Possumblog

Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)

Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.

This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.


Wednesday, July 30, 2003

And what would Wednesday be without the Wednesday Newhouse News Lileks column?
[...] Expect bad news for the foreseeable future. It's sexier than success. Eventually every network will do the Six Months Later story, and you know how that will go:

First, "The Best of Shock and Awe" highlight reel while the narrator describes how the Iraqis folded like a three-legged card table. Then the postwar quagmire, as the Americans failed to convince a kneecapped nation to leap to its feet and do the Charleston in 100 days. Then some Bright Spots, followed by a stand-up report from whichever anchorperson parachuted in for the closing visuals. "Tonight, Baghdad is calm, but many people look to the future, and wonder whether this is liberation -- or occupation." Mournful music, slow-mo shots of an Iraqi child's blank face, a scowling soldier, a toppled statue of Saddam.

If you're not depressed by the end, Dan Rather will personally come to your house and force-feed you Valium and alcohol. [...]
Oh no. I better vacuum.

I sure hope he brings the good stuff this time. The last time, all he had was a bottle of Vitalis and three Sominex. In fairness, that was better than Peter Jennings, who just sat there on the couch crying. Man, how I hated that.


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