WHEN YOU'RE A MET YOU'RE A MET ALL THE WAY. Finally caught a Mets game on TV yesterday. Mike Piazza blocked the plate to save a run but got knocked over and dropped the ball. Our own Iron Mike! (He did throw a guy out, though -- yeah, you heard me right -- but he had a little help from the second base umpire, who didn't notice that Cedeno had dropped the ball.) Benitez very badly blew a save, and the booing at Shea would have done credit to Michael Moore. And hey, Shinjo's back! I'm definitely getting out to the ballpark soon. I'll catch one of those budget games -- the Mets have adopted a three-tiered system and charge less for games against weak teams. The way things are going, though (I know it's early, but despair springs eternal) I expect they'll be having clearance sales soon enough. Maybe I'll go up to the box office and make an offer.

PRIZES. The Pulitzers just came out and the Drama prize went to a guy named Nilo Cruz. No, I never heard of him either, but I don't doubt the wisdom of the Committee. Nilo's apparently a very young man, and associated with New Dramatists, at which a reading of one of my plays was given, once. Yeah, my career's taking off like a rocket.

But you know what last week's number-one movie was? "Phone Booth." It was written by Larry Cohen -- an old Hollywood hand responsible for "It's Alive," and "Black Caesar," and the great "Private Files of J. Edgar Hoover," a hallucinogenic biopic in which a sexually repressed young J. Edgar (James Wainwright), after a disastrous encounter with Ronee Blakely, turns into Broderick Crawford. Old song-and-dance man Dan Dailey plays Hoover's beloved Clyde Tolson with admirably repressed homosexual tension. Jose Ferrer, as Lionel McCoy, watches an anti-Vietnam demonstration in Washington and announces, in his best Jose Ferrer voice, "My God! It's like the goddamned Russian Revolution!" "You get the feeling," an imdb poster says, " you're being told this story by a gossipy wife under the hair dryer in a salon." Like that's a bad thing! Not to be missed.

Congratulations all around.

CAN YOU TELL that I'm depressed? Good. Maybe I'm fooling everyone else, too.

MIXED BAG. Right-wing hag Peggy Noonan writes that celebrities are ashamed of their country and talk too loudly in restaurants and George Bush has guts. But she also writes that she won't be appearing at OpinionJournal much for a while. One less! One less!

CLETUS DISCOVERS THE FIRST AMENDMENT. For decades kids have been into political insignia as fashion statements. I even sported a little Lenin pin for a while because I thought it looked cool. And we all remember Bruce Dern, Peter Fonda, and Jack Nicholson wearing Irons Crosses in those AIP biker movies.

So I don't take too seriously the desire of these young chuckleheads to wear Confederate flag T-shirts. They're just stickin' it to the man, dude.

And I expect in the long run it will be a great education for these young'uns to deal with the effects of walking around a heterogenous society in T-shirts that basically say "I think it was rad when black people were slaves." Unless they don't live in a heterogenous society (for all I know, Beaufort, SC may be whiter than an Aryan snowdrift), in which case their chances at educability are probably slim anyway.

That's what diversity is all about. We each get to choose the kind of community we want to inhabit. I, for example, choose to live in New York, far away from the mouth-breathing, redneck dipshits wearing Confederate flag T-shirts. Isn't democracy lovely? Enjoy it while it lasts!

JESUS -- OF NAZARETH? I CANNOT CALL HIM TO MIND. It has been suggested that my Phil Ochs quote below is inapposite, as our troops are being nice to the Iraqi civilians. That's to their credit, of course. And I expect they'll go on being nice, in Iraq and in the other countries that, Ralph Peters and others suggest, we will wind up visiting soon. But empires don't stay nice for long, as can be seen by the example of the Romans -- or, as Peters has it, the previous version of us. It's possible, of course, that we'll be different. We certainly used to be.

IN CASE THERE WAS ANY DOUBT. "America is, indeed, the modern Rome. And Rome does not ask permission of Thebes or obey the orders of Gaul." -- Ralph Peters, NY Post. Buh-bye, shining city on a hill. Here come the cops of the world.

HOW I LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND LOVE THE BLOG. I have said some negative things about the personal weblog phenomenon and its attendant diarism. Most people aren't that interesting, and most people can't write for toffee, bless them, so the net result looks like a worldwide Creative Writing class with no instructor and few star (or even competent) pupils.

I've loosened up a bit about that. (Wrong? The great El Droso? -- ed. Who are you? -- re) Getting into the swing of it here on the Blogger-enabled site, I've found the ease of posting is a good or a bad thing depending on one's judgement at any given moment, and that this could over time positively affect my spot-writing skills (a big plus, since that's largely how I make my living). And it beats hell out of morning pages. The threat of publication, like the prospect of hanging, powerfully concentrates the mind.

And I don't sigh so much these days over the explosion of bad prose. I got bigger things to worry about.

Besides, some of the blogs are fun. I found this one via the Blogger homepage. It seems to be run by a bunch of kids who've found a semi-abandoned building and want to have parties in it. They spend much of their online time like this:

This day was awesome. And Furrows is by far the most awesome place I've ever been to, as well as the FREAKIEST. The scarriest part was that giant hole in the wall with the 15-foot drop. THAT was freaky. THAT was more creepier then the scarey graffitii on the walls. Things were great.

and

I'm not just gonna punch him you little brat! you forg you never pay attention to anything! I've been pissed off at nathan for months!

Maybe it would be better if Andy Hardy and the gang put on a show instead of doing this, but it's hella cute nonetheless.

A RUSTY TIN CAN AND AN OLD HURLEY BALL. It's early -- but how early? I guess an hour less early thanks to Daylight Saving Time. But that doesn't matter -- hell, it's wonderful. DST is another of the harbringers of Spring -- like the weird patches we've been having of warm weather. It's cold at the moment, damp and cold, but we've been reminded by the warm spells, and now by this clock-spin, that the cold always passes, and that the hissing of the radiators will soon enough give way to the voice of the turtle. We know, here in a City as eternal as the change of seasons, that no matter how awful things seem, and so matter how sad I may often feel, soon there'll be sidewalk cafes crammed with happy citizens, rollerbladers, rolled-down cab windows, and shirts open at the throat. Maybe that's why I was especially happy to bash a borrowed guitar at a friend's dinner party last night as the boys and girls sang old rock songs, and to come home afterwards and play till dawn the Pogues, and to hear again that glorious old drunk sing about daybreak in another great city,

For it's stupid to laugh and it's useless to bawl
About a rusty tin can and an old hurley ball
Take my hand, and dry your tears, babe
Take my hand, forget your fears, babe
There's no pain, there's no more sorrow
They're all gone, gone with the years, babe
So I watched as day was dawning
Where small birds sang and leaves were falling
Where we once watched the rowboats landing
By the broad majestic Shannon

THE ZONE OF REASON. I see the estimable Kevin Drum has caught on to Josh Marshall's epochal "Practice to Deceive" article.

This seems a point at which all of us in the Zone of Reason can congregate. I often think of Drum as one of those wimpy liberals, like the Presidente in Viva Zapata! who goes to a secret meeting with the opposition leader and, while getting mowed down by a hail of bullets, cries, "What you do is wrong!" But as the situation grows more dire, I find myself increasingly identifying with his reasonable-but-doomed tone -- like the guys at the end of Vonnegut's "Player Piano," who resist the new fascism "for the record" alone, without any hope that it will affect anything but, with luck, some future generation that might bother to read that record.

Because the country seems, at present, nuts. Yesterday's NYT Business section (the Times' business section is often most interesting on Saturday) carried a story called "In Their Hummers, Right Beside Uncle Sam." It carried testimonials from workaday jackasses who think the fact that they bought themselves expensive military vehicles to drive around their hometown streets connects them in some way with the war effort. "I'm proud of my country," says one such clown, "and I'm proud to be driving a product that is making a significant contribution." Quoth other Humdaddies: "Those who deface a Hummer in word or deed deface the American flag and what it stands for" and "The Hummer is a car in uniform. Right now we are in a time of uncertainty, and people like strong brands with basic emotions."

To explain what is grotesquely inappropriate about the civilian use of military vehicles on suburban streets is not worth the bother. I have acquired a certain patience from teaching remedial English, because I understand that need, as schools no longer do their job in that regard. But the guys in the Times article, who clearly never absorbed common sense from their parents, are in my view beyond remediation. They would, in a perfect world, be committed to institutions that would patiently instruct them in the fundamental values of human society. But in our imperfect world, these madmen are not a pathetic subset, but exemplars of their age. The only madhouse big enough for them is America.

The only comfort I can find is from Peter Boyle in Taxi Driver: "We're all fucked -- more or less." In some ways I'm as insane as these guys. I love big American things, too: outsized power chords, breasts, public monuments, and ambitions. But I never thought these were objective correlatives to patriotism. I never thought America was great because it was big. I thought it was big because it was great.

Someone's got it backwards. I don't think it's me.

AFTER BAGHDAD. I hate to be one of those guys who just links an article, pulls a money graf, and tell you to read the whole thing. But In this case I can't help myself. Josh Marshall has a great piece in the Washington Monthly about the real long-term aims of this Administration in the Middle East. I've often read the exhortations of Michael "Faster, Please" Ledeen and wondered if he could be serious. He is, and he's not the only, nor the most highly placed, one. And, as promised, here's one of several Marshall money grafs:

Today, however, the great majority of the American people have no concept of what kind of conflict the president is leading them into. The White House has presented this as a war to depose Saddam Hussein in order to keep him from acquiring weapons of mass destruction--a goal that the majority of Americans support. But the White House really has in mind an enterprise of a scale, cost, and scope that would be almost impossible to sell to the American public. The White House knows that. So it hasn't even tried. Instead, it's focused on getting us into Iraq with the hope of setting off a sequence of events that will draw us inexorably towards the agenda they have in mind.

That agenda comprises a long, bloody, costly drive to pacify the Middle East -- all of it, pretty much -- by force or threat thereof, accomplished with little input or assistance from the rest of the civilized world.

Such as it is, the plan has its attractions ("Like a character in a bad made-for-TV thriller from the 1970s," writes Marshall, "you can hear yourself saying, 'That plan's just crazy enough to work'"). And you can understand why its high-level advocates have been keeping it on the down-low -- a couple of American Presidents have asked the nation to finish a World War, but none before now has asked us to start one.

But it induces shivers to contemplate how disingenuously, and how easily, we are led down this dark and dismal path. Marshall notes that "the brazenness of this approach would be hard to believe if it weren't entirely in line with how the administration has pursued so many of its other policy goals." The ruinous tax plans, ominous Patriot Acts, and other life-changing measures that fly, barely noticed, through Congress seem to bear him out. Our course is uncharted, our progress headlong, and we watch American Idol and night-vision footage and hope for the best.

Something will come of this, wrote Dickens once, I hope it mayn't be human gore. But that, now more than ever, is hoping against hope.

STOP THE PRESSES. "Faultline under Los Angeles could cause huge earthquake" --The Independent.

In other breaking news, saturated fats are bad for you, and you can't cheat an honest man.

MICHAEL KELLY DEAD. I never liked the guy's politics, but this is just awful. How sad for his family, his friends, and his colleagues and readers. There's nothing else I can say.

THE STORY SO FAR. "CNN's medical correspondent Sanjay Gupta (a neurosurgeon) has been with a medical unit that does not have a neurosurgeon. So when an Iraqi child who needed brain surgery came in, they asked CNN's doctor for help. He did. And now, no one can stop talking about it. Am I wrong? I think it is great he tried to save the boy (who later died), but isn't that his job?... I'm pretty sure the only reason this is a big deal is because CNN is making it so, for understandable reasons..." -- Kathryn Jean Lopez.

That's an understandable, though seemingly ungenerous, POV. It's similar to what I've been saying about Giuliani and September 11. People get mad when I say it, though.

The camera's eye puts everything in a new perspective, and now and again even those who have been following the Story So Far with popcorn and pennant in hand will notice that this Story is, to a large extent, guided by Storytellers. There's real heroism afoot every day, of course. You don't need a camera to see it.

But we're used to getting our heartwarming stories from cable. When you have an interest in how others see the world (since, to a greater or lesser extent, it can effect decisions that have an impact on your own life), sometimes you'll become aware that the capital-S story is out of sync with the one you, like each of us, constantly construct for yourself.

Maybe that's the time to turn off the TV for a while.

WHEN THE CAMERAS SPIN AROUND. A lot of weblog operators are following every jot and tittle of the war reportage -- This guy does a good job of getting to the pith. (In a recent entry he quotes Rumsfeld saying American forces are “closer to central Baghdad than many American commuters are from their downtown offices.”)

This moment-to-moment tracking of the invasion is not too interesting to me. I expect the U.S. will win this one -- call it a hunch -- and the precise moment the bridge at Al-Whatsit is taken just isn't uppermost in my thoughts.

I do note with interest doings on the home front, including Treasury Secretary Snow's recent statement: ""As a matter of principle, this administration believes we have an obligation to the American people to rebuild our economy, even as we protect our national security... Choosing one over the other is a false choice."

You read this and realize: while we've been paying attention to the inexhorable drive toward Baghdad, people are losing their shirts back home. Once the cameras spin back around, everything is going to look very different.

The IMF is sanguine ("Chance of U.S. Recession Now Only 15 Percent"), but most of us on the ground (particularly Ground Zero and thereabouts) don't have so rosy an outlook. We're not the only country with an economy, either, and the jitters are widespread. A walk through the global bankruptcy news gives some idea why.

Will the tax cut package help? Consider this report from New Jersey: "The idea as outlined by a state economic adviser would have the state tax billions of dollars freed up by President Bush's proposed tax cuts and use the money to help cure New Jersey's ailing budget situation." They're talking about taxing the tax cuts.

Economists have all kinds of explanations, and our national-greatness President seems content to will stimulus into existence, but in my experience, the money has to come from somewhere, and after the last big run on entitlements in the previous decade, there just aren't that many seat cushions to look under anymore.

In a little while we'll be in the post-war occupation phase, and that'll probably precipitate a quick spike in the stock market (and longer-term economic benefits for some). But generally I fear we'll be seeing a different kind of devastation when the Iraqi smoke clears.

SHIT IN A CORNER. Just visited NRO's The Corner for the first time in a while. Imagine a dozen hardcore New York Rangers fans with their faces painted blue, locked in a steel tank for two weeks with a truckload of beer and chips and a TV set. That gives you some idea of the level of discourse therein.

Between the celebratory roars, clinically degenerate anti-French ravings ("Chirac's frog fedayeen...Putains de merd"), and increasingly bizarre jokes, the place has become a literal madhouse.

They disdain their own weak, too. Ned Flanders even said goodbye forever and no one offered him so much as a pat on the ass.

It's like Free Republic for people who know how to read.

WAR OF WORDS. Whatever their other relative merits and demerits, you have to admit that Saddam is a better rhetorician than GWB. But his style has slipped some since '91. During Gulf War I, my friend Chet made these telling comparisons between the rhetoric of Bush I and Saddam:

Bush: We have drawn a line in the sand.
Saddam: The mother of all battles has begun.

Bush: This will not stand.
Saddam: We will make the enemy drown in his own blood.

That's fustian, by Allah! Now we have a recent statement, alleged from Big S, saying that the Coalition forces "are not even 100 miles (away from Baghdad). They are not anywhere. They are like a snake moving in the desert." A nice analogy -- but nonetheless, he exhorts his troops to fight these allegedly faraway troops "with your hands." (I assume armament is running low.)

Not bad, but certainly not up to his old standards. Could Saddam have mellowed with age?

In the event that Saddam is really dead or nearly so, it may be time for the other crack wordsmiths in the bunker to take over. Iraqi Information Minister Mohammed Saeed al-Sahaf, for example, has penned this tribute to the U.S.: "They are a superpower of villains... They are a superpower of Al Capone." He also referred to Bush as the "leader of the international criminal gang of bastards."

There's some of the old fire! And al-Sahaf will have plenty of time to hone his delivery in Den Hague.

SCHADEN-FRAUD. Instapundit rejoices that England's Mirror has lost circulation due to its "anti-war stance."

In the same long-view mode as yesternight, I am intrigued by the idea that if a newspaper takes up an unpopular cause, presumably on principle (since there is no other reason for doing so), its enemies should find vindication in the paper's loss of sales. Going against the tide is hard, and exacts a price. Grown-ups know that.

The Mirror's editor appears to be a grown-up. In the article IP links, Pier Morgan explains his paper's performance:

Do I think our anti-war line is to blame for any of the drop? Possibly a bit among our older readers who think it's unpatriotic to continue criticising the war now it's started. But the overwhelming reaction to our coverage from our readers has been totally supportive... We just won't be hypocrites and change our line that we shouldn't have started it in the first place

One has to admire his "stay," whatever the financials.

Morgan also suggests that the Mirror has been affected by the Sun's price-cutting maneuvers (a situation with which any New Yorker aware of Murdoch's loss-leading Post will be familiar), and has some choice words for blowhard former Sunday Times editor Andrew Neil. All told, Morgan comes off well. Small wonder IP forewent his usual "read the whole thing" sign-off.

TAKING THE LONG VIEW. It may be that epidemological aggressiveness will cut SARS off at the global pass. Maybe not. At least the illness won't spread as quickly as it would have if we were all clueless about and inattentive to fast-spreading disease.

But -- indulge me a moment. Doesn't it suck that we have to be so attentive to such things? I mean, it's the Twenty-First century, and we are obliged to cower before the spread of plague as if this were the 14th Century. Next thing you know we'll all be wearing plastic beaks stuffed with aromatherapeutics.

The world at war, unknown illness spreading, all areas of human endeavor at a creative low ebb. I'm beginning to feel a little ungrateful to have been born into this splendid age -- even considering that we have, like, iPods and mp3s and blogs.

SAVING PRIVATE LYNCH. V. Postrel (link found via that awful man) makes the point that it is inappropriate for newsreaders to refer to Pvt. Jessica Lynch as "Jessica," as she is a U.S. soldier, not "the little girl who fell down the well." Well said. I had the same thought today while watching Katie Couric talk about "Jessica" to the rescued soldier's (understandably dazed) father.

I can imagine, though, where this media infantilism is coming from. Pvt. Lynch is a very young woman of the sort for whom the adjective "fresh-faced" was invented. In her official picture, shown frequently on the news of late, she flashes a bright, can-do smile. She hails from the charmingly named Palestine, West Virginia, and wants to be a schoolteacher.

For many, her perils, and those of any such female, will always be as those of Pauline. She is the very model of an All-American girl -- but she is also a soldier. A lot of people probably may have trouble processing that last part of ther resume.

But not because, as some warbloggers would have it, she's a "bellicose woman" and poster child for the NRA Chick Auxiliary (Pvt. Lynch doesn't particularly seem like someone who would take pride in being called bellicose, even if she were draped in a dozen armaments). Her military service in a foreign land is new and unusual because, unlike being a schoolteacher and having a can-do smile (as glorious as those things really are), it implies a level of responsibility that transcends the little red schoolhouse and even the town meeting. Pvt. Lynch, like her comrades, deals with the world -- in the current situation, on the level of confrontation. Her decision to join the service turned out to be, whether she knew it or not (though I like to imagine she did -- she does want to be a teacher), a decision to engage the world, not as a spectator or a tourist, but as part of a force that shapes its destiny.

To me that's more of a leap into the future of intergender relations than the fact that she was issued a gun.

Now, as to how she and others are shaping the world, that's another issue entirely...