Three points:

1. Funny I hadn't noticed the shift to "al-Qaida," which of course makes sense: how better to unite both a faltering genus Americaneae species ignoramus as well beleagured and/or resisting Iraqis behind a common enemy.

2. Wasn't the British/US battle between the British and French termed the French and Indian war? Propaganda is not new to those who would establish empires.

3. A couple weeks ago Lieberman returned from a visit to "Iraq, other countries in the Middle East, and [muffled, hand over mouth] Israel," and declared with absolute certainty that Iran was behind the killing of "200 American soldiers," and that "irrefutable proof" existed that Iran was training Iraqis to fight against Americans in Iraq. As we all know, for those reasons Lieberman demanded that the US take military action against Iran.

In the week subsequent to Lieberman's statements, at least three US military leaders echoed the "irrefutable proof" statement. But apparently this was the sobriquet du jour only until the memo made the rounds that the information that the Israelis had fed Lieberman and were feeding the US may or may not be accurate, but nevertheless it was not in step with the Administration's PR plan and would have to wait its turn; it would be deployed when the next new stay-the-course PR offensive was unveiled.

Stay tuned.

(I’ve been wanting to make a point about comment references to “retards,” or “{fill-in-the-blank}-tards” for some time, and realname, who is not shy about using such references, looks like a great place to start. So apologies to casual observer, whose wise words I am ignoring for now.)

realname, that "fool" bebop-o does something better than you or I will ever do at anything in our lifetimes. And while I am on the subject of talking back to fools who project that attribute to others, you are not the only one who does this for sure, but I do some volunteer work with "Retards," your clever pejorative for those with whom you disagree, and, they are individuals just like we are with emotions and sensibilities, some of which you and I would do well to emulate.

So I would suggest you tear your fat ass away from the computer monitor and get out in the world and get to know some of those who are different from you. You might learn that the world has many shades between black and white. And you may find that you quit using words like “retard” or “{fill-in-the-blanks}-tard.” Words can hurt, pal.

The effectiveness of an argument is as much the result of the "preparation" of another mind to hear it as it is of the strength of the argument.

Because the arguments Glenn makes often contain numerous references combined with a careful logic, "counter-arguments" in the form of name calling probably have very little effect on regular readers. In other words, the exclamation "surrender monkey" as a counter argument doesn't get you very far on this blog. Any casual reader who would buy that as a counter-argument has little or nothing to gain from reading Glenn's posts. When these same counter-arguments (by these same people) contain names, dates, numbers and other forms of legitimate information, I have been tempted in the past to try to engage them in some sort of discussion. It is a waste. Any attempt at dialogue is ignored. They are not here for dialogue. A dialogue is a reciprocal conversation. They are here for an opposite purpose. They are here to disrupt any attempt at dialogue. A page of comments by someone like RealName is often no more than a 500 word version of "surrender monkey."

Our self-described (at least in Shooter's case) resident trolls, have no other purpose than to dilute the effect that Glenn's arguments may have in the public space. Although there is a little rhyme from time to time, there is almost never any reason or logic attached to their comments. There is nothing but name calling and the reiteration of talking points you can hear verbatim any time of day from Fox, Limbaugh, or (on the web) LGF.

Since the trolls always show up at the start of a new article by Glenn and often show up again at the end of a comment thread, I can understand the desire of some of the other commenters not to let the trolls have the stage to themselves during peak readership periods. On the other hand, any reader who would buy what the trolls are selling without taking the time to read forward or backward through the comments (at least a page or two) probably isn't familiar with the concept of a troll. So, even the warning, "Reader beware, trolls in the area," would be of little use.

I think this story deserves a lot more attention than a Saturday post might inspire. You know, the professional journalists only work Monday through Friday 9 to 5, and they might miss it as you routinely produce much more content than they do and in the process knock the story down the queue. Please keep hitting it hard as you find more information.

These Stockholm Syndrome journalists need some serious deprogramming, and it's going to take a widespread effort. Hopefully "The Daily Show" can pick up on this thing and show a wider audience that we've got a government inspired by Orwell and a group of Patty Hearsts running the media.

http://thinkprogress.org/2007/06/24/cheney-wp-profile

Just a little shout-out (hush) to bebop-o this morning. I read your letters every day. A while ago you admonished us to listen to Samuel Barber's Knoxville: Summer of 1915. I was not familiar with the piece, but in a bookstore one day I searched for it in the classical bins.

I've become involved with an experimental theatre group in my town. The director and I are intellectually simpatico, and we exchange ideas back and forth. I have quoted excerpts from your letters to her. For example, you wrote: "The yellow bull-doze cats knock down trees. They kill myriads of life forms. It sounds like fibulas and femur, skull and white collar, elbow or chin, humor bones too, getting ground and crunched. The sound is as real as a skull bone cracking wide open from a rifle's gun in a war-zone. This is done for a fraudulent fake and deadly economy. A trap -- a noose. A slave block in each town." This prompted meditations and exchanges on the nature and pace of development in our town and what it all means.

The director put together a performance piece. It comprised fragments of text pinned to a clothesline. Also fragments of text placed on a small table underneath a pendant lamp. The actors randomly take down pieces of the text to read, act out, riff on. The cast was very small: four actors, the director, the lighting guy, and myself. I was charged with playing on the piano whatever came to my head based on the what the actors were doing, or the atmosphere, or the moment. We started rehearsals on Monday (!), and there were three performances for the public.

The piece was about nostalgia for the past, apprehension for the future. About being alone. About being supported by others. About the economy. About Old MacDonald's Farm. About Walmart. About donuts. About the cherry orchard and what happens when it’s chopped down. About women. About feminism, and after. About sleeplessness. About somnolescence. About war. About presidents. About first ladies. About revolutions, and after. An Our Town of sorts, for Our Times. E-eye, e-eye, ooooooo.

Each rehearsal and each public performance was different, one from the next. The piece was very fragmentary, hallucinatory, intuitive, imaginative. Patterns emerged, variations emerged. In the course of the evening the actors walked, read, danced, declaimed, shouted, threw themselves against walls, sang, clowned, sleepwalked, reached out, peeked out from behind sheets hung on the clothesline. It took everything I have to try to come up with things to play on the piano that made sense, that either followed from the action or might prompt it. In a big hurry this week I had to go deep into the archives of my (cluttered) mind to come up with fragments of songs and pieces that I could draw on. Saint Matthew Passion. All kinds of Cole Porter and Gershwin and Rodgers & Hart & Hammerstein. National anthems. Folk songs. Soundtrack from Patton. Soundtrack from The Piano. Titanic, the Musical. Chopin. Schubert. Beethoven (cuckoo, cuckoo, pastorale). Copland. Fiona Apple. Rufus Wainwright. The Partridge Family. Gilbert & Sullivan, and Gilbert O’Sullivan. (Alone Again, Naturally became the theme song of Herman Melville who was startled awake and thought he’d crashed into an iceberg.)

Two things saved me. One was Bach. There is no one like Bach when you need a clean fluid line that just flows and flows and flows and lends order and peace. The other? Knoxville: Summer of 1915. Bebop-o, I’m sure one isn’t meant to beat that piece into one’s head but that’s just what I did this week. A motif emerged that I fell back on time and again during the performances: the first line of the song, “It has become that time of evening when people sit on their porches, rocking gently, and talking gently…” I rendered it in soft chords, repeated, repeated. It always helped bring the performance piece back to center. And at the very end, hush, hush, it became the time of evening when the lights dimmed, and the actors called and whistled for their cats to come indoors for the night…

I would not have discovered that piece without you, bebop-o, and so (with last night’s final performance behind me, phew!) I thank you very much. I want you to know that you have a distinct butterfly effect. You “flap your wings” and on a summer evening in a rivertown loft space far away now is the night one blue dew...

P.S. Apologies for being O/T, and for the length of this piece. I go now?