Presidential Navel Gazing
I will admit (and how could I do otherwise given my endless blogging) that it has taken me two days to figure out the magnitude of the tragedy in the Indian ocean, and to realize just how devastating and horrific it all is. I admit to having finally been roused out of my self-indulgent torpor when I realized that tourists (people like me!) in Thailand (places I've visited!) were killed. I admit to thinking as much about alopecia and the bruise on my knee (why do I bruise so easily? Could I have leukemia?) as about the massive death toll.
But I'm not the president, goddamn it. Guess what, you blithering idiot. When you're president of the only remaining superpower and 68,000 people are killed in a matter of moments, your vacation is over. You don't keep clearing brush while the heads of the rest of the world's nations are doing their best to figure out how best to provide aide.
Wow. 35,000,000 dollars in US aide. What is that? Half the athlete's foot powder budget for the Iraq war? A day's pay for your basic Halliburton subsidiary? Oh, no, wait. It's the Christmas bonus for a Goldman Sachs partner.