You know you're getting old when...

you buy your first bottle of Scotch.

Happy 2009 from the Quiet American!

The Quiet American

This blog has lain dormant for a long time, but the interesting times we're living in have called it back to life.

Who is The Quiet American?

I'm a student in my first year at a law school in the American northeast.

I grew up on the west coast, and I still think of it as home.

I worked for a couple of years in East Asia, and I hope to return before too long.

I used to run this blog with Bien Pensant, a friend of mine since childhood. BP, wherever you are, you're welcome back any time.

I care a lot about the future of this country, often to a fault.

And most people who know me would probably say I'm really not very quiet at all.

The King Across the Water

One more thought to add to the previous mix:

I have a lot of reservations about Al Gore. He has been on the right side of virtually every major policy issue of the past quarter-century, but his policy brilliance is matched only by his political incompetence. He is tone deaf, patronizing, and his political instincts are atrocious. He talks down to people and makes no attempts to hide his vast intelligence behind a facade of humility. I think that he is living his dream now, is aware of his political limitations, and does not want to risk going from punchline to hero to punchline again. So I do not think that he will run.

Nevertheless...

If you believe, like I do, that Al Gore rightfully won the 2000 election, that it was stolen from him by five shamefully partisan members of the Supreme Court, and that George W. Bush ascended to the presidency without popular legitimacy and commenced to rule through fear and war, then I think it is a moral obligation to support Gore if he decides he wishes to fight for Restoration.

That said, I've always been a bit taken by the Jacobites, so take all of that with a grain of salt.

Some thoughts... in no particular order

I was just talking to BP recently and we were both commenting on a particularly frustrating blog-related phenomenon: the half-finished post draft. You get all riled up thinking about some issue or another, you start formulating the perfect post, and then by the time you hit the keyboard you just don't have the juice, or you realize there's some snag in your theory you hadn't thought of before, or you want to start drinking early, or whatever... And so you hit the "save" button and figure you'll get back to it, and of course you never do. I've had a lot of decent ideas die this way; same, apparently, for BP. So I wanted to get a few thoughts out right here and right now - each would justify it's own post, but I'm thinking if I went down that road none of them would see the light of day. The good news is that I'm actually supposed to be writing something else at the moment, so of course it's the perfect time to be working on the blog. With no further ado, a few shallow thoughts...

1). If I'm Mahmoud Ahmadinejad and his inner-circle of Republican Guard cronies, what am I really looking for? For these guys, reinvigorating the Revolution is everything. Sure, they'd love to get nukes eventually, but if you believe everybody but Israeli intelligence that's still pretty long term, and the ayatollahs probably won't let an unpredictable hothead like Ahmadinejad anywhere near the launch codes. These guys would like nothing better than to goad the US into bombing. It would rally the people around them, and they'd get to let loose with the toys they really dig: Hezbollah, the Shiite militias in Iraq, international terrorism. They'd rather not have a nuclear stalemate; their preference would be asymmetrical warfare. A US strike would loosen all restraints on getting that started. So I'm thinking that Ahmadinejad and the people close to him in Iran are pushing hard on the nuclear program precisely because they want a conflict, not risking a conflict to build nuclear weapons. Dick Cheney, of course, would be more than happy to comply, at least right after he gets back from hunting.

2). I think it says a lot about the modern day Republican party that there's more collective sanity in a room full of Batman villains than there is among Giuliani's foreign policy advisors, and yet he's leading the field. And to think that the GOP used to be the party that people trusted to run a responsible and competent foreign policy... This is a weapon if Hillary Clinton knows how to use it.

3). I like Chris Dodd a lot. He got a bit of Jed Bartlett to him...

4). And, oh what the hell, I like Fred Thompson too. I've always had a weakness for actors turned politicians, though (see, e.g., the Gubernator).

5). I think Mitt Romney is a very dangerous general election candidate, much more so than Rudy. Americans haven't elected somebody with a personality as obviously nasty as Rudy's since Nixon, whereas Romney has this (disgustingly) wholesome thing going, will say anything to get elected, and can break to the center pretty easily. He's pretty moderate, and will appeal to a lot of independent voters queasy about Hillary.

6). Barack Obama is a very smart guy, so I'm sure he understands this: There are a lot of us out there who have strong reservations about his general election potential because we do not believe he is tough enough. Hillary has completely taken advantage of his holier-than-thou crap, and the Republican attack machine looks like it would pretty much have his way with him. Say what you will about Hillary, but she would rather die than lose to a clown like Giuliani or a phony like Romney. Democratic voters are thinking about Giuliani vs. Obama, and worrying on the latter's behalf, like some mom who's afraid to let her kid go out and face a bully, and that is not a good situation for Obama as he tries to make the case that Hillary is unelectable.

Poem/Song of the Day: A Utopian Vision?

Fils de, by Jacques Brel (click here for a live performance)

Fils de bourgeois ou fils d'apôtre
Tous les enfants sont comme les vôtres
Fils de César ou fils de rien
Tous les enfants sont comme le tien
Le même sourire, les même larmes
Les mêmes alarmes, les mêmes soupirs
Fils de césar ou fils de rien
Tous les enfants sont comme le tien

Ce n'est que qu' après, longtemps après ...

Mais fils de sultan, fils de fakir
Tous les enfants ont un empire
Sous vôute d'or sous toit de chaume
Tous les enfants ont un royaume
Un coin de vague, une fleur qui tremble
Un oiseau mort qui leur ressemble
Fils de sultan, fils de fakir
Tous les enfants ont un empire

Ce n'est qu' après, lontemps après ...

Mais fils de ton fils ou fils d'étranger
Tous les enfants sont des sorciers
Fils de l'amour ou fils d'amourette
Tous les enfants sont des poètes
Fils sont bergers ils sont rois mages
Dans les nuages pour mieux voler
Fils de ton fils ou fils d'étranger
Tous les enfants sont des sorciers

Ce n'est qu'après, lontemps après ...

Mais fils de bourgeois ou fils d'apôtre
Tous les enfants sont comme les vôtres
Fils de césar ou fils de rien
Tous les enfants sont comme le tien
Les mêmes sourires, les mêmes larmes
Les mêmes alarmes, les mêmes soupires
Fils de césar ou fils de rien
Tous les enfants sont comme le tien

An English interpretation: (click here for a non-literal version that appeared in the English-language variant of the song)

Sons of the bourgeois or sons of the saint
All children are like your own
Sons of Caesar or sons of nothing
All children are like yours
The same smile, the same tears
The same alarms, the same sighs
Sons of Caesar or sons of nothing
All children are like yours -

It was only until after - until long after...

But sons of the Sultan, sons of the fakir
All children have an empire
Under a vault of gold, under an ordinary roof
All children have a kingdom
A corner of a wave, a trembling flower
A dead bird that resembles them -
Sons of the Sultan, sons of the fakir
All children have an empire

It was only until after - until long after...

But sons of your sons, sons of the stranger
All children are sorcerors
Children of the lover or beloved
All children are poets
They are shepherds, they are magicians
In the clouds to fly better
Sons of your sons, sons of the stranger
All children are sorcerers

It was only until after - until long after...

Sons of the bourgeois or sons of the saint
All children are like your own
Sons of Caesar or sons of nothing
All children are like yours
The same smile, the same tears
The same alarms, the same sighs
Sons of Caesar or sons of nothing
All children are like yours...

Shameless self-promotion

The radio program I worked for just did an interesting show on internet policing and other forms of information control in China. Give it a listen at KQED Forum online.
Apparently the Chinese government has been locking up every dissident it can find for the duration of the National Party Congress. I've never had much time for Bush, but good show inviting the mother of all dissidents to the White House tomorrow.

After science and love-robots, a touch of the irrational

Der Erlkönig
by Goethe (click for Schubert's version of the poem)

Wer reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind?
Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind;
Er hat den Knaben wohl in dem Arm,
Er faßt ihn sicher, er hält ihn warm.

"Mein Sohn, was birgst du so bang dein Gesicht?"
"Siehst, Vater, du den Erlkönig nicht?
Den Erlenkönig mit Kron und Schweif?"
"Mein Sohn, es ist ein Nebelstreif."

"Du liebes Kind, komm, geh mit mir!
Gar schöne Spiele spiel' ich mit dir;
Manch' bunte Blumen sind an dem Strand,
Meine Mutter hat manch gülden Gewand."

"Mein Vater, mein Vater, und hörest du nicht,
Was Erlenkönig mir leise verspricht?"
"Sei ruhig, bleibe ruhig, mein Kind;
In dürren Blättern säuselt der Wind."

"Willst, feiner Knabe, du mit mir gehn?
Meine Töchter sollen dich warten schön;
Meine Töchter führen den nächtlichen Reihn,
Und wiegen und tanzen und singen dich ein."

"Mein Vater, mein Vater, und siehst du nicht dort
Erlkönigs Töchter am düstern Ort?"
"Mein Sohn, mein Sohn, ich seh es genau:
Es scheinen die alten Weiden so grau."

"Ich liebe dich, mich reizt deine schöne Gestalt;
Und bist du nicht willig, so brauch ich Gewalt."
"Mein Vater, mein Vater, jetzt faßt er mich an!
Erlkönig hat mir ein Leids getan!"

Dem Vater grauset's, er reitet geschwind,
Er hält in Armen das ächzende Kind,
Erreicht den Hof mit Müh' und Not;
In seinen Armen das Kind war tot.

English Interpretation

Who rides here so late through night and wind?
It is a father with his small child.
He holds his son firm in his arms
He clasps him safely, he keeps him warm.

"My son, oh why do you look so afraid?"
"See Father, don't you see the Erlking is there?
The Erlking, Erlking with crown and cloak?"
"My son, it's a wisp of mist."

"My dearest child, come, go with me!
all kinds of games I'll play with you;
such lovely flowers bloom on the bank,
and my mother has many golden clothes."

"My father, my father, and do you not hear,
What erlking promises sweetly to me?"
"Stay peaceful, oh stay calm, dearest child;
In leaves so dry there rustles the wind."

"Will you dear boy, will you come with me
My daughters soon they will wait on you;
My daughters lead in the nightly dance
And cradle and dance and sing you to sleep."

"My father, my father, and do you not see,
The Erlkings daughters in that dark place?"
"My son, my son, I see it so clear:
Tis only the ancient willows so grey."

"I love you, your fine figure attracts me so much;
And if you're not willing, I'll take you by force."
"My father, my father, he's grasping me now!
Erlking has hurt me, has hurt me!"

The father shudders, he quickens his pace,
He holds in his arms the groaning child.
He reaches home with haste and dread;
In his arms, the child was dead.