (say, for example, their capital).

MORE AWARD BLATHER: On second thought, there can only be one name for the untimely/ironic death award: The Jim Fixx Award.

BLIND CAMEL AWARDS: For my own memory, and for the desperate few of you who are actually following this blog day-to-day, let me recap the various awards and distinctions BLIND CAMEL is bestowing on an ongoing basis:

The FLY ON THE WINDSCREEN AWARD - given to those whose death is somehow bizarre, ironic, or unexpected

The JULIA ROBERTS AWARD - designed to recognize moments of "It's All About Me!" behavior

The HIGH SCHOOL WITH MONEY AWARD - for exceptional celebrity misbehavior and childishness

Come to think of it, it's much neater to simply name the awards after people (and that's what Sullivan does, and why not copy him?), so I'll revise these:

FLY ON THE WINDSCREEN AWARD will heretofore be known as the ROBERT ATKINS AWARD.

JULIA ROBERTS AWARD is perfect and will not change.

HIGH SCHOOL WITH MONEY AWARD will heretofore be known as the...oh, it's such a hard choice...so many deserving candidates...no real losers here, but there can only be one winner...THE COURTNEY LOVE AWARD.

More awards to come. I'm enjoying this.

HIGH SCHOOL WITH MONEY: We've all heard the line that "Hollywood is high school with money." It seems like every time I turn around I come across another account of Celebrities Behaving Badly to bolster that analogy. So, to add to the list of Andrew Sullivan-inspired Awards and Categories this blog tracks, please add the HIGH SCHOOL WITH MONEY AWARD. Our inaugural award goes to Sharon Osbourne, for her ongoing catfight with agent Renee Tab.

FOUR GAME WATCHING STREAK: Looks like I'm headed back to the ballpark. All this spectatin' is cuttin' into my blog-writin'. Ah, well. Priorities.

NIRVANA: Sunday afternoon I took my one-year-old son to Wrigley Field for the first time, where he enjoyed seeing the Cubs come back to beat the Bucs. Monday night I caught the opener of the Reds series with a pal -- and saw Mark Prior get shelled like a peanut on a hot, summer-like evening. Today I think I'll venture over by myself for the afternoon session with the Reds. It shouldn't be too tough to score a good single ticket. I'm looking for down low and in the sun. Maybe I'll see if I remember how to keep score. Today life is good in the big city.

MARLBORO RAGE AND MISPLACED BLAME: A bouncer enforces NY's tough new anti-smoking law...and is stabbed to death. Horrible. But then people try to blame the law for his death! Stupefying.

JULIA ROBERTS AWARD: Michael Wolff is a hell of a writer, but he's yet another example of a guy who basically cries out "look at me, what about me" in the middle of somebody else's wedding or funeral and then wonders why nobody wants to sit with him at dinner. Memo to Michael, Tim Robbins, Sean Penn, Janeane Garofalo, etc.: This isn't about you. Really, not even a little bit. Oh, and also: Your livelihoods depend to some degree on your popularity. People go to see your movies or read your columns or books ostensibly because they like you and/or they agree with you. If you happen to do or say something that makes a lot of people dislike you, well, don't go crying censorship when your popularity (and your income) declines. That's why Michael Jordan doesn't talk about politics. I'm not saying you should shut up. But don't go bellyaching when your big mouth eventually costs you. As a dear friend's grandparents used to say, "Toughie beans."

MEMO TO BUSH -- SKIP SYRIA, ADDRESS THE ISRAEL QUESTION: According to this article, and judging by what I've seen on TV in the last several days, this war is largely over. Sure, there is colossal work still to be done, and our country and its leaders will be judged not by how fast we swept Saddam's regime out of power, but by how healthy and democratic Iraq becomes in the weeks, months, and years to come. While this is not entirely fair -- we will be granting, it seems, broad autonomy to the Iraqi people, and so they will have a major role in what becomes of their country, for better or worse -- it is certainly the case. Should Iraq turn into a cesspool of depravity and terrorism, ala Taliban-led Afghanistan, or a theocractic powderkeg, ala mullah-centric Iran, our latest Gulf War will not described with reverence in the history books yet to be written. Still, it's clear that our leadership will soon have the latitude to address other, pressing issues, and I've been doing some thinking as to where they should focus next. (Please, don't thank me yet.)

Any thought that we should target Syria any time soon should be dispensed with. While there are undoubtedly chemical weapons initiatives afoot, while there are certainly human rights violations aplenty, and while there is a very real track record of aiding and abetting terrorists, there is no clear and present danger posed to our country by Syria. And, judging by the performance of their ambassador on Sunday's MEET THE PRESS, they want to part of us right now either. Great. So what's next?

Israel. Bush unveiled his blueprint for Middle East peace just before he embarked on Operation Iraqi Freedom. Now, for his next miracle, he needs to hold Arafat (and co.) and Sharon (and co.) responsible for publicly carving out a lasting agreement that will provide a basis for peace, and an equal basis for enforcement. It's a time for leaders to draw the lines in the Middle East, and for us to pledge to help them police and protect those lines. If we can publicly facilitate this process and show good faith, it will provide the moral foundation for what comes next. Let's focus on process right now, on getting it right diplomatically. This is where we fell down on the lead-up to the war in Iraq. Thankfully, it seems not to have cost us too much. Now is the time for us to reinvest diplomatically, to take the first steps to restore our international standing. Make no mistake. The time may come when we have to send troops to Syria, or to some other country. But while we are nation-building in Afghanistan and Iraq -- and that's exactly what we're doing, W. -- let's focus on rebuilding our precarious position in the international community, especially with the Arab world. The only logical next step is to focus our efforts on Israel and Palestine as the linchpin of world security in the decades ahead. The Arab world hated Hussein, and so despite public rhetoric, they did nothing to stand in the way of our efforts to remove him. We are not likely to be granted that latitude again.

PICK AN IRAQI BAD GUY, ANY IRAQI BAD GUY: Last Friday I wondered how long it would take for Iraqi-bad-guy-card-decks to show up on eBay. The not surprising answer: not long.

ROLLIN' DOWN THE STREET, (NO LONGER) SMOKING ENDO, GETTING MY ASS SHOT UP (LAID BACK): I'm reading about Snoop getting shot at and, as usual, one little side-nugget from the story leaps out at me: The D-Oh-Double-G rolls with five security vehicles! My God. I don't know if Bush even has that many.

What a miserable life that must be. No wonder Eminem has become a recluse. And what's the dillio, anyway? Is Suge out and gunning for him? Or is it something more random, more "thug life," that I can't even begin to comprehend.

More questions: Does Dre travel with that much security? Are there rappers who don't need security? Does more security equal more...uh...what's the word...juice? Like, is it a sign that you've arrived if you need at least three security vehicles? Maybe there's some kind of rating system emerging. Oh, 50-Cent? Sheeeyit. Old boy done blew up. He needs nine security vehicles. Meanwhile dem boys from Naughty by Nature only needin' like two vehicles these days. It's sad.

JUST WONDERING: How long you think it'll be before you can bid on an Iraqi-bad-guy-card-deck on eBay?

MY FAVORITE DEM, BELIEVE IT OR NOT: There's a lot to like about Howard Dean. He's my favorite Dem of the bunch -- but I just can't abide his war views, and these will be his undoing in the campaign.

Wild-card scenario: If the situation in Iraq unravels, Dean is likely the only viable candidate that can say "I told you so" without blinking.

DR. RUMMY: Need a huge laugh this morning? Check out this Esquire satire of a Rumsfeld sex-advice column. A sample:

Dear Secretary Rumsfeld:

My wife and I are happily married, but the spark seems to have gone out of our sex life. How can we spice it up? —Harry Blumenthal, Bakersfield, California

Secretary Rumsfeld:

There's no great mystery here, Harry. It can't be that hard to understand. You get in there, you do your job, you develop an exit strategy, and you get the heck out of there. That's the way sex works. Why does everything have to be so difficult?

DOLLARS AND SENSELESS: Now it's an economic argument?

House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi offers this gem: "We could've probably brought down that statue for a lot less." Do the Dems, a group which only a few scant months ago I felt allied with, have any idea that they're hemhorraging membership with statements like that? We have young men and women still in harm's way, and rather than celebrate the awe-inspiring successes of recent days, our Dem leaders are second-guessing the ROI on the war...? The mind...this mind...boggles. Is there no one who will tell Pelosi and company to shut the fuck up? Oops, I guess I just did.

ANTI-WHAT? Glenn Reynolds nails one of my chief gripes about much of the anti-war crowd:

I want to see Iraq a peaceful, free and prosperous place. It wasn't going to be that any time soon without the war. Now it can be -- but "can" isn't the same as "will."

What worries me is that there are still people -- who when agitating for "peace" pretended to have the Iraqis' interests at heart -- who would like to see Iraq descend into the depths again just so they can blame Bush and vindicate themselves. And they're not all in France.

WHO HAS CLEAN HANDS? I don't know much about Slate's William Saletan, but one of his recent blog entries there stopped me in my tracks:

Simply put, the number of innocent people who are dead because we ousted Saddam is dwarfed by the number of innocent people who are dead because we didn't. The use of American force is on one side of the ledger, and mass killing is on the other. Trends in military and media technology make this dilemma increasingly likely where belligerent murderers rule. You can keep your hands clean, or you can keep many more people alive. It's up to you.

If you tend toward pacifism, if you loathe violence, if you're against an interventionist foreign policy, you should read this article. Or if you want to understand how you can be a largely peaceful person who happens to support some wars, it's also for you.

UNLOVEABLE LOSERS? This is one of the strangest things I've read in a long time. The Cubs (via their corporate parent the Trib) have set up their own ticket brokerage firm, and they're using it to gouge their fans. It seems so implausible, so outrageous, I can hardly believe it's true. But it is.

WHY I BLOG #2: Because people I don't know send me thoughtful e-mails about my writing. (Thanks, Robert.)

PEACE THROUGH SUPERIOR FIREPOWER, SEAN? Apparently Spicoli packs heat.

FLIES ON THE WINDSCREEN, PT. 3: This bizarre death meme almost deserves its own category on the Camel. And, since I just came up with a title, it now has one.

Unexpected and/or ironic deaths will heretofore be recognized under the heading "Flies on the Windscreen." Thus far I've observed that war correspondent David Bloom perished of a pulmonary embollism. Journalist James Walker died in a car crash...on the way to interview the family of a dead soldier. And now diet guru Robert Atkins is in critical condition -- and not because his heart exploded as a result of his meat-and-cheese-centric diet, as you might expect. He just slipped on some ice.

As Depeche Mode observed, "Death is everywhere."

MORE MALCOLM: I'm wildly late to the party on this one, but count me among the folks happy to hear that Malcolm in the Middle continues its run. The episode a few weeks ago where the Dad took a job at a Best Buy-ish store and the boys were taken over by a cunning babysitter was fantastic.

THE LOOK OF LOVE: It just doesn't get any better. Does it? What do I know...

THE REAL QUESTION OF PARENTHOOD: This needs to be an essay at some point, but perhaps I can just write it down, explore it here for a moment, so as not to lose it.

When our son was born, people often said something to us along the lines of, "Did you ever know you could love someone or something so much?"

And I always felt like, "Yes, I knew. I love him like I love my family, my wife, and even my dog." (I know this is controversial, saying that I love my son like my dog, but that's how it is. Sure, it may be a matter of degrees, but love is love.)

Lately I've been thinking the better question for me is, "Can you believe your parents ever loved you this much?" Because as I spend time with my son, as I stare at him sleeping, give him a bath, strap him into his car-seat while he plays with my keys, kick the ball to him, hear him yell out "Dot!" when the dog comes near him, watch him shovel sticky waffles into his mouth...I love him without any judgement, recklessly. It doesn't matter how he's dressed, if he ever gets a job, how his hair is styled or not styled, if he pronounces words correctly. I simply love him no matter what. And, as I sit with him, there's no doubt my parents loved me like this, too; that, in fact, they must still love me like this. You just can't help it.

But, over the years, it gets harder to see. Most of us are lucky enough to know our parents love us. But to have my own child, well, now I can actually feel what they must have felt, feel what they must feel. So the question I return to is "Can my parents really love me this much? I guess so. Wow.

But then there's no way I was ever as loveable as my son is right now, is there? I'll never believe it.

SULLY TAUNTS TOO: Andrew Sullivan has what he calls the Von Hoffman award, which he bestows for "awful wartime predictions." The award was created in honor (or dishonor) of Nicholas von Hoffman, the journalist who predicted the U.S. would face certain disaster in Afghanistan.

Today Sullivan unleashes seven of these awards upon those whose dire predictions for Iraq evaporated yesterday. I'm loathe to nyah-nyah-nyah just yet, but I do enjoy Andrew's cheek. These Brits are real smartypants, eh? I just hope yesterday wasn't a mirage. I'm wearing a party hat, but I'm not quite ready to blow the horn.

STRANGER THAN FICTION: To paraphrase the Geto Boys -- Bushwick Bill in particular, if memory serves: "How will I die/homey only God knows/how long will I live/homey only God knows...

Clarion-Ledger Staff Writer James V. Walker was killed Wednesday in a traffic accident in Copiah County while traveling to interview the family of a Mississippi soldier killed in the Iraq war.

HOW WE DIE: After David Bloom's death, I was startled to read pulmonary embolism is the third-leading cause of death in the United States. So what else is killing people, my wife wondered. Here's the answer.

CAN HITCH GET A WITNESS? Hitchens taunts the peaceniks. Shame on me for loving it.

PRIOR WARNING: Can you blame me for being excited about this kid? Go Cubbies!

SCANNING THE NEW MUSIC: I subscribe to the CMJ New Music Monthly (magazine), complete with their famous sampler disc. Although I haven't written a record review in a couple years, I thought it'd be fun to do the bloggish thing -- go track by track through it, with off-the-cuff comments. Maybe there'll be some gems in here.

So, here's my rapid-fire take on the CMJ New Music disc from Issue 111, April 2003.

1. The Mooney Suzuki, "In a Young Man's Mind" Electric Sweat (Columbia)
Bar-rock rave-up that sounds like an early, caffeinated, American Kinks. Fine for a quick listen, but not gonna make my all-time fave list. In a word: forgettable.

2. The Raveonettes, "Attack of the Ghost Riders" Whip It On (Columbia)
More throwback-rock; Guided by Voices meet Roky Erickson. A big slab of Who Cares, in my book.

3. Longwave, "Tidal Wave," The Strangest Things (RCA)
Very carefully enunciated mood-rock, draped in bland earnestness. Oh, wait, the chorus sorta distorts. This is a punkier version of that band, uh, with the gay singer, Southern...crap, I always forget their name...they had that one big song...Judybats!

4. White Light Motorcade, "It's Happening" Thank You, Goodnight! (Octone)
The friggin' Strokes have somehow convinced all these other bands -- or maybe all these record execs -- that this grunged-out garage thing is back. Well maybe it is, but not for me. Boring.

5. Blue Man Group, "Up to the Roof" (Featuring Tracy Bonham) The Complex (Lava)
Ummm, this is a single by a play. I mean, c'mon. No. Ugh. It's awful. Pat Benatar with Synsonics drums.

6. Cursive, "A Gentleman Caller" The Ugly Organ (Saddle Creek)
Dissonant patchwork of yelling and noise. RIYL shit on a stick.

7. Pacifier, "Bullitproof" Pacifier (Arista)
Okay, at least this is music. I don't think I like it, but at least I don't hate it. Actually, I'm sure: I don't like it. Split Enz meets Rick Springfield, in a bad way.

8. Soulive, "El Ron" Soulive (Blue Note)
I'm not into this kind of jam-rock. Not for me.

9. Dwele, "Find a Way" Subject (Virgin)
Very simple R&B groove, pleasant, not remarkable. I can't imagine anyone getting too worked up over this.

10. Vic Chestnutt, "Girl's Say" Silver Lake (New West)
There are things I like about Vic Chestnutt -- and whoever produced this song has him sounding great -- but this is not much more than throwaway. That this is my favorite song so far on the disc is not saying much.


Okay, so I'm not liking any of this stuff too much. Man. I had such good intentions. I'll take a break, then be back with the next (and last) ten tracks later today or early tomorrow. I hope they get better.

SAY WHAT? An actual sign in my doctor's office yesterday: "We have upgraded to a new computer system to provide better service. Your wait time may be longer than usual."

CELEBRATING SULLIVAN: Andrew Sullivan scared me at first. I was a liberal. I voted for Gore. And yet every time I read his conservative blog, I found myself saying, "You know, he's right."

More than any other writer or thinker, Andrew Sullivan has spurred me to slow down, to reconsider, to go beyond my partisan, liberal instincts (the instincts of a middle-class, college-educated, suburban-bred white guy who wants the world to be nice and peaceful and just) and to really think about what's right (small R), what works, and what's true. The world is messy. Pacifism is not viable. And just because George Bush sounds like an idiot doesn't mean he is one. (And vice-versa for my former hero Clinton.)

Here's Andrew today on our latest good news from Baghdad:

This is an amazing victory, a victory over a monster who gassed civilians, jailed children, sent millions into fruitless wars, harbored poisonous weapons to threaten free peoples, tortured thousands, and made alliances with every two-bit opportunist on the planet. It's a victory over those who marched in the millions to stop this liberation, over the endless media cynics, over the hate-America crowd, and the armchair generals. It's a victory for the two countries in the world that have always made freedom possible and who have now brought it to another corner of the world made dark by terror. It's a victory for the extraordinary servicemen and women who performed this task with such skill, cool, courage and restraint. It's a victory for optimism over pessimism, the righting of past wrongs, the assertion of universal truths against postmodern excuses, and of political leadership over appeasement. Celebrate it. Don't let the whiners take this away from you or from the people of Iraq.

Cheers, Andrew. Cheers to victory.

PLEASED BUT CAUTIOUS: This is one of those mornings where I'm having a hard time looking away from the TV. The footage of Iraqis and U.S. soldiers tearing down the statue is almost too good to be true. Still, I feel wary, and I sure hope those soldiers don't remove their helmets or their sense of self-preservation any too soon. Bush's tone is correct: pleased but cautious, with an emphasis, right now, on cautious.

CATCH-22: Good comedy is good comedy. What's next, Asians against Rice? (Thanks to Brian for sending me this.)

YOU CAN'T KILL THE BOOGEYMAN: Now they're saying Saddam survived last night's 4-ton bombardment. No way! Between him and Bin Laden, they have more lives than a whole herd of cats.

BLOGGIN' THE BABY BEARS: If you happen to be a Chicago Cubs fan, you need to know about two great blogs. First, there's the Cub Reporter, a semi-frequent, stat-happy blog written by a guy who knows his baseball. Second, check out the Clark & Addison Chronicle, a more narrative blog that's smart and fun to read. I visit each of them daily, and they're always worth my while.

NEW DAN RISING: There's no better summer music than Steely Dan (okay, so there's the Beach Boys...shut up), so I was delighted to read that the ubergeeks are releasing a new record (targeted now for June 10) and commencing a tour. While I doubt I'll traipse over to the not-very-intimate United Center to see 'em, I'll certainly install the disc in my player for some sun-roof-wide-open drivin'.

SUPERCUBS: After today's 6-1 blasting of the Expos, the Cubs offense is averaging more than seven runs/game.

MENTIONABLE: Okay, so "unmentionable places" (see below) is a funny phrase. Unmentionable. It's so formal, it sounds Biblical. Or like the lowest Indian caste. "Oh, the Untouchables are friggin' royalty compared to the Unmentionables. Talk about lower than a snake's belly..."

But then I got to thinking: What exactly are unmentionable places? Does this mean they stuck their hands in their pants? Front or back? Did they actually wipe their hands in their own poopy-holes? Is "butt" unmentionable? Probably not. But "butthole?" Probably. Ah, but mentionable here.

JACKASS GOES TO WAR: Word is that some GIs put their hands in "unmentionable places" prior to shaking Geraldo Rivera's hand.

MY AMERICAN IDOL: I nominate Tony Hawk for coolest guy in my generation. This Charlie Rose interview is, well, a typical Charlie Rose interview. Note who talks more, the interviewer or the interviewee. Blah blah blah.

MEPUBLICAN? Look, I voted for Gore, too, but isn't it time we give it a rest about Bush's "fake presidency." Oh, and fwiw, I wouldn't vote for Gore again, and there's not a Dem in the field that captures my imagination. I may well cast my first Republican vote in '04. I wish there were a candidate that hit all my check-boxes, but there simply isn't. Here's where I am:

Favor tax simplification, esp. in the form of a "flat tax."

Favor a strong national defense/homeland security.

Favor legalized same-sex unions.

Loathe abortion but favor a woman's right to choose. No state funding for abortions except where the health of the mother is concerned, or for rape/incest.

Against capital punishment. Favor a federal law against it.

Against drilling in ANWR or otherwise ransacking protected areas.

For national health care for children.

For fiscal conservatism as expressed by deficit reduction and balanced budgets.

Loathe guns but am against most gun control. Favor waiting periods, restrictions on who can sell weapons where, and ban of assault weapons.

Am pro public education and against waivers.

Am for major campaign finance reform to the extent that private citizens are capped and corporations not allowed to contribute at all.

That's as much of a platform as I can come up with on the spot.

BUNKER BUSTED? Once again, there's a big buzz that we got Saddam and one or both of his sons. Let's hope we're right this time.

FAREWELL TO CRUMBS: Jerry "Crumbs" Krause is finally calling it quits, and I'm not sure why I care. But I do.

I've never been a Bulls fan. My basketball allegiance is with the Pistons, owing to my Detroit high school career (that coincided nicely with their championships). Still, I was born in Chicago, and I've lived here for about fourteen years in a row now, making it my place of longest residence. So I've certainly absorbed my fair amount of Bulls lore, and I've cultivated some small interest in their organizational woes.

Poor Krause. Those words always went together in my mind. He was never loved, only occasionally feared, and seldom respected. He seemed to wear his mental unease on his body. He often looked to be a sick man with another man on his back. You could almost see him literally carrying the pain and pressure as he stammered through press conferences and interviews. Now he gets a rest. I don't know whether he jumped or was pushed, but good for him. Nothing would make me happier to see a picture of the guy a few years down the road, looking and sounding far more healthy, and basking in the revisionist admiration that's sure to come.

SADAMN FUNNY: I swiped this joke from another blogger, who says he got it from someone else. Bottom line: it's good comedy...

And now, the joke: The Iraqi leadership's personal physician calls together all of Saddam's body doubles, and says (in Arabic), "Thank you for coming. We have some good news, and we have some bad news. First, the good news is that our Glorious Leader is alive, so you all get to keep your jobs. The bad news is that he lost an eye and an arm..."

WHY WE'RE THERE: Does anyone doubt this is the tip of the iceberg? Not to mention this.

MY BLOGOSPHERE: Earlier today, I mentioned to a friend that I was writing this blog. "So what are you gonna write about?" he asked. Good question. I guess I'll write about what I'm interested in...

Wine, my son, love, death, sex, the Cubs, the Bears, the Red Wings, Chicago, politics, writing, fiction, writers, sports, vegetarians, animal rights, poetry, Donald Judd, Robert Creeley, the Legendary Jim Ruiz group, the Aluminum Group, music in general, books, the meaning of life, religion, Buddhism, mysteries, Harlan Coben, Myron Bolitar, the Clash, Siddhartha, newspapers, magazines, the New Yorker, and so forth.

YOU'D BE HAPPY, TOO: Life is good when you're a year old, somebody else feeds you and changes your pants, and you have no concept of fear, death, or taxes. (My son, C.J., celebrating his 11-month birthday on the beach.)

EDDIE MONSTER: An almost Onion-worthy deconstruction of the Vedder incident is here.

SAMMY: SAYONARA SAVIOR? Local (Chicago) scribe Mike Kiley reveals Sammy Sosa is serious about trying free-agency at the end of this, his 12th season with the with the Loveable Losers. While "say it isn't so" were the first words that popped into my head, I quickly had another thought: Big Mo. Maybe the thought of a Sammyless future will be the spark that propels this team to overachieve, that inspires McPhail to go totally berserkers in acquiring talent down the stretch.

Oh, and while I'm talking Cubs, I want to get this prediction down in black and white before the season gets too old for predictions: Mark Prior will have a better year than Kerry Wood. (I hope I'm wrong, btw. I hope they both win twenty-plus and share the Cy Young.)

MORE ABOUT PULMONARY EMBOLISM: A little research reveals that pulmonary embolism (PE) is more common than I thought. It's the third most common cause of death in the US, with at least 650,000 cases occurring annually. It's also the first or second most common cause of unexpected death in most age groups. Basically, a PE is a blood clot or other blockage likely to have formed in the lower extremities that then moves to the lungs.

THE GAME IS UP? Let's hope Fred Kaplan is right.

RIP DAVID BLOOM: While most of us didn't know David Bloom, I'm sure in recent weeks many of us felt as if we did. I was surprised and saddened to read this morning that Bloom died of an apparent pulmonary embolism. This while molten steel was flying all around his head, and yet threatening him less than his own internal architecture. (I'll wait to read more about how such a malady arises. Can a pulmonary embolism be linked to his recent stresses?).

Another reminder that we never know when or how we're gonna go, and that Evel Knievel is probably more likely to succumb to a heart attack or cancer than a motorcycle jump. Bloom was, as you always hear, too young. And the age cutoff for "too young" continues to increase the older I get.

PRECURSION: Looks like my vocabulary refresher was right on time yesterday. "Incursion" is all over the airwaves and newspapers this morning. (Self-horntoot!)

WING IT ON OVER TO BAGHDAD AND PARTY WITH SADDAM: Is it just me, or did the recent video of an apparent Saddam cavorting amongst the citizenry look a little off? I have a theory. As I analyzed the figure's jauntiness, the squint of the eyes, the exaggeratedly stiff posture, it hit me: Spicoli! Sean Penn wasn't in Baghdad to prevent war, he was there for an audition! He's a double! Whoa! What a rad role, dude!

WHO-NESS? I know we're supposed to marvel at the fact this couple finally married after 77 years of shackin' up, but all I kept thinking was, "Zyness?"

WELCOME BACK TO THE CAMEL: For several years, I wrote an e-mail newsletter with the same name as this blog -- BLIND CAMEL. For the most part, the newsletter covered books, music, and, well, life. Oh, and wine. But wine is life, so I digress. Today I invited my long-forgotten, mistreated, ignored subscribers to come check out this space. So, to them, I say:

Hello! I've missed you. Welcome back to the Camel!

NOONAN ON MICHAEL KELLY: I never knew what to make of Reagan. I suspected I was a Democrat, and so I figured I shouldn't like the guy, on principle. But then every time I saw him, I liked him. I remember reading Peggy Noonan's memoir of her time as a Reagan speechwriter, What I Saw at the Revolution. I developed a little crush on her as I read. What a smart woman, I thought, and a hell of a writer. If she likes Reagan, he can't be all bad.

Now, some years later, my politics have edged Noonanward, and my admiration for her prose continues to swell. Her tribute to Michael Kelly only adds to my respect for her. How she wrote something so good so fast is beyond me.

SADDAMN LIE: Saying we don't have to find Saddam to declare victory is sorta like saying oral sex isn't sex. You may be able to find a dictionary to agree with you, but no animate creature will.

NEW & RECURRING FEATURE: As a relatively new blogger, it seems appropriate to answer this question: Why blog? I suspect my readers are curious, and I know I'm even wondering why I'm doing it. My intitial instinct was to try and write a "Why I Blog" essay. Eventually, perhaps that's what I'll do. But for now I'm going to start adding occasional "Why I Blog" posts here and there, and I suspect over time they'll add up to a longer piece. So:

WHY I BLOG #1: Because it keeps me from forwarding too many articles and photos and other pointers to all manner of folks who maybe never even wanted to read them in the first place and wish I would just quit it -- without having to give up the the feeling of "Look! Look here! Look what I found!"

RIP MICHAEL KELLY: Washington Post columnist. Atlantic Monthly editor-at-large. Former editor of the New Republic. War reporter. War casualty.

Michael Kelly was killed in a Humvee accident in Iraq. He was a tremendous writer and reporter. I'll remember him by re-reading this brilliant column.

WARCABULARY: It's apparent we may need to brush up on our war vocabulary. Or at least I need to. A refresher:

siege
The sitting of an army around or before a fortified place for the purpose of compelling the garrison to surrender; the surrounding or investing of a place by an army, and approaching it by passages and advanced works, which cover the besiegers from the enemy's fire.

Source: The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition
Copyright © 2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company.

invasion, incursion, irruption, inroad
Invasion is the generic term, denoting a forcible entrance into a foreign country. Incursion signifies a hasty and sudden invasion. Irruption denotes particularly violent invasion. Inroad is entry by some unusual way involving trespass and injury.

Source: Webster's Revised Unabridged Dictionary, © 1996, 1998 MICRA, Inc.

THE NEW TRUMP CARD FOR IDIOTS: Has anyone else noticed that "I support the troops" is becoming cover for all manner of bad behavior? I hear it time and time again. Somebody does or says something absolutely rude, cockamamie, or even reckless, then follows it up with the get-out-of--jail-free card of "but I support the troops." It works like this:

Hey, I'm criticizing the Commander-in-Chief during wartime -- but I support the troops! Look over here -- I'm revealing our troops' positions...but I support them! I'm giving comfort to the enemy...while supporting our troops! Watch me step on these puppies...in support of our troops! I'm making poopie in the streets of San Francisco...to show my support for the troops!

Listen, fervent troop supporters, I have an idea: Just say, "I support the troops," and leave it at that. No need to lead with bad behavior. Believe me, when this war is over, you'll all feel better about yourselves if you'd just refrain from skewering the President's head while our brave young men and women are still in harm's way.

WAYWARD KERRY CARRIED AWAY: This is more than just bad timing. It's reckless. It's opportunistic and cheap. Only a year ago, I thought of myself as a Democrat. I had great respect for Kerry. But why he feels the time is right to call for "regime change" in this country is beyond me. He could say that he looks forward to debating our President, to campaigning for the presidency, even to changing the course our country is on. But to use the exact same language -- the unique phrase "regime change," which certainly carries extremely negative connotative meaning right now -- is to attempt to create some form of equivalency between what's going on in Baghdad and what he wants to happen here. He is, in essence, paralleling Saddam and Bush. While that may pass for logic in some Left circles, I expect more from Kerry. As much as it pains me to quote Michael Moore, "Shame on you, Senator Kerry."

EXITFLOW: Eddie Vedder is an idiot. A washed-up idiot at that.

FIGHTING FOR THEIR LIVES ALRIGHT: Maybe now that the left-leaning Times prints this story, naysayers like Janeane Garofalo and my friend Dick will believe: The Iraqis are resisting our advance "on pain of death." They are not choosing to fight us, nor to to defend Saddam. No. They have been taken from their homes in handcuffs and guarded over by armed thugs who will shoot them if they try to surrender. Of course they're fighting. After decades of fighting for their lives, it's all they know how to do.

KUCINICH TO FRANKS: STOP WINNING: Granted, Kucinich never had a chance (thank God). But here's the final nail in the coffin of his presidential ambitions. Put this guy and Mosely Braun together and you still couldn't find enough votes to win a city council seat in Talkeetna, Alaska.

NEW EVIDENCE ON WMD: Shocking (and preliminary) evidence that cigarettes are killers in anyone's hands. Yes, Virginia, second- and even third- or fourth-hand smoke is bad news. Thank God I quit. If you need help, Zyban works.

FLURRIES IN HELL? Today I realized I have more in common ideologically with Charlie Daniels than I do with Janeane Garofalo. My indie-rock days are done.

Another War Poem
Today remember the world
is a sad
place. Your trust
in God or Government
is misplaced, wanting
salve to be
savior and what is to be
what could be. When
possible
simply
breathe.

EGGPIRE: One of the most interesting minds of my generation is at it again. Dave Eggers is behind THE BELIEVER, a new literary magazine and book review that is apparently showing up in some bookstores and also on the web. I'll buy it. Sure, much of McSweeney's is Greek to me, but I can't help myself. (A friend likens a McSweeney's habit to eating too much cotton candy. Seems like a good idea, but oh the eventual bellyache, not to mention all those empty calories.)

BLOGGERED: As you may have noticed, Blogger is having problems with one of their template servers. As a result, my page is looking a bit unkempt. Hopefully they'll soon restore the Camel to its normal glory.

REMEDIAL READING FOR WOBBLY TIMES: It's impossible to feel good about war. To support the war is not to love it. As I sit here feeling sad and wobbly, it helped me to re-read this stellar column from Tony Parsons.