Reply #5: In my next life, I want to be an overpaid New York Times columnist

[hatrack]

I want to crank out endless reams of deathless polemic on the new world of electronic capital and seamless progress that drips with self-regarding profundity as a live oak drips with Spanish moss, but at the same time hold enough options open so that when the invincible globalists find themselves revealed as just another bunch of puzzled economists, I can fall back on my olive tree defense to show that I was right all along.

I want to hum along with the Fred Waring Capitol Hill Singers and the rest of the Beltway vodka vacuums, at least until things go tits-up in Fallujah/Mosul/Baghdad/Ramadi/Samarra/(name of city here), at which point I'll pivot on the proverbial dinar and point out the utter recklessness of the inadequate planning by the brave Pentanauts who planned Gulf War II: The Vengeance as if casting for a Chuck Norris miniseries (provided, of course, that my Beltway vodka license isn't revoked for my outspoken courage).

I want to discover suddenly that endless war in the Persian Gulf is all about (SURPRISE!) control of oil resources, and not only do I want to get a dozen roses, a bottle of Dom and a big sloppy kiss for the intellectual and moral courage necessary to pull my own head out of my ass but (in addition, just as the oxygen rush kicks in) I want to have a shiny jeweled medal pinned to my chest for boldly revealing to the four percent of the American public that regularly reads newspapers the whereabouts of the sky.

Wishful thinking, idle dreams - but wouldn't it be nice to be a columnist for the New York Times, boys and girls?