Pulling the plug

Can Congress force the President to pull out of Iraq?

Well, they've done it before - and by "they" I mean the very people who claim it can't be done.

Not that I wouldn't put it past the Dems to have arguing the reverse of their current position, either - but it shows you how fickle the GOP can be when their policy is on the chopping block.

Glenn Greenwald has them by the short hairs.

Stand up if you hate Man U

A few years back, in the game they call football, my chosen team had a nemesis. My team were likable underachievers. Their rivals were the media darlings - dynastic, marketable: "America's Team."

Among their numerous loathsome qualities, one stood out above all others.

They kept winning.

Each undeserved victory made them more arrogant, more insufferable. To the point when you felt that surely - were there a God in heaven - he would make them suffer just to restore the faith of people like me.

But this didn't happen. They changed coaches and were champions again. They changed players, and still managed to cruise to victory.

Their players were criminals, their owner, the king of all assholes, but their fans didn't care so long as they could be part of a winning side.

Just thinking of the times they crushed my team over and over again still rankles.

---

So it is with Manchester United - in the game that they actually play with their feet - they are the bazillion-pound gorilla squatting atop the league table, spitting out the bones of lesser teams and giving the "up yours" to anyone not wearing their colors.

They've won the championship fifteen times, they've won the double, the triple - and damn near everything in sight.

They were purchased for 1.5 Billion dollars, they field one of the largest payrolls in Europe. Their wealth gives them access to anyone and they gobble up talent anywhere they find it. Any player who does well at the Euro championships will likely play for Man U the following season. Their bench could make a solid showing in any league in the world.

And I hate them. Because they win. Because their fans are insufferable when they win. But mostly because they are usually to blame for my teams not going home with the trophy.

Truth be told, there are a number of Man U players I'd respect, I just wish they'd come to their senses and play for a likable side.

Giggs, for example, is just quality all the time. His play is always impressive and his work ethic hasn't been affected by the fact that most everyone around him is a raging jerkwad.

You see Giggs get mad, but it's usually for a very good reason. You never see him fly off the handle and whine about a non-call the way you would see C. Ronaldo do a few seasons ago.

Ronaldo. Any year but this past one, I'd say he was the biggest waste of talent in the league. All that speed, buckets of talent and he'd spend most of his time diving to the ground and whining about being fouled. His playacting was especially pathetic when he played for Portugal in the last World Cup - I think even his countrymen were mad at him after that one. All this showboating and nothing to show for it.

This year, Ronaldo seems to have put his head down and do what he does best - make defenders look foolish. So I can't bitch about him being the personification of what I hate about Man U.

That honor falls to Wayne Rooney - a thick-bodied bully of a striker who was England's false hope in the last World Cup - A man who is the prototypical boorish, hotheaded thug that Man U haters like me conjure up just to stoke their seething hatred of the Red Devils.

Rooney's got skills, no question - but when he isn't doing terribly well, you can tell he's looking for someone else to blame: the ref, the defender, his teammates, or the imaginary foul that stopped his breakaway.

Whatever it is - it sure as hell isn't the fact that Rooney has been playing for shit lately. That couldn't be it.

So, I've been enjoying watching Rooney have an off year, even if Man U had surged ahead of everyone in the league. It was nice to see that Rooney was getting pissed off and handling it badly - like watching McEnroe or Nastassi self-destruct - it was fun.

Today Man U played my team - Arsenal. In the Gunner's new digs - and I'm hoping for a repeat of Arsenal's dazzling form against other teams. Man U is the evil empire, but surely God has them due for a comeuppance. Right? He wouldn't just be toying with me, right?

Kickoff.

Right off the bat, Arsenal isn't playing well. Man U blasts a few at the net and dominates the early possession. Worse - there's this really shameful playacting by Eboue to fool the ref into carding a Man U player. Disgusting.

Arsenal's on their heels for a good part of the first half, but show some signs of life here and there. They just aren't combining well, and Henry (while finally back from injury) is in lurk mode.

Fabregas, the Spanish phenom, is scrambling for all he's worth, but just isn't getting any traction. He's showing a lot of heart, chasing no-hope balls that show you he's trying, but he's wasting a lot of energy and looking rather young.

A scoreless half ends - Man U has the upper hand, but maybe Arsenal can start fresh after the half. I can hope right? How cruel can the universe be?

Second half.

Arsenal does come out with a bit more flare - and Man U gets pushed back and suddenly I'm getting hopeful.

Then Rooney does something he hasn't done in awhile: he scores.

Arsenal is down 0-1 to the forces of darkness, scored on by the foulest Red Devil of them all.

Man U's fans are in the house and they go ape. Arsenal tries to respond with a quick equalizer, but they are more desperate than skilled. Rosicky has made it his personal mission to whiff on as many easy ones as he can - three or four good chances will fall at his feet, and he'll blow them.

Twenty-two minutes in, Wenger sends in Van Persie- who is not in top shape. This smacks of desperation to me, but I'm looking for any hope I can get.

Twenty minutes to go, Arsenal are struggling hard, but long balls aren't going their way - passes that could be brilliant moves are intercepted and turned into counterattacks. Ronaldo is increasingly dangerous.

Eighty one minutes in, it looks like Man U has started the stall. They sub in Saha, and people are taking their time.

Adebayor keeps displaying more drive than sense by charging Van de Saar before every goal kick - like he's going to slip up. Yeah, Van de Saar. Screw up. Never gonna happen.

And Fabregas, he's just too young to know that this is going nowhere - he's sliding and diving and charging balls that are meaningless. Wild passes, wild shots - it's practically embarrassing.

He and Rosicky get into a scrum with two Man U defenders, and it looks like one of those basketball plays where the players keep falling over and you're just waiting to see who will get tagged with the foul.

--and then Fabregas gets the ball and nicely slips it to Rosicky-

--Rosicky jets into the box and crosses to Henry-

--who does an amazing backheel pass to

--Van Persie who blasts it past a diving Van de Saar.

Tied. Son of a bitch! Seven minutes from time and Arsenal gets to salvage a point in front of the faithful. Awesome. More than could be expected. Honor is served.

And then things get strange. Arsenal starts surging into attack mode - there's blood in the water, and you get the feeling that - time permitting - they may not be done.

Two good chances go nowhere, but Man U is clearly out of it now. Lots of hard work, but nothing approaching their earlier dominance.

Four minutes of injury time - and you know the Man U fans are sweating it. They're on the chopping block and it's clear - only the clock will save them.

And then there's a wild sequence of passing - Fabregas again, then away, then Eboue curls a cross into the pack and -

Henry soars up to head the cross into the net.

Pandemonium.

It'll go down as minute 90, but it's 92 and change. Man U has no time to salvage a point, although they try.

A driving shot goes to Lehmann, who almost stalls himself into a yellow card for delay. He boots the ball to midfield and the whistle blows.

Scoreline - January 23, 2007
Arsenal: 2
Manchester United: 1
Rooney 53, Van Persie 83, Henry 90

God is in his heaven.

Who's that throwing the President under the bus?

Mystery pundit, would you agree that this administration waited to make changes until after the election?

"Well, I do think they knew there had to be a change before the election. And they just waited until after the election to announce it.

I found -- one of answers I found interesting was on, again, going back to this issue of 17,500 troops in Baghdad. You asked him, will that be enough? And he said, I'll do what the generals tell me to do basically.

Well, that was his answer for three years when they told him they didn't commit enough troops, as he now acknowledges. So why should we believe him now? And which generals are these?


And what he's trying to do is absolve himself from having to make a judgment and give us the reasons for the judgment, because there are all different generals and colonels and everybody else giving different analyses of how many troops it will take.
And he doesn't give us any military reason. And when pressed, he always gives you a personal reason. "Well, I trust this guy, General Casey. I like that guy, General Abizaid." Well, they're good guys, but the president has to have made -- has to have heard the different arguments and have a substantive reason why this number of troops will work and that number of troops won't work.


And he never really answers on that. He just says, "I defer to the generals." Again, that's not good enough anymore. I haven't heard that many other plausible arguments. And I'm willing to give this policy a chance, as other people who know more about the military situation, more than me, are willing to give it a chance.


But you've got to ease the skepticism based on three years of failure. And, again, that involves granularity; that involves evidence; that involves treating people like adults and not talking down to them."

Give up?

That was David Brooks, in-house conservative for the NYT appearing on Newshour.

Yeah, it's that bad.

A visibly-embarrassed-for-his-colleague, Mark Shields followed this with, "I can't argue with anything that David said there."

I could. But the fact that high-vis conservatives like Brooks are calling the President on his baseless confidence sure saves me a lot of effort.

Thanks David - now just start recanting all the crap you've shoveled out for the past six years and we'll call it even.

Role reversal

Weekends are pretty much freefall around here. E’s betting we don’t get out of the house before noon. I don’t take the bet. Good thing, too. We pull out of the driveway at 1:04.

On the list is post office, shopping and generally getting out of the damn house. We’re a bit frazzled, and kid logistics has the two of us way back on our heels. E was going to get a haircut, but that fell through. We need to mail some things we should have sent weeks ago, but we don’t know if the post office will even be open.

I’m betting it won’t. E’s not taking the bet.

Incredibly, we’re both wrong. A federal office building is open on a weekend until 4pm. Rather than unhook both kids, I drop E off and orbit. By the time she’s done – both kids are unconscious.

Which puts a crimp in the next agenda item. No biggie. E knows what she wants to get, storage stuff and a replacement bowl for the one our neighbor loaned us (that we broke). I go on a sightseeing tour of the fascinating industrial park, and E goes to work.

E bats about .500, but we’re thinking we can hit another store and get everything in one trip. I’m thinking about the next place when E yells out-

“Stop!”

The car ahead of me has stopped and I’m rolling right up on them. I slam on the brakes, and stop less than two feet from the car ahead of me.

Almost a complete duplicate of last time. My head was off somewhere, and I’d almost plowed into someone with our new van.

I exhale slowly. “That was-“

-And then we get creamed by someone else from behind.

-And then we get pushed into the car in front of us.

Dammit. Dammit.

A blue Honda has mushed itself against our back end, and we’ve rebounded off the back of a plum-colored Corolla.

In the way that people do following accidents, all three cars slowly drift over to the side of the road.

Everybody’s okay in the van. No airbags in sight. E’s checking on the Girl, the Boy’s fine, he’s chirping away and wondering why we’ve stopped.

The Corolla lady is out of her car, she looks okay. Honda woman is as well. Honda’s seen fit to come up and ask why we stopped. E and Honda lock horns for a moment – and it’s clear that Honda hasn’t yet done the math and realized that she’s plowed into a vehicle that wasn’t moving.

I’m on the cell calling the cops, Honda’s asking E who I’m calling – I can tell this is a person I do not want to speak to.

With everybody fine and the cops en route, I just stay strapped in. Nothing to do now but wait. Corolla lady gets that and goes back into her car where it’s warm. Honda lady is a little more worked up. Having done the accident thing two months ago, I’m already getting out my license and proof of insurance.

Honda does the “I should stand outside for awhile” thing that seems sensible after an accident. Since its snowing, we stay inside and wait.

The cop shows up and starts with Honda. I can relate to that moment. Last time, I’d blown it. I knew I’d blown it. There wasn’t much to say.

Honda woman clearly has a lot to say. Not that it will do her any good at all. You rear end a stopped vehicle, you get written up. This I know.

Our turn, I’m worried that the cop is on the driver’s side of our car, next to the traffic. I offer to get out and do the interview on the sidewalk. She’s okay with standing next to moving cars.

Okay. So I give her my cards, tell her what happened, tell her we’re okay – and she goes around to the safe side of the car to get the names of everyone else in the car.

Good thing, too. Right after she gets all the names, another accident happens right next to us.

Same damn thing. One car misses the fact that the car in front of them has stopped and-

Bam! They hit and-

Bam! Push that car into a third.

Our cop calls it in and runs over to the third car, where a distraught looking mom is getting out and crawling into the backseat to retrieve her baby.

The driver of the car that started this new mess gets out, some young girl, and they start doing what we just got through: “you okay?”

An ambulance arrives almost immediately – apparently the baby got splashed with hot coffee in the impact, along with another passenger. No impact injuries.

The other three vehicles now pull in front of our three. Six cars in a line, flanked by a debris field of taillights and headlights.

It’s starting to sink in – this van has 15,000 miles on it and I’ve owned it for less than two months. Hell, less than one month – I think. And now it’s been rear-ended.

I get out and finally look at the back end. Our bumper’s hanging off like a drag chute, but we’re drivable.

Cop apologizes for the delay, but it’s easy to understand. Two accidents at once is a bit of a deal. After awhile, she comes back and gives me my cards back, and tells me the same stuff the last cop did. Honda lady is being cited – just like last time, only last time was me. I ask if this intersection has a lot of this kind of thing. Cop lady says “This is a terrible intersection, people come over the hill and suddenly they have to stop. This happens a lot.”

We hit urgent care to have the kids checked up on – and they both appear to be fine. We decide to have dinner out, since we’ve missed lunch and most of us are starving.

So, we go to our usual place. I’m coming down the hill towards a stop sign where we’ll be turning left. I start to slow down –

-except I don’t. The van maintains its speed, and I feel the staccato of the ABS kick in.

We’re on ice, cruising towards an intersection, and there’s there is no way we will stop. I reflexively take my foot off the brake and hit it again.

No change in speed, we’re going through this stop sign. I look up to see what to expect. Fortunately, at this intersection, we only have to worry about traffic from the left.

I can see one car heading towards us. The only way they hit us is if we slow down.

I speed up.

We blow through the stop sign, and are immediately rewarded with clean pavement.

I don’t even know if the oncoming car noticed us – but I’m replaying that in my mind, using different scenarios. I was coming down the hill too fast. It’s snowing.

I’m an idiot. Two hours after getting rear-ended, I almost get us broadsided.

We hit the restaurant, and I do the insurance tango. My at-fault cost us $100 more a year, no telling what a no-fault within two months will do to us.

Plus deductible, plus replacing child seats, plus…

Un-be-effing-lievable.

We should have stayed in bed.

Oh my freaking God...

Give me one of these. Now.

Malfunction

Something is wrong. With me.

I’ve suspected it for awhile, although as it turns out, not nearly long enough. The persistence of other people, E and my doctor, are the reason I’m driving through an industrial park on a weekday evening.

It’s not the kind of place you’d expect to go for anything health-related. There’s a print shop, a computer recycling center, lots of those businesses made out of corrugated metal. I’m wondering if I’ve misread the directions.

The directions came in the mail a few days ago. I hadn’t bothered to even look at them - this appointment wasn't supposed to happen for two weeks. Some other unfortunate cancelled, and I jumped at the chance to get it over with.

My suspicions weren’t very deep – and prior to opening their mailed instructions, I’d half-imagined that this would all be a colossal waste of time. Reading through their pre-appointment questionnaire changed my mind.

Have you ever woken up choking?

Has your blood pressure been increasing?

Do you often feel depressed?

Do you find it difficult to concentrate?

Question after question that I have to answer ‘yes’ to. I started thinking the test would be a waste of my time, halfway through the questions I’m thinking I’ll be wasting the clinic’s time.

Their questions described me precisely – my last two years, anyway.

I finally see the sign I’ve been looking for, and pull into the parking lot. In contrast to the industrial surroundings, it has a foyer with pillars and a domestic appearance. I get my bag, my papers and head for the lobby.

Inside, there are about a half-dozen other bleary-eyed people sitting on chairs. One man is watching the Spider-Man sequel on the TV, but most are slumped in chairs, staring at nothing.

There’s no one at the desk and the lights are out. I stand next to where I think the receptionist would be for about ten minutes before moving over to the wall. I’m early, and I guess this place isn’t run like most clinics.

At precisely 9pm, a woman emerges from an official-looking door and reads off our names to make sure we’re all here. We are.

We all go in at once, and she begins assigning rooms – “A technologist will be with you shortly.”

She’s right. Mine is named Dave, and he’s a decent sort. He talks like he’s been saying the same thing so often that he’s forgotten what the words mean. No inflection, just like a bored stewardess.

Somewhere in the stream of words, I gather that setup will take an hour. I’ve had EEGs and EKGs before, so this is no big thing. There’s actually a few more wires and steps and by the time he’s finally finished gluing wires to me, drawing on my head, and plugging in the garden-hose-thick bundle of wires - I realize I'm not going to have time to read my book before going to sleep.
Dave gets philosophical with me. "I ask all my subjects this: Why are you here?"

"Because I have to know if there's a reason why I feel this lousy."

This seems to satisfy him. He launches into another recitation about sleep. Stages of sleep, purposes of sleep stages, and finally - sleep disorders.

He explains how they will monitor me while I sleep to see how I sleep normally. - Then, if it looks like I need it - they'll put me on the machine.

The machine is not terribly encouraging: A pump, a hose, and a humidifier. I try it out. I feel and sound like Darth Vader.

Luke...I'm your father.

The room is surprisingly comfortable, and as soon as Dave leaves, I'm ready to pass out.
I wonder a little about strangling myself accidentally with the wires, but I'm on video and Dave's supposed to be paying attention. He seems a good sort.

I go to sleep.

-And Dave wakes me up. About that fast, although it's actually been a little over two hours. I'm groggy as all hell, so I only vaguely remember him saying, "We're going to put you on the machine."

- and I'm out again.

At some point, the damned hose is in my way so I wake up. It's morning.

Dave strolls in and proudly exclaims, "We fixed you!"

He explains that by 'fixed,' he means that I have responded well to the machine. This is Dave's overly upbeat way of informing me that, at least for the foreseeable future, I will have to spend my nights hooked up to an appliance.

He then breaks out graphs and charts and begins jabbering incoherently about things called 'this-pops' and 'that-pops.' Then he shows me that, during the two hours of the night when I was sans-hose machine, my airflow was reduced or blocked completely 177 times.

I'm absorbing this when he puts another chart in front of me. "See there?" he asks, "On this one you stopped breathing for just under a minute. Your blood oxygen was down to 76."

This, apparently in his subculture, is something almost worthy of a high-five.

Dave leaves me alone to get ready for work - he's made an appointment with a nice man who will give me my machine and explain its features and maintenance regimen. I'm still absorbing things.

It's pretty hard to know which way to go with this.

On the one hand - I will sleep hooked up to a motorized snorkel, possibly for the rest of my life.
But on the other hand, I am awake.

Really awake. For the first time in, hell, a year or two. The literature tells me that the headaches, sinus infections, and numerous other symptoms will all go away.

I'll dream again. I can't remember the last time I had a dream.

I get my things and go see the appliance man. He talks for a half an hour, makes me sign a bunch of things and hands me my box. He smiles, "Your kids will make fun of you, but at least you'll be able to sleep."

I'm in the car driving to work and I can't believe how different I feel.

At work, I can focus and get things done. I'm not drowsy in the afternoon.

I can't even express how amazing that first day was - and the literature says that I won't really get back to normal for a week or so. I'll feel better than I do now, and now is pretty damn good.

I marvel that the way I had felt two days ago seemed normal. I was walking through fog every day. Headaches, sinus pain - all the damn time. I felt like total crap most days. Sure, I could rise to the occasion and function. But some days it was just barely functioning.

That first night at home, I don't even hesitate with the machine. There's no resentment, no shame. At this point, it's the price of being myself again - I'm not going back to how I was this past year.

Shut-in

It's only after getting the minivan that I realize what a hit we took going down to one car. Not so much because the van is four times the size of our commuter car, but because absent a second vehicle, E stays home.

We'd done this before - when the boy was born, we had a single car and managed to go almost two winters before buying the commuter. I say we, but the bulk of the inconvenience fell on E. In summer, being without a car was somewhat mitigated by our being within walking distance of parks, a library and a slew of stores and restaurants. Absent bad weather, E could take the boy places and get out and see people.

Of course, winter messes that up royally. The daunting logistics of getting an infant out the door compound when you have to winterize a stroller. Not to mention dealing with people who don't shovel, ice, crossing slippery roads and, oh yeah, it sucks to be outside when it's cold.

When I would watch the boy by myself, it was part of my regular sanity ritual to get out of the house. Maybe this is just my personal hang up - but staying inside the same structure with an infant/toddler just makes me claustrophobic. A lot like the feeling of spending two days sick in my bedroom: soon as I'm able, I want to get out.

E's been dealing pretty well overall, but it has got to wear a person down. I caught a window into this when E told me that with the boy she was on the phone with her mom every day.

We all need a way to get out of the house.

---

We took the van on its shakedown cruise up to see Grandma. She's seen pictures of baby e, but we'd really like to stop by and show her the real thing.

Jen and her family are going up with us in their van, which is a year younger than ours. Mom will be driving up in her rental car. Oddly enough, all our vehicles are the same color - we go to Grandmas looking like a motorcade.

Grandma's been living in a small apartment, so the thinking is that all of us descending on her at once is a bad idea. Mom's booked some hotel rooms for us on the edge of town. We'll be using the hotel as home base and popping over in shifts.

Unfortunately, the shifts never really happen. Grandma had a car accident and really isn't up for running around with her relatives. For three days, the routine revolves around keeping the kids occupied in a strange hotel.

The outdoors decidedly do not beckon. Overcast, rain and snow. Like mars with all the colors set to grey.

This leaves us with indoor distractions. Fortunately, our hotel has a free waffle bar and a pool. Three pools and a hot tub, two water slides, and a partridge in a pear tree. Wake up, waffle, get swim gear, hit pool. The boy is beyond happy. The adult lot of the pool experience is limited to staying ahead of possible dangers, but its still fun to watch the boy experience these things for the first time.

E's got baby e in the room, in the lobby, in the pool room for awhile. We lunch and dinner out in mechanical fashion, the days pass with not a lot of variety. I'm starting to get way too used to the layout of the place. It was New Years, so we got to hear every decibel of the New Year's Eve party below us - and we went out to IMHO, the nicest place in town for dinner.

Like I said, you gotta get out sometime.

---

The final act of the weekend was popping in to see Grandma in the hospital. She'd fallen in her house and it was decided that she should be admitted so they can get her meds right. She's on Coumadin, among other things, and for some reason the level never seems to get quite right. Too little, you get clots and worse. Too much, you can become weak, bruise easily, or even bleed internally. Grandma has had the minor strokes that indicated she wasn't getting enough. Now, she's getting the other end of the equation. The car accident was relatively minor - but she's already decided that she will no longer drive.

We'd seen her briefly the day after we'd arrived, and she'd had a major bruise on her face that just appeared overnight. Mom says she's clearly not happy that people are seeing her like this, and I can hardly blame her. She's been so independent for so long, and now the time she gets to see her family - she has to do it from a wheelchair looking like she has a black eye.

We motorcade over to the hospital and mom checks her room before we all barge in to make sure she's ready to see people. She is, but things are worse. Her bruising is on both eyes now, and one side of her face is so swollen she hardly resembles herself. She's never one to complain, and she says hi to everyone. The boy gives her a big hug. Almost as soon as we get there, the hospital staff informs us we have to get out so they can give her a CAT scan.

While we're waiting for her to come back, my aunt and uncle - Grandma's two children that are mercifully local - let the other shoe drop. The original thinking was that Grandma had fallen on the back of her head - that's what she'd said. It looks like what really happened was that she'd fallen forward, hit the front of her face on something hard, passed out, then fell onto her back, where she'd woken up. The nurse describes the facial bruising as "classic" indication of hitting her nose hard.

She'll recover from the bruising, and the Coumadin level will ultimately get sorted out - but the upshot is that Grandma will be going into a nursing home. The level of care she needs and the consequences of her not getting it have all but made this decision. It's a terrible realization. Grandma has been so independent, so outgoing - she'd lived alone in a house and maintained it for years by herself. She'd proudly said that the two flights of stairs between her bedroom and her washing machine kept her in shape (and I bet she's right). Calling Grandma used to be wondering if she was home, or if she was out running around with her friends - her regular Wednesday night dinners, she had a social schedule most people her age would envy. She certainly had health virtually anyone her age would envy. She did things, she got outta the damn house and lived life.

All of that stops with a bad stretch in her Coumadin regimen. The car accident means no driving, the fall, means no independence.

She goes into a building, and she doesn't come out.

It just breaks the heart.