THIS MODERN WORLD

An excerpt:

If you don’t like obscenity, you don’t like the truth. If you don’t like the truth, watch how you vote. Send guys to war, they come home talking dirty. -Tim O’Brien, The Things They Carried

George Bush had better be fucking right.

That’s how I began my journal on April 3, 2003. Writing in pencil on an Army-issue notebook with mint green pages, leaning in on deliberate, hard letters, I underlined “better” and penciled over the words again and again until they wore through the tactically-colored paper.

On March 19, just two weeks earlier, the US had launched the first air strike of Operation Iraqi Freedom. Troops on the ground had invaded Iraq the next day. And now I was off to war for reasons that I feared were bullshit.

I reclined in the first-class section of a civilian 747 bound for Kuwait with an M-16 wedged between my legs and my gut firmly stuffed with all the Krispy Kreme doughnuts I could scarf down in twenty minutes, courtesy of the old Red Cross ladies who saw us off at Hunter Army Airfield, Fort Stewart, Georgia. It seemed a bad omen that the Red Cross was the last organization to see us off to war. The Red Cross sends emergency notifications to deployed soldiers when something urgent happens back home-like when someone is in a car accident or a grandmother dies. Everyone shuddered whenever word came that a Red Cross notification was on the way. It was the soldiers’ equivalent of the knock at the door.

Sitting in a cracked faux-leather seat with In Flight Magazine’s glossy pictures of Hawaii poking out the seat pocket in front of me, I considered the absurdity of the situation.

“Gentlemen, please ensure your seatbacks are in the upright position,” an older woman’s voice crackled over the PA system.

What? We were geared to the teeth with the essentials of combat. Bullets, grenades, rifles, knives, rucksacks, scowls, Copenhagen, cigarettes, hatred, the Penthouse March 2003 edition with Lilly Ann on the cover-the whole Army deal. I was cranked up and ready to run through hell, already bracing myself for incoming explosions, and going over indoctrinated checklists in my mind. And I had to worry about the seatback being upright?

I was going to war, with the greatest military force the world had ever seen, on a jet snagged from a recently bankrupted airline. I wondered if we’d get the little bag of peanuts.

I slid my CD headphones over my ears. I tried to shut out the endless cacophony of yelling, farting, gear rattling, spitting and snoring with headphones streaming System of a Down, Linkin Park and Jay Z. The emotional oasis of a temporary musical vacation helped all of us forget we were constantly surrounded by thirty-eight other men.

Funny. These headphones were just like every piece of equipment issued to my platoon: old and held together with nothing but hope and some twenty-mile-an-hour tape (green Army duct tape). I hoped these suckers wouldn’t break before we got there. I needed my music to keep me sane-to buffer me from the men, if only for a song or two. Where the hell do you get new headphones in Iraq?

My men and I were National Guardsmen, attached to First Brigade, Third Infantry Division, also known as 3ID. * Shouldered with the task of taking over a foreign country, yet disallowed from smoking in the lavatories of the plane. Since the days of Troy, soldiers have pushed the limits of what little they are allowed to do-especially in pursuit of a vice. The Army has a saying: “Ask for forgiveness, not for permission.” I was pretty sure that on this seventeen-hour flight one of the many chain-smokers in Third Platoon would test the FAA to see if it would really fine a soldier $1,000 for smoking a cigarette in a latrine on the way to die in Iraq. Sure it would be ironic, but not outside the realm of possibility.

I looked across the dimly-lit aisle at one of my SAW gunners. I’ll call him “Gunner.” Think the most Johnny-All-American-Homecoming-King kid you ever met. With a white-blond flat-top, blue eyes, perfect teeth, a chiseled jaw and about 5% body fat, Gunner was straight out of a recruiting commercial. Perfect uniform, immaculate weapon, and always followed orders without being told twice. He didn’t bitch, and maintained perfect military bearing.

Gunner was big on two things: God, and his beloved girlfriend. On the left side of his stomach, just above his kidney, was a meticulously scripted tattoo in flowing cursive letters: “Andrea.” He’d proposed to her just weeks before we left. He probably spent everything he had and then some to buy her the ring.

I thought of that tattoo as I glanced at him. It was buried beneath his BDU top now, but it stuck in my head. A lot of guys in the Army have tattoos around the same area-but a few inches higher, and in a much different design. Soldiers call them meat tags. A meat tag is a copy of the Army dog tag you wear around you neck, tattooed on your torso, just below your armpit. A meat tag isn’t just a hard-core status symbol. It’s a way to identify a body if the torso is all that remains after it’s blown apart. Name, social security number and religious preference (if any). Call it thinking ahead. Prep for combat. Another safety measure, like an extra pair of socks.

If you want to be in the running for a copy of Chasing Ghosts, be sure to send an email before tomorrow night. And keep watching this space — the weekly contest is going to be a regular feature for awhile, and I’ve got some great stuff lined up for the next few weeks.

Michael Brown lets loose on his former employers:

· On Rep. Gene Taylor (D-Miss.), accusing him in a hearing of not comprehending the devastation: “For that little twerp to claim I didn’t understand death and suffering — he can just bite me, for all I care.”

· On President Bush saying the levee breaches were unexpected: “He doesn’t have an incredible command of the English language.”

· On DHS boss Michael Chertoff ordering him out of the field: “I am so mad at myself for not saying ‘screw you.’ ”

· On Bush calling him “Brownie”: “It’s typical of the president. He’s a cheerleader . . . How many people in the world do you think have ever called me Brownie? . . . When he used that nickname, a lot of people in the media went, Is he an insider?”

· On his much-mocked prior job with the International Arabian Horse Association: “Dealing with horses’ asses taught me how to deal with the federal government.”

Under the heading “Butt Out Markos,” clueless Andy highlights an email from an equally clueless reader:

Reading the interview with Kos made me want to throw up. As a Connecticut native (and Lieberman supporter), I wonder where he gets off trying to play God in our elections. He says, “I don’t think Joe Lieberman would have anything to worry about had he tended to his constituents back home. His job is to represent the people of Connecticut.” What kind of view of Connecticut’s politics does he think he has from San Francisco, exactly? Representing “the people of Connecticut” is exactly what Lieberman has been doing, which is why he is crushing Lamont and the GOP candidate in a 3-way general election with over 50% of the vote. What Kos wants, of course, is for Lieberman to represent his vision of what the Democratic Party should be. He goes on to say that Lieberman would not be abiding “by the democratic will of the people of Connecticut” if he loses the primary and wins the general election. Right, because “people of Connecticut” = “20% of Connecticut’s registered Democrats who turn out for the closed primary in the middle of the summer.” Spare me.

A couple of thoughts about this.

To start off: This isn’t “playing God.” Playing God involves humanoid creatures stitched together from body parts stolen from the cemetery, towers on craggy peaks, and lightning storms late at night. Oh yes, and near hysterical cries of “IT’S ALIVE!”

This is just, you know, politics.

Sure, Markos and Atrios and Jane Hamsher and other out-of-staters have been supporting Lamont’s run (along with quite a few Connecticut bloggers). So what? I mean, is anyone really so naive as to believe that Senate races are purely local affairs? The 100 individuals in the U.S. Senate have a huge impact on the lives of everyone in the country, not just their own constituents. Joe Lieberman’s backers certainly understand this — 80% of his campaign contributions come from out of state.

(Let me reiterate that for the slower-witted among us, such as Andy’s correspondent: EIGHTY PERCENT OF JOE LIEBERMAN’S CAMPAIGN CONTRIBUTIONS COME FROM OUT OF STATE.)

Also, the last I checked, Bill Clinton — who came up and stumped for Lieberman the other day — is not himself a resident of the state of Connecticut.

But opposition to Lieberman runs deeper than some out-of-state bloggers. Drive around this state, Lamont yard signs seem to outnumber those of Lieberman by maybe twenty to one. You see them everywhere, even hanging from clotheslines:

And I’m second-hand sourcing this one, but according to a friend-of-a-friend who is deeply involved in local party politics, resentment of Joe within the Democratic machine here runs deep and long. Joe’s just annoyed too many people over the years, and there’s apparently a sense among local politicos that he’s spent too much time in DC sucking up to the Bushies the last few years, and far too little at home. (In other words, as Markos correctly notes, he hasn’t been tending to his constituents.)

This could all be nonsense, of course. But if Lieberman loses on August 8, watch and see if there’s not a sudden and enthusiastic outpouring of support for Lamont from local Democrats who have been forced to bite their tongues up to now.

I know that this is contrary to the official media narrative of the moment, but Lamont’s unexpectedly strong showing has a lot more to do with Connecticut Democrats being tired of Joe, and finally having a credible alternative, than it has to do with a handful of out of state bloggers.

One last thing: you hear a lot from lazy media types about how very popular Joe is here in Connecticut. Well, here’s a small reality check: in the 2004 Super Tuesday presidential primary in Connecticut, John Kerry got 58% of the vote. John Edwards came in second with a respectable 24%.

Joe Lieberman, meanwhile, came in third with five percent of the vote, here in the state in which he is so very popular.

(As for Lieberman “crushing” Lamont in a three-way race, check out these numbers from a 7/20 Rasmussen poll of likely voters: Lieberman 40, Lamont 40, Schlesinger 13. I have no idea how a three-way race would really play out, of course, but if I were Lieberman I wouldn’t start planning the victory celebration quite yet.)

This is American Patriot, or as he is also called on his packaging, A.P. He popped up in a little hole in the wall store full of cheap Asian imports around the corner from my apartment in Brooklyn shortly after 9/11. I can’t remember if he made the final cut or not, but you may have seen him briefly in Bowling for Columbine — the store had two of them, and I gave one to Michael M. (we were working on our ill-fated animated feature at the time).

Always wanted to share A.P. with the world, and thanks to YouTube, I finally can.

… if the video doesn’t load, click here.

This one will have you checking your calendars to see if it’s April 1st (via Kottke) :

Monopoly board game players can now pay for properties with debit cards.

Game makers Parker have phased out the standard multi-coloured cash in a new version.

Players will instead use a Visa mock debit card to keep track of how much they win or lose.

It is inserted into an electronic machine where the banker taps in cardholders’ earnings and payments.

Parker said replacing of cash with plastic showed the game was moving with the times.

Spokesman Chris Weatherhead said: “The new electronic Monopoly reflects the changing nature of society and the advancement of technology.”

If they want to modernize Monopoly, why stop there? They should make the properties increase in value quickly so that anyone who doesn’t purchase the property early rounds will never be able to afford anything. The richest player at any given point in the game will be be able to buy his/her way out of jail, while the poorest has to spend twice as long in jail as any other player. Get rid of Community Chest, Free Parking, and Luxury Tax, since they’re just outdated relics of an era in which people cared more for their society than their wallets. And the person who buys the utilities should be allowed to change the rules at any point during the game to ensure they always win. That’s how it seems to work in the real world.