Mrs Morrison's Hotel

The 100% personal official blog for Patricia Kennealy Morrison, author, Celtic priestess, retired rock critic, wife of Jim

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Location: New York, New York, United States

I was, wait, sorry, that's "David Copperfield". Anyway, I was born in Brooklyn, grew up on Long Island, went to school in upstate NY and came straight back to Manhattan to live. Never lived anywhere else. Never wanted to. Got a job as a rock journalist, in the course of which I met and married a rock star (yeah, yeah, conflict of interest, who cares). Became a priestess in a Celtic Pagan tradition, and (based on sheer longevity) one of the most senior Witches around. Began writing my Keltiad series. Wrote a memoir of my time with my beloved consort (Strange Days: My Life With and Without Jim Morrison). See Favorite Books below for a big announcement...The Rennie Stride Mysteries. "There is no trick or cunning, no art or recipe, by which you can have in your writing that which you do not possess in yourself." ---Walt Whitman (Also @ and

Thursday, November 30, 2006

If You DON'T Got It, Flaunt It!

Hey, kids, lookit all the little bimbo no-talents flashing their tiny body parts of late! Beginning with the Axis of Celebrity Terror, BritneyLindsayParis, et too many insignificant al. to mention…

It’s pathetic, really. The talentless and classless going knickerless/braless/whateverless, in a desperate bid for the attentions of the paparazzi and the world.

Ho-hum, and I DO mean “ho”…

I guess if they can’t get people to pay attention to them through legitimate means, like, oh, you know, acting or singing or whatnot, they think that flashing their hoo-has/tatas/boombooms is the way. Well, girls, uh, NO.

I remember when talent was the criterion. I see where it still is. Just not anywhere in the vicinity of these sad little chicks.

I blame the pap-pack, too, of course. It’s a symbiotic relationship made in the gutter: you have the trash, and you have the trash picker-uppers, and you have the trash eaters (anyone who buys magazines or watches celebrity gossip shows). Talk about the Circle of Life!

And the horror doesn’t stop there, oh no it doesn’t! Behold, if you dare, the text of the condolence “letter” penned by Lohan and sent to the family of Robert Altman on the director’s death (who really didn't need any more grief):

"I would like to send my condolences out to Catherine Altman, Robert Altmans wife, as well as all of his immediate family, close friends, co-workers, and all of his inner circle.

I feel as if I've just had the wind knocked out of me and my heart aches.

If not only my heart but the heart of Mr. Altman's wife and family and many fellow actors/artists that admire him for his work and love him for making people laugh whenever and however he could..

Robert altman made dreams possible for many independent aspiring filmmakers, as well as creating roles for countless actors.

I am lucky enough to of been able to work with Robert Altman amongst the other greats on a film that I can genuinely say created a turning point in my career.

I learned so much from Altman and he was the closest thing to my father and grandfather that I really do believe I've had in several years.

The point is, he made a difference.

He left us with a legend that all of us have the ability to do.

So every day when you wake up.

Look in the mirror and thank god for every second you have and cherish all moments.

The fighting, the anger, the drama is tedious.

Please just take each moment day by day and consider yourself lucky to breathe and feel at all and smile. Be thankful.

Life comes once, doesn't 'keep coming back' and we all take such advantage of what we have.

When we shouldn't..... '

Make a searching and fearless moral inventory of yourselves' (12st book) -everytime there's a triumph in the world a million souls hafta be trampled on.-altman Its true. But treasure each triumph as they come.

If I can do anything for those who are in a very hard time right now, as I'm one of them with hearing this news, please take advantage of the fact that I'm just a phone call away.

God Bless, peace and love always.

Thank You,


Lindsay Lohan"

Oh dear God. There’s no excuse for this wretched piece of illiteracy floating before our eyes like sewage in the harbor. Where was her publicist? Her manager? Her mom? Her Long Island public school teachers?? They must be cringing, surely. Or, well, maybe not. Perhaps Literacy Volunteers can stage an intervention.
BTW, Lindsay herself made this atrocity public, for whatever reasons of self-exploitation. Hey, just like her hoo-ha! I sense a theme here…

Still, I’ll give her the benefit of SOME doubt: Maybe Paris and/or Britney helped their fellow Bimbo of the Apocalypse with her grammar. Or maybe she was just drunk from one of her hard-partying nights and "The Elements of Style" simply went straight out of her head. Yeah. That’s the ticket.

Soooo…they dress like sluts, drink like fish, expose themselves with less shame than baboons and write like…well, I don’t want to insult anyone by comparison. Obviously they weren’t taught anything in the realm of manners, modesty, self-worth or language skills. Or any other skills, either, apparently.

I hate to keep harping on days of yore, but when OUR celebrity idols got drunk and disorderly and maybe publicly showed off their naughty bits (Jim, no; looking at YOU, Jimi, Janis, Grace, Woodstock attendees...) way back when, at least there was literacy and creativity and talent to back it up. See that here? Not so much.

Man! What a bad week for Long Island representin’! First Rosie from Commack, now Lindsay from Merrick. (Of course, Billy Joel the Drivin’ Fool from the East End is ever with us…) Who’s next?

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Sounds About Right...

You are Strength

Courage, strength, fortitude. Power not arrested in the act of judgement, but passing on to further action, sometimes obstinacy.

This is a card of courage and energy. It represents both the Lion's hot, roaring energy, and the Maiden's steadfast will. The innocent Maiden is unafraid, undaunted, and indomitable. In some cards she opens the lion's mouth, in others she shuts it. Either way, she proves that inner strength is more powerful than raw physical strength. That forces can be controlled and used to score a victory is very close to the message of the Chariot, which might be why, in some decks, it is Justice that is card 8 instead of Strength. With strength you can control not only the situation, but yourself. It is a card about anger and impulse management, about creative answers, leadership and maintaining one's personal honor. It can also stand for a steadfast friend.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Trek This! User Test: The Trekkie Test.

Commander is fine. Captain is waaaaay too much responsibility.

But if I had a choice, I'd love to be a Q.

Privacy Policy Redux

I have noticed that some people have been trying to get in touch with me via this site. So, once again, here's the deal.

Because of the wacko toxic spiteful lying slimy Doorzoid pieces of garbage out there, I do not allow comments here or on my mirror site, and I will not respond to messages left for my attention on yours. Because you could be an enemy, or a moron, or a Trojan horse, or a horse's ass. I have no way of knowing, and there's no reason on earth I should take the chance of subjecting myself to more of the endless crap.

Also, please do not bother my friends with solicitations for intercession. They're under orders (in the nicest possible way, and I am endlessly thankful to them), and they will not pass anything along.

I'm genuinely sorry that this policy prohibits pleasant discourse with the many delightful, perceptive people and readers who are also out there. I would LOVE to talk with you, and I'm most grateful that you should want to talk to me. But that means opening the portcullis for vermin, and sadly, that's the way of it. Several Keltiad threads and forums have had to be shut and abandoned because hateful crapweasels overwhelmed them with their septic, jealous, envious, totally unconscionable bile, and I'm sick of it.

More seriously, there has also been major stalker activity over the past couple of years, to the point of police reports being filed. One delusional creep, who thinks he's Jim's and my son whom I abandoned as a newborn in a shopping bag in a California mall in May 1968 (ridiculous, considering I only met Jim for the first time in January 1969---he was good, but he wasn't THAT good), and who has been hassling me ever since that damn movie, even went so far as to hunt down neighbors of mine and phone them, asking them to give me messages. Not to mention the insane Italian girl who thinks she's Jim reincarnated and apparently wanted to renew the relationship, or the ones who think...well, never mind. I don't want to give people any ideas.

Hey, nutjobs? I'm A NEW YORKER. I'm ARMED. I'm ANGRY. I'm LETHAL. And I'm WAAAAAY smarter than you are. So stay away from me and my friends and family. Stay far, far away.

But mostly I'm just weary of people asking deeply personal questions they have no business asking, just 'cause they're pruriently curious and they think they have a right to know. Well, you don't. You may believe your questions are urgent and pressing, but I consider them intrusive and rude and the obsessions of borderline psychos. And maybe not even borderline.

I've said what I have to say, in "Strange Days" and elsewhere. And now here. If I ever want you to know anything more than is already out there with my name on it, believe me, I will tell you.

That's all.

Stupid Is As Stupid Does...

There does seem to be a lot of it going around lately. Cases in point:

First we have Rosie O'Donnell, responding in her typical knee-jerk lesbian fashion to the puzzling Clay Aiken putting a hand over Kelly Ripa's mouth on "Regis & Kelly".

I say "puzzling" because I have no idea who Mr. Aiken even IS, really ,let alone if he's gay, except I hear that he was on that, yes, stupid show I never watch. In the little clips I've seen in the news since the incident, he seems bland, talentless and interchangeable with others of his ilk (meaning people who emerge from that stupid show), but that's no business of mine.

Anyway, you've probably heard how Kelly, whom I enjoy watching with Reege of a late-to-rise morning at Casa de Mojo, was saying something and all of a sudden had a big fat Clay Aiken hand over her mouth. She remonstrated, as who wouldn't, by saying she didn't know where that hand had been.

Quite reasonably, in my opinion; and everyone laughed, and the matter seemed over.

Until O'Donnell opened her monstrous and unedited yap and grandly announced that Ripa had been homophobic to say that. To which I reply, WTF???

First, apparently Mr. Aiken's sexuality is undeclared by him, and if he IS gay, then the ignorant, self-absorbed, classless individual from Commack, Long Island (we sneer at Commack in my LI hometown...) just outed him. Way to go, Rosie, ya jerk!

But it really doesn't matter which team Aiken plays for. How the gaudy hell is saying you don't know where someone's hand has been "homophobic"??? Yeesh.

Well, you know, you DON'T know. That hand could have been picking up dog poop, or performing other insalubrious personal-grooming chores, or covered in germs from a current cold or flu. Nothing gay about it.
Ripa was quite correct to comment on the possible uncleanliness of the appendage and equally within her rights not to want it over her mouth. Gay or not, Aiken's a guy, and guys are known to not always wash their hands when they should. I'm just sayin'. I'd have said the same as Kelly did, guy OR girl, objecting merely to the hand's presence and immediately previous sanitary history.

I have both gay and lesbian friends who were TOTALLY exasperated at O'Donnell's immediate loud-mouthed inconsidered erroneous fingerpointing. It's allllllways reflexively accusing with agendists and stubbornly blinkered people like her---be they gays or Republicans or Islamists---and GOD is it annoying.
O'Donnell, it's not always, or even most times, against gayness. (Or indeed Republicanism or Islam.) Get a grip.

We heard the next day that Kelly muffles Reege sometimes in similar fashion, but that's different. He's her on-air sidekick, with whom she is apparently on good and friendly terms. Aiken was a stranger, and had no business taking the liberty of clamping his possibly unwashed paw over her mouth. So, Rosie, just shut the fuck up, 'kay?

And then we have Michael Richards, aka Cosmo Kramer, publicly out of control, ranting and raving, using the n-word, in front of a passel of club patrons with cellphones. Now this I find genuinely offensive, though in fairness I must point out that if black persons use the n-word about one another a million times a day, in rap and in speech, I think they really aren't allowed to get their knickers too much in a twist if the word is used about them. Again, just sayin'.

And I think that word is vile no matter WHO uses it.

But, like Mel Gibson and his anti-Semitic rant, that kind of thing doesn't come flying down out of nowhere. No matter how much drink you've taken. No matter how many people heckle you. Most people, when they're drunk or nettled, DON'T start immediately spewing generalized racist vomit. The words and mindset have to be there, deep down, before they erupt into public view like a pustulent zit. Not a pretty sight, and not the product of a shining soul.

And I'm not even going to mention that true excremental excrescence, the one whose initials are those of happy little citrus juice. The less said about him the better. I hope the ground opens up and swallows him, and I won't be the least surprised if his children go all Menendez on his lying murdering ass one day.

What IS it with people? I don't think such blind and staggering stupidity is necessarily a function of being famous, or infamous. Plenty of regular old sorts do the same thing every day. It's just that BECAUSE they're famous, the perpetrators of these uncharming lapses get national and international attention. But maybe so-called celebrities think they have free rein to be offensive because their fame will insulate them from repercussions. And sad to say, it all so often does.

We didn't think like that back in the day, mostly because if we did stupid public things we were immediately called on it by somebody---the police, or the Brain Police, or our mates or families or friends. There were indeed repercussions and consequences. Nowadays, the thinking, if one can call it that, seems to be Hey, let all the mental sewage just come bubbling out like toxic seep, no harm no foul.

Well, I say plenty foul, my legions. And plenty harm, too.

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Happy Belated Birthday... MDF Kathleen Quinlan, whose natal day was November 19. May God/dess set a flower on your head, dear girl. If I had to be played in a movie by anyone, I am so glad it was you. (And not Molly Ringwald.) (Who is no doubt a lovely person, but when it comes to someone to make me look incredibly good on screen AND stay friends with for sixteen years and counting, contest.) The stars obviously shone on the hour of our meeting.

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Rude the Obscured

Angels and ministers of grace defend us! Rudy Giuliani has launched his presidential bid.

Now many folk think Rude was a god at 9/11. Not so, my legions! Let us not forget that among his many other sins, offenses and negligences, Rudy Boy was the one who okayed putting the emergency command center, yes, that's right, the one that's supposed to be Ground Control Nerve Central in case of disasters, RIGHT AT THE WORLD TRADE CENTER SITE. In a building that was not only damaged but came crashing down. Great decision, Rudy!

As for his "leadership", please! He THANKED GOD that Bush was the president. He posed and strutted all over that tragic stage and did little if anything to help. True, Bloombugger is the one who's dissing rescue workers into the grave. But he's working off a Rudy blueprint.

Anybody aware of the tons of cameras on him that day and thereafter would have behaved just as he did. For the cameras. He bogarts the credit for "keeping New York together," but pardon me while I throw up. WE did that. WE kept OURSELVES together. We didn't need Rudy's "help" then and we don't need it now. The man is a divisive, arrogant little publicity hog and a nasty, smug, smarmy piece of work.

I will give him grudging credit for lessening crime and getting the homeless off the streets and into shelters. But that's it. If that power-hungry weasel gets elected to national office it will be a horror show. Not as bad as Chimpy, of course, but right up there. Hey, don't forget, he tried to get the term limits as NYC mayor tossed out after 9-11 'cause he thought he was fucking indispensable. Yeah, we noted that, Rudy. Buh-bye.

People! Hear my voice crying in the wilderness! DO NOT OPEN WIDE AND SWALLOW THIS! A McCain-Rudy/Rudy-McCain ticket is not the way we need to go. If you do, you will be sorry in ways you can only imagine. You heard it here first.

Monday, November 13, 2006

Praise Day for David Walley

On Thursday, November 9, at 11pm, David Walley came home (in spirit) to the East Village.

A little backstory: David was briefly my boyfriend in 1968 and my friend forever after, probably the closest friend I have ever had (even though we periodically drove each other up the wall). Certainly the longest-running… After we broke up, I met Jim (David always dramatically claimed I dumped him for the Lizard King...not true, David!) and married him, and then he died, and David and I both continued to live in the East Village, where I am still ensconced. He went out to LA for a couple of years, then came back to NYC, then got married to the love of his life, Geli Pearson, his only wife, and moved with her (and ultimately four children: Melissa, Linzy, Sean and K.C), to Stephentown NY, Williamstown MA and on to York, Maine, where he died while writing at the computer.

He is one of the original Sixties rock critics, severely underappreciated for his work, and wrote for many underground newspapers, most notably the East Village Other.
He is the author of “No Commercial Potential”, the first Frank Zappa bio ever published (and a hoot and a half, though humorless Mr. Zappa hated it) and other books, including an Ernie Kovacs bio and a series of essays on the Sixties, “Teenage Nervous Breakdown.” All of which are well worth the reading.

David’s friend at Rutgers University (who closed their undefeated football season that same night! Go Scarlet Knights!) back in those days was Lenny Kaye. When David started to write for me at Jazz & Pop (we met in July 1968; he had inherited my former job at the publishing company Macmillan, after I went to Jazz & Pop earlier that year), he promptly introduced me to Lenny, and Lenny too started to review and interview (his interview with Arthur Lee of Love is a psychedelic classic). Then Lenny wrote a brilliant piece on doo-wop for the magazine and Patti Smith read it and contacted him, and the rest is of course rock history.

David was no slouch either in the critic department: his interview with the MC5 (can be read on their website; Rob Tyner’s wife asked if she could post it a couple of years ago, lest it be lost) stands as maybe the quintessential Sixties tract ever. Genius. He also interviewed Alvin Lee, Zappa, Jeff Beck, Ian Anderson, Iggy Stooge (as he then was) and a bunch more. They recognized and responded to a brother head and kindred spirit, and he got great stuff out of them all.

A few years later, when I was copy director of the ad department at CBS Records, I hired Gary Lucas, who had been a guitarist with Captain Beefheart. He brought his wild hair and wilder sensibilities to writing record ads, and now has his band Gods and Monsters, familiar to audiences from the East Village to Eastern Europe. David and Lenny and Gary and I stayed friends all these years: it’s nice to have that kind of history with people, even if you don’t see them all that often. There’s always the knowledge that you can walk right in and pick up exactly where you left off. And those boys were, of course, a trip and a half to work with.

So I am the boss of all of them! (Well, okay, I'm not the boss of Patti. But I do feel somewhat responsible for her connection to Link…)

Anyway, Lenny and Gary organized this small celebration of David and his supreme craziness and dearness to us all. Geli Walley and their lovely eldest daughter, Melissa, attended, and it felt great to have them there.

I was there, of course (Time Out New York for this week kindly billed Lenny, Gary and me as “downtown legends”, soooo cool). I read two poems (“Dirge without Music”, Edna St. Vincent Millay; and some lines from “Lastwords,” a poem Jim left for me in the event of his death, unpublished and never before read in public); and recited from memory the first poem I ever recited to David, “Jabberwocky”. And I talked a bit about him, how we met, how we stayed close friends, how he met Jim and the two of them hit it off, how David protected Jim and me, as our beard to help keep our relationship out of the public eye…

For a while there I actually thought I was going to stroke out onstage, which would have been quite perfect, really---VERY rock and roll. As I started to speak (which I wish I could have done more eloquently, I had all sorts of funny David stories prepared and they completely deserted me), all of a sudden this enormous fullness or pressure zoomed up the back of my head and just sat there throbbing. Not a headache. It felt like a helm, or a crest, or a crown. Something, anyway. Pisces energy. The only other time it’s happened was when my beloved maternal grandma died in 1998, at age 102, and I was reading some ancient Celtic prayers at her Mass. She was born on March 18, like David, and she never failed to send fond greetings to him on their birthday (and he felt great affection for her in return). Anyway, I figure it was the two of them making their presence known to me as I read for them; at least that’s what it felt like.

This all took place at the Bowery Poetry Club, right across from the now-gone CBGB’s, a tiny room with a tiny stage. Gary and Lenny played like the guitar gods they are: the Rutgers University college song, “Trouble Coming Every Day” (the only Mothers of Invention song I like), “Help I’m A Rock”, the Nairobi Trio skit (from Ernie Kovacs’ TV show, and they did it IN GORILLA MASKS, joined by another friend of David likewise attired---I was on the floor with laughter), couple more things.

At my request, because it’s my favorite Patti Smith Band song EVER, Lenny sang “Ghost Dance” as the closer, and dedicated it to David and to me, because I’d given them both their first jobs in rock and roll. It was a lovely, lovely moment, and a lovely, lovely night.
I went home after the gig and David came and hung out for a while, as he did at Samhain. I could never mistake his energy.

One of the things I liked best about our friendship was when I was able to make him really laugh (well, I like that with all my friends, actually), and I tried every chance I got. It was such a joyful place he got to when he was really tickled, you couldn’t not laugh along with him, and it makes me smile now. Makes me cry too, but mostly it makes me smile, as he always did. He occasionally annoyed the hell out of me (as I did him), and we had a couple of HUGE unresolved issues dating from when we were, well, dating, and we were on a break from our friendship when he died.
But I truly treasured him, and though I often told him that, I never told him that often enough.

Rock on, Mishkin!

Thursday, November 09, 2006

A Plague Off Both Our Houses

Dems, the ball's in your court, step up to the plate, the chickens have come home to roost, quoth the Raven, "nevermore", whatever cliches you like.

You have control of both houses of Congress, and now it's over to YOU. I expect great things. I want the world and I want it NOW.

And the first thing I want you people, for whom I have voted all my life and never asked a thing of in return, to do is to deep-six, bury deep, blow to smithereens, etc., etc., all the so-called "Patriot" crap that the Unelected President has pushed down our gagging and retching throats.
The Bill of Rights must be restored to all its wise glory, and the cynical, terror-slanted "improvements" (violations, illegalities, etc., etc.) with which Weasel Prez has besmirched us all must be cleared away like vomit. MUST. GO. NOW. AT ONCE. IMMEDIATELY. Get on the stick and JUST FUCKING DO IT.

And then I want Shrub and Cheney impeached. Yes! On criminal charges, unlike the trumped-up trivial crapola they threw at Bill.

A Democratic majority and the assistance of similarly revolted Repubs (there are a few...) can push at least the Patriot Act revocations through, no prob. It cannot be allowed to hang around like the vulture it is a moment longer. It has made us look like hicks and rubes and morons in the eyes of the world, it betrays all our own founding principles, and because so many of you bent over and took it when Mr. Pestilence pushed it on you is why you OWE US now to make it be gone.

Okay, that's first on MY wish list. I'm just sayin'. And I do think you owe me.

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Bedfellows Make Strange Politics

After the election excitement, I was just remembering how apolitical Mr. Mojo was...he was concerned with bigger game, truly. And he was probably right. But I do like to get into a rant or two, as by now you've surely noticed.
And if I never have to see another nasty slimy political ad again, it will be aeons too soon. I hereby propose a motion to limit campaigning the way the Brits do. Six weeks. That's it. Do I hear a second? Right, then.

So! Rummy is history! And bad history at that. Trust Chimpy McFlightsuit to know his own (what it pleases him to call his) mind: Only last week he was all "Yeah, I have total confidence in Rummy and will never let him go", and now it's all "So long don't let the Oval Office door hit you on the way out."

Yeah, yeah, W's claiming it was all set in stone long ago and he didn't want to "interfere" with the election by announcing it before yesterday. But , but, but then why risk losing votes (and he did lose votes) by keeping Rummy on till after the election? In the always correct words of Hermione Granger, What. An. Idiot.

But that's just the chocolate buttercream on the frosting of my Cake of Election Delight. Democrats control House. Democrats control everything in New York but NYC Mayor. Nancy Pelosi as first woman Speaker of the House. And man, will that House be spoken to!

True, Ahnuld gets a callback, and the vile turncoat suckup Bush-head Lieberman won in Connecticut, but pish. It is a very good day at Casa de Mojo.

Now the newly elected Democrats just better get their act together pronto. We're sick of all the crapola. DO SOMETHING.

Thursday, November 02, 2006

Muck You, Dubya!

From today's New York Times:


The Great Divider

Published: November 2, 2006

As President Bush throws himself into the final days of a particularly nasty campaign season, he’s settled into a familiar pattern of ugly behavior. Since he can’t defend the real world created by his policies and his decisions, Mr. Bush is inventing a fantasy world in which to campaign on phony issues against fake enemies.

In Mr. Bush’s world, America is making real progress in Iraq. In the real world, as Michael Gordon reported in yesterday’s Times, the index that generals use to track developments shows an inexorable slide toward chaos. In Mr. Bush’s world, his administration is marching arm in arm with Iraqi officials committed to democracy and to staving off civil war. In the real world, the prime minister of Iraq orders the removal of American checkpoints in Baghdad and abets the sectarian militias that are slicing and dicing their country.

In Mr. Bush’s world, there are only two kinds of Americans: those who are against terrorism, and those who somehow are all right with it. Some Americans want to win in Iraq and some don’t. There are Americans who support the troops and Americans who don’t support the troops. And at the root of it all is the hideously damaging fantasy that there is a gulf between Americans who love their country and those who question his leadership.

Mr. Bush has been pushing these divisive themes all over the nation, offering up the ludicrous notion the other day that if Democrats manage to control even one house of Congress, America will lose and the terrorists will win. But he hit a particularly creepy low when he decided to distort a lame joke lamely delivered by Senator John Kerry of Massachusetts. Mr. Kerry warned college students that the punishment for not learning your lessons was to “get stuck in Iraq.” In context, it was obviously an attempt to disparage Mr. Bush’s intelligence. That’s impolitic and impolite, but it’s not as bad as Mr. Bush’s response. Knowing full well what Mr. Kerry meant, the president and his team cried out that the senator was disparaging the troops. It was a depressing replay of the way the Bush campaign Swift-boated Americans in 2004 into believing that Mr. Kerry, who went to war, was a coward and Mr. Bush, who stayed home, was a hero.

It’s not the least bit surprising or objectionable that Mr. Bush would hit the trail hard at this point, trying to salvage his party’s control of Congress and, by extension, his last two years in office. And we’re not naïve enough to believe that either party has been running a positive campaign that focuses on the issues.

But when candidates for lower office make their opponents out to be friends of Osama bin Laden, or try to turn a minor gaffe into a near felony, that’s just depressing. When the president of the United States gleefully bathes in the muck to divide Americans into those who love their country and those who don’t, it is destructive to the fabric of the nation he is supposed to be leading.

This is hardly the first time that Mr. Bush has played the politics of fear, anger and division; if he’s ever missed a chance to wave the bloody flag of 9/11, we can’t think of when. But Mr. Bush’s latest outbursts go way beyond that. They leave us wondering whether this president will ever be willing or able to make room for bipartisanship, compromise and statesmanship in the two years he has left in office.

Couldn't have said it better myself.

Kerry On

Will someone not step forward to guide and advise Senator Kerry? I admire him tremendously (and he's a big Doors fan), but he needs a Yoda. Really. Or maybe just a grating of some sort to keep his foot out of his mouth. How someone so smart can speak so stupidly on so many occasions is a mystery to me.

That said, I happen to totally agree with his maligned and misunderstood and clumsily made point.

Dig it, brothers and sisters! The people who get sent to Iraq ARE for the most part uneducated. Or at least undereducated. No one's saying they're stupid, and Kerry didn't say that. He just said they had less education than their contemps lucky enough to not be drafted ('cause there IS no draft, otherwise you'd be seeing student protest on a level to rival 1968) and to not be in Eye-rack.

You don't see so many Ivy League kiddies or Rhodes Scholars or dean's listers from just about any college there is over there, do you? No. You do not. Because they don't have to go, and they don't. That was all he meant, however infelicitously expressed to the glee of our enemies (and by "enemies" I mean Republicans).

But leave it to Chimpy McFlightsuit the Lipless Wonder and his bitter slot-mouthed wife (she trashed Michael J. Fox! She said his TV ad, so brave and painful to watch, was "manipulative". Well, bitch, I guess you would know alllll about that) to put slant (it's not even spin anymore) all over it.

I tell you, they make me want to throw up, with successive tsunami-level heaves of pure nausea, both physical and spiritual. I can't even look at them in the papers or on TV: Chimpy is a lying, shucking, jiving, grinning overprivileged zomboid with the emptiest eyes (and brain!) this side of the Gobi Desert, and Mrs. Chimp is an enabling harpy whose smile could freeze the Gulf Stream. Keep your children away from them, people!


And once again, the Galahad of the media: