Rep. John Boehner’s communications director has now provided an excuse for his boss’s already-notorious comment to Wolf Blitzer that the blood of Americans is a "small price:"

"Wolf asked about the money spent in Iraq, and that’s what Mr. Boehner was referring to when he said our troops’ efforts are critical for the safety and security of our country."

This is, of course, precisely the excuse rather easily predicted — and, as described in advance, a rather horrifying admission that when confronted with both dollars and American blood in the same question, the GOP’s leader in the House only hears the dollar amounts.

The predictability of the current leadership’s inhumanity would be almost funny if it weren’t so goddam awful.

Not sure how many of you have ever clicked any of the links to other blogs on the lower right (under "Too Many Links"), much less the one unobtrusively titled "Riverbend."

That’s the pseudonym of a carefully anonymous young Iraqi woman from a mixed Shi’a-Sunni family, whose blog, Baghdad Burning, has been a humane, courageous, and often heartbreaking first-person chronicle of events since shortly after the beginning of the US invasion. I cannot recommend it highly enough.

Until last week, the blog had been worrisomely un-updated since April. The last entry said that Riverbend’s family had decided to try to get out of the country, to flee Baghdad, like millions of other Iraqis, as refugees. (By some estimates, up to 15% of the entire population have been displaced from their homes.) I’ve been peeking in once every week or two ever since, hoping to see some good news.

Good news, of a kind, there is. For those following her saga, Riverbend and her family have made it into Syria. Now they start over. But they’re alive and safe.

Take a day and read the whole blog sometime, front to back. You may never read about Iraq the same way again. 

And once you’ve come to understand Riverbend’s story… just multiply by millions.

Surprisingly, they’re not referring to Daddy Day Care:

The "Mother of All Bombs," of course, is the US’s own non-nuclear GBU-43, which can destroy nine or ten city blocks, but which is also so large that it has to be dropped out of a cargo plane. It’s also only a fraction of a percent as powerful as the bomb the US dropped in 1945 on Hiroshima; compared to the largest modern thermonuclear warheads, it’s relatively flea-sized. The US has never even bothered to put more than a handful in its entire arsenal.

And now the Russians, in addition to their own nukes, can also drop four fleas at one go. While describing the near-nuclear-devastation results as (I kid you not) "environmentally friendly." Points for imagination on that one.

Thing is, the bad news here has nothing to do with the kablooey and everything to do with the politics. The US and Russia have been sinking into old-school brinksmanship since Pooty and the Chimp each took (and continued to keep taking) power. The big picture is indeed getting a little scary — but because of the dysfunction of both governments, not because of any one weapon. This should be fairly obvious; to paraphrase NRA supporters: "high-yield airburst thermobaric fuel-air munitions don’t kill people — people do."

Not quite sure why we’re supposed to panic about this one particular bang, but Fox News and its cohorts seem hopeful that we will. I guess if you’re not constantly frightened about something, you’re not truly patriotic these days. (Notorious recent example pictured at right.)

The most dangerous weapon in the world right now is the ability of the powerful to mobilize a generalized fear and hostility.  Everything else follows.  This might be good to keep in mind. 

Next in line to frighten us: the Bitter Ex-Spouse of All Bombs, which will glower at us menacingly from across the room at a party before making out furiously with someone almost at random; the Depressed Coworker of All Bombs, which will creep us all out with its constant talk about "getting even;" and the Drunken Brother-In-Law of All Bombs, which will drink ten city blocks’ worth of our beer and then throw up on Canada.

Hat tip: Colin.

I never expected that a paperback romance would ever be mentioned on this site. But my old friends Patrick and Deanna, whose wedding I attended, whose advice I value greatly, and whose home I crash in whenever I’m in San Diego, are (weirdness begins here) on the cover of an upcoming Harlequin novel.

They’re not models. They’re just a real married couple who won a contest. But I can also confirm that they’re actually even better-looking in real life.  Also, whenever they kiss, a powerful sea breeze sweeps through the room, opera music begins to play (usually something by Puccini), and in the distance, you can hear lions roar.  Fun at parties.

They are also successful, happy, and good at filling their lives with excitement and challenges and good friends. Truth be told, if they weren’t so bloody wonderful, they’d probably be completely annoying. But no, they’re just terrific people. So while Harlequin romances aren’t exactly my thing, I must say, something about seeing the two of them on the cover of one just seems completely… well… inevitable.

Yes, that’s the word.

My congrats to two of the nicest, most loving people I know.

Much of what I’ve read, both in print and online, written in remembrance of the sixth anniversary of 9/11 has been quite remarkably partisan.  More than a few lefties are taking yet another opportunity to repeat the point that Bush derailed the war on terror by invading Iraq.  More than a few righties are seizing the day to imply that those who oppose Bush are sabotaging the war on terror.  And I’ve seen writers on each side imply that the other side is dishonoring the memory of the 9/11.

These writers themselves are dishonoring the memory, very much, if you ask me.

The people who died in the World Trade Center weren’t left or right, rich or poor, old or young, male or female.  They couldn’t even be stereotyped as Americans, by any means; there were victims from 90 different countries, from Antigua to Zambia. 

And in the first days after the event, partisanship fell away.  I remember a time — a very brief time — when, aside from a few obscenely jaded political operatives, some of whom would soon sharply influence the course of events — almost all of us were shocked out of our daily routines to see each other not by labels and stereotypes, but simply as people.  Fellow human beings.  There were gay victims, and illegal immigrant victims, and gun-toting NRA victims, and wingtip-shoe-wearing victims; in their passing, they were all the same.  And in observing their loss, we were all the same, too.

Remember that?

Beyond these borders, as the world mourned its own victims and ours, moments of silence were observed across Europe, and memorial vigils were held from Japan to Iran.  For a moment, in our grief, humanity became the only thing that mattered.

We promised we would never forget.  And look how much we — all of us — have forgotten already.

Six years later, I think that’s what we’ve lost.  That’s what we keep losing every day.

I think maybe that’s what we ought to remember.

And then we should act on that memory, every day, like it matters.  Then we’ll be honoring the victims of September 11th.

My two cents, anyway.