It is enough, I think, or should be, to say that I am a sixth-generation American and a patriot. I am partisan for my country and make no apologies. That being said, it is still my responsibility to show, to borrow the words of our Founding Fathers, a decent respect for the opinions of mankind in explicating our exertion of power, whenever we choose to do so, as we have done in this recent cycle. Indeed, this online journal shall partially fulfill my responsibility to that end.
Personally, I have achieved moderate to, some would say, high success in at least two business ventures, punctuated by an enjoyable if frustrating stint in the public service. In sum, some two decades of this were spent abroad, at times in places best left unsaid and better left to the mists of memory. Currently semi-retired and living in anonymity, apart from the occasional semester spent teaching at a lovely little community college which shall remain nameless. Seven years ago, largely on a whim, I took up flamenco guitar; it is a pleasing hobby, although I am largely self-taught. I am able to live comfortably, if not extravagantly; it is quiet that I value above all else now, and so fortunately my current situation, a modest home bordering on a beautiful little forest where I can walk my two dogs, requires that I visit the cattle-herd world of supermarkets, hardware stores, mega-malls and gasoline stations no more than perhaps three times per month. It is, all things considered, a good life.
The name under which I post is a nom de plume, as some will have already surmised, as I highly value my privacy. The name P. Wallach Hedge is just what it sounds like: a literary reference, albeit one you will not recognize, for it is the name of the protagonist of my (unpublished) semi-autobiographical political-espionage novel in three parts (The Realignment Crescendo: Black Marbles White Marbles (part 1), Maelstrom Of Wills (part 2), and The Beacon Atop The Eagle's Perch (part 3)), which was in fact largely completed last winter but for which I still seek a publishing arrangement which would entail acceptable remuneration and other considerations.
It is one of my guilty pleasures that I do still enjoy following baseball; something about the nature the game helps to mask the passage of time, remind me of what once was. It is by accident of where I was born and raised, rather than because of my current location, that I remain and always shall be a (now) San Francisco Giants fan. The deal was sealed ever since the day Bobby Richardson broke a young boy's heart.
I do venture down to take films from the local library now and then. I have a distinct preference for the classic films; call me a fuddy-duddy but something about the so-called "realism" of modern filmmaking, with its gratuitous violence and sexuality, leaves me cold. It warps the mind, for despite the moniker, it is not at all like the real thing. And actors today are like children posturing at recess. James Stewart: now for my money, there was an actor.
There are other things I could mention - the family that once was, the children who are grown now and seen mostly at Thanksgivings, glimpses of grandchildren in digital photographs attached to electronically mailed epistles. But, enough. These things are but trivia now. In this world there are large movements, and small. I am here to shed the small and discuss the large, as I lay out the groundwork, drawn from my experience and knowledge, for why the invasion of Iraq in 2003 was entirely appropriate to the circumstance.
If you're reading this - well, that's all you should need to know, frankly.