So, I don't post here much anymore, but when I'm drawn to, it's usually to comment on someone else's post. I thought that instead of coming up with entries (I'm super busy these days, again, somehow), I would post a link to an interesting post, or rather, one that I found interesting. Then I'll post my response, which is usually as long or longer than a blog post of mine anyways.

So here's the first one.

Click here to go to Leonidas's entry about Jackson and McNamara, and then read my reponse below. Or I suppose you could read it there too, but then you'd miss....

   A picture of a cute puppy while you scroll.

   Hmmm, maybe next time I'll not post my comment on the writer's blog. Then even they will have to come over here. That will certainly drive traffic, and perhaps hate mail, my way.

First off, thank you for this. I was certainly touched by Jackson's passing, he was an icon and a talent and a force that changed the world, but I don't need to see it every time I listen to the news for 2 weeks. I'm glad the funeral's over; now we can go on with our lives. Luckily, I get my news from NPR, so I didn't have to see what must have been a pretty ridiculous event, and I heard plenty about Robert McNamara, as well as hearing the Fresh Air interview with him in 1995(? I think - whenever his memoir came out), and the interview with Errol Morris, who made a documentary starring McNamara in 2003.

What strikes me about McNamara is that he admits that he thought he was a war criminal after WWII, and yet gets the country into Vietnam. And, that while he admits to his mistakes (his Vietnam mistakes, anyway) for the purpose of learning from them, he repeatedly in the interview refuses to say he's sorry. I think he said that an apology would be beside the point, that they point was helping people not repeat the past.

And bam, I lose all faith in him. Because, see, this is a guy who's seen the worst of war, been a part of perpetuating the worst of it, and he still sees war as a viable way of interacting with the world. It's not that the Vietnam War was "wrong", it's that the Vietnam War was "handled badly". How could this man live through the fire bombing of Tokyo, not too mention the droppings of A-bombs, live through the Vietnam War, see the destruction of lives both in those far-off places and here at home, and still think that way? I get that Cold War indoctrination ran deep, but I still think we deserved an apology from the guy.

As for Colin Powell, fuck him too. Duty, schmooty. Your highest duty should be to do what's right, and if I work for the King, and it turns out he's a lunatic, then I should join the Resistance. Colin Powell said his piece and then stepped back, all vindicated and holy and still with a job? If I was an Iraqi widow with a legless son, I'd still want to scratch his eyes out. Colin Powell stood up with those inane pictures and told us all that there were weapons of mass destruction in Iraq, and we ate it up with very large spoons. Does duty require perjury? How far do you have to follow those you've sworn to?

This is why I can't "support the troops" in the fashion of all those flag-waving, bumper-sticker on my SUV riding MF'ers. I have friends in the military, and I get entirely that they want to serve their country, keep us safe, etc. But those in charge of placing them in harms way aren't serving me or mine or keeping me safe; they are simply serving their own interests. So my friends get the dirty jobs, and the rich and powerful get to continue on sucking everybody dry. I just can't support that - sorry.

I'm only a sometimes pacifist - I get that there are bad and ruthless people we need to protect ourselves from (though I hate when my country is bad and ruthless); I also think that in a perfect world we would melt down all the guns to make really neat kitchen gadgets, but in an imperfect world, I don't want the government to be the only ones with guns. But time and time again, those with might take advantage of those without.

The corruption and the laziness have really been getting to me lately. The corruption of the political system/corporate hegemony/pundit media, and the laziness of the rest of us. We're so ensconced, we can't stop watching the Michael Jackson b.s.

Bahumbug, I say. I'm off to make some garlic scape pesto and wash off the farm dirt.

The packrat that I am still desires simplicity. Heck, I have a shelf of books devoted to the idea. I’ve done away with cable T.V., so now I rent my television shows. I’ve done away with friendships based on drama, careers that kept me up at night, and the trappings of urban fashion and competition, but I still lay in bed wondering if I’ve made the right choices. So, I collect, and I fell in love with a fellow collector.

My honey and I recently moved in together, combining two very large collections – books, art, vintage clothes, antique toys, cribbage boards, rusty bits of metal, and the list goes on. We had succeeded in packing an extra room with the excess, and our home was beginning to look, if not uncluttered, then at least artfully arranged. Then, because we’re both underpaid and underemployed, we decided to get rid of the storage space that holds our excess excess.

Now our place has returned to the chaos look of “just moved”, though we’ve lived here for three months. Boxes in every room, awaiting homes. I bought us 2 new large bookshelves (30” wide, 72” tall) and 3 small ones (just 40” tall or so), on top of the 10 or so we already owned. All these are full, and yet the books keep coming out of boxes.

I rented a booth at the local flea market for the previous two weekends. Although it was fun meeting all the interesting folk that inhabit such places, and I sold enough to pay for the booth and my lunches, it was basically an action of moving my stuff from one place to another, and then moving it back again. I had hoped to divest, but really I just disorganized.

I am trying to simplify. I’ve got an appointment at a consignment store tomorrow, and another next week. I have grand intentions of selling my vintage clothing online, when I get around to it. I don’t like living in such a state of disaster. I have dreams of well-ordered rooms, clean and attractive.

On the other hand, I love my books and my cds. I like having a wealth of history and information at my fingertips. I enjoy having a conversation about a novel or poet with a friend, and being able to loan them a copy. I can’t see a fabulous old dress at the thrift store, on sale for four dollars, and pass it up. I know it’s a compulsion, and I soothe myself with the idea that at least I’m not going into debt ordering off of QVC every day, and that my collections have history, meaning, and beauty.

So I sit amongst the towering piles, small against the tide of stuff.