Tasteless, conscienceless, or indictably clueless?

Sometimes it’s the little things that provide insight into a person, or an administration, or a nation. And while there are certainly weightier concerns and larger matters that demand our attention this week, Bush’s odd attempt at humor during last night’s Radio and Television Correspondents’ Association dinner was particularly telling. His “White House Election-Year Album” slide-show depicted the self-described war president searching under furniture for the ample stockpiles of chemical and biological weapons that he and his subordinates swore that Saddam Hussein had ready to hand.

The caption read: “Those weapons of mass destruction have got to be somewhere.”

When the worst foreign policy decision since the Gulf of Tonkin is played for a calculated laugh by the one man responsible - and most citizens don’t even blink - you realize that de Maistre was right, damnably right.

Every nation has the government it deserves.

Meet the kitties

A rare picture of domestic tranquility among the feline members of the household. Rescue cats all, delivered from homelessness and dire circumstance into our care. We - that is, M and I - like to believe that they are grateful. If only they would stop scratching the furniture. The cats are why we can’t have nice things. In order of adoption:

Venice (center): also called Baby Cat, Baby Girl, Pretty Girl, Pretty Dancer, Princess, Experiment 626, Stitch. She was found by staffers at Kingsbury Animal Hospital one night, in or near a dumpster behind the Venice Cafe. Astonishing ability to climb expensive upholstered furniture. The schzoid of the trio - terribly affectionate when not nearly feral. A real prima donna, but aww, look at that face! Two and half years old here.

Baxter (left): aka Professor Baxter, Big Boy, Superior Kitty, Independent Kitty, Handsome Kitty, Hidalgo. That last nickname stems from his propensity for galloping throughout the house at odd moments. Discovered, again, by the good folks at Kingsbury Animal Hospital; he had been abandoned by some schmuck who moved out of an apartment building. Sweet and even-tempered, even in full gallop. Three years old or so as of this picture.

Scooter (right): also known as Scooter Blue, Scooterrific, Skittish Scooter, Blues Kitty, Street Kitty. He came to our back door an emaciated waif about five months ago; M set food out for him in the mornings and evenings for three weeks, then brought him into the house the week before Halloween. He now follows M everywhere. It has been gratifying to see him adjust to his new, safe environment - only lately has he begun to learn to play. Maybe four and half years old, according to the vet.

Memo to Andrew Sullivan

Welcome to the party, pal. And remember to look surprised. Actually, this is how it usually goes, isn’t it? Such are the most of men - roused to righteousness only once something personal is at stake.

Better late than not at all, I guess.

Actually, it’s hard to imagine that this is a light on the Damascus turnpike for Sullivan. The safe bet is that as George Bush backs gingerly away from this cynical loser of a election strategy, Sullivan will find again common cause with him on a variety of issues. Incredible? No. But you’d think it would be.

Sullivan is an intelligent guy. Just ask him. But as the Bush White House itself has demonstrated, it’s not really about intelligence - in any sense. It’s about the character that drives intelligence, and uses (or misuses) it.

Marriage for me but not for thee. Homo.

Long before White House correspondent Helen Thomas set the meme in motion, it was painfully clear to much of the nation - indeed, much of the world - that the current iteration of George Bush is the Worst. President. Ever. Even setting aside the bulk of his abysmal record, the war on Iraq and its shifting rationales pretty well qualifies him for that place in history. And you’d think he’d be satisfied with that, wouldn’t you?

You’d be wrong.

It takes a special combination of desperation, mean-spiritedness, and political cynicism to actually try to embed discrimination in the U. S. Constitution. Bush hit the trifecta, and the only benefit to his so publicly staking the wrong side of history as his own is that it certainly makes things clear. “I’m a uniter, not a divider,” he once famously claimed. Well, except when a second term is in the offing.

The ironic aspect of his support for an anti-gay marriage amendment is that it runs counter to the quality that he claims to defend - the value of marriage to society. Even the conservative (don’t call him a neocon - he hates that) New York Times columnist David Brooks gets it right. Marriage is a powerful instuitution. It is an ennobling act. It creates stability and it fosters commitment - qualities our society arguably needs more of, not less. To deny gay men and lesbians the chance to participate in this public good undermines a source for stability in the culture at large, and relegates these citizens to a second-class status.

Does this trouble George Bush? Not so you’d notice. So long as he can appeal to his political base - see, I’m on your side, I’m going after gays - it’s all upside for him.

It would be easy to take comfort in the knowledge that this appeal is - on the congressional level, at least, and for now, at least - doomed to failure. But state legislatures across the country are moving to enact similar amendments - and the supporters of such legislation will be emboldened by the president’s stance. Well-meaning citizens will let them know that discrimination has no place in law, whether on the state or federal level.

Long time since Bible school

Last night, the wife and I watched a trailer for the Mel Gibson Jesus flick. I told her that if anyone was to ask if I had seen the film, I’d reply, “No, but I’ve read the book.” I laughed and laughed.

The wife - call her M - laughed right back. “You lie,” she said. “You’ve never read the book of Matthew.”

“Have too,” I retorted. “A long time ago, granted, but I did read it.” M chuckled in response. I huffed back into the kitchen to fix dinner.
Matthew. That’s in the New Testament, right?

Add Bible schooling: If you’re a typical busy American and don’t have time to read the book, you can always browse the LEGO® blocks.

If you blogged here, you’d be home by now.

Except that this is not a blog. Because weblogs facilitate a kind of conversation - even more, a collaboration - between the blogger and visitors from the larger world, and Waveflux does not converse. Nor does it willingly collaborate. It’s stubborn that way, and somewhat lazy.

This is an online journal, but I tend to think of it more as an electronic scratch pad, really. A digital commonplace. A virtual notebook. Perhaps even the Platonic ideal of a notebook.

Framed like that, it actually sounds pretty cool.