We could be next: Umm, anybody know what's happened to our friend Stephen?

Who Put the "Pop" in Pop Music? I appreciate the valid criticism of invoking mumblers and misanthropes like Waits. (Costello, however, is surely pop music, even if he has lately wandered awfully avant garde.) Pop is notoriously tricky to pin down. Hoagy Carmichael was pop -- in his day:

Sometimes I wonder why I spend
The lonely nights
Dreaming of a song
That melody haunts my reverie
And I am once again with you
When our love was new
And each kiss an inspiration
Ah, but that was long ago
Now my consolation
Is in the stardust of a song

And so was Antonio Jobim:

How insensitive I must have seemed when she told me that she loved me
How unmoved and cold I must have seemed when she told me so sincerely
Why, she must have asked, did I just turn and stare in icy silence?
What was I to say? What can you say when a love affair is over?

But Robert Johnson never was

Now six and two is eight
Eight and two is ten
Friend-boy she trick you one time
She sure gonna do it again

even though a bunch of white British guys made a mint running his songs up and down the pop charts.

Pop lyric: If it's gotta be pop, here's my pick.

Were all alone in a villa on the rivera

Thats in france on the south side In case
u cared

Out of all yo friends I wanna be the closest

Thats why I tell u things So
ull be the mostest

When it comes 2 life, 2 be this mans wife

U got 2 be well
educated on the subject of fights

I mean prevention of

In other words - its
r.e.a.l meaning of this thing called love

Are u up on this? If so, then u can get
up off hug and a kiss

Come here baby, yeah

U sexy motherfucker

If we're allowed misanthropes, Eno's stolen a little thunder from me. At risk of being a me too-er, here's my Costello pick (at least the first one I thought of):

When Sunday morning dandruff turns out to be confetti

And the cost of living in sin would make a poor man out of Paul Getty

The girl in your dreams would have you up on an under age charge

And the man of the moment is the lifer at large

If you've got something to hide, if you've got something to sell

If you've got somebody's pride she might kiss and tell

Or wind up with a fight fan in the Hammersmith Hotel

You better speak up now if you want your piece

You better speak up now

It won't mean a thing later

Yesterday's news is
tomorrow's fish and chip paper

And Lou Reed:

And back at the Wilshire, Pedro sits there dreaming

He's found a book on Magic
in a garbage can

He looks at the pictures and stares at the cracked ceiling

"At
the count of 3" he says, "I hope I can disappear"

And fly fly away, from
this dirty boulevard

I want to fly, from dirty boulevard

I want to fly, from
dirty boulevard

I want to fly, fly, fly, fly, from dirty boulevard

But this is all very cursory. If I think of anyting better I'll let you know.

Truthiness at the Correspondents' Dinner: All the networks are showing W and his impersonator for some midly, but mostly lame, jokes. Of course the real sturm and drang was Colbert and his extremely subtle jibes at the Admin via his "Colbert Report" character. Some are thanking him for his efforts. It's worth watching the whole bit.

By the middle, however, W is hardly amused and Laura is downright pissed. Silly to imply Bush wasn't fully clothed....

Turn a Phrase: Viking Pundit takes a look at the subject of "best pop lyric", which the British have decided is

a line from the song One which goes: "One life, with each other, sisters, brothers."

Yuck. U2's lyrics and REM's lyrics both leave me cold. For a serious pop song, it's hard to top the Beatles "Fool on the Hill," which nicely avoids all the Dylanesque pretention that was floating around in the 60s.

But the fool on the hill,
Sees the sun going down
And the eyes in his head,
See the world spinning around

John Hiatt's "Memphis in the Meantime" wasn't exactly a pop hit, but it deserves a mention for these words, played over a hot Ry Cooder riff.

If we could just get off of that beat little girl
Maybe we could find the groove
At least we can get ourselves a decent meal
Down at the Rendezvous

'Cause one more heartfelt steel guitar chord
Girl, it's gonna do me in
I need to hear some trumpet and saxophone
You know sound as sweet as sin

And after we get good and greasy
Baby we can come back home
Put the cowhorns back on the cadillac
And change the message on the Code-a-Phone

But let's go to Memphis in the meantime, baby.

Grittiest lyric? Tom Waits, naturally, from "Heartattack and Vine":

See that little Jersey girl in the see-through top
With the pedal-pushers sucking on a soda pop?
Well I bet she's still a virgin, but it's only twenty-five 'til nine
You can see a million of 'em on Heartattack and Vine

Precious? I'll take Elvis Costello.

Don't get smart or sarcastic
He snaps back just like elastic
Spare us the theatrics and the verbal gymnastics
We break wise guys just like matchsticks

Finally, a sentimental favorite, from Astral Weeks.

Down on Cyprus Avenue
With a childlike vision leaping into view
Clicking, clacking of the high heeled shoe
Ford & Fitzroy, Madame George
Marching with the soldier boy behind
He's much older with hat on drinking wine
And that smell of sweet perfume comes drifting through
The cool night air like Shalimar
And outside they're making all the stops
The kids out in the street collecting bottle-tops
Gone for cigarettes and matches in the shops
Happy taken Madame George

And one more that I love, just for kicks.

She went away for the holidays
Said she's going to L.A.
But she never got there
She never got there
She never got there, they say

The KKK took my baby away
They took her away
Away from me
The KKK took my baby away
They took her away
Away from me

Over to you, lads.

Just Some Fava Beans For Me, Please. Oh, and a nice Chianti. No, nothing else, thanks.

Via Tim.

I'm tempted to cancel my subscription: Now, I'm a sports nut to be sure. I love to read sports articles, projections, rumors and even the all-the-rage "power ranking" where an analyst takes a look at a field of teams/individuals and ummmm, ranks them. This is often suitable or at least fun with sports like college football where there is no end of the debate on which team is the "best" or even some pro teams, just for the fun of it.

However, I must draw the line here. You want to talk money leader? Fine. Best putter? I'll listen. But "power ranking" for fu*king golfers? No my dear reader....NO.

Alternative fuels: I meant to post this earlier today and Eno's post about the cost of gasoline reminded me. It's a review of the various types of alternative fuels by Popular Mechanics. Ethanol, Methanol, Biodiesel, Hydrogen, Electric. Pros and cons of each and their outlook. It's a good, unbiased look at each, though it's not exactly in depth on each.

Via Instapundit.

Got Gas? Here we go, another season of moaning about gas prices, with not one iota of perspective from the media. Allow me a semi-brief ramble: It continues to amaze me that petroleum can be:

1. Pulled out of the ground in remote, inhospitible (in their politics and climate), technologically backward places

2. Shipped off around the world

3. Refined to specifications that vary from country to country (or, in the U.S., state to state)

4. Shipped again, as gasoline, to distribution points.

And 5. Pumped into your tank for a couple of bucks.

And I'm just talking about logistics. On top of that, every layer takes a profit, and OPEC monkeys with supplies to suit the whims/fiscal needs of the various scumbag "world leaders" with a stranglehold on power in petroleum-exporting countries. It's still a bargain, folks. From dead dinosaur to tank, cheaper than apple juice? F*ck you and your complaints.

Now the sticky wicket: the Exxon-Mobils and Conocos of the world. Are they gouging? Well, their CEOs aren't running to give back their bonuses or cut common stock prices in order to lower the cost of no-lead. But that's to be expected. On the other hand, they're not exactly pushing to create new refining capacity. The artificial scarcity of refining capacity inflates profits, so the oil companies aren't in a rush to change the situation. But since nobody will let them build a refinery anyway, it's not really their fault.

So what's the answer? Bernie Sanders, the totalitarian congressman from Vermont, was on the radio today calling for price controls. That's right, the same "solution" that worked so well back in the 70s. He also called for a push toward a hydrogen economy. A great idea, but -- as with ethanol -- you need energy to make the stuff in the first place, and that energy comes from -- you guessed it -- from fossil fuels.

In theory, nuclear power could gives us enough cheap energy to make hydrogen. But now that Sanders and his noble enviromentalist followers have legislated and litigated nuclear power into a corner, that's essentially off the table.

So we're stuck with fossil fuels, at least until the efficiency of other sources picks up. I would support a switch to ethanol. It's cheap, can use the same distribution as gasoline, and can be produced domestically. Producing it is not currently energy efficient, but that's something technology can cure, as we become better able to make use of cellulose wastes and byproducts. A little more nuclear power would go a long way here.

Plus, some of the costs inherent in ethanol can be recouped through a new, concise Middle East policy (i.e., "Shut up, and don't f*ck with Israel"). This would, in turn, reduce petro-funding to terrorists, since the Arab world's economy is a one-legged stool. Forward-thinking countries like the UAE know that it's just a matter of time, which is why they are pushing hard to diversify their economies quickly. Saudi Arabia, on the other hand, only has oil and nomadic herding. And Venezuela has oil and, what, bauxite?

So gas is still cheap, replacement technologies improve every day, and in the long run the oil economies are headed over a cliff anyway. From where I sit, the sun is shining.

Feckless: Defined here.

Worth paying for? I've had never hit the tip jar of any blogs that I read, frequently or not, and never really been tempted to. I figure if they can build enough traffic to make money off Blogads or Amazon, then great, but there's noone that is so valuable to me that they merit any of my cash. That includes even some writers I think are excellent and doing some good work on their blog, as well as some that are pure "goof-off" sites.

Andrew Sullivan was one of the first I remember who put up a Tip Jar and he's done okay, but he finally moved on to associate with a legacy media outfit in Time. Whether that's becuase the tip jar dried up or his tastes changed I don't know.

I finally broke down on Friday and dropped some coin in Michael Totten's box (not much, but about what I'd shell out for a higher-end magazine subscription) because I decided I'd gotten enough value out of it to merit payment. He's posted several times a week, if not every day, for just about the entire time he's been overseas, only taking "breaks" when he's off doing real work. There's no comparison between what he does and what the pajama-clad masses do.

Today, coincidentally, Michael's post explores the possibility of doing more of this kind of work if the money keeps coming in, as it's proven relatively profitable. He sees it as the beginning, maybe, of a real shift in the business model of the media. I'm not sure of that, though some of the most exceptional writers may be able to carve out a niche like Michael's.

So, what would you be willing to pay for?

Would You Mind Repeating the Question? I got my latest DNC push poll/money grub letter today, and I set out in earnest to make sport of it, but several others beat me to it. Doesn't it get tiring having your party treat you like a halfwit all the time? I mean, let's face it: for a so-called party of the people, Democrats think Americans can't spell cat if you spot them the c and the t. (Thus you get electoral outcomes, as in 2004, where Democrats claim that Americans are too dumb to pick a president "correctly"; some bonehead on a liberal call-in show last week admitted that he favored impeachment "or a coup." That's capital-D Democrats for you.)

Anyhow, the apocalyptic rhetoric in the (ahem) "survey" is as bad as in an Emily's List mailing. First comes the state-of-dire-emergency warning: "We must hold the line," it says, "against the radical, mean-spirited agenda of George W. Bush . . ." Hmmm. Radical used to be a compliment on the left. And "mean-spirited"? Isn't that whole "Democrats are nice/Republicans are cold-hearted evil bastards who want to push granny down the stairs" thing getting a little stale?

Then come the questions, which are by turns stupid, misleading, or wholly irrelevant. For example:

Do you think scientists and doctors should be allowed to pursue stem cell research for the treatment of Alzheimer's, Parkinson's, diabetes and spinal cord injuries and other tragic conditions?

Not a word about federal finding, just the idea that you're either for tragedy or agin it. How about this agree/disagree head-scratcher.

A balanced budget is more important than a federal tax cut.

Well, considering that a Democratic congress has not in my lifetime offered us either one, I'll take "Reject the Premise" for $500.

No doubt the GOP survey will be along any day now. I can't wait.

Back to Iraq: In case you haven't been following Michael Totten's blog lately, he's got a great story going about an impromptu return visit to Iraqi Kurdistan. Part One is here. He's on the third installment today, and it's all worth reading.

You Ain't Seen Nothin' Yet: I'd always figured the baby boomers were the hands-down winners of the shallow self-absorbtion derby, but it looks like my own generation is poised to give them a run for it. Meet the "Yupsters."

This is an obituary for the generation gap. It is a story about 40-year-old men and women who look, talk, act, and dress like people who are 22 years old. It’s not about a fad but about a phenomenon that looks to be permanent. It’s about the hedge-fund guy in Park Slope with the chunky square glasses, brown rock T-shirt, slight paunch, expensive jeans, Puma sneakers, and shoulder-slung messenger bag, with two kids squirming over his lap like itchy chimps at the Tea Lounge on Sunday morning. It’s about the mom in the low-slung Sevens and ankle boots and vaguely Berlin-art-scene blouse with the $800 stroller and the TV-screen-size Olsen-twins sunglasses perched on her head walking through Bryant Park listening to Death Cab for Cutie on her Nano.

And because this phenomenon wears itself so clearly as the convergence of downtown cool and easy, abundant money, it is also, of course, about stuff—though that’s not all it’s about. It’s more interesting as evidence of the slow erosion of the long-held idea that in some fundamental way, you cross through a portal when you become an adult, a portal inscribed with the biblical imperative “When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: But when I became a man, I put away childish things.” This cohort is not interested in putting away childish things. They are a generation or two of affluent, urban adults who are now happily sailing through their thirties and forties, and even fifties, clad in beat-up sneakers and cashmere hoodies, content that they can enjoy all the good parts of being a grown-up (a real paycheck, a family, the warm touch of cashmere) with none of the bad parts (Dockers, management seminars, indentured servitude at the local Gymboree). It’s about a brave new world whose citizens are radically rethinking what it means to be a grown-up and whether being a grown-up still requires, you know, actually growing up.

Let's see: Glorification of Youth and Hipness? Check. The tacky mini-materialism that has become the conspicuous consumption for the liberal upper middle class? Check. A self-fascination tendency so strong it can warp space-time? Check. (Note, too, the many asides in which the writer of the piece tries soft-pedal his me-tooism by fashioning a false reluctance to admit that he's a Yupster, too.) We're looking at the baby boomers squared, here. I mean, sure, the boomers tried to extend their youth through nostalgia, and they looked silly for clinging too hard to their cultural experiences. But at least they aren't cutting loose their honest (if narcissistic) nostalgia to be cultural parasites.

Luckily, most of these knuckleheads are confined to ghettoes of the self-consciously authentic like Williamsburg or Weehawken, or Northampton, Massachusetts, where I see them daily -- the white, dreadlocked 37 year old who went to Brown only to end up with a useless degree in Social Justice Studies or something.

Speaking of authenticity, here's a quote from one of these dopes: "I spoke to an undergrad class at NYU recently. And it was terrifying how much we had in common. I’m looking at these kids who look about 12, and we’re all going to the same movies and watching the same TV shows and listening to the same music. I don’t know if it’s scarier for them or scarier for me." (My italics.)

I'm sure it scared them, but Mr. Hip here is no doubt secretly pleased that he is cultivating the proper tastes. I'm sure he thinks he impressed the hell out of his NYU audience by seeming so with it -- but friends, you just know he came across like Pat Boone singing "Tutti Frutti."

For Gen-X, just fifteen years ago, the big complaint was that boomers, with their lingering sixties-era musical attachments and smug sense of cultural centrality, refused to pass the torch and get the hell out of the way. In a 1997 sociology essay titled "Generation X: Who Are They? What Do They Want?," one twentysomething student lamented, "We still are bombarded with 'Classic Rock' and moldy oldies. Bands like the Eagles, Rolling Stones, and Aerosmith need to back off so we can define our own music, lifestyle." It’s ironic, then, that those selfsame slackers — the twentysomethings of the early nineties (and, hey, I was right there, too: Rock on, Screaming Trees)— aren’t standing in the way of the next generation. Rather, they’re joining right in at the front of the crowd at the sold-out Decemberists show. Hey, kids, you can define your own music, lifestyle—that’s our music and lifestyle, too!

(Emphasis in original.) Given the choice, would you rather suffer through a bunch of loudmouthed boomers telling you how awesome Dylan was, or suffer through a bunch of toadying Gen Xers latching onto your own tastes like cultural leeches? I think the answer's obvious. I mean, nostalgia can be sad, but at least it's not entirely undignified.

Via A&LD.

More: "I think the young people enjoy it when I "get down" verbally, don't you?"

Masters Recap: I just have a few thoughts to leave you with on the last two rounds/conclusion of the Masters. First, Phil Mickelson has truly elevated his game over the last couple years, and become more reliable and steady down the stretch. He's no robot just hitting fairways and greens, I mean the guy can still light it up when he wants, but he's less prose to the blow up that used to get him. His weekend at Augusta National was a first class effort and he deserved the win.

It was a weird day, yesterday, though. It seemed for a while like it could be an all-time classic final round, second only in drama maybe to Nicklaus' '86 win or Tiger's first one in '97, which had me checking the tv screen of every bar on Bourbon St. as we partied our way through French Quarter Fest. You had all the best players in the game, plus a few up-and-comers, some crafty vets, and one of the most revered figures in golf, Fred Couples. Man, this was setup to be the Texas Cage Match of golf tournaments, and I popped open a beer ready to pin my eyes open.

And then it sort of fizzled. It was good and all, but nobody quite made it happen. Mickelson played exceptional golf, but he didn't have to play lights out to win, just play solid. Couples had every chance to push him, and probably hit the ball better, longer and closer, than anyone all week. If he had putted even decent, Mickelson has to work a little harder and maybe he cracks. Or not, and solidifies his new reputation. I'll tell you this, though, if Couples had won it all, you'd still be hearing the roar from Augusta, even you folks up in the Northeast.

The course was lengthened and toughened this year (again) and maybe the back nine that held such drama for years is now so tough that players can't make a run like Nicklaus did in '86, shooting 30 down the stretch. I don't have the answer, but I sure wish somebody had answered Phil yesterday, and kept him honest. It could have been historic, instead of just "Nicely played."

Masters, Day 2: I should start by saying that I failed to mention the biggest story of the day yesterday, which was Ben Crenshaw's 1 under par start. In addition to being a sentimental favorite at Augusta*, the best part was that it highlighted the fact that under the right conditions (dry, hard, fast) it doesn't take a long ball specialist to play the course well. Crenshaw couldn't hit it all that far when he was in his prime, and now he's 53 and playing the Senior circuit (but they're active seniors!). If he can play under par, anyone can.

Of course, he won't win, but it's good theater for Thursday-Friday and gives Jim Nantz and company something nostalgic to talk about with no Jack or Arnie in the field.

*Crenshaw is a two time Masters winner, '84 and '95, with his second providing a tear-jerker moment on the final hole when he tapped in for the win. His teacher/mentor, and a legend in the game named Harvey Penick, had died the previous weekend and Cresnshaw was a pallbearer at his funeral the day before the tournament started. The week was one long "win one for Harvey" march. Golfers are suckers for that kind of thing.

Midday Update: New leader, Chad Campbell. In case you're saying "Who?" he's a guy who everyone has been looking for to do big things for a couple years. He's inconsistent as hell, but when he's on he can be great. A very streaky putter, especially. When he gets in contention he can win. In Palm Springs. Augusta may be different story.

Crenshaw is still under par at the turn, and good for him.

Not a lot of big surprises other than that. Tiger has yet to make a run, but it's early (he's on about #4 right now). Nick O'Hern is in the top ten, but he's yet to win in America, I think. Good player, but very young, so don't look to him to win. Billy Mayfair was almost out of the game due to injuries a couple years ago and had to play last year on medical exemptions (players with a certain number of years/dollars won can get a one year exemption if they lose a season to injuries/health). Good to see him playing well, as he's a good guy. Darren Clarke, my pick for a "Best Player Never To Have Won A Major." Has a good chance to lose that mantle this week. Good luck to him, and anyone else who enjoys a pint and a cigar. Golf needs more of them (pros, that is. Most amateurs are already on board).

Enough for now. Back to work.

One More Thing: In the David Duval/Charles Coody runoff, Coody has surged into the lead with a 74 today. That's pretty damn good playing for anyone, especially a 69 year old. Duval is on track to shoot another round of 80 or more. Go David!

Spring is here: It's getting warm, flowers are blooming and The Masters has begun. I know Razor particularly has missed my intermittent golf blogging and I don't want to disappoint. All predictions are completely worthless, as usual, except to say that Hootie Johnson will get mocked on The Daily Show more than Dick Cheney after a speech to the NRA.

This year featured my first visit to the grounds of Augusta National, for Monday's practice round (thanks Rumhead!). I don't get up early for many things, but Monday called for a 4:30 wakeup for the 2 hour drive to Augusta, Ga. Most events of this size require a lot of sitting in traffic, standing in lines and riding on shuttle buses, but we pulled into town and parked across the bloody street from the club. Best $15 I've ever spent. Getting there early probably helped, too.

It's impossible to express how difficult the course looks in person. Golf may not require the greatest physical conditioning of all sports (ahem!) but I'd challenge anyone to walk those hills for four hours and not be tired. So it's no marathon, but runners don't have to putt on those freakin' greens. Putting in the bathtub is an apt analogy.

Some quick notes to wrap up on the visit: it's more impressive a place in person than on tv; the security and staff are much friendlier than I'd been warned; the nicest guy on tour is Fred Funk and I don't think there's a single player under the age of 40 who has the personality to make fans feel welcome the way he and guys like Lee Trevino, Chi Chi Rodriguez and Fuzzy Zoeller did during their career, which is sad; David Duval is either such a jerk or so embaarrased by his play that he doesn't come near the gallery (I think it's the latter because I've seen him behave the exact opposite at other tournaments - he's got to be sick of going through the motions when he knows he can't compete anymore); $1.50 is the best price you'll see for a barbecue sandwich at any sporting event; I'd pay more if they'd give me more than about an ounce of meat on the bun.

The hubbub in the media is that nobody that can't drive the ball 320 yards plus has a chance of winning, favoring Tiger, Phil, Vijay and the like. That's certainly true, but since they're the best in the game I suppose every course favors them. If the weather holds, the course will play hard and fast allowing some of the shorter hitters into the mix, so guys like Luke Donald, David Toms, Jose Marie Olazabal and Aaron Oberholser could be a factor. And, Fred Couples is a lock to make the cut, so I wouldn't be surprised to see him near the top until late Saturday, when he'll probably fade due to fatigue.

Should be a fun week no matter what. I'll post more as the tournament develops.

Midday Update: I'm looking pretty smart with the leaderboard being a goodmix of bomber and shot makers. Currently Vijay, Couples, Toms, and Oberholser are among those at Even or better. Also, interesting to see Stuart Appleby's name up there, as he's a guy I've always thought should be a contender in majors. He's certainly among those with the distance to contend if that's really what it's going to take.

End of day update: For the record, David Duval finished the day with an 84, beating only Charles Coody, the 69 year old Masters champion from 1971 and is one of the last holdouts taking advantage of his lifetime exemption for reasons unknown. I mean, damnit David, Gary Player smoked you. He's 70. And I'm not helping my "Golf is too a sport" argument, except that Gary Player's probably in better shape than Lance Armstrong.

The leaderboard looks about as I expected, with a mix of stars and unknowns, vets and newbies. I think there are a lot of names at Even par that look like good picks, even with Vijay going pretty low today. They include guys like Tiger and Toms, Phil and Ernie (as of 5:30ish). Tomorrow will be fun.

Katie Couric: After months of speculation, the word's out that she's ready to jump to CBS.

Couric is earning $15 million to $16 million a year under the contract she signed in 2001 and CBS is expected to exceed that. The domino effect of her decision will clearly impact all three networks.

It makes me wonder whether this is the last time an anchor will grab that kind of dough. The demographic trends have shown network news sinking for years now, especially in the (caution, overused media f*ckwad jargon ahead) "coveted 18-35 age group." The nearly simultaneous retirement of Brokaw, death of Jennings, and self-immolation of Rather, it seems to me, suggests an unusual caesura, one in which the networks might reconsider the wisdom of high-priced anchors presiding over slipping ratings. Why not hire Greg Peterson from KMTV in Omaha, to pull an affiliate out of the hat. I bet he'd do it for 250 thousand plus liberal car service privileges. The marginal loss is likely to be small, anyway. It's not like nobody will watch CBS if they put on someone who is not Katie Couric. And honestly, to poach another overused term, Katie's got no gravitas.

"She was on the air when 9/11 happened. And she brings a huge base of the same kind of people who watch evening news."

The kind in Depends.

My Whereabouts: Yes, well, sorry for the unannounced vacation. Two trials in three weeks takes some steam out of one's turbine. One non-jury, one jury. Blegh.

As for Charles Taylor, here's a much more entertaining article on his plight, and that of his cronies. Entertaining how? Well, here's the best paragraph:

In the case of Liberia, Taylor is still alive and so are his former Chief Lieutenants like Prince Yormie Johnson, who later broke away, Tom Woewiyou, Issac Musa, Col. Butt Naked (who now claims to be a born-again Christian), Edwin Snowe and others.

The inclination of Liberians to take on such, ummmmm, creative names never ceases to amaze.

By The Way: Former Liberian "president" Charles Taylor wants you to know that he's as innocent as the day is long.

The former Liberian president initially said he could not plead on the charges, which stem from his alleged role in Sierra Leone's civil war, because he did not recognize the court. Taylor faces 11 counts of helping destabilize West Africa through killings, sexual slavery and sending children into combat.

But after Justice Richard Lussick insisted, Taylor said calmly: "Most definitely, your honor, I did not and could not have committed those acts against the sister republic of Sierra Leone."

Given that this is an international tribunal he's facing, I'm pretty sure he'll be totally exonerated, escorted home in triumph, and quickly "re-elected." Much the same fate would await Saddam Hussein had he been lucky enough to fall into the briar patch of international justice.