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My liberal friends insist that Rathergate is really all Karl Rove's fault, that he did the forgeries- probably crafted them himself, with the Eviltron 400 (TM) word processor and weather controller- and fed them to Bil Burkett and somehow did it with no fingerprints involved.

Maybe they're right. I've been sent photographic evidence of Rove discussing his plan with the President. You be the judge:

Hard to argue with this kind of incontrovertible proof.

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From AP:

Staking out new ground on Iraq, Sen. John Kerry said Monday he would not have overthrown Saddam Hussein had he been in the White House, and he accused President Bush of "stubborn incompetence," dishonesty and colossal failures of judgment. Bush said Kerry was flip-flopping.

Less than two years after voting to give Bush authority to invade Iraq, the Democratic candidate said the president had misused that power by rushing to war without the backing of allies, a post-war plan or proper equipment for U.S. troops. "None of which I would have done," Kerry said.

"Saddam Hussein was a brutal dictator who deserves his own special place in hell," he added. "But that was not, in itself, a reason to go to war. The satisfaction we take in his downfall does not hide this fact: We have traded a dictator for a chaos that has left America less secure."

From 1944:

Staking out new ground on Europe, Sen. John Kerry said Monday he would not have gone to war against Adolf Hitler had he been in the White House, and he accused President Roosevelt of "stubborn incompetence," dishonesty and colossal failures of judgment. Roosevelt said Kerry was flip-flopping.

Kerry said the president had misused his power by rushing to war without the backing of Italy, Japan, or the Vichy government of France, a post-war plan or proper equipment for U.S. troops. "None of which I would have done," Kerry said.

"Adolf Hitler is a brutal dictator who deserves his own special place in hell," he added. "But that was not, in itself, a reason to go to war. The satisfaction we take in his possible downfall does not hide this fact: We are trading a dictator for a chaos that has left America less secure."

You know what I would respect more? If Kerry would say, "yeah, it's good we got rid of Saddam, and while I'd have done some things differently, that part turned out fine. I think we can be doing better in the post-war period, because we should have a plan that includes being more aggressive against the insurgents and terrorists and we should be recognizing and battling the danger of extremist Islam." I'd be interested in VOTING for that. Instead, he lurches between lukewarm war support and telling the rabid anti-war-at-any-cost crowd whatever he thinks they want to hear. The latter seems to be the plan for the rest of the campaign, and that's too bad. I think the majority of voters realize that platitudes about waiting until France and Germany and the U.N. joined the coalition are pretty hopeless, that France and Germany and the U.N. had no self-interest in doing so (and what we're learning- slowly- about the the oil-for-food scam ought to seal that one for good). I also think that a lot of voters, if anything, are upset with Bush for not being aggressive enough, for not finishing enough of the job before settling back and allowing the Sunni Triangle to become overrun with opposition.

It's a shame, really, that Kerry's not offering a realistic alternative to Bush's conduct of the war. There IS an opportunity for someone to challenge Bush on this. But the winning argument isn't to insist that the war shouldn't have been fought or that we'd all be better off if Saddam was still in there. Voters are looking for fire, not a wet blanket.

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Dear ABC:

I am watching the Monday Night Football game in progress on your network right now over your Los Angeles station, KABC-TV. I would like to register a complaint about the coverage your network is providing, specifically the following:

Jim Belushi.

There have been "According to Jim" promos on this game telecast at every possible opportunity. Mr. Belushi appeared live at halftime for no apparent reason. Mr. Belushi has been on my TV screen more than Terrell Owens tonight, and I'm sure you'll agree that this should not be the case.

As you know, "According to Jim" is on your schedule because your program development people were unable to come up with any better options this Fall, and the default ratings were enough to leave it in place while "Life With Bonnie" got the ax. That's fine with me- I do not have to watch "According to Jim," and accodringly do not- but it is cruel and unusual to inflict Mr. Belushi on viewers who wish only to watch Donovan McNabb and Daunte Culpepper, not the bloated and mildly embarrassing brother of a revered but long-dead entertainer. Please ensure that this never happens again. Thank you.

Oh, and lose the Alanis Morissette thing, too. Nobody wants to see that.

Sincerely,

Perry Michael Simon

P.S.: I am an Eagles fan, with all that implies. You don't want to make me angry.

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On the way home from dinner, I realized that it's all Yngwie J. Malmsteen's fault.

We were cruising south on Hawthorne Boulevard, dreaming up names for Fran's sister's baby, which we know will be a boy. And we were amusing ourselves with names that play off of her married surname, which happens to be "Horsey"- yes, Giddyap was in there, and Dorsey, and countless other jokes. And there was the category of Old Jewish Guy's Names, like Sol and Irving and Shlomo and Menachem. And then I blurted out the idea of naming the kid Yngwie J. Horsey.

Silence.

You know, Yngwie J. Malmsteen.

Silence.

Yngwie J. Malmsteen. The guitar guy. Yngwie J. Malmsteen's Rising Force. Hero to metal guitar geeks. Yngwie J. Malmsteen.

Fran looked at me from the corner of her eye. "Oh, um, yeah."

And that's when I realized that I know too much Yngwie J. Malmsteen and too little of the stuff that'll make me money.

I know a lot, but precious little of it is salable knowledge. Do I know quantum physics? Nope. Do I know the Uniform Commercial Code? Nope, and I had classes on that in law school. Do I know how to fix a car, split an atom, manage a large multinational corporation?

Nope. But I DO know who Yngwie J. Malmsteen is. That's what occupies my brain cells. Yngwie J. Malmsteen and Joe Besser and Marv Throneberry. The Baltimore Claws, the Fish that Saved Pittsburgh and the Cleveland Steamer. (Hey, Baltimore, Pittsburgh, and Cleveland- the three football franchises that switched from the NFL to the AFC when the leagues merged. I know that, too) Soupy Sales, Wallace and Ladmo, Wee Willie Webber. Pete Best, Stu Sutcliffe, Billy Preston. Joe Pyne, Leon Lewis, Long John Nebel. DuMont, Metromedia, Fox. J.J. Walker, B.B. King, G.G. Allin. Darby Conley, Darby Crash, Upper Darby. Dick Capri, Freddie Roman, Slappy White.

Useless, all of it.

OK, there's value, I suppose, in eclectic pop cultural knowledge. And I have some peculiar pockets of knowledge- I can tell you the TV stations (call letters, network affiliation, channel number, even owner and history) in many if not most American and Canadian markets, I can give you directions, off the top of my head, to major landmarks in a disturbing number of cities, I can recite the history of long-lost sports leagues like the ABA and the ABL (the 1961 version) and the WFL. But I can't always remember the important and useful stuff. There's no room. It's all taken up with junk, stuff I need not know... Yngwie J. Malmsteen.

So it's Yngwie J. Malmsteen's fault. He's taking up room. And as I get older and the storage space shrinks, there's no way to discard ol' Yngwie. I'm stuck with Yngwie J. Malmsteen. And the only saving grace is that, now, some poor guitar fan will Google Yngwie J. Malmsteen and get this. He'll come for the Malmsteen, and leave with Slappy White.

And maybe that's my calling- to pass along the knowledge. If I must live under this curse, at least I'll have company.

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Yesterday, he was Greg Behrendt, standup comic, father, husband, all-around nice guy.

Then, today, he was on Oprah, plugging his book.

Now, his book is the Number One Best-Seller on Amazon.com.

Number One at Barnes and Noble, too.

And the cool thing? It's funny and perceptive, he's a great guy, and you should buy the book now. Right now. Go.

I don't know, maybe I should be jealous. I'll save that for when he no longer returns my calls because he's too big a star. Maybe next week.

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I'm not supposed to look at Yom Kippur as a day off- it's a day of atonement, after all. But I do need a day off, and this is the only way I'm gonna get it.

I feel for Shawn Green, really I do, because I know what he's thinking. He's thinking that if he had a real job, a job the public doesn't follow, a job like actuary or accountant or pediatrician, he could take the holiday off and nobody would care. Better still, he could take the day off and nobody would watch to see if he goes to services, if he fasts, if he avoids driving and brushing his teeth and all that stuff. If he's Mr. S. Green, nondescript, non-famous Jewish guy, he gets to stay home, not go to services, and, sometime in the late morning or early afternoon on Saturday, tell Mrs. Green that he's had it, he's going to In-N-Out for a burger because he can't stand the fasting any longer, and she tells him that's okay, as long as it's not in the house, and he jumps into the family car headed for the drive-thru when both of them know they both cheated in the middle of the night, sneaking an apple or a sandwich when they thought the other was asleep.

You don't think that's the drill? Lemme tell you, when I was a kid, this is exactly how it went: we fasted after dinner, watched some TV, went to sleep. The next morning, we skipped breakfast, then, around lunchtime, Dad and I- not Mom or Joanie, they were stronger- would slip out the door (with Mom saying "I don't care WHAT you do, just not in the house!") and head for Gino's for some Kentucky Fried Chicken. We'd go back, and by about 4 pm, Joan would have succumbed- sneaked something when Mom wasn't looking- and Mom would say okay, that's it, I can't do it anymore, but not in the house. That was the rule, not in the house. So we'd pile into the car and head to where we assumed we'd be safe, far enough away from home so nobody we'd know would see us- the Claremont Diner in Verona. And we'd walk in and, sure enough, the ENTIRE JEWISH POPULATION OF WAYNE, NEW JERSEY would be there, sheepishly looking away, caught red-handed and full-bellied, hours before sundown.

That's what Yom Kippur means to me. If you're Famous Baseball Star Jew, you can't do that. You're a role model. You're SuperJew. And if you don't play, you will be watched. You will have to go to services, on Friday night and on Saturday. You will not be able to sneak a bite when nobody's looking, because everyone WILL be looking. You will be scrutinized for Jewish Perfection from sundown to sundown.

And that's why I wouldn't have blamed him for deciding to play on Saturday afternoon. (He's playing Friday night, staying home Saturday, which is kinda backwards, but that's okay- given the circumstances, you can't blame him for compromising) Saturday afternoon's about right, really, for most Reform Jews- by 1 pm, you've had enough of the fasting, enough of the sitting around. You're stir crazy. You HAVE to go get something to eat, go do something, go to the park and grab a bat and try to beat the Giants. Anything. It's what we're all about- good intentions, a game attempt at hanging in and following the rules, and, eventually, failure of the flesh. And it's the first thing for which to atone next Yom Kippur.

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The movie they're shooting down the street is spreading. This morning, when I was running, I was passed by about a dozen trucks with Sony Pictures logos on them, carrying equipment to a house in Palos Verdes Estates where they'd set up tables with craft services food on them on the sidewalk across the street. There were guys with walkie talkies, and it all seemed very Secret Service-ish.

Later in the day, I headed out to the post office, and they'd taken over the corner of PV Drive and Hawthorne Boulevard, by the 76 gas station. A couple of phone booths had sprouted up on the sidewalk, as had about a zillion traffic cones cordoning off a lane, and there were cops and cameras everywhere. Cops and trucks all over, and a Los Angeles Sheriff's squad car blocking both lanes of traffic in the downhill direction. I've never seen so many cops without a chalk outline of a body amidst them.

This was all because of Jim Carrey. They shoot a lot of movies around here, but I've never, ever seen so much security and so many cops. But when your stars are Viggo Mortensen or even Drew Barrymore, Cameron Diaz, and Lucy Liu, the cops stay home. Same for Matthew Broderick and whoever the hell was in "Life As a House." But drop Jim Carrey out here at the edge of civilization and suddenly it's like Bush, Kerry, and Salman Rushdie were converging for a confab at the Golden Cove Starbucks. I mean, it's Jim Carrey, people- Jim Carrey! "Dumb and Dumber" Jim Carrey! "Ace Ventura" Jim Carrey! The man's a genius! Avert your eyes when in his presence and speak only when spoken to!

I don't resent it too much. The movies supposedly bring a lot of money to the local economy, although I never see anyone from the set actually contributing to the local economy by patronizing local businesses, not even Starbucks. And all we get is noise and traffic and inconvenience, and... um... you know, actually, I DO resent it.

But in about a year, we'll pay our ten bucks to see our neighborhood on the big screen- look, you can see the lighthouse in the background! There's our 76 station!- and we'll marvel about how cool it is to see an artificially altered, flat picture of the same thing we can see every day in full color and 3-D, live and in person, because, like playing Madden 2005 instead of watching a game on Sunday, reality pales next to the unreal thing.

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It's 2004, right?

Then is there any possible excuse for Wal-Mart to have sold "The Protocols of the Elders of Zion" through its web site with a description that indicated it might be factual?

Is there anyone left who doesn't know what that is, how virulently anti-Semitic and fraudulent a tract it is?

I shop at Wal-Mart. I own Wal-Mart stock. I'm pissed. And I do not accept "gee, we didn't know" for an answer.

Heads have gotta roll for this. Nobody's saying they can't sell it. I could say they shouldn't, because they don't HAVE to, but, certainly, they could have done what Amazon and Barnes and Noble do, attach warnings to it.

Tonight starts the Day of Atonement. I'm telling you, Wal-Mart better damn sure atone for this.

(On the other hand, maybe Dan Rather and Mary Mapes vouched for the source...)

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It's pushing midnight on the west coast and I'm sitting here in a darkened room staring at the computer screen because I temporarily lost the ability to dream tonight.

A lot of things are catching up to me right now. It's been a pretty difficult year, and that fact combined with another fact- I have not had any real time off for a very, very long time- whacked me across the face tonight. Normally, in that situation, I can lose myself in thoughts about things I'm looking forward to accomplishing, projects I want to start, things I want to write, but lately those pleasant, creative thoughts have been replaced by thoughts of absolute dread of the alarm clock. I've been up before the crack of dawn writing every day for I don't know how long, and writing after dark. I've been planted in front of a computer keyboard for years, nonstop, whether I'm here at home or traveling or in an airport waiting area preparing to see my father for the last time or ro go and deal with his estate and the lawyers. I've worked through family crises, illness, creative blocks. And through it all, I sustained myself knowing that it was all leading to...

...to what? Good question. And that's where the dreams come in. People dream of a bright future from the moment they know what "future" means. Kids dream of being a ballplayer or doctor or fireman. Teens dream of getting laid and getting rich. People in their twenties dream of getting laid and getting rich. Everyone dreams of something- becoming president, becoming a famous actor, becoming Donald Trump (only with better hair). And as time goes on, some of the dreams drop by the wayside- you realize you can't hit a curve ball, you'll never just happen to make the acquaintance of Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton, you'll never record the biggest hit single in rock history. But you still hold onto some dreams- maybe you'll write the Great American Novel, maybe you'll hit the lottery. Hey, stranger things have happened, right? And you drift off to sleep, thinking about what you'll do with all that money.

And then, one evening, you go blank.

That's what happened to me. It started with a recurring rant I go through in my mind every once in a while, the "I must not be as smart as I think, considering the number of non-smart people who appear to be doing far better then I" discussion, and that led to the "who the hell do you think you're kidding, what you are today is what you're going to be tomorrow" self-pity thing, and, in turn, that got me to the "you're in your forties- too late" thread. And before long, like a hard drive left near a powerful magnet, the dreams got erased, the book ideas trashed, the scripts deleted, the radio projects and the TV projects and the creative concepts dropped in the "you don't have time for any of that" pile.

Which is, of course, partly true and partly bull. I often say that I know I can't be as smart as I think, not if (fill in the blank) is still not only employed but being paid a fortune despite (fill in the transgression). And success sometimes DOES come to the undeserving, but that doesn't mean the less successful aren't either deserving or liable to experience success in the future. It's just that sometimes, fried from unending work, I manage to lose sight of the second part of that equation and focus on the first. And that can only lead to thinking that things are futile, hopeless, that I'm deluding myself with all these projects and proposals, because this- suburban guy in his forties waking up before the birds and writing all freakin' day, every day, all week, all year- is what I am and what I will be.

Try getting to sleep after THAT.

Some people can still have dreams and ideas and youthful exuberance in their "senior years." You read about guys in their 80's still starting businesses and trying skydiving and doing new things. That's great, but it's also not common. Most people, I imagine, give up earlier, resign themselves to whatever it is they've achieved and nothing more at some point. Maybe, for some, it's the addition of kids- having to provide for a family means you need career stability, hence you won't be ditching the actuarial job for a career in stand-up comedy. Maybe for others it's age- certainly, if you're in your 40's, it's too late to pull a Roy Hobbs and hit the home run that wins the World Series.

For me, it's temporary- those projects haven't really been erased, and I really DON'T know what will become of me, but I still have hope, not that the Phillies will add me to the 25 man roster by Opening Day 2005 but that, you know, the best is yet to come. And I know there are worse things to be than a writer who doesn't have to leave his house to work.

Hey, I feel a lot better now. All I needed was to talk it out.

Now, where did I put that Lotto ticket?

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