Author: Larry Jones

Here’s a landmark event in the history of the world.

Tomorrow morning, October 17, 2006, President Bush will sign his Torture Bill, known officially as “S-3930,” the Military Commissions Act of 2006. Under this law,

• it will be legal for the U.S. government to use “alternative interrogation methods” to extract information from prisoners.
• This information will then be considered legal evidence for use in a trial.
• The President will have unrestricted discretion to label anyone an “enemy combatant.”
• Once you are labeled an enemy combatant, you will not have recourse to any court should you wish to challenge the reason for your arrest and detention, which…
• …could go on forever, and you might never be told why, or…
• …be allowed to see the evidence against you (unless it’s your own confession, given as a result of being forced to stand in a “stress position” for forty hours with no sleep, or perhaps being waterboarded).

So that’s bound to make us safer, eh?

I was going to link to some pages describing and depicting the alternative interrogation techniques permitted by this law, but it was just too fucking sick and disgusting. Look it up yourself if you want to. I am ashamed that this gang of brutal assholes in our government is pretending to represent me to the world.

_______________________________________

In other news, Trader Joe’s has had to pull all bags of their delicious Banana Crisps because of some mislabeling snafu. So, while airplanes are still allowed to fly right into New York City and crash into skyscrapers, we are protected from mislabeled snack foods.

There’s some confusion…

… regarding what defensive action was taken by the U.S. military on September 11, 2001 when four airliners were hijacked all at the same time. There might have been some fighters in the air over New York after one of the airliners hit the World Trade Center, but nobody got shot down, or even challenged. Nothing much happened by way of air defense after the second plane hit the second tower, either, or when the other two airliners were pretty much known to be up to no good.

And now, five years later, apparently you can still hop in a light plane, fly right into New York City and crash into a skyscraper.

So here’s my question: Exactly what has the government been doing for the past five years to “make us safer” from terrorists? I mean aside from pissing off the entire Islamic world, alienating most of our allies and allowing two members of the “axis of evil” to get atomic bombs.

I guess if I were a terrorist, I’d be loading up my Cessna with explosives and getting ready to meet the 72 virgins in Manhattan.

Just thought you’d like to know that John Lithgow is a national treasure and his new show, Twenty Good Years, (NBC Wednesdays) is very funny.

I’ve been a fan of Lithgow since he played the crossdressing (or was it transgendered? — somebody help me out here) pro linebacker in The World According to Garp. He’s often been a terrific, creepy bad guy in movies, but to my mind he really hit his stride as the clueless-yet-arrogant leader of the band of alien invaders in Third Rock From the Sun, sent to Earth to study the locals, and perhaps getting a little too chummy with them.

The new show looks great: a touching premise (that may have some legs), funny, intelligent writing and Lithgow and Jeffrey Tambor as the odd couple at the heart of it.

In other news, 30 Rock, the Tina Fey vehicle produced by Lorne Greene, sucks ostrich eggs. It’s the lead-in to Twenty Good Years, and it is a study in what not to do if you want to put on a show. Black stereotypes, gay stereotypes, evil corporate executive stereotypes, diva stereotypes, cat-throwing and burping jokes. I almost said burping gags, but the word “gag” is too close to home. If you missed the premiere, lucky you. If you saw it, bet you won’t be watching next week.

I’ll meet you for coffee, and we can be home in time to catch Twenty Good Years.

Boy, am I disheartened.

The Republicans are committing so many outrages lately that I feel like moving to a shack in the high desert, with nothing but a short-wave radio and an old guitar. Come to think of it, I might not take the radio.

I don’t want to talk about the outrages. If you are breathing oxygen you know about them, at least in general terms. And there are so many good writers expressing their outrage so much more eloquently than I can, I won’t add to the static.

Yes, enough about the outrages. What about me?

There’s been a lot of talk lately about how this administration isn’t merely incompetent, greedy, corrupt, immoral, dishonest and drunk with power. None of these are good leadership qualities, but we as a nation have suffered through a lot of bad elected officials, and they have often got us going off in the wrong direction. It’s been painful, but somehow we seem to get past these lapses in group good judgement, correct our course, throw the bums out and get on with things. For a recent example of this take a look at President Nixon.

But I’m trying to resist joining the growing chorus of voices saying that this President, abetted by this Congress, is not just enjoying the spoils of victory, but is selling out the very ideals that the nation was founded on, turning the country into a great big ignorant international bully, codifying a doctrine of preemptive war and torture when it suits them, abrogating treaties, mocking friend and foe alike, while trampling on cherished civil rights at home and claiming all our wealth as their own.

I’m trying to resist saying those things and thinking those things because I don’t want this to be the scary end-times of our democracy, the days that history will view as the beginning of the end. I don’t know what the world would look like if The United States were to abandon its dedication to life, liberty, justice, equality and of course the pursuit of happiness.

Over two centuries the country has grown into an enormous and powerful giant and I’ve been quick to criticize the giant when it is cruel, when it is stupid, when it is unfair, when it is selfish, when it is repressive. Because the United States is simply the most powerful nation the world has ever known, and its behavior affects everyone living on the planet, and even the very planet itself, and because I grew up believing that this country was committed to using its great power to light the way to peace and freedom for the rest of the world.

I don’t know what the world will look like in fifty years, but you don’t have to look very far back in history to see that we could be headed for a new world order, one in which an armed and aggressive United States patrols and plunders the continents in a state of permanent war, dominating everyone, feared and hated by everyone; while at home we’d live in fear, not of terrorists but of our own government; and hundreds of millions of powerless worker drones would labor endlessly to enrich the high-born and well-connected few.

I’m hoping the world doesn’t look like that. I’m hoping that the American people will correct course, throw the bums out and get on with things. If we do, and if a new generation of leaders can rebuild U.S. credibility, and once the bills are finally paid for our current excesses, a kid might be able to stand up in U.S. History class without fear and ask “What the hell were they thinking?”

_________________________________________

Oh, and it’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright:
You can’t be forever blessed.
Still, tomorrow’s going to be another working day
And I’m trying to get some rest.
That’s all I’m trying… to get some rest.

— from American Tune, by Paul Simon (The blue button plays the song)

Write what you know.

What do I know? I thought I knew stuff. I guess there are gray areas, outcomes that I can’t predict, but the sun comes up every morning, doesn’t it? I know I saw it this morning.

Somehow I had slept through the sound of the jets that take off over my house, starting at 7 AM every day. Seven years I’ve been here. Seven in the morning, seven days a week. I rarely sleep past seven. Today I stayed in my dream world until 8:15, and woke disoriented, the sun too high, angles and shadows wrong.

I sat up in bed and the dreams ran off my body like ocean water, trickling and evaporating as I emerged into my dry and sunny bedroom. I sit on the edge of the bed and think about my dreams for a few seconds, those crazy little shows I stage for myself. There are only those few seconds when I am awake but still can see the visions of sleep. When I am awake, things intrude. They might be things from the real world, but I don’t know. Once disturbed, the images ripple and vanish as if they are painted on the surface of a glassy pool, into which a pebble has fallen.

Molly the Cat is outside the bedroom door, and she is telling me that breakfast is overdue, and all my dreams are gone. Luckily, I don’t have to go to work today.

While the coffee heats I get Molly’s morning meal for her. This is one thing I know: If you delay, Molly the Cat will bite your ankles. Not enough to draw blood or cripple you, but enough so that you don’t forget your duty. I’m a night person, not very efficient first thing in the morning, and so I have a lot of tiny little scars on my ankles, from seven years of bites.

I know that freshly ground Colombian coffee beans make a fine brown drink. I know that autumn follows summer, shadows grow long and we slide into cold days. I know that no digital device will ever sound as good as a Strat plugged straight into an old Fender tube amp, and I mean to prove that a few more times before it’s over.

Some of my old bloggin’ buddies have gone over to MySpace.com,

which I kind of think of as The Dark Side. You know who you are, and I just want to extend a friendly caution to you about your new home on the web:

You may think you’re just fooling around, making “friends,” but some people take things a lot more seriously. If the wrong people see your site you might find yourself on the totally wrong kind of hitlist.

Just sayin’.