In the comments to my previous post, there have been a number of extraordinarily good points made, so I am going to try to tackle a large number of them at the same time. I wrote a post in response to commentary to my earlier post.  While it was being written, I discovered that Jeff had posted a follow-up and that some folks had responded rather

Congrats, BRD!  You’ve graduated to war porn! Sad how, in a piece where you nod more to an Andrew Sullivan than, say, a Bill Quick, you are labeled with such a broad, blood-soaked brush by someone either intent on misunderstanding your or incapable of understanding you. Let me say that having written about this kind of thing myself here on several occasions, I’ve enjoyed the debate happening in the comments

ATKINSON, N.H.—Brad Delp, the lead singer for Boston, a huge rock sensation in the 1970s, was found dead Friday in his home, police said. He was 55. For a number of reasons, some of which it would be best not to go into here, I remember the summer of 1976 very fondly. That was the summer a couple of friends and I stole the giant picture of Randy White from

—Yeah, about that.  Seems the little bastard hacked his way into my PayPal account, helped himself to a couple three hundred dollars, then—while I was out rolling hobos for loose change—he ordered in some Thai food, a pair of co-ed “escorts,” and drilled his way through the liquor cabinet lock with my DeWalt cordless. When I finally made it home (with $14.33 in change and a half bottle of ungodly

I was going home a few days ago, and a thought struck me.  Not an idle notion, or an intriguing idea, but a sickening, clammy, dead certainty.  The realization struck me with sufficient force that in another era I would have claimed that it was a vision from God.  This is a very difficult sort of thing for me to put my finger on, but it was the kind of