A year ago today in complete absense of fan fare, I launched this site. The first order of business was a snazzy essay in order to establish style. Instead, I hurled spit balls at Tom Ridge. Duct Tape and Plastic? It's A Date pokes fun of people who took proactive measures in lieu of the Department of Homeland Security's terrorism survival guide. Another spit ball was hurled at their Froot Loops Alert. Last year at this time, we were on orange-level awareness. In order to match future updates, I prepared two alerts, orange and yellow. I suspect the government did the same. As long as the Bush Administration has its grubby fingers on the controls, they are the only colors required. "Terror awareness" is a catch phrase for "fear is our lubricant." That is how I explain the events of 2003. The government scared us so that we might be more compliant. For the most part, it worked.
We launched a war in 2003. It was necessary because we were scared shitless and the President felt that he had to do something with the fear he helped generate. Saddam Hussein had weapons of mass destruction. We had recently experienced catastrophic damage wrought by weapons with a far less dubious name. They were called airplanes. Fear made president's sales pitch easier. But from the beginning I didn't think Iraq had weapons of mass destruction. It did seem likely they had something. I didn't trust my government when they said Hussein had WMD, why would I trust the Iraqi government when they said they didn't? Unlike anything Colin Powell itemized at the United Nations, I figured the Iraqis had some non-weaponized biological shit in a lab that Saddam Hussein could use for a final hurrah. They didn't even have that.
I've written two-hundred and twenty essays in the past year. Some were good while others sucked. Most were pretty mediocre. I spend a lot of time honing prose. A written interpretation of language consists of funny little squiggles. The squiggles I use constitute a language known as "English." Its character set doesn't make sense to most homo sapiens. For those who try, it takes years to master the meaning of English squiggles. A writer should expend a reasonable effort to simplify that task. Sentences should be short. They should be easy to read and they should read well together. Someday, perhaps, I will master that.
I've been accused of beating a dead horse on more than one occasion. But I select topics based on reader feedback. Some subjects generate more interest than others. As long as they continue to hold interest, they will continue to be featured. Most topics of genuine interest to me have never been featured anyway. For example, this site has never had an essay on the ramifications of the French army mutinies of 1917. I'm saving that for that for after I've jumped the shark.
My wife is a frequent contributor. Her essays are far less demented than mine. You won't find neolithic people in prominent roles in her essays. She sticks to contemporary affairs. Together we hold similar positions. And that's a good thing. If she were a neocon, our marriage would likely not survive the Bush Adminstration. As it stands, we often present similar arguments. She manages to construct hers without stepping on toes. The Pragmatist used to contribute as well. Like Rhoda, he got his own show. His essays are composed in a more serious nature. But my favorite ones are the ones that are snide. Funkman writes the polls but he refuses a system login ID. That means I get the right of final edit. If you see vulgar words in a poll, they're probably mine.
Tonight I celebrate my own persistence with a glass of '98 Bordeaux from the Margaux appellation. And of course Vernon bugs me with some fscking shit about the webserver. I already told him when his adminstrator fixes the configuration, my code will work. No. I'm not going to AIM Jim now. What? Man, you're killing me. Ugh. Allright.
