The other day my horoscope said not to give in to temptation when considering a large purchase. And now today, it advises that I shouldn’t wait for that thing I want to go on sale – I should get it now!

Oh, fickle planets. How you vex me.

President Bush is visiting Britain this week.

-There will be 14,000 police on the streets to manage expected huge protests. All police leave during the visit has been cancelled.
-The price tag on security for Bush’s visit is estimated at 19 million pounds.
-A no-fly zone has been established over London.
-Bush backed out of a planned speech to Parliament; the British press says it’s because the administration was worried about being heckled by anti-war MPs, who are much less cowed over there. (Wonder what Kim du Toit thinks of this scaredy-cat move.)

Not exactly a warm welcome for England’s staunch and steadfast ally, now is it?

Anecdotes

I hate anecdotal evidence. “Statistics” aren’t much better, but I hate anecdotes even worse. When I first got car insurance, the agent sat me down and tried to convince me to get things like a policy that would pay off, no joke, if my eye was poked out in a car accident. When you would try to argue that you didn’t need this sort of insurance, he always had a story. “Well my cousin Mabel’s mother-in-law had her eye poked out last year, and thank god she had this coverage.”

When my father and I would have an ideological disagreement, his way to solve it was always to suggest that we poll five people around us on the street and ask *them* for the answer.

Now Dean Esmay is on the anecdote train, mad about the Washington Post poll that said 70 percent of Americans believe Saddam was personally involved in planning 9/11. He’s mad, of course, because the implication is that the administration’s constant conflation of Saddam and 9/11 caused this wildly erroneous perception.

Dean’s argument is two-fold: first, that no one he knows believes this, so the poll is bunk. Are people so gullible that they believe this because Dick Cheney said it? Well, Dean, hate to break it to you, but endless repetition of marketing messages is what drives this country’s economy (and its politics). It’s worked well for decades, for both war and toothpaste.

What’s even more amazing is Esmay goes on to say, well, it’s probably true anyway! Damn Saddam! (This is a variation on the “When did you stop beating your wife” argument, as in, “If you can’t prove it didn’t happen, it probably happened.” See also MDT on gay marriage: “If you can’t prove it won’t harm the society, it’s dangerous.” Reactionaries must just exhaust themselves sometimes.)

Dean felt his post was a rousing success because no one could give an example of someone they knew who thought Saddam planned 9/11 (although he probably did! Damn him!). Lowered expectations are a conservative’s best friend.

Quote of the Week

“Five weeks in rehab isn’t going to make me an idiot.”

-Rush Limbaugh, back on the air today

Feel free to write your own retort to this in the comments. Shooting fish in a barrel, I know. But it’s still fun.

A simple request

If I ever use the term “blogosphere” on this site (other than just then), I want someone to pledge that they will come to my house and beat me senseless with a bag of oranges. Please. I beg you.

The Station Agent

This is one of the best movies I’ve seen this year. When you look just at the plot synopsis (“A dwarf inherits a train depot and finds friendship, and maybe love!”), it sounds like one of those dreadful foreign films where people laugh and cry and run through fields, hugging, loving and learning. Ugh.

Instead, this is the funniest movie I’ve seen that doesn’t contain a single joke. It’s a drama about a dwarf that avoids all the obvious situations. It’s incredibly sweet-natured without being cloying.

In some ways it reminds me of “After Life,” because it’s a movie with a high-concept plot that plays out in an extremely naturalistic, low-key way. The three leads are all outstanding, making you believe that these people (an anti-social dwarf, an effusively friendly hot dog vendor, and a prickly artist) could become friends.

Plus, as my friend Susan said after the movie, it includes the best scene ever about beef jerky. What more can a moviegoer ask for?

Highly recommended.

Saw Wesley Clark on “Meet the Press” this morning. He gave a uniformly impressive performance, I thought, batting back just about all of Tim Russert’s shots. I was thrilled at how smart, thoughtful and well-spoken he was, and there’s no doubt that a decorated general’s perspectives on war are hard to dismiss out of hand. The contrast between Clark and Bush is razor sharp.

I still think Dean is the man to head the ticket, but my dream lineup for ’04 would definitely be Dean/Clark.

Master and Commander

It’s a bad sign when I start writing my weblog review of a movie while I’m watching it. That happened with “Master and Commander” because I was insanely bored during the first half, a naval combat drama set almost entirely at night, with photography that made you strain to even see what’s going on.

The second half, set mostly amid the climactic battle between Russell Crowe’s damaged English vessel and the evil (and much larger and more heavily armed) French ship, is basically a cinematic essay on “What It Means To Be A Man.” I actually thought while I was sitting there, “Kim du Toit is going to love this movie.” It’s so reactionary I think it actually took the audience back in time with it.

This male morality play spools out like a live-action version of Kim’s infamous “Pussification” rant, dressed up as a Russell Crowe historical drama projected on the UltraScreen. This was when men were men, and gay men were OK as long as they were willing to, say, rip bullets from their own entrails without anaesthetic.

I might have been willing to stomach the good-old-boy social commentary if the action were involving or well-directed. But it’s not. The drawn-out first half makes the movie seem much longer than its 2:15 running time, and the second half is just a muddle. One of the few things that kept me going was the phrase “soused ox face” (referring to that night’s grub in the mess); I kept thinking about it during boring and/or “dramatic” moments, and disturbing those around me with strangled laughter.

For Kim du Toit: Highly recommended.
For everyone else: Not so much.

It’s all about me

This morning I solved a particularly thorny (for me) programming problem that I’d been working on for a week without success. I was wearing my bathrobe at the time. I think from now on, I’ll get all my work done in the morning before I shower and dress. My mind seems to work better that way.

Child abuse

(for Becky)