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View Diary: For Immediate Release: The Jeff Gannon Controversy - A Primer for the Press (436 comments)

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  •  Bravo! (none)
    Watching from afar in Canada, I am standing up and cheering your accomplishment and vision at DailyKos. You have stepped up to the plate and to become the responsible fifth estate that the MSM seems to have abdicated.

    Congratulations all.

    It was never about Irag. It's not really about terrorism either. It's about Pax Americana.

    by dolphindude on Fri Feb 11, 2005 at 01:50:15 PM PST

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    •  It seems promising yes..... (none)
      Although I haven't been in on Gannongate - my beat has evolved in other directions, such as the more malevolent elements of the US religious right.

      I don't think DailyKos is quite a 5th estate yet, but I think it could become something like that. I have some ideas on that of course - I spin ideas off the way the Collyer brothers collected junk, and so they pile up in my head and make me cranky for not being implemented.  

      But, the praise for that little bit of doggerel I wrote there touched me and made my day. So to return the favor,  here - have a story. I Iike to dispense stories the way grandmothers dispense freshly baked cookies. It is true :

      Let me venture a personal story - I once had a romance with a woman who I was very cruel to but also in love with, very much so.

      We met as outcasts at a party - I entertained her by reading the dictionary, sarcasm complimentary, deconstructing the etymologies of strange words, laughing at tiny illustrations of odd creatures tucked into the margins :  a blowfish maybe, or a chamois perched upon a rock. We were alike in many ways - socially out of step, unhip. We sat close.

      She later confessed that she had yearned for and fantasized that my powerful hands - musclebound through physical labor - would touch her body. She was slender and raven haired, first-generation Japanese and German - an axis beauty - and a slave-galley programmer for NASA who drove a Chevy Caprice with a V-8 and owned a tiny ranch house midway between Washington DC and Baltimore.

      One snowy day, I drove my illegally tagged 25 year old Saab through the snow to her door, bearing a twelve string guitar tuned in open G. Her house had white wall to wall carpets and walls, and she had statuettes of plastic horses and an ancient sickly cat. I played warhorse instrumentals by Leo Kottke until, somehow not knowing what else to do, we fell into each other's arms. She worshipped Heinlein's science fiction, dreamed of space exploration, and had a black belt and a beautiful voice. I was very cruel to her, to my eventual sorrow.

      Things progressed, and I behaved in ways I came to regret. When - at last - she came to her senses and found another to love, I was devastated. All matches are approximate and often somehow a rough meeting of equals, I learned. She, petite and aggressive, lacked the brawn to be the Navy SEAL she wished to be (oldest daughter of a son-less father) and watched Schwarzenegger movies. I, gently, sadistically liberal and overly cerebral (despite my auto mechanic's overlay of a patina of grease ) worried about everyone's behavior but my own and obsessed on the wider troubles of the world whilst neglecting my own house : how could she be so naive, so seemingly young despite her years, so disconnected from the rampant political storms raging 'round the globe, I wondered?

      She was not repressed. She owned a motorcycle, would try anything once, and liked bad boys - of which I was probably her last.

      Later, I asked my running partner, an ex-Jesuit beer vendor and painter and - more importantly - personal saint to the elderly and the down-and-out (as we jogged through the soggy Baltimore night air) for his opinion on the matter.

      "Well, you know", he said - quite matter-of-factly, "we all mature in different areas at different times." - at this I was stunned, as if I were a suddenly landed trout.

      I - of course - was quite oblivious to my own blind spots and areas of retardation...for all my cleverness, the concept had somehow never occurred to me. I never saw her again but held the lesson close. My dedication to the lesson lessened the pain.

      Pain's only relative, too. Sometime later, I was blessed to hear the voice and words of a woman whose husband and entire family had been brutally murdered, one of those rare transcendent few who had somehow, through some inconceivable alchemy, turned all of her immensity of grief to life of loving service to others....

      "It left a big hole in my heart", she said, "big enough for the whole world."

      So, there you go.

      Please pardon any typos. This is a slowly evolving draft drifting lazily to completion but not yet there.

      We are discreet sheep; we wait to see how the drove is going, and then go with the drove. -Mark Twain [Samuel Langhornne Clemens] (1835-1910)

      by Troutfishing on Fri Feb 11, 2005 at 02:44:12 PM PST

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