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Friday, December 25, 2009

Merry Christmas

Dilbert.com

The kid let us sleep in this morning.

Best gift ever.

It was an accident, of course. He stayed up late and then overslept.

The gifts have now been opened. The kid ended up happy with an amp for his electric guitar. He saved up and bought the ax himself, a Gibson Les Paul, but couldn't afford the amp. So we got him that and a large LCD TV/Monitor for his room (really, how do you expect a kid to vaporize aliens on a small screen?). My wife is happy with a new camera, jewelery, and an addition to her Christmas village. I got tools which I am quite pleased with (especially since they followed my explicit directions to the letter). There were gift cards and other cool things from the grandparents. My wife filled our stockings with exotic chocolates and strange little treats, as she does every year. We exchanged the traditional gifts of socks and underwear (longjohns, actually, a gift we Alaskan are always grateful to receive). Hell, I even got a poster in the mail yesterday, Princess Leia in her bikini, which made me laugh hysterically - it's a sort of inside joke, having to do with a running gag within the UCF that was set off several months ago by some spectacularly unfunny events on a blog site that shall not be named - and strangely enough when the posters arrived Star Wars was playing on the living room TV, how's that for a bit of Christmas coincidence?

Now the house smells of bacon and coffee, and my wife is making scrambled eggs.

After breakfast I'll put on the ham - and by "put on" I don't mean I wear it on my head like a hat, I mean I put it in the oven with sliced apples and cherries and brown sugar. Mmmmm ham.

Then, it'll be phone call time, if we can manage to get a line out of Alaska today and there's enough bandwidth to support video calling. We'll see.

Christmas day here at Stonekettle Station is well underway and pretty darn good.

How about you, how's your Christmas working out? Get anything good?

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Ask Stonekettle Station about the Fiction in Science Fiction

Today’s extra crispy search phrase:

What is the location of the stone hanging mountains in Avatar? Australia?

Yep.

See, because they’re not floating mountains, they’re dangling - from the bottom of the earth.

 

 

Some of us, it seems, will not be advancing with the others to the next grade.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Aiiiiighh!!

 
Jesus Jumping Christ!

This just may be the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen…

image

 

…and I’ve been in the same room with George W. Bush.

 

This painting was commissioned by Michael Jackson and painted by David Nordahl.

Clicking on the picture (makes you a sick damn bastard and) will take you to the original Telegraph article, where you can find even more disturbing pictures of the King of Fruitcakes.  You might want to drink a couple shots of Jesus Juice first.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be in the garage bleaching my brain.

Monday, December 21, 2009

Attention Frothy Obama Hating People

Stumbled into your “blog.”  Can’t understand how a “veteran” could be a big dumb lib. I know alot of vets and none of them are “socialists.” Makes me wonder if maybe you might be lying about your military service, chief? Because I “cannot” understand how a supposed vet like you could support the fascist traitor Obama and his socialist dumbocrats.  But, yeah, you keep fighting the “good fight” there, you hear?

 

Couple things:

1) By “Stumbled into your blog” do you mean using the StumbleUpon service for Firefox or Chrome?  Because if so I hope you gave me a big thumbs up! Thanks!

 

2) Quote marks are for quoting, not for emphasis.  The rule applies to both liberals and conservatives.  See the example in the previous paragraph, also note the use of italics in this paragraph to denote emphasis.  Perhaps English is not your first language?  If so, I certainly hope you are a lawful guest in this country and not some nasty stinky illegal alien here to eat our good Christian babies and steal our jobs.

 

3) I don’t think either the words “fascist” or “socialist” mean what you think they mean (also, note the proper use of quote marks).  Allow me to explain (don’t worry, I’ll use really small words):

Let’s start in the middle, where you have Centrists, moving left you have moderate liberals, moving a little more left you have Liberals (note the big “L”), moving further left you have Socialists, and moving even further left left left, you end up with Communists.

Note the lack of Fascists.

See fascism is on the other side of the aisle. That would be your side, just in case you’re as obtuse as you sound (that means “stupid” and “ignorant”).

Again, let’s start in the middle, only this time we’ll go to the right. Centrist, Progressive, moderate conservative, Conservative, batshit crazy Neo-Conservative, Fascist. 

Sort of explains why the Nazis (fascists) hated the Soviets (Commies) and vice versa, doesn’t it?

Labeling Obama a Fascist is the same as calling him an ultra conservative.

Here’s a handy diagram to help you keep it straight:

image

 

4) Print this out and show your friends in the militia.

 

5) Lose my email address and please, fuck right off. Thanks.

 

 

Seriously, folks, the words, they’re really not interchangeable. 

Ask Stonekettle Station

What is Ookymmas?

Twice.

From two different search engines and IP addresses far, far apart.

Oh yes. I am the Walrus.  I create ideas and turn them loose in the electronic universe where they breed and have little ideas and grow and grow geometrically until they rise up like, like a tidal wave! Soon, world domination will be be mine! Mine! Bawahahahahaha!

Ba wah…a…

What?

Oh.

Sorry, I get excited.

Never mind.

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Avatar: Simply Astounding (spoiler free)

I went to see Star Wars.

It wasn’t opening day, but it was sometime during the first week Star Wars was playing. Nobody had ever heard of it. There were a couple of commercials for it, but the name sounded stupid and nobody advertised science fiction during prime time TV and sure as hell nobody took a science fiction movie as anything other than Saturday morning kiddie fare.

I don’t remember what day of the week it was, but my friend Mike Miller and I saw the movie at an early afternoon matinee. I don’t actually remember what we paid per ticket, but it wasn’t much, certainly no more than $3.00USD. There wasn’t a line, in fact there were only about six people in the theater besides us.

And from the first blare of trumpets and the scroll of those now famous words “A long time ago…” we were just plain blown away.

For two hours I was captivated, sitting in open mouthed fascination, popcorn and Junior Mints forgotten, barely breathing.

I don’t think I can describe it.

Those of you who grew up with big budget scifi movies and computerized special effects, just can’t imagine what Star Wars was like to those of us who grew up reading scifi in the 60’s. There were flying cars and realistic robots and giant crawler things and a bunch of aliens in a bar and battered beat up tramp freighter spaceships and huge glossy evil empire star destroyers and just so many damned amazing things that before the summer of 1977 had existed only in our minds. It was astounding. There had never been anything like it.

Star Wars was the first movie I ever saw twice in a theater.

In the same day.

The next week we went back to see it again, and by then, of course, it had become a phenomenon. Suddenly they were advertising it on television, in prime time (owwwooooooh! What was that! Don’t worry it’s just a Wookie howling in hyperspace!). The lines were around the corner, the tickets were $12, the theaters were showing it on every screen they had, and suddenly everybody wanted to see a science fiction movie. Every high school band in the country played the Star Wars Medley, and every high school jazz band played the Star Wars Cantina song. There were T-shirts and lunch boxes and action figures. Hell, there was even a Christmas special in prime time.

Star Wars changed everything.

Avatar is the same kind of watershed event.

Oh, I don’t mean that Avatar is some little obscure scifi flick made on a shoestring budget that suddenly and unexpectedly made it big. Obviously that’s not true. But Avatar changes the movie going experience in a profound way.

Cameron said it would, and he is right.

I’ve often wondered over the years what would happen if you just gave James Cameron all the money he wanted and left him the hell alone for a while.

After all, this is the guy who has created some of the most incredible science fiction (The Abyss, Aliens, Terminator and its sequels and spinoffs) ever put onto film.

He’s the guy who created Titanic (and you can pretend disdain at the sappy love story all you like, Titanic is still one amazing film).

And so I wondered what would happen if you just gave the guy everything he asked for and got the hell out of his way?

What would that be like? Would he create something amazing? or would he fall flat on his ass? Would he be another George Lucas?

I figured either you’d end up with the Phantom Menace…or one of the most astounding things ever made.

Avatar is the later.

I’m going to avoid any spoilers in this review, so if you haven’t yet seen the movie and are planning on it, read on in safety.

The Storyline:

You know who science fiction’s biggest detractors are?

They’re not people who lack imagination or dislike science fiction in general and write it off as “that Buck Rogers Stuff” with a disdainful “who farted?” look on their face.

No.

It’s science fiction Fans – yes, Fans with a capital F.

Those jaded disdainful uber nerds who make it their life’s work not to be impressed by anything. Who decry the lack of originality in science fiction, but then only watch endless rehashes of Star Trek and Star Gate and Babylon 5, with the same five characters (the plucky Captain, the Professor, the Doctor, the emotionless Alien, and The Boobs) and same dozen or so recycled plots (the Trial episode, the Time Travel episode, the Body Swap episode, the Mirror Universe episode, the Alien Mother, and etc). They read x-Gen writers like Doctrow and Scalzi and Gaiman, and can’t wait for the next installment of The Song of Fire and Ice - but have never read Niven or Bester or Tiptree and wouldn’t be caught dead with a DVD of Silent Running or Forbidden Planet. They’ve never read The Black Destroyer, or The Machine Stops, or Microcosmic God. And they wouldn’t recognize a dog eared copy of The Demolished Man if they they tripped over it in the coffee shop. They sneer at the 2002 remake of The Time Machine and pontificate for hours on how it’s nothing, nothing, compared to the original H. G. Wells – which they’ve never actually read – and sit on the floor in the SciFi section of Barnes & Nobles reading the latest Twilight knockoff with tears smearing their eye shadow, oh God, it’s like me and Edward are one and the same!

They’re the sloppy unwashed acne covered goofs in dirty clothes with their ass cracks hanging out, the ones who exited Avatar in front of me yesterday trying desperately to be unimpressed.

“I told ya, it’s nothing more than the Smurfs do Dances With Wolves, Cameron hasn’t had an original idea in years,” proffered in a loud, jaded, twenty year old man of the world monotone. So true, sniff, so true.

Sigh.

You can drop the disaffected emo nerd into the jungles of Pandora, but sometimes he can’t see the giant alien forest for the floating mountains.

I’ve seen this same assessment a number of places, that the storyline is simply Dances with Wolves with ten foot tall blue people instead of native Americans.

Wrong.

If anything it’s closer to Medicine Man, than Wolves – though neither are accurate comparisons.

And the Smurfs comment? Well, that’s just plain stupid on so many levels.

See, if these people were half the Science Fiction fans they claim to be, they would immediately see Avatar’s storyline for what it really is, an alien invasion story. Now, if you want to get technical about it, both Dances with Wolves and Medicine man were alien invasion stories. But, there’s a big difference between Avatar and Wolves. In Wolves the ending is a forgone conclusion – and it’s ultimately a tragic one. No matter what the natives’ momentary triumphs, they are dying, their way of life is dying, their world is dying, their victories are hollow at best and Lt Dunbar’s sacrifice and betrayal of his own people is ultimately doomed to failure – making the story’s happy ending all the more sad and poignant and heartbreaking. So too is the conclusion of Medicine Man, and though the story ends on a hopeful note, the optimism is more about the invaders and the rewards they may reap, than the future of the natives – too bad about the jungle and the people, at least we get a cure for cancer.

Avatar takes both those storylines and turns them on their heads. It’s about hope, about the triumph of the spirit and right over wrong and the true nature of honor. There’s a world of difference between Avatar and Dances with Wolves, or even Medicine Man, and only the most shallow and superficial comparison would miss that. In fact, the off the cuff comparison to Dances With Wolves betrays the shallowness of the critic’s knowledge and the superficiality of his pretended superior viewpoint, Wolves wasn’t an original story either - in science fiction or any other kind of fiction. From the ancient Roman legend of Romulus and Remus, to Kipling’s Mowgli, to Cooper’s last Mohican, to John Wayne’s Searchers, to Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land – and yes, even the original Star Trek’s Charlie X – the alien assimilation story has been told many times in many ways, Cameron is only the latest. But Avatar is not diminished for only being the latest retelling of this tale, just as Dances with Wolves is in no way diminished by the Jungle Book. Avatar’s storyline is as old as time and one that has been told many times in the annuals of science fiction, from Olaf Stapledon to Harry Harrison, and it is no less powerful and wonderful for all of that. Just as we ultimately knew the fate of the RMS Titanic, and yet still sat on the edge of our seats throughout Cameron’s tale of the disaster, Avatar does a yeoman job with the alien invasion story.

The last lines of the movie, spoken by the protagonist as he records his final diary entry explains everything, but you have to listen carefully.

However.

My astonishment and enjoyment of Avatar doesn’t prevent me from offering up a criticism of one of Cameron’s personal quirks, the portrayal of the military.

The military never fairs well in a Cameron movie, especially the officers.

Marines, Navy SEALS and Navy Admirals, the Army, the Air Force – Cameron doesn’t have much use for us military folks. It’s a constant of his movies that we get shown the folly of our ways – or terminated – and the day is saved by the plucky civilian hero, who, more often than not, is Sigorney Weaver.

In the Terminator movies, it was the military’s quest for better and smarter weapons that ultimately unleashed robotic terror on civilization. In Aliens, it was the incompetent commanding officer and knuckle dragging Marines who unwitting bring alien death in all its mucus drooling horror down upon themselves. In The Abyss, it is the military again, Navy SEALs this time led by an insane officer, who bring about disaster. Greedy corporations play a role too, but it is always the military’s stereotypical small mindedness, rigid adherence to orders (no matter how insane), and unbridled red meat enthusiasm for death and destruction that is the villain of Cameron movies.

In Avatar, the military is pure Cameron, led by the absolute biggest, baddest, cast iron, snake eating, death dealing son of bitch of a stereotypical Marine colonel who seems like an extra left over from Full Metal Jacket. Not that you don’t enjoy the hell out of watching the character played with over the top enthusiasm and utter sincerity by Stephan Lang.

But just once, I’d like Cameron to portray the military as the hero, or at the very least not the villain.

A note on casting: Sam Worthington is rapidly turning into one of my favorite actors, likewise Zoe Saldana. Such is the presence and power of Wes Studi’s acting, that I recognized him instantly through the blue computer generated ten foot tall alien body the special effects wizards hung on him – and it wasn’t until after the movie was over that I remembered the Dances with Wolves connection and wondered if Cameron wasn’t having one over on his critics. Sigorney Weaver managed to not steal the show, I thought that was damned nice of her. And Michelle Rodriguez is a pleasure, as always, and I thought her role was beautifully done.

The World of Pandora:

My God! It’s full of stars!

Insiders say this movie cost over $300 million to make.

If so, it’s worth every penny – and then some.

The backdrop of Avatar is breathtaking.

The world of Pandora is utterly astounding. I would have given a great deal to have had a remote control with a big pause button on it during the movie. I wanted to stop and marvel at what Cameron and his people have wrought. I have nothing but admiration for the artwork of Avatar. It should be on display, full sized, in all its glowing 3D glory. I would love to be able to stand in front of an IMAX sized projection of the Pandorian forest with its alien sky above and the floating mountains in the distance.

I remember being stunned by those twin suns setting in the sky of Tatooine – that scene is like a faded Polaroid compared to the world of Avatar. I thought I’d be watching a cartoon, or one of those horrifying CG overlays like 300 or Beowulf. But the world of Pandora looked as if it had been filmed there, in that alien jungle on that alien world beneath the light of a sky filling gas giant.

It was everything I could do to keep from shouting out “Wayne Barlowe! Holy Shit, it’s Wayne Barlowe!” when the first alien creatures scampered through the trees and thundered out of the jungle. I own a first addition hardback copy of Barlowe’s Guide to Extraterrestrials and I’d recognize his six limbed creations anywhere. To see them given life after all these years was simply fantastic and you’d have to see the creatures to believe them. I’ve seen National Geographic documentaries in HD that don’t look half so realistic.

I want to see the movie again, just to explore Pandora, to marvel at the sky filling Jovian primary hanging overhead, to goggle at the mountains floating in the sky, to admire Wayne Barlowe’s creatures as they roar and thunder through the jungles beneath the great mile high trees.

Pandora is a thousand science fiction and fantasy novels given life and breath.

In addition to the creation of Pandora, there is the film’s portrayal of human technology.

I love that Buck Rogers stuff, I do. I love seeing the things that have been floating my mind’s eye for the last forty years given life on the big screen at long, long last.

One of the things that I admire about Cameron is his attention to detail and his quest for realism. It appears that he designed Pandora’s ecosystem from the microbe level all the way up to the sapient natives. You can see him hunched over the drafting table (or computer monitor, whatever) designing the vein patterns in every leaf of every tree in his alien jungle. He could have stopped there, but he didn’t. The human tech is beautifully, almost lovingly, designed in every bit of the same attention to detail as the muscles and hairs on the legs of Wayne Barlowe’s alien six limbed horses.

Everything from the cargo netted pallets in the hold of the Venture Star type orbital shuttle, to the holographic computer displays, to the design of the starship in orbit above, is rendered in exquisite detail. It’s as if Cameron considered and agonized over every single brushstroke himself. It is the mark of the ultimate craftsman, and it’s a privilege to see such artistry and attention to detail on the screen.

Hell, even if you find the story old and clichéd and you’re just so jaded by it all, see the movie for the artistry that is Pandora.

The Uncanny Valley:

I really don’t like CG.

I really, really don’t like motion capture.

While I thought the effects used to bring Gollum to life in the Lord of the Rings movies were the best I’d ever seen, certainly orders of magnitude above those now dated effects of Star Wars or Alien, I still didn’t care for it. I found it distracting and creepy and uncanny and absolutely unrealistic. Ditto times ten for the Star War prequels. I would have far, far preferred the masterful puppetry that Frank Oz used to bring Yoda to the screen in the 1970’s over the cartoonish and distracting CG of the “modern” prequels. I truly hate how CG allowed Lucas to destroy my fragile suspension of disbelief in his world.

So, I don’t like motion capture. And I truly hate CG.

Until now.

The motion capture effects Cameron used to bring the Na’vi to life are incredible and the most realistic I’ve ever seen. You can easily lose yourself in them and forget you’re watching the creation of computers and not reality.

And then there is the 3D.

I’ve always felt 3D to be a gimmick.

In the old days of analog split projection it certainly was. Digital 3D has absolutely improved the process and made it, well, if not truly holographic, at least not cartoonish either.

I saw Up in 3D, it was ok. And the 3D was well suited to the storyline and the graphics.

But I didn’t think 3D enhanced the story.

Until now.

Avatar in digital 3D is as close to a full immersion VR simulation as I have ever seen. I know I’ve used this line more than once already, but Cameron’s use of 3D is astounding. The 3D in Avatar is in no way a gimmick and the movie will be much diminished without it. Cameron used 3D the same way another director might use French angles or Noir lighting or altered frame rates like Ridley Scott did in the Gladiator battle scenes. It is an integral part of the movie and it is so effective and realistic that in several scenes where the camera was panning across the crowded control room, characters in the forefront of the scene obscured the central action and I was annoyed at first because I thought somebody had stood up in front of me. Cameron doesn’t use 3D for cheap thrills or to startle the audience with simulated objects flung at the bridge of their noses, he uses it to transport you into the midst of his incredible world.

The movie is long, but there isn’t one extra minute on the screen, nor is there one that isn’t finely crafted.

Avatar is a work of art. It’s beautiful and wonderful and epically fantastic. It’s everything that science fiction should be.

It’s the first movie since Star Wars decades ago that I fully intend to see again in the theater.

It’s a masterpiece.

I only hope there isn’t a Christmas special.

First Impression

Avatar.

Holy Freakin’ Shit!

If you haven’t seen this movie, you need to go see it right now.

It is utterly astounding.

 

Detailed review tomorrow.

Saturday, December 19, 2009

Saturday Adventures

Today started with inky blackness.

About 0745 (that’s about quarter to eight for you non-military types) the power quietly went out. 

I was still in bed (I swore I was damned well going to sleep in this morning, this week has just plain kicked my ass) but the sudden lack of juice sizzling through the wires woke me right up.  Shipboard habits die hard, I guess.  It’s funny, on a warship you get used to the constant noise, the blowers and the engines and the pumps and the sound of the water and wind beating on the hull. There’s always some evolution going on, equipment clanging and banging, chains shifting on the flight deck, crew moving about. You learn to sleep through it, or you eventually go insane.  But let the ship go cold iron, a main bus blows, a switchboard kicks off, the generator fails, or the engines shut down for some unexpected reason and the sudden silence is deafening.  Navy Sailors can sleep through the hammering explosions of a main gun exercise on the firing line, but will come bounding out of the rack wild eyed and alert if the power dies.

I’m still like that.

It’s damned cold outside, as only Alaska in deep winter can be.  The house is well insulated, but it will cool over a couple hours if the power remains off.  We’ve got a fire place, both gas and electric, and wood stoves.  We’ve got emergency generators, one each for the house and shop, and I was reviewing how much fuel I had on hand before I was even fully awake. 

I got up, went downstairs and killed the power strips for the electronics.  Looked out the window towards the valley and didn’t see a single light.  Not good.  It meant a substation or power plant was down, not just the local transformer.  From the second floor I could see the glow of Wasilla in the distance, and Anchorage reflecting off the clouds.  So, a substation or a line then, not the plant. Better. The linemen should have that fixed fairly quickly.

Hopefully.

I went back to bed figuring that if the power didn’t come on in an hour or so I’d get up and light a fire in the fireplace and then start the generators.  The gas fireplace was already on, so I wasn’t too concerned.

Just about an hour later the sound of the heater kicking on woke me.

So nice to have electricity.

Because, otherwise I’d have to fire up a generator solely to run the coffee pot.

And now, we’re off to Anchorage for the annual polar bear plunge. We’re watching some crazy people jump into a freezing lake for charity.  I’ll be cheering them on, but you can bet everything you own that I won’t be joining them.  I did it myself a number of years ago, twice in one day actually in two different oceans (once in the northern Pacific, then across the island and into the Bearing Sea 30 minutes later) and that was more than enough to do me for life.  My teeth still chatter when I think about it. Just for the record, it’s about 0 degree Fahrenheit today, and the wind chill is somewhere in the –30’s. 

Then we’re off to see Avatar.  We’ve already got our tickets.

The damned power better stay on until the movie is over.

Hmmm, maybe I better bring the generator along.

Just in case.

Friday, December 18, 2009

Friday Observation

Tiger Woods messed around with what? Twelve, maybe fourteen or so women?

Wilt Chamberlain claims to have bedded 25,000 women over the course of his career.

Amateurs. The both of them.

Joe Lieberman just screwed 47 million Americans, men, women, and kids.

What a stud.

Hope he wore a condom.

Thursday, December 17, 2009

As Promised, Brownies

image

Clicking on the image will take you to a place where you can learn everything you ever wanted to know about the forest folk.

You’re welcome.

 

I spent this evening moving snow, for the third straight day in a row.  We’ve had 32 inches here at Stonekettle Station in the last 72 hours.  I’ve moved more snow in the last three days than I did all last winter.  That’s Alaska for you.  Tonight I could no longer push the piles back with the ATV plow, so I had to get out the big snow thrower and move the berms back away from the drive.  So on top of feeling like crap all day, I now hurt pretty much everywhere and my ruined shoulder is just plain killing me.

What I’m trying to say is, enjoy the damned brownies because that’s all you’re getting tonight.

I’m going to go soak in the Jacuzzi and read some Destroyer of Worlds.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

This Week’s Lack of Posting Excuse

Major Alaskan Winter Storm, lasted two days so far.

Hours to get home on the highway, dodging what may be the world’s stupidest drivers.  Black ice. White out conditions.

Then a couple hours each night to plow snow out of my driveway (I have a big driveway and we’ve gotten feet of snow in the last two days. Feet).

And now tonight, my wife called from Anchorage (she was working late).  She’s having car trouble.  And it appears that I’m going to have to go get her. 

So, no posting.

No, stop that sniveling right now.  Look, no crying. I hate that.  I’ll make you brownies or something tomorrow.

Promise.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

A Note About the People You Marry

You know, I hope that if my spouse ever decides to kill me, she’s smarter about it then this dolt – and comes up with a better alibi.

I know, but see, this kind of thing sort of reflects poorly on you, doesn’t it?

People read about this and they don’t think “Oh, that poor woman.”  No. They say to themselves, “What kind of fucking idiot did she marry? Christ, if she’s that stupid, maybe she did wander away, naked into a snow storm…”

Of course, in my case, people would probably say, “It’s about time she got rid of that idiot…”

Monday, December 14, 2009

And A Happy Festivus To You!

Got an email and some quizzical direct twitters in response to something I said this morning.

To wit: What in pluperfect hell is “Ookymmas” and why are you wishing people a happy one?  Also, why do all of your followers seem to know about it, but I’ve never heard of it?  Also why are you so damned sexy, it’s unfair to the rest of us.

OK, I might have made that last one up.

 

Right.

Ookymmas, for those of you not in the know, is a new internationally recognized holiday.

 

Frankly, I am shocked, shocked, that you haven’t heard of it, it’s been the talk of all the media that’s fit to read. Major celebrities, politicians, talking heads, pundits, dads, cads, and small lads are all gushing on about Ookymmas.  Really, where have you been?

Very well, as a public service, I, your humble servant and Ponderous Perambulating Pananjerum of the Ookymmas Parade and Drinking Festival, hereby outline the basic precepts of Ookymmas:

First the name, Ookymmas. It is an ancient word from a lost and mystical language. The language itself is unnamed in English and defies the Google translator because it’s one of those that consist mostly of grunts, click-click noises, and glottal stops.  Ookymmas is one of only two words in this language that is pronounceable in English (the other strangely enough is “teabag”) – it’s sort of the Esperanto of holiday labels.  The word, Ookymmas, is steeped in mystery and strong voodoo magic.

OK, not really. 

It’s just a made up word that sounds really, really funny when you’re saying it in a drunken slur to the police officer who pulled you over for driving without lights, signals, or pants. 

(A note on pronunciation:  The last syllable should be pronounced maaaazzzzzzzzz! Rhymes with Taser)

And let that be your first introduction to the fun that is Okymmass, a day of unbridled consumerism, gleeful silliness, gay abandon, wily trickery, arcane humor, and booze-fueled naked-legged shenanigans.

In a radical departure from other holidays, Ookimmas is not associated with the birth, death, or zombification of any prophet or deity (or the sequel, Son of Deity: The Second Coming). Nor is it in commemoration of any president, potentate, explorer, animal, science fiction writer, disaster, attack, bank, skank, war, bore, woe, ho, smoe, or Holy Joe.  Any attempt to hijack Ookymmas by any person, religion, nation, age group, ethnic group, or fruit loop will be looked upon with extreme disfavor and such attempts will be treated with scorn, sarcasm, ridicule, and the baring of buttocks in the general direction of the offending party. Also, the offending party will be assigned duties as the designated driver and barred from the consumption of fruity alcoholic beverages and easy gratuitous sex for the duration of Ookymmass (the rest of us will be hooking up, you keep your eyes on the road, Buster, also the backseat needs a good steam cleaning).

Ookymaas doesn’t fall on any particular date, rather it may be substituted at will for any other local, state, provincial, federal, or nationally recognized holiday (up to and including Fridays), as many times a year as necessary. It’s not intended to disrespect others’ beliefs, neurosis, hypocrisy, or pet bugaboos – that’s just sort of a free bonus.   For example, whenever a fundamentalist TV evangelist looks out from his multi-billion dollar empire of glass, chrome, and blowjobs to decry the commercialization of little baby Jesus’ birthday – you should immediately declare Ookymmas! and commence some form of generally immoral activity (Drunken sex consummated in the manger display in front of your local Wal-Mart is a good place to start, just saying). 

OokymmaX and the spelling thereof: nobody cares.  Because Ookymmass is a totally made up word and isn’t associated with anybody’s God, gods, nation, relations, adulations, or ablations – nobody cares.  Whenever anyone, anywhere, expresses outrage or puffed up offense at the usage of the abbreviation “Xmas,” Christmas shall be immediately suspended and Ookymmas substituted in its place.  Period and no exceptions.

There are no symbols associated with Ookymast. No crosses, no crescents, no curly eared bunnies.  No drunken goofs in red suits who smell of vomit, bourbon, Marlboros and foodcourt burritos.  No resurrections.  No tinsel. I don’t want to see yards full of cheap inflatable snowmen, Peanuts characters, or the Virgin Mary.  Though I do personally admit a soft spot for that giant Marmaduke balloon they have in the Macy’s Day Parade (it may come in useful in a later step, bear with me).  Mistletoe is acceptable, smooching random strangers is sort of the whole point of Ookymmas to begin with – if you don’t end up with a cold sore, you’re not doing it right.

There is no traditional food associated with Ookymaaz. Nobody has to get up early on Ookymmas to slaughter a ham or a flock of wild cranberries. Nobody has to make soup or defrost an ostrich.  Sleep in. Order out. Get extra and give it to those less fortunate.

No Sermons. Period.  Anybody wearing a robe and a funny hat on Ookymmaas better be headed to a toga party and/or an orgy – especially the clergy.

No nation is allowed to start a war for the duration of Ookymmass (OK, this isn’t an actual rule, but I’d like you to think about it).

No fucking caroling.  The only music associated with Ookymmaass shall be the kind you can dance to.  Anybody even thinks about teaching dogs to bark Ookymaas jingles will be fitted with a pair of headphones plugged into a iPod playing an endless loop of ABBA’s Fernando,  lashed to the aforementioned Giant Marmaduke Balloon and set adrift in the jet stream (see? Told you it would come in useful). Everybody got that?

No trite phrases.  Well, ok, you may use the phrase “don’t be a dick” if you feel it necessary (a perfectly acceptable Ookymmas response to “remember, the ancient midwinter Druid fertility rite is the reason for the season!”).  

Greetings. Whatever. Happy Ookymass! Merry Ookymmass! Live Long and Prosper! Woooo, I’m fucked up, that’s some good eggnog, Grandma! Evening, Officer, what are you doing all the way up here?!  Are all perfectly acceptable Ooky salutations.

Gift giving.  Hell yes.  But, buy yourself a gift first, just a little something. Because you deserve it. Keeping in the spirit of the holiday, I recommend pornography. It’s cheap, widely available, comes in a variety of personal flavors, and you can wear it with anything.

Stores may have Ookymmas sales any damned time they like, the more the better. Done right, Ookymass will singlehandedly kickstart the economy like a set of jumper cables clamped to Paris Hilton’s nipples.  You don’t have to buy anybody a card for Ookymass, but you know it wouldn’t kill you to make the gesture either. Just saying. Cards should be humorous and preferably ones with pictures of naked people in them and some kind of pun.

Outside of that, anything goes.

Basically Folks, Ookymmas is the Calvinball of holidays.

Have fun.

Sunday, December 13, 2009

Things that Chap My Ass About Christmas

It’s Socialist.

Really, think about it for a minute.

Christmas is just a big old pile of steaming liberalism.

Take this guy, Santa Claus.

Santa was never elected, he apparently just took over the whole process when nobody was looking. 

He wears a red suit. Duh.

Claus sounds a lot like Claws. And a claw looks a lot like a sickle, which as everybody knows is the symbol of communism.  He’s got the population under continuous surveillance, and he keeps lists of people based on some arbitrary socialist measure of good and bad.  People stand in line to see him, in fact there are queues everywhere during the Christmas season – and standing in line is one of the defining pillars of socialism.

Then there’s the whole gift thing. He apparently sneaks into your house at night - without a warrant or probable cause or any kind of Constitutional controls, I mean you don’t need to be sent to a reeducation camp to see this do you?  And he leaves presents for the “good” kids based on some kind of arcane request system – which to me sounds a heck of a lot like “From each according to his ability, to each according to his need” – and the presents are made in some kind of collective factory run by an oppressed ethnic workforce.  And the “bad” kids? They get a lump of coal – the very symbol of the lumpenproletariat – it’s like he’s just rubbing your face in it, isn’t it?

Next there’s the whole green vehicle thing. Santa’s sleigh runs on hay and grain like something Ed Bagley Jr. would drive to his weekly party meetings at the Al Gore I Hate America Sustainable Headquarters. And reindeer? Where do they come from? Right, exactly, Russia!

And this entire political apparatus is propped up on the backs of the workers, who are expected to support the power structure with the fruits of their labor – i.e. they are forced to give up a portion of their grain and dairy production in the form of cookies and milk – in support of the entire society. What’s next, socialized healthcare? My God, before you know it, we’ll be living in Canada!

You have only to look around, shake off the shackles of oppression, to see it:

Music: Heroic music has long been a tool of the power elite.  Designed to lull the masses into a malleable state of submission through endless repetition.  Two months of Joan Jett’s Little Drummer Boy and Dogs Barking Jingle Bells will turn all but staunchest anarchist into a pudding-brained drone.  People will band together in collectives and go door to door spreading the propaganda of socialism through the vehicle of “Christmas carols.”  The more easily influenced will actually leave their homes and join the mob of carolers like Bolshevik peasants joining the October Revolution.  

And speaking of the the Mob: Have you been in the stores during the holiday season?  The shelves are stripped bare by crazed crowds driven to a frenzy by the sounds of Carol of the Bells blaring from every speaker in the nation.  Let the rumor spread that Wal-Mart might have a new shipment in from the state factories and mile long lines form almost instantly. What is it? Zhu-Zhu Hamsters? Fisher-Price’s Elmo Live Encore? Toilet Paper? Shoes? Cabbages? We don’t care! Get in line!  Wait, what’s that? black market Twilight Barbies sold from the back of a nondescript truck? I’ll take two, Comrade!

The Secret Police: If mind numbing music wasn’t enough, while you’re standing in line for hours on end you get to listen to the endless ringing of little bells. It’s the Salvation Army, Santa’s intelligence gathering arm. They’re everywhere, on every corner, in every store, always watching like the pervasive surveillance system they are.  Shaking you down, demanding a cut, all in order to “redistributing the wealth.”

Socialist Art: The symbols of this Socialist Season are everywhere. Armies of giant inflatable Frosty The Snowmen and Santas dominate the landscape like those concrete statues of Marx and Lenin that once filled the squares of Moscow.  Yesterday I saw a pickup truck that had its “Truck Nutz” replaced with two large red mirrored balls and a garland of tinsel – my friends, when the state comes for your testicles, you’re living under the jackbooted heel of communism. 

Propaganda: The socialists are piping their message directly into the minds of our children. The airwaves are filled with TV specials like that one with the Island of Misfit toys, a not so subtle reference to Gulags and the fate of those who don’t fit in. Who can fail to see the subliminal message in the final climatic battle scene when the imperialists subvert The People’s Heroic Heat Miser into a decadent display of dancing?  Or how about when that communist Charlie Brown attempts to convince the gang that his miserable substandard shrub is really a beautiful Christmas tree? For the love of the Almighty Dollar, people, open your eyes!

Fruitcake.  Yes, I know, you were wondering where the hammer in the “hammer and sickle” was.  Look no further than this abomination.  When the revolution comes, it will be fruitcake that smashes the windows and staves in the head of the free man, mark my words.

And finally:

 image

Coincidence?  Not bloody likely, folks, not bloody likely.


 

Note: Sarah Palin is in town for a book signing and Jim is suffering a reaction to the excess Conservatism that is currently smothering the MatSu Valley like an oily gray oppressive blanket of stinking fog. Please be patient, things will return to normal shortly.

Saturday, December 12, 2009

One of Those WTF? Moments…

Google New Aggregator

Because White People Really Can’t Tell the Difference

image

 

I clipped this from the Google News home page yesterday. 

I clicked on the Wil Smith picture, just to see if it actually did lead to an Obama related news article at the Washington Post – it did, sort of.

 

Also, Burl Ives is apparently resigning from the Senate…

 

 


Uh, no – I’m not accusing Google of racism or malice aforethought.  Obviously this is just an artifact of the perversity of search algorithms.   I just thought it was amusing. 

Partied Out

OK, I’m done with Christmas parties now.

I’ve used up all my social for this season.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

About the Lack of Posting

As you may have noticed, these been a marked decrease in posting around here this last few days.

As in none.

Sorry about that.

Been terribly busy. Had a kid type crisis to deal with. Late night Emergency Room visit and follow up specialist appointments yesterday for what we thought might be an eye related injury - nothing to worry about, as it turns out. No physical injury despite getting elbowed in the eye, Monday in gym class. His eyes are perfect (better actually, at 20/15) but he suffered an episode of visual disruption. The episode, as it turns out, probably indicates the onset of visual affect migraines (which I guess is better than the detached retina I was worried about). He's the right age for it, and both his mother and I suffer from them (though I don't get visual effects other than light sensitivity). I can't tell you how much this thrills us.

And then last night I was at the Alaska Natural History Museum until late, for my wife's company's annual Christmas party. Awesome food, fancy clothes, live music, great company - forgive me if I'd rather do that than sit in front of the computer. Not that I don't love each and every one of you in your own special way, but seriously folks the dessert bar alone (chocolate dipped strawberries and cheesecake) could have made me give up writing forever and become a professional glutton. Afterward we had a 70 miles drive home in ice fog and didn't get in until midnight - so, you know, no blogging.

Anyway, we will now resume our regularly scheduled broadcast.

Later this evening.

Maybe.

Unless something comes up.

Not that that ever happens.

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Look! Up in the Sky! It’s Super Bestest American!

I swear, you just can’t make this shit up.

I promised myself I wouldn’t write another damned thing about Palin.

It’s not like the silly self involved git isn’t getting enough press already.

And then I saw this:

image

Yes, it’s a new children’s book by Katharine DeBrecht entitled Help! Mom! Radicals Are Ruining My Country!

From the author of Help! Mom! Liberals Are Hiding Under My Bed! comes “a hilarious and entertaining way for parents to sit down with their children and teach them the origins of the new Tea Party movement and the importance of standing up for liberty and the American Dream.”

The book tells the tale of two young boys (and a rat, if the picture above is accurate - one presumes he’s a Tea Bagger) who want to set up a swing set business but are stymied by the radicals who have taken over the good old God blessed USA. Follow along with struggling young entrepreneurs Tommy and Lou (and a rat) as they fight radicals, progressives, liberals, Satan, and the Ghost of Ted Kennedy. Along the way they meet “246 czars, onerous regulations, and sky-high taxes.”

Enter Governor Sarah, defender of truth, justice, and little Red White and Blue babies (Well, only white, but hey it sounded good), who helps the boys (and a rat) stand up for freedom. Along the way, she’s attacked by fiendish journalists but manages to fend them off with her razor like wit in time to help Tommy and Lou (and a rat) beat the big meany President Obundus.

In an interview with Foxnews (seriously, who else? Right?) DeBrecht says that she’s not just trying to reach children, "I am trying to let all Americans know that these radicals are killing the American Dream, and I want to stop them from hurting people that produce products and provide jobs.”

DeBrecht then further opines, “We need to let our kids know that it is wrong to spread rumors and lies. Unfortunately, many so-called journalists have basically told children that this is permissible as long as you disagree with someone's opinions.

You know, I think she just might be onto something here. Like Ole’ PT said, there’s a sucker born every minute and they’re lining up twenty deep to kiss Palin’s teabag. I bet DeBrecht could crank out a whole series of these things. Sort of a Harry Potter meets Glenn Beck at a Birther Rally kind of deal.

It’ll be huge.

Help! Mom! Ethnic People Are Stinking Up The White House!

Tommy and Lou join a nice conservative activist organization, now calling themselves Wolfgang and Skullcrusher, they lament the good old days, when men were men and minorities were livestock. Governor Sarah explains that black people come from Africa and therefore aren’t real Americans. The book ends with a discussion of forensic techniques and how they can be ignored when it comes to birth certificates from godless heathen states like Hawaii.

Help! Mom! Queers are Making a Mockery Of My Marriage!

The boys visit some famous TV Evangelical Ministries and Governor Sarah comes along to explain the joys of abstinence only birth control and how Barney Frank makes Jesus cry.

Help! Mom! Political Correctness Is Leeching the Enjoyment Out Of My Bigotry!

Governor Sarah teaches the boys about how those darn oversensitive minorities are ruining America. Wolfgang and Skullcrusher then beat up some gay liberals who they think look like they might have called the Govna’s kid a “retard.”

Help! Mom! Fascist Gun Control Is Ruining My Constitution!

Wolfgang and Skullcrusher join the Michigan Militia and contemplate revolution, only Governor Sarah explains that it’s not really revolution if you’re shooting liberals for Jesus. Governor Sarah gives them some pointers on how to take back America for real Americans. The book ends with a dream sequence, Governor Sarah as Commander In Chief, in Wonder Woman leotard, leading Marines against abortion clinics…

Help! Mom! Lazy Shiftless Poor People Are Stealing My Healthcare!

Governor Sarah teaches the boys how healthcare is a birthright from God for congressmen and those with million dollar book deals. Though unemployed since the collapse of their Aryan Nation Swing Set Company, Wolfgang and Skullcrusher enthusiastically embrace Governor Sarah’s Don’t Get Sick Healthcare Plan. Governor Sarah teaches the boys how to help poor people by shouting “Get a job, Hippies!”

Well, hell, look at that, it turns out you can just make this shit up.

Monday, December 7, 2009

A Day of Infamy

Today is Pearl Harbor day in the United States.

It's a significant day for those of us who are of US Naval inclination.

I thought about what I would write today, and realized that I don't have much to say beyond what I said in my post from two years ago, Remembering December 7th.

Take a moment, sometime today, and remember those who gave all so that the rest of us may be free.

Saturday, December 5, 2009

Sunrise

 

Looking out my sunroom window, down over the valley towards Pioneer Peak.

image

What’s your Saturday morning looking like?

Friday, December 4, 2009

Donald Rumsfeld, Cockroaches, and Getting the Hell out of Afghanistan

Or

Why Setting An Exit Date For Afghanistan is Sound Military Strategy

 

Donald Rumsfeld is pissed.

Seems he has taken exception to the President’s statement that the Bush Administration, including Rumsfeld, didn’t provide proper support to the military.

Specifically, Rumsfeld disputes this line in President Obama’s Afghanistan strategy speech,

“Commanders in Afghanistan repeatedly asked for support to deal with the reemergence of the Taliban, but these reinforcements did not arrive…”

Rumsfeld emerged from his secret lair like a trapdoor spider surging from its hidey-hole to issue the following response,

“Such a bald misstatement, at least as it pertains to the period I served as secretary of defense, deserves a response. I am not aware of a single request of that nature between 2001 and 2006. If any such requests occurred, "repeated" or not, the White House should promptly make them public.”

It’s not surprising that in Rumsfeld’s red sky world that such requests never occurred.

Rumsfeld always defined his own reality and never bothered with the opinions of others. He created his own ground truth whole cloth when military intelligence didn’t say what he wanted, going so far as to create his own private intelligence agency in the Pentagon specifically designed to bypass the entire US Intelligence system and conditioned to provide only the tailored intelligence estimates that said exactly what Rumsfeld wanted them to say. Rumsfeld routinely denigrated and publically belittled those who tried to provide him with contradicting viewpoints – considering his own opinions superior to those of actual military experts.

So, again, it’s not at all surprising that this twisted, vindictive, arrogant son of a bitch wouldn’t be “aware of a single request of that nature” because he either never heard it - because he never bothered to listen to his subordinates - or he dismissed it from his memory, as he constantly did when he heard things that contradicted his worldview.

It is not necessary that “the White House should promptly” make public such records that refute Rumsfeld’s claims  – they already are.

At the beginning of the Iraq war, then Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, General Eric Shinseki publically stated before Congress that in his professional military opinion as America’s senior military commander, it would take “possibly several hundred thousand troops” to hold and secure Iraq following an invasion.  This directly contradicted Rumsfeld’s dictate that the country would be secured with as few as ten thousand.  Rumsfeld essentially fired the General for having the audacity to disagree and then publicly ridiculed him.

Astute readers will notice that in Rumsfeld’s refutation, quoted above, he specifically referred to Afghanistan and did not mention Iraq, and that my example of the Shinseki incident is about Iraq and not Afghanistan – on the surface it would appear that I’m moving the goalposts, but I’m not. The two combat zones are irrevocably intertwined at the Secretary of Defense level – i.e. the strategic decision maker layer of the Chain of Command.  Strategic decisions in one battlespace both directly and indirectly affect the other because there are only so many assets to go around. Rumsfeld’s decision to lowball the Iraqi invasion and occupation against the specific recommendation of his generals was a purely political decision that led directly to the Iraqi insurgency and the corresponding requirement to divert more and more assets and personnel to that battlespace at the expense of Afghanistan – and which led directly to denial of requests for additional forces in that same battlespace.  Additionally, Rumsfeld’s arrogant public dismissal of his senior and most experienced general – a highly decorated Vietnam combat veteran with extensive training, education, and experience in the very things necessary to take and hold territory – speaks directly to the level of support that military commanders could expect from Rumsfeld and the Bush Administration. That humiliating public dismissal of Shinseki was a direct message to the military, don’t disagree with Rumsfeld. Period, or you will be made an example of.  I have no doubt whatsoever as to the source of Rumsfeld’s contempt for general officers. See, he served on active duty with the US Navy from 1954 to 1957 and was trained as a pilot. In 57 he transferred to the reserves and rose to the rank of Captain, retiring in 1989.  He never flew in combat, despite serving through the height of the Vietnam war, and he never made Admiral.  It must have given him no end of secret satisfaction to have final and complete power over those officers who accomplished what he had not and who once had ordered him about. Rumsfeld always considered himself superior to those men, and now he was. Rumsfeld didn’t ask what his troops needed, he told them, just as he told General Tommy Franks to reduce his troops estimates. 

Rumsfeld can make the claim he does above, because he created a climate where his reality was the only reality – and one he’s still living in – and those that dared oppose him were removed and made an example of.

When his vision failed the acid test, instead of accepting responsibility for his actions as a real Navy Captain would have done, he blamed us, the military. And then his scorn was not reserved for the generals.  In a townhall style meeting in Iraq in December 2004, Rumsfeld responded to this question from Army Specialist Thomas Wilson:

“Why do we soldiers have to dig through local landfills for pieces of scrap metal and compromised ballistic glass to up-armor our vehicles? And why don’t we have those resources readily available to us?”

by replying

“It isn't a matter of money. It isn't a matter on the part of the army of desire. It's a matter of production and capability of doing it. As you know, ah, you go to war with the army you have, not the army you might want or wish to have at a later time. You can have all the armor in the world on a tank and it can still be blown up...”

And that, right there, is how Rumsfeld responded to requests from the military.  Fuck you, suck it up, Soldier. 

I cannot tell you how offensive we in the military found that comment.  It is a mark of the professionalism of the United States military that Rumsfeld didn’t suffer an “accident” during his visit to the warzone.

Rumsfeld is technically correct in his refutation to President Obama’s assertion, but you need to read Rumsfeld’s statement carefully, it is a masterwork of information management – note how he carefully avoids any mention of Iraq, or the overall “Global War On Terrorism” (thereby limiting the scope of his statement to a specific area, without actually stating it), and how he is very careful to specify a specific timeframe (and thereby exclude the military request for 20,000 additional troops by Afghan Campaign Commander General David McKiernan in 2008, a request that was refused by the Bush administration due to the surge in Iraq  - and strangely not a single conservative Congressman or pundit raised a fuss over that.  Careful, Folks, don’t step in the hypocritical bullshit. Those troops were not available specifically because of decisions made by Donald Rumsfeld – who by that time was long gone like the aforementioned trapdoor spider, hidden in his hole and washing his cold bloody hands of the mess he’d left us).

Rumsfeld also specifically avoids mentioning his failure to fund and issue proper equipment, or the withholding of special systems and support and assets. Or his office’s abject failure to plan for post-invasion occupation and reconstruction of either Iraq or Afghanistan – and how that failure directly led to the rising insurgency in both countries and how that in turn directly led to the deaths of 6000+ servicemen.  Rumsfeld cannily fails to mention why his office was able to fund Blackwater Security and Haliburton and KBR and Cheney’s other pals in the defense industry to the tune of hundreds of billions of dollars, but could not afford basic body armor or properly armored vehicles for American troops as voiced by Specialist Wilson above.

Rumsfeld finished his rebuttal Tuesday with,

“The President's assertion does a disservice to the truth and, in particular, to the thousands of men and women in uniform who have fought, served and sacrificed in Afghanistan”

The only person doing a disservice to the truth here is Donald Rumsfeld, and as far as dishonoring the troops, well, perhaps it would put things in perspective if you remember that Rumsfeld’s decisions killed far more US service members than Osma bin Ladin has. 

Frankly when I hear Rumsfeld talk about those of us who fought, served, and sacrificed it makes me want to puke.  Personally, I hold Donald Rumsfeld in the same degree of contempt as Vietnam vets reserve for Hanoi Jane and Robert McNamara – and at least both of those assholes lived long enough to eventually regret their actions and apologize, Rumsfeld will die unrepentant.

Neither Rumsfeld nor any member of the Bush Administration have any business whatsoever voicing advice on how to pursue this war. They got us into this, they screwed the pooch on it – led by that arrogant prick Rumsfeld – they bent every single one of us in uniform over the barrel and they completely failed to extricate us from it or clean up their own mess.  Now they want to offer advice? 

Press Secretary Bob Gibbs’ off the cuff response to Rumsfeld is a beautifully crafted ironic fuck you, Don,

“You go to war with the Defense Secretary you have…”

It is unsurprising that members of the former Bush Administration and members of the Republican party are up in arms over the President’s plan for the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, and in particular the fact that the President appears to have set an end date for the conflict in Afghanistan.

Setting a date is something conservatives have all resisted for the last eight years.

They have repeatedly failed to establish realistic goals, or determine what it is that we intend to accomplish with this war.  Instead they offer up vague generalities.  We’ll stand down when they stand up.  We’ll stay the course.  These fuzzy and meaningless statements reflect fuzzy and superficial thinking, poor planning, and lack of specific objectives. You don’t send your kids into the meat grinder with a plan based on fucking sound bites.

In previous conflicts the end state was obvious, obtain an acknowledgement of sovereignty from the King of England, force the unconditional surrender of Germany and Japan, push invading forces from Kuwait, and so on. The objectives were clearly defined and understood by all. Victory was obvious.

But what is the end state of this war on terrorism?  What is the end state of the conflict in Iraq and Afghanistan?  Neither Bush nor any of his band of cronies ever bothered to define that condition.  They took us into a war without end, like the perpetual state of conflict in Orwell’s 1984.  There is no victory, worse, there can be no victory as we traditionally define it.  There will be no Emperor of Terrorism or Pirate King to bow over his sword and command the surrender his forces on the deck of a US Battlewagon.  There will be no dictator to commit suicide in his bunker or mountain cave as our tanks roll victorious through the shattered streets his capital and whose second in command will surrender the rag-tag teenaged remnants of his once mighty forces. 

We can kill bin Laden, but terrorism will not end. 

We could kill every last member of Al Qaeda, but terrorism will not end.

We could burn Afghanistan down to the bedrock and salt the ashes – and it will not end.

So, what then is victory?

Victory in this case must be a functioning government with power to control and police its territory – whether or not that is a democracy is irrelevant. 

Victory in this case must be those things that we can realistically accomplish. To paraphrase the Alcoholics Anonymous prayer of serenity, Lord, give us the serenity accept the things we cannot change and the courage to change the things we can – and the wisdom to know the difference.  We must do what we can to assure our own security, to help those whose countries we’ve torn asunder, and bring an end to this conflict – it is our moral duty to do so as Americans.  But we must also understand that we cannot fix the world, we have neither the right nor the ability nor the resources to remake the world in our own image, we cannot impose freedom and democracy by fiat, and we cannot wipe out terrorism once and for all.  We will never be completely safe, ever. 

Terrorists are like cockroaches.  You can’t kill them all.  You can’t eradicate them completely.  Wipe them out, and they will seemly spontaneously generate from thin air to scuttle about in the dark and feast on the crumbs of the world.  The best you can do is to control their population, get it down to manageable levels.   When you have an explosion of roaches you call in an exterminator, he fumigates the house and kills the pests where they live.  Then he leaves.  And you then keep your house clean, you bleach the floors, you take out the trash, you put out traps, and you stomp on the fuckers whenever you see them.  You don’t demand that the exterminator to move in with you. The exterminator doesn’t hang around, day after day, for years on end until he’s killed every last bug and made certain that no bug will ever again set filthy appendage on your property.

But he also doesn’t just bail out on you either, not if he’s an ethical businessman and a man of his word. He doesn’t leave you holding the bag - blowing up your house in the process and leaving his poison and equipment laying about and the roach population undiminished and scurrying towards the surrounding neighborhood houses.

And so it is with Afghanistan.

There must be an end state. There must come a time when we, as the exterminator, turn the task of vermin management over to the homeowners.  Now, later, an end state must be set – but we also have a responsibility to put the property back in some semblance of order, and to give the property owner an estimate of when we’ll be done with the job we were hired to do.

Setting this date has risks.  It assumes that we will get the cockroach population down to manageable size by the time we leave and that the homeowner will be able to assume responsibility for keeping his own house in order without our constant help. There is always this risk.  Always.  Whether it happens now, or later.  Delaying changes that not at all, it only changes the degree of risk – but that state will never be zero.

Establishing a date gives us, and the Afghans, a target to aim at. A goal.  Without such a goal, you have no metric to measure against to determine progress.  Without a goal, you go through the motions simply to go through the motions.  We don’t fight just to fight, we didn’t invade just to invade, we didn’t send our sons and daughters to die just to watch them die – we have to have a goal, an objective. Setting a date gives us a metric to hang the rest of our exit strategy on.

Listen, when we invaded the beach at Normandy, General Eisenhower didn’t say, “Well, it’ll take however long it takes to secure that beachhead, could be years, could be decades. Hell if we establish a date, the Nazi’s will just wait us out!”  No, the Allied commanders established very specific timeframes for each phase of the operation and for good reason – it gave their commanders specific goals and objectives to aim for, to build the rest of the plan around.

Establishing that date tells us what to plan for, it allows Congress to budget for the mission, it tells the military what to budget for and where to place assets and whether or not to commit assets held in reserve. 

Establishing a date makes the public part of the process and tells them how much longer they’ll have to commit their children and tax dollars to this fight.  It’s one thing to tell the public, stiff upper lip eighteen months and we can begin to bring our people home, it’s another thing entirely to keep saying, well we just don’t know could be a year could be ten years.  You want the public’s support you better be a tad more specific.  Don’t think specific goals and dates are important to public opinion? Don’t think that specific dates are important to world opinion? Don’t think those dates are important to the military and morale and public support?  Then you don’t understand either people or politics.  The day after the establishment of that goal by President Obama, our allies committed an additional 7,000 troops to fight alongside us – bringing the surge to nearly 40,000.  Those conservatives who condemned Obama for touring Europe and Asia and apologizing for our previous behavior and for acting like an ally and friend instead of an arrogant jackass – this is the result, willing support, 7000 more troops, from our allies to help protect your sons and daughters. In some cases those commitments are nearly the sum total of that ally’s reserve.  That’s right. You damn well ought to get down on your knees and give thanks that you have leader willing to mend fences and build bridges and do what it takes to get that support – because that support will directly and measurably increase the safety of your sons and daughters in uniform and help to ensure their success – and thereby significantly improve their odds of coming home outside of an aluminum box.  Obama bowed low, he shook hands, he apologized, and he asked for help instead of demanding it and he just damn well may have saved your kid’s life in the process – ask yourself if Donald Rumsfeld would have done that when he wasn’t even willing to send your kids to war with a bulletproof vest or armored vehicles. Ask yourself if George W. Bush would have done that? Or Sarah Palin? What are you kids worth to them? Not a hell of a lot, not enough to swallow their pride anyway.  For those of you who condemn the President for apologizing to the world, I’ll tell you what Rumsfeld told us, suck it up, Soldier.

Establishing that date tells the Muslim world that we are not the crusading imperialist power they’ve been led to believe we are. Establishing a date directly refutes the claims made by the insurgents, by bin Ladin, and by fear mongers like Mahmoud Ahmadinejad who recruit their cannon fodder and local support by pointing to our continuing presence and failure to set a date for withdrawal as evidence of our colonial designs on the Middle East. 

Establishing a date does nothing to give away our intentions or hide our withdrawal. What? Did you think that when it comes time to pull out we were just going to sneak off suddenly in the middle of the night? Surprise!  The insurgents rush in, ready for battle, Allah Ahkb… what the hell? They’re gone! Goddamnit! They tricked us!  Pulling two hundred thousand troops and that many again contractors and their equipment out of Afghanistan is going to be a long drawn out process. There isn’t going to be anything secret about it.  Hell, even if you wanted to keep it a secret you couldn’t – Congress couldn’t keep it a secret if their lives instead of our kids lives depended on it, and they’re the ones that are going to have to pay for it.  Trust me here, there is no way whatsoever to hide when we’re pulling out, there will be hundreds of plane flights, hundreds of transport ships, we’ll be shutting down bases and moving millions of tons of equipment. The insurgents will know long before we go – and to pretend that the situation is anything other than this is just hyperbolic bullshit. That’s the kind of mental masturbation that Rumsfeld and his bosses used to get us into this mess.

And yes, establishing a date now tells the Taliban and Al Qaeda and the rest of the insurgents that we will be leaving for certain.  Conservatives say this will cause the insurgents to lie low, bid their time, and wait us out.

Could be they are right.

I sure hope so.

See, it is a measure of their lack of understanding of history and military strategy that makes these bloviating idiots think that this is somehow a bad thing.

By all means, let the insurgency go to ground for the next eighteen months.

By all means.

First, that will make those that don’t go to ground all the more obvious and easy to hunt down and kill.  There are old terrorists, and bold terrorists, but there are damned few old, bold terrorists.

Second, it lets us concentrate our forces on those aforementioned bold terrorists. The ones that don’t have the sense to get in out of the shitstorm that’s coming when those 40,000 troops arrive in country are doomed.  We should have little trouble mopping them up in short order – thanks to their more cautious brethren giving us the breathing space.

Third, those that go to ground give up the tactical advantage. Understand something here, the insurgents cannot stand against us in a conventional fight.  They only persevere where our control is slight and they have refuge they can retreat to, places to train and breed and rest and plot and plan and rearm and reequip – just like cockroaches scattering under the furniture when the lights come on. Without a safe haven on the Pakistan/Afghanistan boarder, without safe haven in the cities – something the surge will deny them – they have only two options, hide or be destroyed.  Some will attempt to fight, like cockroaches that stay out in the light too long, and as I said above they’ll be destroyed in short order.  Most will choose to hide, to wait us out – exactly as the critics predict.  But what those critics are missing is this: for eighteen months those that hide deed us the high ground. 

That’s eighteen months to build schools and bridges and government and security and win over the population and establish peace.  It gives us eighteen months without these cockroaches spreading their filth and disease and misery – and those that do, well they’ll get hunted down and killed like a game of whack-a-mole.  In eighteen months, done right, the population will be settling into peace, into the normalcy they haven’t had in decades, into stability.  In eighteen months, children will be going to school and many new ones will be born (nothing like a sudden cessation of hostilities to inspire a baby boom), crops will be planted, products will appear on shelves in the stores, broken windows fixed, bullet holes patched, electricity and water and  sewage flowing. Mail delivered.  Jobs in reconstruction.  Again, if done right, if the insurgents go to ground for the next eighteen months, they will give the population a year and half of breathing room – imagine then, how hard it will be to convince Afghans that they should give that up and return to the desolation of war.  The Americans are leaving, what then is their motivation? Why join the insurgents? Why give them haven?

In eighteen months, done right, the insurgents will emerge from their holes to discover that they quit the battle – and thereby lost the war.

In eighteen months we will have cut down the roach population, with the unwitting cooperation of the roaches themselves, to a level the homeowners can manage themselves.  And then we can finally extricate ourselves from this conflict.

And that, my friends, is why establishing a public date for the end of this conflict is so damned important.

The critics have it right, they just don’t understand strategic opportunity when they see it.

Now, if only Rumsfeld will crawl back into his hole for the next year…

I think I’m Coming Down With Something

Because I’m dead tired again tonight, and have been all day.

Seriously, as I mentioned on Twitter earlier in the day, I feel like my local gravity field has increased by at least 10%. 

Throat is a little scratchy and I feel like crap.

 

I intended to tell you all why setting a date for exiting Afghanistan is sound military strategy that works to our advantage and why the angry Republican members of Congress and the conservative pundits (none of which, Congress Critters or Blathering Heads, know a fucking thing about military strategy) are talking out their collective asses (but hey, why should that stop them, I mean wouldn’t you follow Rush into battle? Doh!).

But my brain is on the fritz tonight (and unlike the aforementioned buffoons, I know not to write when my brain is fritzy).

Instead I spent the night in the shop turning a large walnut bowl.  I have a commission for three of these, and the first one is now complete – and it is fantastic. 

I’ll put up pictures of it tomorrow or the next day along with my take on why setting a date for Afghan exit is a good thing.

Now bed.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Ask Stonekettle Station

Today’s featured extra special search phrase, swear to God:

Where can I get shots to give me a big butt?

Dunkin Donuts?

J.Lo’s plastic surgeon?

A Tijuana clinic?

Your spam queue?

Congress?

 

The internet, the culmination of 10,000 years of scientific and cultural advance, and this is what you use it for?

Yes, well, that and porn of course.

Sigh.

No Post Tonight

I'm tired.

I'm just going to sit here and watch Terminator Salvation.

See you tomorrow.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

A Short Analysis of the Obama Afghanistan Speech

Fuckin’ A.

Thank you and good night.

 

 

 

 

What?

Oh, you want more?

Fine, I wish I’d heard that speech, oh, about eight years ago. 

I wish to hell that about eight years ago we’d had a president who put the same amount of deliberation and actual consideration into sending this nation into war. 

The man outlined an actual plan.  An actual fucking plan. With specific objectives, benchmarks, and an end. A plan actually based on ground truth as determined by the commanding general – who also took his time to get it right.  That ground truth is unpleasant and worse than we wanted to hear, a lot worse, and yet it is the situation we must face if we are to succeed.  The president gave the military commander exactly what he wanted, 30,000 more troops – despite the fact that giving the military what it wanted cost Obama personally with his own base and liberal supporters, an act of moral courage that you never, ever saw from the previous occupant of the office – and he outlined a very specific use for those forces.  He spoke to the troops like an actual goddamned commander in chief – he didn’t sugar coat it, he didn’t blow smoke up our asses, and he very specifically reminded the nation what the bill has been so far and what it is likely to be in the future. He didn’t try to scare the nation into forming up some halfbaked wild west posse and he never used the word “emboldened” once. 

His speech reminded me of Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s address before Congress in the days after Pearl Harbor.

His voice rang with confidence and pride in the forces before him, he sounded like he knew what he was talking about because he’d taken the time to educate himself and consult with experts and not party hacks, he sounded like the man in charge - as opposed to the last eight years where the man giving the speech sounded like he was scared shitless.

He very specifically addressed the partisan divide in America, he reminded all of us about our resolve after 911 to stand together, and he reminded us who we are and who the actual enemy is.

I think that the course of action President Obama outlined is exactly right.

What proof do I offer?

Well, first it’s what General McChrystal asked for.

Second, it pissed off the far right – who can’t stand the fact that Obama…uh…ooooh…socialism! Liberals! Ooooh!

Third, It pissed off the far left – because they want us out of Afghanistan and Obama…uh…ooooh…Vietnam! Quagmire! Oooh!

And it pissed off the Taliban, Al Qaeda, and was condemned by the folks at Al Jezeera.

I find no little irony that the far left, the far right, and Al Jezeera are all on the same side here.

No little irony at at all.

 

Was there nothing I took exception too?

Well, OK.  I hate the way Obama says Tallyban and Pokkastan. What the hell is that all about? It freaked me out a little, like when Tina Turner showed up with that weird European accent.

 

But other than that I think his speech was right on. 

I look forward to seeing how the pundits will spin it.

I really do.


My much less flippant and more detailed analysis that specifically looks at publically setting a withdrawal date for Afghanistan can be found here.