Goldberg,
The good news. The growth inside my cheek: not malignant. However, the rest of my body is shot through with cancer. Oh, I forgot that cancer jokes upset you. And we wouldn’t want to bump that sensitive on/off switch that activates your archeocortex.
The real scoop: The maxillofacial surgeon gave my cheek two minutes of attention that will unpack, I’m sure, into a billable hour, and then told me to come back later for a procedure that lasts only a few nanoseconds. Is this medicine, or is my doctor incredibly lonely? At least they didn’t make me wait several hours to tell me that I’m OK.
Are you leveling with me about not being a “pro-war Israeli rightist”? Didn’t you serve in the Israel Defense Force? What did you do during your hitch, flip potato latkes? Even peace-loving, liberal, guilt-ridden, triple hyphenates like you are ready to go Masada on us the minute somebody threatens Mother Israel. My favorite Masada moment from contemporary Israeli history came during the ‘73 war when the Israelis didn’t care if the, um, regional hostilities escalated to a fissionable U.S./U.S.S.R. event. A world without Israel? your people said. Yeah, we can do that. We can also make burned toast of the galaxy.
So by my accounting, it doesn’t matter whether Barak gets the ball or they call in Sharon from the Shabra/Shatila bullpen. (According to Slate’s “International Papers” column, Barak’s people are already conceding.) The only thing that ever seems to bring quiet (as opposed to peace) to that little patch of ground that hath in it no profit but the name is an occasional decisive war. Which, my dollar-store wrist watch informs me, is about 10 years overdue.
I’m hoping that our team reading of the daily newspapers will eventually bring us to a discussion of the Wall Street Journal editorial page. Full disclosure: The folks there have been incredibly nice to me over the years, publishing three or four of my pieces. But I have to say that while I appreciate their libertarian/conservative ferociousness, sometimes they drink too deeply from that vat of nut fudge they keep in their offices. Take, for example, the Heather Mac Donald op-ed on today’s page, “Stop Persecuting the Police.”
Persecuting the police? Has Heather Mac Donald never been on the baton side of a cop’s anger before? But the piece isn’t just about what she considers liberal overreaction to naughty cop behavior or racial profiling. Mac Donald regards the race-based job discrimination suits the Justice Department brings against local departments as part of the “war on the police.” Her beef: The feds are suing the Torrance, Calif., department for screening literacy at the ninth-grade level, saying that it’s too high a standard because it has no legitimate job purpose.
For all I know, Mac Donald has nailed the story perfectly, and the Torrance PD is being arbitrarily pushed around by briefcase-toting bureaucrats from D.C. But why is it that op-eds like hers always make me want to reach for Nexis to get the whole story? But never mind the particulars: Mac Donald reserves her real enthusiasm for defending Attorney General John Ashcroft. Goldberg, this guy gives me the creeps. I wouldn’t let the citizens of Kalamazoo County elect him prosecutor, let alone make him the nation’s top cop if I had my way.
But one way in which the Journal editorial page has gotten better: With Clinton gone, so, too, are the impenetrable Whitewater pieces. What do you think the editorial page will end up doing with its Whitewater anthologies?
Love,
Jack
