Oh What Fun

I think the last time I turned onto "Nightline" with anticipation was in October 2000 when they did a feature on the New York Subway Series. Then, as we all know, the nation went to Hell, starting with a stolen election, and has had a terrorist attack, a dot-com bubble burst, a return to Luddite spirituality as a governing principle, a bogus endless war, SUVs, cellphones in airports and horrendous natural disasters. I have cringed from the prospect of reliving these events on that quality news show, even as Ted Koppell's eminent presence comes to a close.

But not last night! What a relief to find an episode about an event that may finally signal a turning point in the Republican hijacking of our culture. The indictment of House Speaker Tom DeLay was long overdue. In Congress he was known as "The Hammer", but in Texas he was known as "Teflon Tom," for his gift of ethical sidestepping. Although he may or may not be convicted, the stigma will remain, and not be helped by the other inquiry into his overseas dalliance with lobbyist Jack Abramoff. Add this to the stock dealings of Bill Frist and the CIA exposure case involving Karl Rove and the Reps have a lot of 'splainin' to do.

Although I clearly take partisan pleasure in all of this, I am not blind to the fact that most politicians are corrupt, and are used to getting away with these casually illegal perquisites of their offices. It wasn't long ago that the Democratic Speaker of the House had his dirty laundry exposed. Ronnie Earle, the Democratic D.A. whom the indicted DeLay calls an "unabashed partisan zealot" (don't you love that?) has called to task more Democrats than Republicans in his ethical housecleaning. DeLay probably believes that overstatement and the Big Lie, which has worked so well for both Republicans (from WMD-gate to the "Swift Boat" defamers) and the Nazis, will somehow enable them to sweep the growing scandal filth under the rug.

Unfortunately, whatever happens to DeLay--who will likely survive only as a shadow of his former influence, like fellow hypocrites Newt Gingrich and Robert Livingston--his damage is already done. He was of course instrumental in the obstructionist Clinton impeachment proceedings, which took much of the admininistrations's attention away from the growing terrorist threat they were trying to target. And his clever and effective machinations in the Texas election process, which includes the siphoning of corporate funds that is the crux of the current indictment, did help redistrict the state and add a significant five Republican congresspeople. Too bad he didn't he didn't apply that efficiency to FEMA or the Iraqi occupation. His successful politicizing simply strengthened the neocom forces that brought us to the current Dark Ages of American history.

I don't know how this will play out in the upcoming 2006 or 2008 elections. The Republicans are unusually lucky that these events are happening so early in a presidential term, with time for recovery before a major vote. Currently the popularity of the current Congress lies in the 30% range, which is where it was for the Dems in 1994 before the slickly executed Gingrich Revolution changed the color of Congress from blue to red. In pure political terms it behooves the Dems to stretch out these events as long as possible, and do their best to tie them to the leadership in the White House. The latter association will be more difficult, except in the Valerie Plame case. (Can we call that the Plame Game?) But Georgie W. has his own image problems and a leadership profile that is beginning to crumble.

What a shame"Nightline" will be going off the air.

Sunday Redux

It might be wishful evaluation on my part but there does seem to be an upgrade in the quality ofTV programming this season, sufficient to undermine the soubriquet "Boob Tube" and actually justify the passive involvement that television demands. I'm not speaking solely of improvements in actual picture quality, though that does help. Nor am I saluting the supposed resurgence of the sitcom. From what I've seen of the highly touted comedy pilots, none of them have the freshness of their progenitors ("Everybody Hates Chris" of "The Wonder Years," "How I Met Your Mother" of "Friends," "My Name Is Earl" of "Arrested Development.")

But there are new pleasures to be had, along with well-worn satisfactions, and they are most evident on Sunday evenings. Sunday nights have historically been targeted as prime viewing hours, and this year the programmers have been generous. I'm not embarrassed to park my butt in my armchair for five consecutive hours to watch live programming as my DVR catches up with the rest (Can't miss "The Simpsons," best TV comedy ever). Then there are the old warhorses "60 Minutes" and "The West Wing"--the latter which is its final season of sophisticated dialogue and wish-fulfillment of a responsible presidency. "Desperate Housewives" remains a guilty, if overrated pleasure, very recordable at least.

And then there are the HBO entries that will keep us occupied until "The Sopranos" returns in early 2006. One is "Curb Your Enthusiasm," also back after a considerable hiatus. The final episode of the previous season was actually a touching salute to Mel Brooks, "The Producers," and sadly, Anne Bancroft, whose final TV appearance it turned out to be. Putting sentiment aside, though, this season began with more gut-wrenching embarrassments for our antihero, who's flattered that a local eatery has named a sandwich after him (in the manner of our Fairfax deli Canter's), but hates the sandwich itself, a concoction of white fish and sable. Frankly, I would absolutely love that sandwich, but that makes his peevishness even more inappropriate, and of course, funnier.

The new show that follows, "Extras," is a perfect companion piece to "Enthusiasm," also set in a self-aware showbiz context. Ricky Gervais, formerly of the original "The Office," is a softer version of Larry David, in that he gets himself into squirmy situations by saying just the wrong thing at the right time. His circumstances and needs are more clearly defined, though--he is a would-be actor flailing along as an extra, trying desperately to get an actual line to speak so that he can qualify for the actor's guild. This has been an area rife for comic exploration, and oddly, recalls one of the great motivations in sitcom history, that of Lucy trying weekly to make her way into show business. Meanwhile, major stars appear gamely playing satiric versions of themselves in whatever project Gervais is attached to. Kate Winslet was nastily funny as herself playing a nun in a Holocaust movie because that was the kind of vehicle that would finally win her an Oscar. It's so true!

The lead-in to these comedies in HBO's showpiece drama of the year, "Rome." I can't discuss it without a retrospective salute to what I consider the greatest TV series ever produced, "I Claudius." "Rome" does not try to shy from comparison. In fact, its titles sequence seems to intentionally recall that of "Claudius," down to the painted mosaic and the sense of violence in serpentine imagery. The earlier show was a pretty faithful rendition of the novels, while "Rome" is more a fictional soap opera within an historical context, rather like a Doctorow novel. But tonally both shows are effective, raunchy and witty. Nothing can quite match the acting proficiency and razor-sharp dialogue of "Claudius" but it's as much fun to watch the machinations of Polly Walker's Atia as it was Sian Phillip's great Livia. Nor does a character in "Rome" yet invoke the sympathy of Derek Jacoby's reluctant, stammering emperor. But the current series does present a healthy dose of history along with its domestic portrayals. It's something of a hoot to watch Augustus as a kid learning the ropes while his mother tries to pawn him off as a lover for Uncle Julius Caesar. And our familiarity with the fates of Caesar, Pompey, Mark Anthony and Brutus provides us with a detached irony and anticipation of how the Empire-shaking events will be depicted. Can't wait for Cleopatra.

Though the dark, sophisticated atmosphere of "Rome" is a fitting homage to "Claudius," the producers decided to emphasize the gritty authenticity of the setting, which required a budget, of over 50 million dollars. How this will affect Time Warner's balance sheet is uncertain. But I should point out that the budget of the original "I, Claudius" was about 10% of that. For all the spectacle in the world, there is nothing more important than a great script.

Down to the Wire

[Warning: Baseball Blog]

Okay, we're three weeks into the NFL season so already talk of "surprise" teams and premature celebrations of the 40th Superbowl (I meant the XLth) are already eclipsing much of the sports talk, even as the baseball season enters its final, climactic week of pennant races. Unlike previous seasons, the Yanks and Red Sox are not involved, the Braves face elimination and the Wild Card races are irrelevant.

Ooops, did I really say that? Did you catch me? In truth, featured players in the annual baseball drama tend to come and go, but some regulars seem to have very long-term contracts. The Braves are about to clinch their division for the 14th year in a row, either a testimony to great management by the Atlanta brass and stubborn, wife-beating Bobby Cox, or a continued embarrassment to the other organizations in that division. As for the Yanks and Red Sox, gee whiz, they're tied again atop the East--remember the Orioles' soaring early on?--and their soap opera continues.

Boston has a major advantage in that their last seven games are at home, and the Yanks are on the road. Boston plays four against Toronto, with whom they've had great difficulty all year, and the Yanks visit Camden Yards against a totally dispirited Oriole team. If nothing is decided after these match-ups, it's the Yankees at Fenway over the weekend, the schedule-maker's dream confrontation. The Yanks are currently somewhat stronger, with their pitching pasted back together, while the Red Sox are playing on moxie and the bats of David Ortiz and Manny Ramirez. Ortiz, the best clutch hitter I've ever seen, was hitting so many game-winning homers that his opponents have decided to walk him, Bonds-like, on every occasion. But now Manny, batting clean-up, has started homering in every game. Quite a quandary there. Whatever will the Yankee pitchers do? Will Randy Johnson be facing Curt Schilling? Next Monday (or just as likely Tuesday) there will be a dichotomy of sad/happy faces along the Charles/East Rivers as the Next Chapter concludes.

And what about the Indians? They're currently the hottest team in baseball, young and powerful. I'd predicted mid-season that they would by the Wild Card winner and that looks likely. They lead in that race and play at home the rest of the season, including a serendipitous weekend trio against the White Sox. Chicago has been stumbling and is on the road the rest of the year, so their 2 1/2 game over Cleveland is hardly safe. I've been thinking lately that Chicago could well fall off the Playoff map unless they right themselves quickly, allowing the Indians, Red Sox and Yanks into the October game. In the West, it looks like the strength of the Angels' line-up and front-line pitching has overcome the surge of the A's, who were damaged severely--as was my Roitisserie team--by the late-season shoulder injury to star Rich Harden.

The National League is a somewhat clearer picture, with the Cards still the dominant team, the Braves claiming their Reserved Seats in the play-offs, and the Padres stumbling into a spot because their divisional competition was so terrible. It's no testimony to parity that the team leading the NL's western division is under .500 going into the final week. Houston seems to have the pitching edge heading into the Wild Card final lap, with the Phillies a possible candidate. My $10 Vegas ticket for the Nationals to win the pennant is now fodder for the circular file. Glad I didn't go higher. I must say that I like the idea of seeing Andy Pettitte and Roger Clemens in the post-season again. But I don't think the Cardinals will blow it this year, now that Chris Carpenter is healthy (though he has been slipping).

World Series prediction: Cardinals over Indians in six.

And of course, there are the Bronx Cheers/Beatles. Our spiritual guidance from the Fab Angels has not helped our team much, and although we lead Jesus by a half-point with a week to go, our situation is far more treacherous. The key to our success will be revitalized clutch hitting and sufficient numbers of wins from nine prospecteive starts to overtake three teams in front of us. I realize this means nothing to anyone but Kevin, myself and Ron (otherwise known as Jesus), but it certainly adds to the pulsating excitement of the season's climax.

Pilot Season

One of the annual recurrences this time of year(apart from those demonic hurricanes which are having their fill, literally, of New Orleans) is the return of original programming to the free TV networks--otherwise known as "Premiere Week." This more encompassing term includes the seasonal openers of episodic shows, each of which is scripted to resolve issues left dangling in their May cliffhanger conclusions. Tivo takes care of covering those shows that engaged my interest. More challenging is the effort to sample as many of the pilots in the genres that intrigue me. This year there are a plethora of mystery/alien/Unknown dramas that have been spawned by the success of the elusive "Lost," but which don't seem yet to have stumbled upon tht show's secret recipe for of success, which is deep emotionally drawn characterizations. I'll have more to write about these various efforts once I've begun to distinguish from among "Supernatural," "Surface," "Invasion," "Threshhold" and there's probably another two or three whose memory eludes me.

Meanwhile there was a wholly different Pilot story in the recent news, and this one, thankfully, was more upbeat, though at least as chilling as any of the fictional pilots. On Wednesday afternnon a Jet Blue flight leaving Burbank for JFK had to be diverted because its front wheels became jammed. For three hours it circled the region before the pilot was able to land it successfully, amid a stream of scary sparks, at LAX. I was unaware of this incident till much later, since I was otherwise engaged (interestingly I was in a theater watching "Red Eye," to keep well within the aeronautic theme of this blog). But had I been linked as usual to the media I'd have become involved with the ongoing drama as it was reported on the web and carried on news channels. I don't know if I would have had the stomach to watch it, given all the bad news happening over the globe. Yet the passengers on the plane did get to watch, thanks to the in-flight TV service of which Jet Blue is so proud. Many later spoke of the surreal quality of that experience. I had lived an event almost as surreal during the L.A. riots of 1992, when I watched on my big Mitsubishi as storefronts burned on Hollywood Boulevard, three blocks down the road. And with gunfire punctuating the background, no less.

Jees, this all makes you want to move to a Buddhist monastery, doesn't it?

Back to my point, I wish to officially salute the pilot(s) of this plane, whose steel nerves and professionalism saved the lives of these people. I don't think we appreciate either the experience and skill of the folks in the cockpit, or the relative safety of flying in general, whose record, despite some recent malfunctions, is pretty damn remarkable. Because of poor economic management, higher fuel prices and security restrictions, air travel has become a rather burdensome necessity. And if they permit unlimited use of cell phones in the future, it may become utterly intolerable. But in the meantime the reliability of a system so vital and so complex is one of the success stories of International commerce.

And to return to another fictional offshoot of aerophobia, the blockbuster "Lost" series, I found their season opener quite satisfying, but for a more compelling reason than the silly reveal that underneath the mysterious hatch lay a combination bachelor pad/1987 bomb shelter occupied by a mysterious Scotsman Jack once met while running up the aisles of a stadium (TMI, don't ask). Frankly I'm getting weary of all the conveniences that keep popping up on this otherwise forbidding isle, from the great Hawaiian scenery to the lavish fresh-water sources. Now there's Dr. No's Underground Lab with a running loop of "Make Your Own Kind of Music." What next, will Jeff Probst come sailing in withcartons of Lays potato chips and home videos from the castaway's relatives?

However, the back story involving the self-doubting gloomy Jack and a problematic surgery ended with an unlikely but wildly happy moment, well-acted by the patient and Matthew Fox, which had true emotional resonance, and reminded me again of why this show will outlast so many of its clones. The glow that I felt in that moment was not unlikely a similar glow I felt when listening to the account by one of the passengers on the Jet Blue plane. I was myself suffused by a small adrenaline rush of relief and, well, damn happiness for the successful resolution of a crisis situation.

During this sad, frenetic Bush era when it's almost a survival mechanism to grow callous to the disasters that inundate us (hey, 20 old evacuees got blown up in a bus by their oxygen tanks, the Pontchartrain levees have collapsed, and Rita hasn't even hit Texas yet), I'm grateful for any source, fictional or real, where the light hope and optimism can stay kindled.

Disillusionment

It has finally been determined, from my own deductive efforts as well as by confirmation from my nephew Greg, the family Computer Professional, that most of the comments that have been appended to my recent blog entries are indeed Blog Spam. It became rather obvious when I received two that were worded almost exactly the same, did not comment specifically on my topic, and had links that sent me to Cheap Loan sites. My biggest mistake was to actually access the sites at all, even out of curiosity--with all the diabolical worms out there I should never present myself at all to unfamiliar sites.

I feel unbelievably, almost criminally naive not to have anticipated the invasion of the Spammers into the burgeoning Blogosphere. I am also rather disappointed, because I was beginning to think there were actually organic creatures reading and reacting to my opinions. But no, just more insidious profiteers and Cyberpirates taking advantage of my good will.

Well, it won't happen again. At least not to the ad bot sites that automatically pick up my blog and send it the innocuous comment. Blogger has seen to that by providing me with a screening technique, which I shall not divulge. This of course means that I will not be besieged by blog spam for Viagra and penis enlargement (NEITHER OF WHICH I NEED, FYI!) But if you want to comment about this blog, you will have to say "Happy Birthday, BronxCheersRic," or I will consider you bogus.

Actually my birthday was yesterday, but I didn't blog about it (is blog a verb as well as a noun?) because I refuse to do any work on my personal anniversary day, and a birthday is hardly a unique event. It just means I'm now &^$!**! years old, and, worse, have begun my &^$!**!@th year. Which sucks. If you care, and why should you, I didn't spend it very interestingly, though I did buy myself a gift, a new Logitech web cam, with which I will enter the world of cybervideo,until it bores me.

Since my birthday coincides with the end of summer it has a certain melancholy attached to it. The days all be shorter than the evenings for six months, it will cool off, the first heavy rain is falling on Los Angeles, and soon it will be, horror of horrors, Holiday Season. On the upside, this grueling marathon of a baseball season is about over, and I still think my favorite team the Yankees will poop out in the final two weeks, though they are virtually tied with the Red Sox (some things never change). And my Rotisserie Bronx Cheers, feeling the pressure of three other teams who could overtake us at any moment, has reverted again to The Beatles. That pastime will most certainly close its season in 13 days, and I'm exhausted by it anyway. I'll make some money back and then suffer through a postseason letdown as I wonder what all the fussing was about.

Meanwhile, for perspective's sake, another hurricane, this one named Rita, is sweeping across Florida and will be heading to the Gulf Coast. One local when interviewed said he couldn't believe God would allow a second hurricane to hit the devastated region. Of course the entire concept is a non-sequitur to me, but if He could allow the Holocaust and the Black Plague, I'm sure a double-hurricane whammy (like the four that struck Florida last year) could well be within a divine agenda. For the theistic apologists out there, let's just agree that the Greater Power is being somewhat negligent. There are a lot of planets to manage and He can't be everywhere at once.

Unless of course you opine that God=Nature, which I could buy, especially in the Cosmic Indifference that seems to be so evident nowadays.

Taking Things Personally

After a week of meditations on profound issues involving nature, "God" and the President I need to lay back a bit and update the indifferent world as to some of my own personal issues. But before I do, a word or two about yesterday's California court decision preventing several school districts from compelling their students to recite the Pledge of Allegiance because the inclusion of the words "Under God" imply a tie between patriotism and the assertion of a deity, which contradicts the separation of Church and State.

As a secular "Bright" I am in general agreement with the decision, although I think it will be overturned in a higher court (certainly Roberts' Supreme Court), and is really a tempest in a teapot. When kids recite the Pledge of Allegiance it is usually by rote, rarely orated in heartfelt comprehension. When I was a student I repeatedly declaimed it along with my class, with little thought except as to why we were saluting an inanimate piece of cloth. Though I was pretty brainy I really didn't think about it as a metaphor (though "the Republic for which it stands" might have given me a clue) or anything else except a thirty-second delay in my academic training. Nor did I know that the phrase "Under God" had been inserted by a red-baiting Congress during the McCarthy era to distinguish our republic from that of the Godless Communists, hoping, I suppose to get some brownie points for American citizens when they were applying for entry at St. Peter's Gate.

By making, literally, a Federal case out of this pretty innocuous recitation, the Bright plaintiff is likely to stir up a hornet's nest of opposition from the powers of Organized Religion, and this counteractivity is not likely to help anyone. Look at what theistic oppositon to gay marriage accomplished--it helped bring back Georgie Porgie for another term. And I can see some poor Democratic shlub having to waffle over this issue and having his patriotism and religious conviction challenged at the same time. Of course, the simplest solution to the entire issue is to excise the "Under God" phrase as a Cold War anachronism, and return the pledge to its original purely patriotic meaning, with its simpler cadence restored.

Yeah, that'll happen.

Meanwhile, to prove that it's not just the President who is evincing a learning curve by actually admitting that he is fallible, I am very pleased to report that I myself have successfully completed my first Sudoku puzzle. Huzzah! A sudoku, for the uninitiated, is a grid of 81 boxes, subdivided into nine squares, for which you have to enter every integer from 1 to 9, with none repeating across, down or within the nine boxes. It started in Japan and like sushi, can be addictive, but it wasn't until today that I acquired the sufficient logical wherewithal to complete my first one. It's good to know that my cerebrum can still adapt to a challenge, even though I am past 50 and occasionally smoke a joint.

And what of my Fantasy Baseball team? you must all be asking. Well, thanks for your interest. As of today we are still holding on to first place by our fingernails, though Elvis and Jesus are threatening to overtake us at any second. We need wins! We need RBIs! Help! Okay, I understand that non-Rotisserie people couldn't give the smallest rat's ass about any of this, but at least admit that interesting to see the words Elvis and Jesus used in the context of baseball statistics.

Finally, a word about the comments I am getting appended to my blog entries. Thanks for taking the time to read and consider my opinions; that itself is flattering. But I'd really much rather hear critical or laudatory comments than the vacuous "Good blog" which inevitably precedes an advertisement for your own blog or commercial web page. I do not really see a difference between these remarks and the spam that appears in my e-mail box. I suppose that in our free society I should appreciate that we are all trying to sell something--jewelry, cellphones, or our opinions. But try to be less venal about it, okay?

Hell Slushes Over

I've been wondering what would happen first--President Bush admitting to a failing, or my completing my first Sudoku puzzle. And to my eternal humiliation, George beat me to it. Yesterday in an impromptu moment he admitted to actual cameras that the sorry Federal reaction to the Katrina disaster had to be laid, ultimately, at his feet. And this came even after it seemed he might defer enough blame to Michael Brown's incompetence to avoid the spotlight of (ir)responsibility.

It seems that, aside from family members (with strident commentary from Laura and Barbara the Elder), no Republicans could find a successful way to spin the situation. The Rovists first attempted their usual slick Orwellian sloganeering my pasting all criticisms with the derogatory "blame game" label, which was partially successful because the word "game" served to trivialize the criticism. But the endless news accounts and horrific odors emanating from the levee breaches could not be hidden from the media outlets as have the returningcoffins of the nearly 2000 sacrificial American victims of the Iraqi war. And the commentators, at the risk of seeming callous to the suffering, have self-righteously called those responsible to task.

Okay, Michael Brown was an easy target, a true buffoon who got his job because of Bush's back-slapping cronyism. That could have worked had he been sent off as ambassador to Swaziland, but not as administrator of such an important agency as FEMA, for which he had no suitable experience. But one of the truest tests of a chief executive, especially one who believes in the CEO model of delegation, is the quality of his appointments. That was the Achilles heel in Bush the Elder's administration (re: Dan Quayle and Clarence Thomas). Perhaps George the Younger thought that by subsuming FEMA into the great Department of Homeland Security, a strong FEMA head was less vital. Well, here were a few major miscalculations. The Department of Homeland Security has shown itself to be a morass of bureaucratic miscommunication, and FEMA has become enfeebled. I remember how well FEMA rose to the occasion after the Northridge Earthquake in 1994. Now I do not trust it to piss on the fires after the San Andreas blows its gasket. And members of the 9/11 commission have had equally unflattering things to say about the Homeland Security folks.

Good work, so far, George. The ironic thing is that by his admitting to a certain reality, his poll numbers, which had been sinking lower than the deluged bayous of Louisiana, will likely spurt upward. His opacity regarding the Iraqi mess will continue on, however, as his cognitive dissonance will override any concerns that the growing insurgency (160 killed in Baghdad today alone) is more than a mild irritant that Faith and Fortitude will easily overcome.

The more I see Bush trying to extemporize, the more he seems, flailing in his inarticulate way, to resemble the Scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz, down to the brain made of straw--except that George can't sing or dance. Welcome to your Second Term, Mr. Bush. You couldn't bullhorn your way into public acceptance after Katrina as you did in lower Manhattan, and now you have an unsuccessful military adventure, a natural catastrophe and stratospheric gasoline prices to try to rationalize to your public. And it'll get even more interesting if (or when) the bird flu transmutes into a murderous humanly transmitted virus, or when the San Andreas cracks, or when the inevitable second big strike of Al Qaeda decimates some urban center.

Actually, unlike the Scarecrow, Bush needs more than a brain--he could use a heart and some courage as well. And of course, a lot of the luck that has put him in his current executive position. But I, as a gambler, know that luck has a way of running out.

The PETA Principle

Just as the floodwaters are abating in New Orleans, so has the degree of morbid fascination with the disaster and its aftermath, but not so much that related news reports have not dominated the Nielsen ratings, even outpolling the summer's earlier obsession, "Dancing with the Stars." I continued to watch my share of news coverage but found that while I could tolerate the footage of struggling evacuees and destitute regional homeowners I had to turn away from stories involving the plight of abandoned pets and other helpless animals. The picture of a starving dog atop one of the rooves was simply too much to bear.

So I begin to question the odd priority that allows me to endure pictures of human misery but not that of "dumb" animals. I'm not alone in this; perhaps it's simply the understanding that humans have the resources (even with a mismanaged FEMA) to cope with and eventually recover from the catastrophe, but animals, who are at least as benign as people, do not. Also there is the empathy I feel for pet owners who had to leave their charges behind, to a likely death. I appreciate completely the reluctance of those few stragglers whom the National Guard have been trying to pry out of the deluged areas who refuse to go because it would mean abandoning their pets. I discussed this with members of my poker table, almost all of whom are dog owners, and there was unanimous agreement that forsaking our dogs in an emergency would be simply unthinkable. Fortunately my dog is little and I could secret her and her foodstuffs among my belongings if disaster hit my neck of the woods (as Al Qaeda and the San Andreas Fault are both threatening).

The preferential treatment we give our pets does not stem from practical considerations at all. Frankly I can't see how a large convention center could accommodate all the animals that would be involved in a mass evacuation, so humans can expect to receive the lion's share (pun intended) of resources. That is the rational approach. I am speaking, for a change, from emotion, which as we've learned from politics and religion, is usually more powerful and persuasive. But this is not the only arena where the interests of humans and their beloved charges could conflict. The relationship of humans and animals has become shakier as we have "progressed" and developed needs that range from food provision to medical experimentation. And this is where the concepts of humaneness, practicality, ethics and natural selection all coincide to create a checkerboard of conflicting priorities.

This is best illustrated in the emergence of PETA, the advocacy group for animal rights, whose acronym stands for "People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals." The "ethical" treatment of animals is a very subjective term for there have been few historical laws, religious or secular, to establish the boundaries of appropriate behavior between species. The laws of natural selection somewhat demand necessary fatal interrelationships that constitute what we call "The Food Chain." PETA wants to eliminate animals as part of the human food chain, which may or may not be useful biologically, for it's not certain whether we are naturally carnivorous, herbivorous, or omnivorous. Their aim is (perhaps) laudable but certainly impractical and arrogant. I respect vegetarianism but am not a vegan myself; I enjoy meat, chicken and fish but wear those convenient blinders that keep me from visiting slaughterhouses or chicken farms. I could probably live with substitutes for the leather clothes and goods I use, but do not feel pangs of guilt when I finger a snazzy new wallet or one of those fine-smelling jackets at the mall.

Over this last weekend there was a local convention of PETA, in which the major topic was the evil of animal experimentation for medical advances. As loud as that campaign was expressed, an equally vocal cadre of scientist and medical personnel counterdemonstrated and urged to public to consider the ultimate benefits of animal testing--not just for humans, but for pets as well. This was a good point, but probably eluded the rats with gigantic tumors embedded in their guts. I think by now we can all agree that dropping poison into a bunny rabbit's eyes to test perfume tolerance is over the top; but if trials of insulin substitutes can help prevent the detrimental effects of adult-onset diabetes, it's hard to argue about the ruthlessness of the process.

I admit to understanding both sides of the argument and succumbing to the hypocrisy of agreeing with both viewpoints. Nor am I troubled by it, because I know that I am a fundamentally humane person who hates to swat a fly and allows all spiders cohabiting my condo to go with their merry lives (of consuming other less appealing insect species). I think most of the PETA contingent are well-meaning idealogues perhaps a little less aware of their own inconsistencies. Still, there is a note of progress in their ascendence, as it's useful for humans to realize that we are, for better or worse, the dominant species among so many others, and have a certain moral responsibility that goes along with that dominion.

What's in a Blame

It's been ten days or so since my last entry, scripted before a sojourn up in the beautiful Yosemite Valley. There I gazed upon a panoply of stars (real luminaries, not the ones lining Hollywood Boulevard), and took exquisite photos of majestic granite peaks like El Capitan and Half-Dome, towering testimonies to millions of years of natural processes (or six thousand years of intelligent chiseling, if you live in a Red State).

Normally the last week of August and the prelude to Labor Day marks a slough in major news as pretty much the entire world goes on vacation. Not quite the case this annum. Since my last blog entry there have been a couple of plane crashes, a mad stampede killing a thousand Iraqis who believed a suicide bomber was in their midst, the death of the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, and something else---oh yes, the drowning of a major American City.

The disaster that befell New Orleans is an event difficult to comprehend in its enormity, because it is too uncomfortable. It's a fascinating and appalling spectacle to watch, and underneath all the fretting and sympathy lies the undeniable relief that it has not happened to me. However, living in a major earthquake zone and anticipating the overdue Big One, I perceive this catastrophe as a prelude to something even more gargantuanly destructive and certainly more immediate. And this is not even considering the likelihood of a terrorist bomb pulverizing some major urban area. They won't be able to bail that one out.

Meanwhile the range of reactions to this event offer insight into the nature of our Republic. In the first few days it was horror and sympathy; then an outpouring of generosity and hospitality by the majority of Americans, especially those in the southeast who survived the major impact. Now, however, come the recriminations. In the end, after New Orleans is drained and rebuilt, the latter process of which could take twenty years, this tragedy will be interpreted as a political issue. At first political considerations were tacky, but our system guarantees that if there is suffering, someone has to be blamed.

So let's gather the usual suspects. Number one, of course, is Dubya. It's almost too easy, and actually not useful to blame Bush, because he can't be unelected at this point. It is true that his allocation of budgetary and military resources to his Iraqi crusade has undermined the strength of support to the devastated region. The Federal response has been roundly criticized as too cautious and too smug. The Republican congress can be blamed for underfunding the Corps of Engineers' requirements for shoring up the levees that burst. The question I pose is whether a Democratic congress would have acted much differently. Probably a bit moreso, and certainly would have had more tax revenue around to buttress our infrastructure if it were deemed essential. Interestingly, even Bush cannot deny the laxity with which the crisis was met, though he is still congenitally unable to admit fault. But he has agreed to lead his own inquiry into the mishandling of the relief efforts. Don't you just love that? Next, maybe Saddam can sit on the bench to arbitrate his own murder trial.

I watched one of the victims who'd been rescued attribute his salvation to "God," which I suppose is a natural reaction, but begs the bigger question of why God "permitted" this to happen in the first place. I'm sure Pat Robertson or Jerry Falwell will eventually point to the sinful Mardi Gras as a Sodom-and-Gomorrah event that invites divine retribution (though I'm sure most of the celebrants escaped unharmed, unlike the mostly black underclass). For all the gratitude expressed to God for preserving lives that will be in desperate straits for years, I've heard very little in the way of complaint. Maybe we were all convinced by the persuasive beauty of the Book of Job, but as far as I'm concerned, Lordy, you got a lot of 'splainin' to do.

For my own conclusions I am reminded here of a line in Kurt Vonnegut's "Cat's Cradle" that we are all "listless playthings of immeasurable forces." That pretty much sums up my naturalistic view of this catastrophe. Those same natural forces that built El Capitan with the flood waters receding from the Ice Age conspired unpleasantly to deluge a low-lying area that for centuries has eluded the inevitable surge of a direct storm hit. We are severely limited in our power to alter these forces; we have to learn to respect and anticipate them. And be good to our neighbors.