Trevor

Since I've moved my engine to Blogger, comments here at KIAV have been less spammy but also less frequent. I mean, I understand that, to a large extent, I am masturbating into the wind here. And limiting the pool of commenters to members of Blogger, it doesn't help. I know. I know. That's blogging for you, especially, I think, when you blog from this side of the dais. But, at least I've limited advertising resources for online poker.

So I was pleasantly surprised to get a comment that wasn't spam and wasn't from my Mom. It was from a man named "Trevor." Trevor wrote: "No worries. It'll work out despite people like you who have nothing to contribute but negativity. Or am I wrong?"

I of course stood up from my handy dandy Briggs and Stratton computer device and began to argue with Trevor. Hey, man, I said to the wall, I got positivity. I got yer positivity right here. I was gearing up and ready to let this right-wing whacko have it. Yeah, bitch.

So before I sat back down again to write, I looked up Trevor's profile and checked out his blog. It's called "will to exist."

Trevor is a National Guardsman getting ready to go to Iraq. To quote a dead ex-friend of mine: "Not so fucking funny now, are we?"

So, Trevor, my man, I have a few things to say to you. First of all, thank you for posting a comment here at KIAV, and thank you for that comment not being some milquetoast "Yes, I Agree With You Completely" sort of comment. Your comment, not for what it said but for what you are, has been the most interesting thing to ever happen to this project since its inception. Because with what you've laid at my feet, it no longer feels like shadowboxing. From my visit to your site, I can see your face, man. In cammos, no less. And how do I answer you directly without telling you that the sense of purpose you clearly feel in this mission is worthless? How do I tell you where I'm coming from without making you feel that my opinions are specifically meant to render your sacrifice as "in vain?" Could I look you in the face while you're wearing those cammos and tell you that I believe this war is bullshit and sleep all right that night?

All right, fine. "...nothing to contribute but negativity..." Listen. I was in downtown Washington, D.C. on September Eleventh. I had to walk home to Arlington with several thousand of my closest friends. I saw the smoke. I fussed for a whole evening over a friend who was in New York. I lived it and had stomachaches over it and cried it out just like everybody else. And on the other side of the grieving, I supported our president. And, at the time, I was willing to suck up my obviously
partisan proclivities and support George W. Bush in whatever endeavors he attempted. I was positive, my man. Like most of my American brothers and sisters, conservative or liberal, I positively wanted two things: I wanted justice, and I wanted measures taken to insure that this wouldn't happen again.

Gary Schroen reported to Tim Russert that Bush wanted UBL's head in a box on dry ice. Tim Russert's initial question upon hearing this was about where you'd find dry ice in Afghanistan. I think I might have asked something like, "His head? Really? His fucking head? You're shitting me. He wanted his HEAD? No fucking way. You're shitting me. No, really. His HEAD?"

But, if that were to have come to pass, I can't say that even my happy capital-punishment-hating liberal ass would have been disappointed. But it did not come to pass, and nor did the routing out of al-Qaeda in Afghanistan, or so a little home movie featuring Ayman al-Zawahri released just last week tells me. So, no justice. And, certainly, we've enjoyed a cessation of attacks here at home, but the recent London bombings indicate to me that there's no peace, either. And every line of relevance that these folks have tried to draw from September Eleventh to Iraq has been broken. This administration and its policies have made it diffcult for me to just give our president any attaboys.

Regardless, Trevor, of whatever disagreements you and I might have about the path our country has taken, the most important thing I have to tell you is this: Please come home. Please come home safe and with all of your arms and legs and fingers and toes and with your sanity intact. Come home to your country and your family and your hometown, preferably to a tickertape parade and a fat happy beautiful American life. Godspeed to you, but please, come home.

How's that for positive?

I have linked to your blog and will check it often, though I will understand if spinning the blogwheel isn't your first priority. But please try to keep us updated when you can.

Thank you.
Aaron