But One Limb To Give [Nov 3, 2003]

I went to see Shattered Glass over the weekend, and was bitterly disappointed that my role in the sordid affair was glossed over, and, some would say, utterly ignored by the screenwriter. This is very typical, I think, of the way Hollywood treats the Jews. To set the record straight: I was at The New Republic the whole time, or at least part of the time, if nothing else then because I was constantly trying to get Leon Weiseltier to return my calls.

Also, I found the ending of the film, where Glass ascends to heaven only to be cast down to hell by the angel of Walter Lippmann, thoroughly unrealistic. The filmmaker took certain other liberties as well. Marty Peretz (mispronounced in the film as POO-ROTZ), would not have served wine during an editorial meeting, and certainly not that particular wine. Also, I know for a fact that Glass, for all his faults, never whipped out his penis in the office, asking whoever who would look, "do you think it's big enough?" If you want to see a real movie about high-stakes journalism, catch Veronica Guerin at your local dollar cinema. At last, someone is telling the truth about the deadly death squads of Venezuelan "President" Hugo Chavez.

The movie was really my second choice for weekend entertainment, but my current cocktail of medications prevented me from attending the Mount Winchester Community Singers All-Star Salute To Elliott Smith. I was saddened, while on my rock tour, to hear of Mr. Smith's demise, as he always was my favorite Canadian economist. It's gratifying to see that America's young people are paying appropriate tribute to the man who helped formulate the sound economic theory that undocumented immigrants, particularly Mexicans, steal the souls of legal children. I'm grateful to CNN's Lou Dobbs, who in recent weeks has brought this terrible problem to new light.

I was also busy over the weekend reading letters from soldiers wounded in what I'm now calling the Iraqi Renaissance. If you watch television or read newspapers and magazines, you might get the wrong idea that we're losing the Renaissance, or at least flailing about without much direction. But take it from my highly-reliable correspondents who file from anonymous email addresses. Our soldiers are not losing their resolve, and thanks to our brilliant strategy of opening schools and then surrounding them with barbed wire, we're winning the hearts and minds of ordinary Iraqis everywhere. How can you disagree with the following letter?

"Dear highly-placed media professional: As I lay here in my bed gazing at the dappled skylight sun in the Walter Reed Medical Center, I weep with joy at the mission I have just concluded. I believe so strongly in the United States military and everything for which it stands. We're defending freedom all over the world, helping rid innocent people of the scourge of terrorism. I would gladly sacrifice another arm if I could help President Bush win this terrible war for the future of civilization. Thanks to our excellent battlefield medicine, the gangrene is receding, and one more member of the Iraqi Provisional Governing Council walks free tonight. When I joined the Army, this is exactly what I bargained for: A poorly-planned drudge on fixed pay with no definable end. All my men agree that a long, hard slog is what we bought in for. We're proud to bleed, and, in many cases, die, so that Donald Rumsfeld doesn't have to apologize for his crummy decision-making. I must go now. Time to change the catheter. Had to get one sometime. Why not at 22? All best and God Bless America, PFC Name Withheld For Security Considerations."

Are you weeping as hard as I? Then do me a favor. If you've read my new novel, Never Mind The Pollacks, currently the 1880th most popular book in America, please submit a review to Amazon.com. Three is not enough. The only thing I ask is that the review contain no snark, because snark has no place in today's literary and political climate. That's my dogma, and I will not bend.