The Department of Defense is staging a free concert by Clint Black on the anniversary of September 11. It’s being called a celebration of freedom. It will include a walk (not a march) from the Pentagon crash site to the mall in DC, where Clint Black will be singing some insipid country song and generally making a fool out of the US. No word on how many actual victims and survivors of the 9/11 attacks will be attending.

The umbrella organization for this event is a DoD spin-off called America Supports You, a PR effort to show what Americans are doing for the military.

And in case you missed it: Some information came forward recently which shows that in 2000, the CIA had linked four of the eventual 9/11 hijackers to Al Qaeda, and written a report about it. There’s also been a recent revelation from the CIA that the Bush administration knew, for a fact, that Osama Bin Laden was in the mountains in Afghanistan, but failed to apprehend him because they were busy redistributing troops for the invasion of Iraq.

So what, exactly, is being commemorated at this DC walk for freedom? It’s certainly not a moment of reflection on the many policy failures of the Bush administration leading up to and dealing with the aftermath of 9/11, including letting Bin Laden get away. It’s not a moment to hold anyone accountable; in fact, it’s a celebration of their lack of accountability. Yay! Donald Rumsfeld got to invade Iraq because 3,000 people died, and half of America believed Iraq had somethign to do with it! Let’s throw a party! Let’s invite Clint Black!

It’s pretty sickening.

I need a trip. I need to go somewhere. I need to take a road trip before gas hits $4/gallon.

Possible destinations include: New age healing retreat spa hot springs hippie hang out place along the spine of Oregon.

In fact, I think that’s enough possibility. I think I’m going there. And I’m going to go on US 97, and I’ll get to 97 on 410 through Mt. Rainier Natl. Park. I’ll go to Crater Lake, too, because it’s only a couple hours from there. And then I’ll come back via Mt. Hood.

I’ll camp from my car. I have the NW Forest Pass. Load up the ice chest, kids…

Looking at the new age healing retreat spa hot springs hippie hang out place’s web site, I see they’re offering a workshop called Photography With Heart. Might as well. It’s next month, though. Can’t wait that long.

No matter how slow the film,
Spirit always stands still
long enough for the
photographer it has chosen

–Minor White

Over on mile23.com: Another thrift store find. Stop me before I buy more useless crap!

Over here:

Dinner: Hot dog (phosphate-free and otherwise politically-correct) in a whole-wheat bun. Stand around eating it, decide to cook another one since the pot is full of hot water. Eat the first while cooking the second. Drink some ginger ale (not that Canada Dry crap, but Reed’s). Sit on the patio while the dog begs.

Come inside, wash the dishes, sit at the computer, gnaw on some fancy-schmancy chocolate (Dolfin brand, dark with crystallized orange peel).

I’d like to take a moment and offer my instructions for boiling the perfect boiled hot dog on an electric range. Boiling is the preferred method only by virtue of practicality; ideally, hot dogs get cooked on an outdoor grill, but that’s not always the kind of effort you want to put into a hot dog.

So. Put an inch or so of water on the bottom of a pot with a lid. Put that on to boil. Once it’s boiling, put the dog(s) in and turn off the burner. Don’t remove the pot from the burner, just turn it off. Gather the bun and tuck it over the handle of the lid, so that the slice in the bun goes around the handle.

Go do something else, like eat the first hot dog you cooked. Or wash a couple dishes. Return to the pot when the boiling has stopped, there is no steam coming out, or if you’re concerned that the bun will be a sticky mess by now. The benefit of this method is that if you wander off and forget you were cooking a hot dog, no harm.

Retrieve the dog with a fork, and hold it over the pot for a little while to drain. Place it in the bun, add scary cajun-style mustard, and voila.

Some gun dealers in Kentucky shot each other over the Iraq war, next to the snack stand at a flea market. Story here.

I’m only posting that link because, as Andy Partridge sang, my train’s running low on soul coal.

mile23.com is photography stuff, and I guess Xanga will be more personal.

But regardless of how it’s all sorted, I’m running on empty over here. My mind doesn’t want to come out and play.

A history lesson from Juan Cole.

(You might ask: What is ‘fisking?’ And here is your answer.)

Prometheus is posting again, and he’s giving out assignments.

He’s saying to write at least 15 minutes every day.

Most days I write more than 15 minutes. The catch is that I’m posting to usenet, which is like going down into a sewer to write about the beauty of human waste. I’ve gotten better at being concise and a following a certain kind of debate-oriented structure, though. And I’ve also given up trying not to offend people. I used to make sure everyone’s concerns were heard, but now I don’t care as much. Some people are simply wrong.

For quite a while, I’ve been able to see the value of writing a lot of political discourse, struggling to hold to my core values (which are remarkably flexible, though not slippery). What brings me back, however, is the feedback. Imagine writing a novel only to have it torn to shreds by a pack of angry hyena-like editors all on a weeklong crystal meth binge. After you sort through the grue and detritus left afterwards, you find what’s truly valuable. Furthermore, there’s nothing like learning to take that pack of angry hyenas and perform conceptual aikido on them so they crumble under their own weight.

So it’s the give-and-take. In aikido training, there are formal roles for the attacker and defender, but the point is to merge the two roles into a single entity which finds the best possible resolution. Working towards that end is sometimes difficult when you’re arguing with someone who is convinced you’re a baby-killer because you’re pro-choice, or that you’re a liar because you criticize the President, but trying is good practice.

Which, again, gets back to the practice. The practice of writing 15 minutes a day, or the practice of aikido, or the practice of compassion and skillful means. Or all three. And maybe more. Life is practice.

Life is practice. It’s not a means to an end, as in practicing for the big game or the piano recital. But an end in and of itself. Just practice being….. something.