Halo 3

On Tuesday, the much anticipated third installment of the Halo series was released for XBOX 360. I’m here to offer some initial reactions.

Unfortunately, I haven’t had much of an opportunity to explore the multiplayer features yet. Instead, my roommate and I have been working our way through the campaign.

The story picks up where the second left off, with Master Chief returning to Earth to continue his fight against the Covenant. Playing mostly as second player, I took the role of the Arbiter (a former covenant official converted to the good side), who often is the main target of Alien forces (Grunt yelling “Help, it’s the Arbiter!).

Visually, the game is not much different than Halo 2. The graphics are tweaked for the 360, but the gameplay and feel are virtually identical. This was kind of a letdown for me. I enjoyed the crisp, clean feel of Halo 1 and personally felt that the graphics of Halo 2 (and now Halo 3) were muddled (admittedly, I’m not a true gamer).

The first thing I was impressed by as we went through the campaign was the intelligence of the alien forces. They would develop strategies, attempt to flank, and change positions. On occasions when we had to start a level over, we found that the enemy would be in different formations, making it impossible to simply memorize a level and mow your way through it. There are also some cool added features such as the addition of an item button that allows you to deploy collectible equipment such as a Gravity Lift or Bubble Shield.

The problem is that the human forces that often run alongside the Master Chief are as dumb as the alien forces are smart. I can’t tell you how often I was hit by a grenade thrown by my own men.

It wasn’t until well into the first level that the game was truly put to the test and I stumbled upon a pistol. My fingers trembled as I traded out my plasma rifle and reloaded the weapon. This was the moment that would make or break this game. I pushed B to zoom…Noooo!!! Lo and Behold, I couldn’t shoot the pistol while zoomed in. Damn you, Bungie. You blew it again.

I realize I’m biased. There are many Halo 2 lovers out there who think it’s fun to dual wield a couple of assault rifles, run out in the open and shoot at each other till one player dies. And I can tell you why these people love Halo 2: because they sucked at Halo 1. Because they have no concept of strategy, lack the finesse and fine motor skills necessary to perfect the art of the pistol’s three shot potency, and have found their means of revenge in a fully automatic melee.

Like I said, I haven’t played much multiplayer yet. There is a map editing tool and a match moderation feature known as the Forge (don’t really understand what this means yet). Also, you have the option to record your battles. This could come in handy when I jump down on some unsuspecting fool and slap him in the back of the head. Maybe these features will make multiplayer in Halo 3 really cool.

But I doubt it.

Thanks for reading.

PS I responded to some of yesterday's comments, if you want to check it out. No post tomorrow. I'll be golfing Hazeltine.

Mahmoud Ahmadinejad: Raving Lunatic or PR Mastermind?

I’m sure by now we’re all familiar with Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad (maybe too familiar). It feels like he dominates the news. Whether it be accusations that he is sponsoring terrorism and fighting a proxy war in Iraq, his denials of the Holocaust as fact and refusal to recognize Israel’s right to exist, or most recently, his speaking engagement at Columbia University and request to be allowed to visit the sight of the World Trade Center (to place a wreath and pay his respects), the man is a lightning rod for controversy.

So the question I ask is this: is Ahmadinejad the psychotic, illogical and “tyrannical dictator” that he often comes across as, or is he the clever, crafty PR man I suspect him to be?

Surely his ill-advised pursuit of a nuclear program, which thus far has only served to isolate him and his country, places him in the same sphere of delusion as Kim Jong Il. His stance that the Holocaust is a “theory that requires more research” is so absurd that it’s hard to even argue with. He denies that homosexuals live in Iran. His human rights abuses against women and dissidents (there have been over 300 political executions since January) are despicable. Plus, he’s a terrible government official. Economically, Iran is in shambles despite it’s location in the oil-rich Middle East. He’s fallen out of favor with the poor class that elected him. His bombastic rhetoric has become somewhat of a running (though hushed) joke in academic circles.

But the very fact that we pay him so much attention shows that A) we have very little understanding of how the politics of Iran work, and B) Ahmadinejad is a mastermind of self promotion.

Allow me to address these points in order. The truth of it is, Ahmadinejad has limited influence, almost no power, and the fact that we place so much emphasis on him only serves to increase his stature. The presidency in Iran is very different than it is in the US. The effective head of Iran’s political establishment is the Supreme Leader (currently Grand Ayatollah Ali Khamenei), who serves a dual political and religious role. He is backed by a group of mullahs (the Islamic clergy).

The president can influence governmental proceedings by choosing members of parliament and appointing mayors, but ultimately has little say beyond this. The Supreme Leader controls the armed forces, makes final decisions on policy and law, and it is only with his approval that the president can operate at all. Even the much ballyhooed nuclear program falls inside the Supreme Leader’s scope (despite what Ahmadinejad would have the rest of the world believe).

So how has Ahmadinejad managed to manifest a persona as the all powerful, dangerous leader of a terroristic country? By spreading suspicion, confusion, fear and anger, and letting the media do the leg work for him. By making outrageous assertions with bold rhetoric (ie the Holocaust as myth, vows to destroy the west), he plays on our sympathies and our nightmares. By acting as the public face of Iran’s nuclear program, he projects the image that it’s his nuclear program.

Every time he’s allowed to address the UN, every time we play a clip of him on CNN, every time someone like Lee Bollinger (the president of Columbia University) accuses him of being a “petty dictator” (a leader with no power can hardly be called a dictator), we inflate this power in the eyes of the world and in the eyes of his people.

Meanwhile, the true rulers of Iran can act with immunity in obscurity. They can continue to oppress women and dissidents. They can continue to use their Revolutionary Guards to spread mayhem in Iraq. They can continue enriching uranium. As long as Ahmadenijad is the voice and face of evil, as long the west believes that he is the man calling the shots in Iran, Grand Ayatollah Ali Khamenei and his mullahs will escape unscathed (truth be told, I don’t even know what the Grand Ayatollah looks like).

It would be easy enough to get rid of Ahmadinejad. He has already succeeded in marginalizing himself by falling out of favor with the people who elected him. These people are the true victims of Ahmadinejad’s tense relations with the west. UN sanctions against Iran have ravaged an already poverty stricken people, and economically the country has gone to hell. Iranians are, generally speaking, highly educated people and it’s safe to assume they won’t put up with oppression silently.

If the US would get smart and start ignoring Ahmadinejad like the harmless nuisance that he is, in turn applying some pressure to the Grand Ayatollah, the man would disappear. He would no longer be of any use. Mahmoud Ahmadinejad is a puppet with a Ph.D. in traffic management, and could easily be replaced.

But first we would have to get smart…on foreign policy. When will that happen? Your guess is as good as mine.

Thanks for reading.

Reactions

Wowzers! (I felt that a simple wow didn't do justice to the number of comments...) A lot of action in the last couple of days. I apologize if I seem reactionary, but I’m going to dedicate today’s post to responding to some of the many ideas and topics being bounced around.

P Corcs, you're right to say that it is extreme hyperbole to compare Guantanamo to a concentration camp. I’m by no means trying to demean or downplay anything that happened to the Jewish population during WWII. I used the comparison to illustrate a point, and I think, in this regard, the comparison serves its purpose. What I'm getting at is the fact that we can't afford to assume our leaders are moral or that America's actions will always be just. As you yourself pointed out, the majority of the Germans were oblivious to the realities of the Nazi Party because the only information they received was filtered through Hitler and his cronies. Can anyone say for certain that we aren’t just as naïve? Once again, I’m aware that I’m exaggerating the situation, and the media largely ensures that a mass delusion to this extent will never happen again. But remember journalists are human beings influenced by external factors and we must always take these eternal influences into account.

For myself, I would much rather error on the side of boldness, even if it means being proven wrong, than be naïve to the realities of the world around us. I know that you all would too.

Good work on the 13 comment find. Your application for Zizzle-Zot Historian is being carefully considered...and has now been made accepted. I’ll figure out a way in the next couple of days to make it official… I imagine we’ll need a picture with you in a scholarly lounge, with a pipe, wearing a smoking jacket and a monocle (sounds like Clue).

Mr. Helgen, a most sincere welcome to Zizzle-Zot, etc. I believe I speak for everyone when I say we’ve enjoyed your thoughts and insights into the discussions. Don’t worry about “hijacking” the comments section. It’s good to hear as many sides to a debate as possible, and I know all the readers appreciate having another mind to bounce ideas around. Thanks for bringing that Daily Show episode to our attention. I just went online and watched the clip with the author of “Merchant of Death,” Douglas Farah.

You all can check it out here:

http://www.comedycentral.com/motherload/player.jhtml?ml_video=102765&ml_collection=&ml_gateway=&ml_gateway_id=&ml_comedian=&ml_runtime=&ml_context=show&ml_origin_url=/shows/the_daily_show/videos/most_recent/index.jhtml%3Fstart%3D16&ml_playlist=&lnk=&is_large=true

You have to watch an annoying commercial with Missy “Misdemeanor” (is she still called that?) Elliott first. Apologies. But it really is worth it.

That said, I’m the self-nominated and elected president of the “Nicholas Cage Haters Club.” Unless we’re talking about Adaptation (but Face Off? Come on.).

Cassel, Mr. Antagonist was right to say the US is doing very little to capture Victor Bout. We do use him for behind-the-scenes arms deals, and he’s been contracted to transport UN officials, US diplomats, (and according to the previously mentioned Daily Show interview, frozen chickens), etc. The US didn't even issue the arrest warrant (Interpol did). Plus, it would be the start of a political nightmare to try and get him out of Russia.

It’s interesting, because the current administration has spent the last 7 years trying to make every issue black and white, Good vs. Evil, us vs. them. This is just one of countless situations where, in reality, there are many shades of grey.

This leads to the “moral authority” debate, but this post is already getting long and I’m not ready to touch it right now. Maybe in the future…

To give you a sneak preview of the next couple of days: Yesterday Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad spoke at Columbia University. Today he'll address the United Nations. Tomorrow I’ll offer some thoughts on these events. Look also for a review for Halo 3 (assuming I can carve out some time to get my game on), and I’ve been bouncing around some theories on morphing.

Thanks for reading.

PS Zizzle-Zot, etc. fully endorses Epic Duels as the best game ever created. Maybe I'll make a poll...

People of Note: Victor Bout

Also known as “The Merchant of Death,” Victor Bout is a notorious Russian arms dealer who illegally provides weapons and military equipment to the highest bidders throughout Northern Africa and the Middle East.

Bouts origins are somewhat mysterious. It is believed that he was born in 1967 to two Russian parents, but his actual birthplace is disputed (he is sometimes listed as Ukrainian in descent). At some point he joined the Russian military (it is not known when) and worked as a navigator, eventually expanding his duties to include the training of Air Force commando troops.

In 1991 Bout graduated from Moscow’s Military Institute after studying foreign languages (he is reputedly fluent in at least six, including Russian, English, French, Portuguese and Uzbek) and went to work as a translator for the Russian Army. This didn’t last, however, as the base where he was stationed was dissolved following the collapse of the Soviet Union.

Bout and his colleagues were out of work, but not for long. The enterprising Bout was highly trained, had access to military equipment and possessed a rolodex full of international contacts.

Bout started by founding the Transavia Export Cargo Company, aiding Belgian soldiers in Somalia. In exchange for a cut of the profits, the GRU (Russia’s intelligence branch) loaned Bout three Antonov airplanes. He used these aircraft to supply the Islamic State of Afghanistan (known now as the Northern Alliance) with ammunition and weapons, making an alleged $50 million. With this money he founded the Trans Aviation Network Group in Belgium.

In 1995 the Taliban drove the Islamic State of Afghanistan out of Kabul. This didn’t stop Bout. No, he had just found a new customer in the Taliban. Around this time word of Bout’s shady empire reached the Belgian government, and they started to investigate. He was forced to move his operation to the United Arab Emirates, where he founded Air Cess.

He used Air Cess to supply African conflicts with “thousands upon thousands of assault rifles, grenade launchers, bullets and other weapons,” according to UN officials. His dealings extended to conflicts in Angola, Cameroon, Central African Republic, Democratic Republic of Congo, Equatorial Guinea, Kenya, Charles Taylor’s regime in Liberia, Libya, Rwanda, Sierra Leone, South Africa, Sudan, Swaziland and Uganda.

Former British Foreign Office Minister Peter Hain, the man who invented the nickname “Merchant of Death,” has said this of Bout: “Bout is the leading merchant of death who is the principal conduit for planes and supply routes that take arms, including heavy military equipment, from East Europe, principally Bulgaria, Moldova, and Ukraine, to Liberia and Angola. The UN has exposed Bout as the center of a spider’s web of shady arms dealers, diamond brokers, and other operatives, sustaining wars. Without someone like him we would be much, much closer to ending the conflicts. If there was ever a man for the US to assassinate, he is that man.”

Over the years Bout has built a large network of contacts in both business and politics. This fact, along with his carefully disguised dealings and his constant movement, has made it difficult for authorities to build a case against him. In 2002 he was finally formally charged and warrants were issued for his arrest. He moved to Russia where he remains protected by the Russian Constitution, which doesn’t allow for the extradition of citizens to foreign countries.

Victor Bout is still at large.

Thanks for reading.

A Moral Test: Would We Pass?

I’m shocked and amazed, Zizzle-Zotians. Yesterday’s post garnered 11 comments, which I’m pretty sure is a new record. Good work.

I had originally planned a humorous little article today, a playful jab at the entertainment industry, but it will have to wait. As I read through the discussion on yesterday’s post I see some fascinating ideas, and would really like to keep the conversation going. So if you all don’t mind…

First off, welcome to Zizzle-Zot, etc., Mr. Antagonist. It’s always good to hear a new voice and a different perspective, and you have thus far been a great addition to the blog (any guesses to Mr. Antagonist’s real identity? I have no idea.)

P Corcs, thanks for initially bringing some historical perspective on the plight of the German people leading up to the rise of the Nazi Party. It’s really important to keep this perspective in mind when we are trying to understand how people could let anything like the Holocaust happen.

I'm familiar with the Milgram experiment that Mr. Antagonist mentioned. It demonstrates an interesting side of the human character. Another one to look at is the Stanford Prison Experiment: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stanford_prison_experiment. Tests like these shows that normal, “good” people, put in certain circumstances, will to some extent lose sight of morality and ethics.

I like your analogy of the fight, Mr. Antagonist. I, too, typically see myself opening up a can even though I have only been in one fight, when I was 12, and I lost.

The question this brings to the surface is: would we really have the courage to stand up to a force as powerful as Hitler when he has already indoctrinated our friends, our families, everyone around us? Would we ignore the threats of death to stand up for what we believe to be right? Speaking for myself, I'm not so sure. In my idealist vision of myself as the heroic figure of my own life story, of course I'd like to think that I would bravely defy an empire.

Maybe I would, in fact, be morally against Hitler and the Nazis, but would my resistance amount to anything more than apathy? Would I ever take action?

The truth is, my courage has never been tested (at least not to this extent). Very few people have had their courage, their moral fiber, put to the test in such extreme circumstances, and I can comfortably assume that no one reading this blog has. So how can we KNOW that we would be willing or able to make the sacrifice necessary to aide the Jews in defiance of the Nazis?

Werd brings up the argument that as people of faith we would have the fortitude to stand against an evil empire. I’m not totally convinced. Remember that the Pope and the Catholic Church failed miserably in this regard (and have been apologizing ever since). Remember that for a good part of America’s history Christians condoned slavery. We can all think of countless examples where Christians have failed in the face of evil. I don’t think Christianity necessarily guarantees moral courage.

Please respond to these preliminary thoughts. I look forward to the discussion…

Thanks for reading.

Auschwitz Photo Album

If you check out this link: http://www.ushmm.org/, (hurry up, I heard they’ll only be posted for this week) you’ll find a newly released collection of photos taken at the Auschwitz concentration camp in the summer and fall of 1944, just a short time before the camp was liberated by Soviet forces.

These photos comprise only the second collection of pre-liberation photos taken at the camp. What makes them different from the original collection is the subject matter. The original photos depict the arrival of a transport of Hungarian Jews to the camp in the spring of 1944, and are mostly of Auschwitz prisoners. The new photos are from a scrapbook maintained by Karl Hocker, adjutant to the camp commandant (essentially the second in command). They depict senior Auschwitz officers in their daily lives, in times of leisure and recreation.

The collection was donated by a former US Army Intelligence Officer (it was his wish to remain anonymous – he has since passed away) who was stationed in Germany in 1946 while investigating suspected Nazi perpetrators. He found the photos in an abandoned apartment in Frankfurt and brought them home.

What is most disturbing about these pictures is their humanity. They were taken as the end of WWII approached and the fall of the Nazi empire was imminent. This was a time when the gas chambers were operating at maximum efficiency; the final, frenzied efforts by the Nazi party to eliminate Europe’s Jewish population before they were defeated. That summer the crematoriums broke down from overuse and bodies were burned in open pits.

Yet the men and women in these photos, Auschwitz officers and operational staff, gather for a sing along, accompanied by an accordion. They feign dismay that their blueberries are gone.

These are murderers with no conscience. But do they look any different than you or I?

Amongst these photos you’ll find images of Josef Mengele, the camp physician notorious for his bizarre and cruel medical experiments. These are first authenticated pictures of Dr. Mengele at Auschwitz. You’ll find famed SS Officer and Auschwitz Commandant Rudolf Höss, later executed for war crimes. You’ll find immortalized images of men and women smiling, laughing, happily living comfortable lives as millions are suffering unimaginable deaths in the buildings next door.

Let these images be forever emblazoned on your memory. Never forget the victims of the Nazi regime, or the survivors. Never forget that such atrocities were carried out by men and women not so very different from the rest of us.

And let’s make sure nothing like this ever happens again.

Thanks for reading

The Jack Daniel’s Distillery

The Jack Daniel’s Distillery is located in tiny Lynchburg, Tennessee (population 361), about an hour southeast of Nashville. Licensed in 1866, it is the oldest registered distillery in the United States and has been certified as a National Historic Site.

Of course I didn’t know any of this as we approached the birthplace of Old No. 7. I just found it odd that the majesty of a distillery left me in awe as we pulled into the parking lot. Quaint brick and wood buildings, bronze statues commemorating Mr. Jack, and cobblestone bridges dot the rolling hills, intersected by a spring fed stream – the secret ingredient in Jack Daniel’s Whiskey (but let’s keep that between us. Wink.).

I laughed to myself when our old prospector tour guide revealed that they have never bothered to find the origin of this spring, instead buying up all the land in the area to avoid pollution. I suspect that the fact that this particular fresh spring water is a necessity to making Old Tennessee Whiskey is the only thing keeping the distillery in Lynchburg County, which has been dry since the prohibition. Even now I am saddened when I think about the lost revenue from all those tourists craving a taste of Jack after the tour.

The visitor center held an exhibit offering the complete history of Jack (Jasper Newton Daniel) and the whiskey. He was born in Lynchburg in 1850, one of 13 children in a poor rural family. At the age of seven he was hired to work for Dan Call, a Lutheran Minister who moonlighted as a whiskey maker. Over the next several years Jack learned everything there was to know about the trade, and at the age of 13 bought Call’s still when increasing pressure from his parishioners persuaded Call to focus on his ministry and abandon his moonshine.

Jack went on to perfect the charcoal mellowing process which to this day gives Jack Daniel’s Whiskey its smooth texture and unique taste. The popularity of his whiskey soared as his abilities were refined, and in 1904 his Old No. 7 Tennessee sipping whiskey was honored as the best on earth at the World’s Fair in St. Louis, Missouri. Jack became a distinguished gentleman, popular with the ladies, throwing lavish parties, wearing the finest clothes. His distillery became a landmark, and his whiskey became a household name.

My traveling companions and I arrived at the distillery just in time to make it on the 7th tour of the day, which is free in honor of Old No. 7. Our tour guide, Old Bill, was a bull of a man that you would expect to see rocking on the front porch with a bottle of booze in his hand and a shotgun on his lap. His shape reminded me of Mr. Potato Head. His grizzled beard, hardened face, worn knuckles, faded overalls, and undecipherable dialect were all distinctly southern. As he cracked during the tour, “I bet you all thought they learned me to talk this way.” They hadn’t. Old Bill was the real deal, born, raised and destined to die in the dirty south.

By the end of the tour we could have been expert whiskey makers. We saw the ingredients (corn, barley and rye) mixed together to form sour mash – so called because the process, which uses a small portion of the previous batch to make the next, is similar to making sourdough bread. We were overwhelmed with the beautifully nauseating scent of pure grain alcohol as it was extracted from the mash. We watched as it leisurely trickled though ten feet of hard-packed sugar maple charcoal in the mellowing process – once in the case of Old No. 7, twice for Gentlemen Jack. We walked through the warehouses storing the whiskey while it ages in barrels made of charred American White Oak, allowing the liquor to breathe as the pores of the wood expand and contract with the temperature. This process gives Jack its smoky flavor and amber tint.

Old Bill, always the entertainer, had a punch-line prepared as we left each room. Whether they be self-depreciating cracks about his beard or sly references to drinking on the job (said with a grin and a wink), they served as bookmarks, signifying the end of one experience and the beginning of another. I wonder if he lived life outside of the distillery the same way, leaping from one place to another with an exclamatory statement and a twitch of the nose. I wonder if I could. Sure, I wouldn’t be able to live any one moment to its fullest, but I would definitely be remembered. In the end isn’t that all we can ask for?

In 1905 Jack Daniel went to the office early one morning and attempted to open his safe. Not able to remember the combination, he kicked the hard steel in a fit of frustration and anger. He broke his toe, and before long infection set in. Bit by bit his leg was amputated till he finally died of blood poisoning in 1911. It’s poetic, really. One of the founding fathers of passionate drunken rage dying from a fit of passionate (drunken?) rage.

After the tour we were all ready to put our newfound whiskey aficionado status to the test, sipping whiskey on the rocks, letting the thick liquid wash over our tongues as we mused on the subtle differences between Old No. 7 and the prestigious Single Barrel. Too bad we were still in dry Lynchburg County. We settled for lukewarm pizza from the Bar-B-Que Caboose to hold us over till we could escape that buzz-killing speck on the map.

Thanks for reading.

Greg Oden: Done

I’m sure you’ve all heard by now that Greg Oden will be undergoing microfracture knee surgery, meaning he will be out for his entire rookie season. If you’ll refer back to this post: http://erikgruber.blogspot.com/2007/06/nba-draft-thursday-june-28-7-pm-et.html, you’ll see that I was a Durant guy all along.

I felt from the outset that Durant had more, as Hubie Brown likes to call it, “Tremendous Upside Potential (or TUP for short).” After watching Durant’s success (and Oden’s ineptitude) in the summer league and, perhaps more tellingly, watching him light up proven stars in the Olympic tryouts, I think I’ve been justified. I’ve become self-satisfied in my keen scouting abilites. I could even be called smug.

But I never hoped, or imagined, that Oden would be subjected to microfracture knee surgery before the true battle for supremacy even began. Without Oden having an opportunity to compete, Durant’s successes are going to be in many ways diminished. Durant can’t prove himself to be the best basketball player ever (that’s on the record, remember it 20 years down the road) when the career of the other best player from his era is marred by injury.

“Microfracture knee surgery” have got to be the scariest words an athlete, team or fan can hear. It becomes necessary when there is a loss of cartilage in the knee, exposing bone and causing pain. The surgery consists of poking small holes into the bone. As a blood clot forms from the holes, new cartilage is created.

The problem lies in rehab. It takes time for the new cartilage to form, and when it does the new cartilage is weaker. Because this is a relatively new procedure, no one really knows what to do with rehab. For a few players (Amare Stoudemire, Jason Kidd) the procedure seems to have worked. For many others (Kenyon Martin, Chris Webber, Jamal Mashburn), the injury plagued them for the rest of their careers. Once the surgery is performed, an athlete becomes damaged goods. They may play again, but that injured knee will never be at full strength.

It’s a sad story for everyone involved. The Portland Trail Blazers are already known as the team that selected Sam Bowie over Micheal Jordan in 1984. Is it possible that they’ve done it again? Many are now saying (hindsight is 20-20) that they should have known Oden would be susceptible to injury. One of his legs is a full inch shorter than the other, he has a bulging disc in his back, and ESPN’s Bill Simmons claims he walks like a 50-year-old.

Oden would have been good for the NBA as well. He has a gregarious, gentle personality, always seems to be smiling, and seems to have a good head on his shoulders. At 19 he exhibits more maturity than most NBA players will ever attain. It’s a shame his status as superstar now hangs in the balance, resting on the success of a relatively mysterious medical procedure.

Let’s just hope he makes a full recovery. We all want to see Oden and Durant battling it out for years to come.

Thanks for reading.

People of Note: Steven Biko

“The most potent weapon in the hands of the oppressor is the mind of the oppressed.”

Steven Biko (1946-1977) was a prominent anti-apartheid activist during what was arguably the climax of South Africa’s struggle for equality in the 1960s and early ‘70s. His efforts as a community organizer and leader are celebrated to this day and are recognized as a crucial element in the anti-apartheid movement. His controversial death brought the issue of racism in South Africa to the international arena.

Biko was born in King Williams Town, in the Eastern Cape Province of South Africa. While attending the University of Natal Medical School he became involved in the student activist organization National Union of South African Students. It didn’t take long for him to become disillusioned by this group, as it was run by white men (the very men oppressing him). He believed that Black, Indian, and other non-white students needed their own group to respond to apartheid. As a result, he founded the South African Students’ Organization (SASO) in 1968 and was elected its first president (this group evolved into the influential Black Consciousness Movement (BCM)).

Because of his work with this group, Biko was “banned” in 1973 at the height of apartheid. This meant he couldn’t leave the Eastern Cape, he wasn’t allowed to speak to more than one person at a time, he couldn’t make speeches in public, and it was forbidden to quote anything he said.

In spite of these restrictions, Biko returned to the Eastern Cape and established a community clinic, a trust fund for political prisoners and their families, and an education fund. Biko and the BCM also played a significant role in the Soweto Uprising of 1976 (a little history of the uprising: in 1974 the government passed the Afrikaans Medium Decree. The decree forced black schools to instruct in a 50-50 mix of English and Afrikaans, which is the indigenous language of South Africa. This was seen by many as a method of preventing blacks from furthering their causes through education and a tool of oppression. In 1976 students began protesting, organizing their efforts and refusing to go to school. This culminated with the Soweto Uprising, during which thousands of students organized for a peaceful protest. The uprising was crushed after heavily-armed police shot and killed 700 students). Following this incident, Biko became a primary target of authorities.

In August of 1977 Biko was arrested at a police roadblock under the Terrorism Act of 1968 (allowed the government to arrest anyone suspected of “endangering the maintenance of law and order” and hold them indefinitely without trial – sounds like Guantanamo…weird). He died three weeks later, still in police custody.

The circumstances of Biko’s death were a cause of great controversy amongst his supporters. The official story was that he died as the result of an extended hunger strike. Upon his autopsy, however, it was discovered that he had sustained massive injuries to the head, suggesting he had been beaten.

Thanks to journalist Helen Zille, news of Biko’s death and the reality of what happened to him spread quickly, revealing to the international community the brutality of the apartheid regime. His funeral was attended by several ambassadors and diplomats from the US and Western Europe. Journalist and personal friend Donald Woods authored numerous newspaper articles and a book about Biko’s life and death, for which Woods was eventually forced to flee South Africa.

The police officers responsible for Biko’s death were never brought to justice. At the time, the judge overseeing the case cited insufficient evidence and the lack of a witness as reasons for not charging the police forces.

Five former members of the South African Security Forces eventually admitted to the murder in 1997, but by then the time frame for prosecution had passed under South African law.

Steven Biko was a courageous man. He fought for what he knew to be right despite the legal, emotional and ultimately physical consequences he would inevitably suffer. His nonviolent approach to initiating change focused on the idea that his community needed to shift its mindset, needed to believe itself worthy of equality, and then equality would be won. Biko's efforts restored the pride in a long oppressed group of people and brought the world’s attention to the plight of South Africa.

Thanks for reading.

57% of Population Killed Since Creation of ‘Vote or Die’ Campaign

Newly released documents paint a grizzly picture of the activities surrounding P. Diddy’s ‘Vote or Die’ Campaign, the celebrity fueled effort to get America’s masses to the polls which has apparently lead to the slaughtering of over 170 million people.

Initially believed to be a relatively benign political service group with a mission to “hip young people to the hustle of the politics by educating them about the power of their vote," the CIA-issued report on the organization tells a story of extreme brutality and guerilla tactics employed to persuade Americans, young and old, to fulfill their responsibilities as citizens.

Despite very real promises of actual physical violence, the majority of the United States population did not take the “Vote or Die” slogan seriously, believing it to be more of a catchy piece of propaganda than a death threat. “Yeah we all heard the warnings, saw the T-Shirts” sobbed a tearful Victoria Craig, 67, who had just lost her husband and two sons to the campaign, “but no one really believed that Paris Hilton would kill anybody.”

According to the report, the misperception that ‘Vote or Die’ was a peaceful group was quickly rectified by Diddy and his cronies following the 2004 presidential elections, when legions of non-voters were forced to dig their own graves before they were summarily executed. Showing no remorse for the millions of lives they were ending, killing squads lead by Mariah Carey, Mary J. Blige, and P. Diddy himself scoured the country on Election Day, arresting anyone not wearing an “I Voted” sticker and escorting them via Hummer Stretch Limo to mass killing fields in the Hollywood Hills.

Showing no mercy even to Americans well under the legal voting age, ‘Vote or Die’ raided daycare centers and elementary schools upon rumors that none of the children in attendance were registered voters. Ashton Kutcher reportedly taunted the children as they boarded their chariots of death. “These youngins should have exercised their civic duties. You’re never too young to Rock the Vote,” (apparently confusing his organization with another well-known celebrity operated voter-advocacy group). Realizing his mistake, he then proclaimed “Vote or Die, bitch” as he hit a toddler over the head with a 2x4.

Thanks for reading.

Cattails

I was born an avid outdoorsman. I loved the tall, statuesque trees, the smell of pollinating wildflowers, the buzz of cicadas in the distance. All of this represented the mysterious unknown, the unencumbered wild, the adventures and trials and dangers that must be encountered to become a man.

My dad also loved the outdoors. He had already become a man, but appreciated the wisdom those tall old trees held, welcomed the simplistic splendor of a bumble bee on a marigold, and recognized in my eyes the mystery and dangers that wilderness offered growing boys.

Growing up, I lived less than a mile away from a small wilderness area known as Brookdale Park. This park provides the usual amenities that recreational facilities do; baseball diamonds, playground, warming house, skating rink, basketball hoops. Of more interest to me, however, was the bike trail that circled around a small pond. This pond fascinated me. Small creek running in, small creek running out, lilly pads, turtles, ducks, deer, frogs, snakes, fish, an occasional blue heron, crayfish, leeches, eagles, all contained by a silent sentinel, an unwavering, constant reminder that this pond did not belong to cyclists and walkers, but belonged to the forest, and there was no entry for those who passed by: the cattails.

There are two types of cattail commonly found in North America. Typha latifoia, or broad-leaved cattail, was first discovered in North America in 1836, and is a native plant. Typha angustifolia, or narrow-leaved cattail, was originally split into two sub-groups – a native species labeled Typha gracilis and a European species named Typha angustifolia. In the 1850’s the two were merged into one group, adopting the name Typha angustifolia, and botanists have since denied the possibility of a native species and a foreign species coexisting. They believe it was actually one species all along, but had been misidentified. Whether narrow-leaved cattail is a foreign or native species is still under much dispute.

As my dad and I would roll our bikes through this modest preserve we would make frequent pit stops, abandoning our transportation on the paved path in search of solitude and maybe a little adventure closer to the water. It is strange how pavement blinds us to the natural world. How often do we drive through a small, surviving patch of wilderness, sheer speed making it virtually invisible? I blame it on the pavement, the roads. Roads pass through in straight lines, they move from the starting point to the destination as quickly as possible. They make no tangents, they do not lollygag. Beginning. End.

Life should not be so linear. The earliest American tribes saw time as circular. There was no beginning and end, just a cycle of life. Old things would cease, new things would emerge, but in time the old things would return and the new things would disappear. Travel was intended to be this cyclical. Through nature there is seldom a straight path. We must swerve and climb and leap and duck, and in the end would it be so bad to return to the place that we began? Maybe that’s where we’re supposed to be.

Cattails force departure from the world of pavement to the world of wilderness. To see beyond them one must join them, tromp amongst them, and physically move them to the side. This is exactly what my dad and I set out to do when we strayed from the path. By taking our place amongst those flourishing plants we could see beyond to the pond they contained. We could see the turtles sitting on logs, taking in the midday sun to warm their cold-blooded bodies. We could see an occasional bass rise to the surface to snatch a slow-moving bug. We could see a mother duck with her new hatchlings, swimming perfectly in sync, all in line to avoid getting lost. We could see the Great Blue Heron standing along the shoreline, soaking its feet in the cool water.

I find it interesting that the origin of cattails is the subject of so much controversy. Maybe it is because nobody ever really stops to pay attention to them. They impede our view to the water, where the wilderness is, but are so seldom appreciated for the vital role they play in that very wildness which we find so endearing. They provide food and shelter to many species of fish, insects, and birds. They provide wintertime cover for white-tailed deer and ring-necked pheasants, helping an increased number of these animals survive the cold. They produce oxygen, absorb some of the chemicals that drain into the lake during rainfall, and protect the shoreline from the erosion that waves cause. Yet the cattails are not elegant, they do not bloom like the wildflowers or soar like the herons. They are not cute like the infant ducks. They are not ferocious like the hawks, majestic like the deer, mysterious like the foxes. They are overlooked, ignored, misidentified and undervalued.

For much of my life I held this same mindset. The cattails, for me, were always a nuisance. In my youth I would take great joy in clutching these plants at their roots and tearing them from the earth in a simultaneously impulsive and pre-meditated act. They blocked my view to the water, to the wilderness beyond, and were better put to use as sibling pokers than as members of the natural landscape. My dad would always scold me for such destructive behavior: “Why do you tear down the cattails?” I did not understand why he came to their defense. “Because they’re no good where they are.” I see now what he saw then, and have come to appreciate his wisdom. “Maybe they’re exactly where they’re supposed to be. You think they were put there to block us out, I say they were put there to invite us in. They contain and protect the wilderness we love so much. Think like a cattail.”

It has taken me years to figure out what he was talking about. The cattails truly know how to cherish nature, and it would be beneficial to take a lesson from them. They silently observe, but are still involved. They keep the bad out, and keep the good in. They force us to crawl amongst them, come face to face with wilderness, become a part of the Creation, and only then will they unveil the beauty and majesty that lies beyond. We were put on this earth to observe the Creation and to care for the Creation and to become one with the Creation. In order to truly love nature we must become a part of it. We must stand as one of the cattails.

Thanks for reading.

Bonus Post Today

Early indications show that 50 got dusted.

http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/news/music/la-et-rapweb12sep12,0,6067556.story?coll=la-home-entertainment

Who thinks he'll actually retire? Maybe I'll create a poll...

Roger Federer: The Best Ever?

On Sunday evening long reigning tennis #1 Roger Federer won his fourth consecutive U.S. Open, marking the first time anyone has taken four in a row since the ‘20s, when Bill Tilden accomplished the feat.

After watching Federer play near-perfect tennis once again, annihilating (and humiliating) the competition without breaking a sweat, it would be impossible to deny that Federer is one of the top players of all time. Consider the stats: Federer has not only won the last four U.S. Opens, but has also won five consecutive Wimbledons and two consecutive Australian Opens. He has 12 Grand Slam events in total, has been ranked #1 in the world for 189 weeks (well over three years), and he just recently turned 26 years old. Scary.

But is he the best ever?

Reader of the Month Werd Yelof was essentially asking this question when he pondered whether Federer is better than Sampras (generally considered the best of all time).

Admittedly, I’m biased. I’ve played and watched a lot of tennis, and I grew up a Sampras guy. His pure power is undeniable. His service game was nearly unstoppable and his leaping overhead slams were a sight to behold.

Lately, however, I’ve taken to Federer’s game. His motions are natural and fluid. His shots are powerful and precise. He plays tennis as it ought to be played, and he makes it look easy. The fact that I’m now a Federer fan helps me to be objective in the Federer vs. Sampras match-up.

Let’s look at the numbers:

Pete Sampras has won 14 Grand Slam events, as I’ve already said, Federer has now won 12, which puts him a year ahead of Sampras’ pace. Sampras had a career winning percentage of 78.5%. Federer now sits at 80.3%. During his prime, Sampras held the #1 ranking for 190 consecutive weeks. Federer will soon bypass that number.

In reality, their stat lines are virtually identical. Besides, stats don’t really do justice to the match-up. They played at different times, against different opponents. Sampras faced competition from tennis greats like Andre Agassi, Marat Safin, Patrick Rafter, and Ivan Lendl. Aside from Nadal, there are no proven players challenging Federer day in and day out.

But looking at the match-up as someone who’s watched both Federer and Sampras play a lot of tennis, my gut tells me that if the two went head to head in their primes Federer would have the edge.

I come to this conclusion based on one factor: Sampras always had a glaring weakness. He couldn’t hit a winning backhand. When he was forced to use his backhand it was completely defensive; a survival tool. He would slice the ball deep into the court, trying to prevent his opponent from exploiting the weakness. If his opponent came to the net, Sampras was never able to pass from the backhand side.

Sampras gets the edge on the serve, but don’t underestimate Federer’s power. And both players possess pinpoint accuracy. Both have dominant forehands and fearsome net games. Both are fierce competitors.

It’s interesting to consider a Sampras championship match versus a Federer championship match. Sampras always had to work harder for his wins. Federer dominates with such ease (or maybe he just makes it look that way).

Both players are true champions, but Sampras’ lackluster backhand always held him back. Federer plays near-perfect tennis, dominates the game (I think he lost only one set in the U.S. Open), and in my opinion is the best ever.

Thanks for reading.

Kanye West’s “Graduation”: Buy it NOW!!!

For those who weren’t aware, Kanye West’s latest album, “Graduation,” hits the shelves today and I plead with you, Zizzle-Zotians, go buy a copy. For the love of God, go buy ten.

Truthfully, I went through a Kanye phase, but feel that West’s work hit a serious slump following his initial “College Dropout” album which contained such gems as “Jesus Walks,” “Through the Wire,” and my personal favorite “Get ‘Em High.” And when I really think about it, he’s at his best compiling beats for Jay-Z and Common, and isn’t much of a rapper or lyricist himself.

This, however, isn’t going to be a CD review. For all I know, West’s disc sucks. The only song I’ve heard off of it is the same one you’ve all heard dominating the radio waves: “Stronger.” If you want my opinion, the beat is obnoxious and the lyrics are nausea-inducingly trite (“N-now th-th-that that don’t kill me/ Can only make me stronger/ I need you to hurry up now/ Cause I can’t wait much longer/ I know I got to be right now/ Cause I can’ get much wronger/ Man I been waitin’ all night now/ That’s how long I’ve been on ya).

Wronger? Are you kidding me? Is that as in “Kanye West is wrong for thinking that’s a word, making him a dumbass. Then again, I could be wronger.”?

But like I said, the point of this article is not to review the music/grammar of Kanye West. I don’t really care how good/bad “Graduation” is. When I pick up my ten copies, I’ll probably listen to one of them once and use the rest to fend off zombies (“Shaun of the Dead” anyone?).

We all need to buy “Graduation” because we must do our small part to get 50 Cent to shut the hell up. We’ve all heard the challenge that’s been issued: if West’s “Graduation” outsells 50’s “Curtis” (which is also being released today), then 50 Cent will never make another album.

Could it be? Somebody pinch me, I must be dreaming.

50 Cent is a parasite. He’s a drain on society. I don’t care that he makes shitty music with hackneyed lyrics. A lot of folks do that. 50 Cent needs to go away because he exemplifies…nay, glorifies everything that is wrong with our culture.

He has turned violence into a status symbol, using the fact that he’s been shot nine times to establish his credibility and manhood. He’s demeaning towards women. He’s lewd, vulgar, and disrespectful. What is it that he’s teaching the teeny-boppers (the primary consumers of his music)? That to be a good man you need to get shot? I would call it a testament to my success as a human being that I haven’t been shot. Not even once.

We need to get 50’s message of irresponsibility, immaturity and greed out of our society ASAP, before he’s brainwashed the next generation of young people to run amok with guns blazing; nonchalantly committing felonies and making crack babies.

Yeah, Kanye West can be an arrogant, pompous jackass, but I’ll take that over the bottom- feeding 50 Cent any day.

Thanks for reading.

It’s September: You All Know What That Means…

As many of you already know (and are probably wishing I would shut up about), I’m running a marathon at the beginning of October and just recently passed the 4-week countdown. As I’ve delved deeper into the training program I’ve become more and more of a morning person. I now have no trouble waking up before the sun, lacing up the sneakers and hitting the pavement while most of the world groggily slaps the snooze for just five more minutes of glorious rest.

It’s become habit. I wake up between 5:30 and 5:45, drink a glass of water, relieve myself of said glass of water, and by the time I’m running the sun is just beginning to peak over the horizon.

This morning, however, was different. As I sat on the front step tying my shoes I realized it was still dark. Very dark. My forearms were speckled with goosebumps. My nose was running. And my nipples were unusually pointy. For the first time in a long time, I noticed, I was cold. I couldn’t have been more thrilled.

Ladies and gentlemen, fall is on our doorstep.

The season of changing leaves, brisk winds, apple orchards and bonfires happens to be my personal favorite. Mid to late September is an unbelievable time to be alive (mostly because it is Library Card Sign-Up Month).

Upon making this abrupt realization another thought dawned on me. We are now ten days into what is possibly my favorite month, and I have thus far neglected my most sacred responsibility: I have yet to name a new Reader of the Month.

We’ve been having some first-rate conversation recently on a few weighty issues, and to be perfectly frank I don’t think this would have been possible without the input of September’s Zizzle-Zot Reader of the Month, so without further ado…

Congratulations Drew “Werd Yelof” Foley!

I don’t imagine anyone will deny that “Werd” has earned this honor with his consistent readership and stimulating commentary. By being willing to take stands that at times differ from my own, as well as those of fellow readers, Drew adds a unique dimension to every conversation. I know that the Zizzle-Zot community appreciates his input and looks forward to hearing his thoughts.

Mr. Foley, as he is known to the fourth graders he teaches in Rapid City, SD, just recently bought a home with his lovely wife, Brittany. In his spare time, he enjoys using his small arsenal of rifles and shotguns to shoot plates, bottles and televisions to pieces in the Black Hills, climbing to Harney Peak so he can spit off the top, and watching “The OC: Season 1” (just season 1) on DVD.

Good work, Werd!

Thanks for reading.

Special Report: Children No Longer Our Future

Watch this first:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lj3iNxZ8Dww

In a shocking and tragic pronouncement made by the International Tribunal for the Betterment of the Future (ITBOF), prominent world leaders and renowned researchers have rejected the long-held assertion that children are our future and now maintain that the best hope for future generations lies either in well-trained Rhesus Monkeys or a race of super-cyborgs capable of both human compassion and the cold-blooded, calculated elimination of a weaker species (humans).

Following the blundering, inane response from Miss Teen South Carolina to a question that could have been answered simply enough with a smile and a trite response such as “we need to improve our educational system,” ITBOF chairman Dr. Wesley Hammers confirmed for the first time what most competent individuals have long suspected: the children of today are far too inept to be trusted with a responsibility as grave as the survival of humanity.

Dr. Hammers commented “the reality of the situation is that these children in whom we have placed so much hope can barely function. Twenty years ago, we would have diagnosed the lot of them with mild retardation and sent them all to state institutions. Now we’re telling them they could one day be president. Hate to break it you kids, but we’ve learned our lesson about putting dumbasses in office. Fool me once, shame on me, no you, fool me twice...the point is, if you fool me once I won’t get fooled again.”

Dr. Hammers attributes the dumbing-down of America’s children to a number of factors, including the dim-witted lyrics of favorite pop stars, the oblivious behavior of beloved pseudo-celebrities, and the latest phenomenon to sweep the country: High School Musical. “With so much foolishness entering their minds every day, what hope is there for children to escape the clutches of stupidity?” Dr. Hammers mournfully pondered this question as he watched a group of 9-year-old test subjects repeatedly punch each other in the testicles.

Even Whitney Houston has given up on the idea that “the children are our future,” declaring that her hit song “Greatest Love of All” has turned out to be “complete rubbish.” She went on to say that “crack is whack.”

Thanks for reading.

The Saddest Man on Earth

I often wonder to myself what it takes to achieve greatness. What sacrifice is necessary to transform oneself from someone ordinary and unmemorable into something truly special, something genuinely unique, a creative force capable of capturing the emotional climate of the masses and communicating those emotions vividly, vibrantly; communicating them so that they take on a lifeblood of their own?

I went to the Damien Rice show at the State Theater two nights ago and I think those questions may have been answered. Ruminating on simple themes with his entrancing, wildly expressive vocals: love gone wrong, the pain of being alone, unrequited attraction, themes at the epicenter of the human condition. Constructing each successive song out of thin air, beginning with a simple melody and building into an operatic monument so grand in scale that the only option was to escape into catharsis.

Damien Rice was an exhibition in sadness and melancholy. His emotional suffering could single handedly employ a team of psychologists for life, and this is the heart of his greatness. He’s able to communicate angst better than any other musician, author or poet alive. He hasn’t necessarily experienced more pain than the average joe, but he accepts it as a gift, dwells upon it till it ruins him, then spits it out in the only way he knows how: honestly, genuinely, from his soul.

This honesty is the most endearing aspect of Damien Rice. If in a song he means to say “fuck you,” then he says “fuck you” (Rootless Tree). As he stood up on stage with only his guitar and piano, repeatedly pleading with the “spotlight man” to dim the glare so he could be lit by only the candles surrounding him, regaling the audience with fascinating tales in his charming Irish accent, he let us into his world, doing everything in his power to give us an intimate evening with a genius.

It would be impossible to pinpoint a highlight of the show. Possibly the stirring, piano driven rendition of Accidental Babies. Or maybe the encore, when he pulled an audience member on stage and shared a bottle of wine with her (it was gone in about five minutes) as he told a story of a disappointing encounter with a beautiful woman and proceeded to sing to his guest from his knees. Or was it the final song of the night, as a male attendee joined him to sing “Purple Rain?” (Purple Rain in Minneapolis. That’s ballzy.)

I imagine each individual in attendance would have a different favorite moment, and that’s what made the performance so unforgettable.

Thanks for reading.

Zizzle-Zot Turns 100: Ego Becomes Insufferable

Today marks a milestone in the life of Zizzle-Zot, etc.: 100 posts! To celebrate his entrance into the 2nd century, he’d like to take a moment while he basks in the glory of internet supremacy as he invites everyone to comment with a note of congratulations, excessive flattery, or out and out ass kissing (keeping in mind that we are fast approaching the announcement of September’s Reader of the Month).

Upon turning 100, The Zot would like to announce that he now feels fully justified in his right to not only report the news, but to dictate what news is, as well as to create news as he sees fit when the events of the day are not up to Zizzle-Zot standards. He would also like to announce his intention to further expand his dominion over the World Wide Web, eventually establishing himself as the preeminent news source; a repressive journalistic autocracy on a scale grander than even China’s.

The Zot can now unabashedly, unashamedly refer to himself in the newly created fourth person (referring to oneself by referring to one’s alter-ego. At 100, the Zot is now fully authorized to alter the rules of grammar and narrative at his whim). He can also unapologetically make frequent use of the semicolon; a piece of archaic grammar that has no place in modern language.

Though Zizzle had some initial reservations about creating a blog, hesitant to come off as an arrogant, self-righteous ass, he now revels in his manifested position of power. Though he feigns humility by acknowledging the pretentiousness of blogging, subverting the idea of pretension by exposing it, the Zot would like to assure you all that, in reality, this isn’t a self-deprecating act. He is in fact one of the most pretentious human beings you’ve ever met, residing in the upper echelon of pompousness occupied by the likes of Donald Trump, Sting, and the ever smug Tom Cruise.

Just kidding, folks.

In all seriousness, a big thanks goes out to all the loyal readers responsible for furthering Zizzle-Zot’s quest for world dominance. Together we will one day rule the world (or at the very least be smarter than everyone else in it).

Thanks for reading.

Cut and Run

For all of the bombast spewed by the White House about staying in Iraq till the job is done and the dangers of what they call the Democrats’ cut and run strategy, top Republican officials sure are doing a lot of cutting and running of their own.

My aim is not to get into Iraq strategy here. I simply don’t have the energy or the inclination. I just think it’s interesting to note the mass exodus from the White House when looked at side by side with their “stay the course” rhetoric.

As Bush’s approval ratings plummet and the party is seemingly incapable of going even one day without some major scandal blowing up in its face (Oh Senator Craig, we all believe you’re not really gay. Really), Washington is hemorrhaging Republican officials at a pace it can just barely keep up with.

The latest powerhouse to jump ship is (now former) Attorney General Alberto Gonzalez, who tendered his resignation about a week ago and finally leaves months of controversy over federal prosecutor firings (politically motivated?) and the wire-tapping program (illegal?) he authorized behind him. It’s a shame he didn’t get out with his reputation intact, instead remaining loyal for about two months too long and allowing the media to portray him as either A) the most unethical, conniving man you’ll ever meet or B) the most dangerously inept man you’ll ever meet. I personally value loyalty, but keep in mind most political figures in Gonzalez’s position would have rolled over on the president like an elephant in a mud pit on a hot day.

Given the beatdown he’s been taking, I’m surprised Gonzalez held out for as long as he did, and at this point I don’t blame him for tucking his tail between his legs and sprinting for the nearest exit, following the examples of Karl Rove, Harriet Miers, Paul Wolfowitz and Donald Rumsfeld.

Kind of makes you wonder: when will Bush himself wise up and leave this administration behind?

Thanks for reading.