THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

Welcome. You've reached the Web Log of an American GI.

The days are getting shorter here in Mudville. Within a few short weeks the forests will begin that spectacular show of color...

On weekends, if I post at all, I like to post non-controversial things. You may have seen my entry below about the forest that is my back yard. This weekend I had intended to put up some pictures too, and I still might, but not today.

I'll tell you about my mundane day: Quick trip into work. Then daughter's soccer game, a blowout win for our side. One of those where you start to feel for the other team. Where the coach subs out players but it doesn't matter, everything is going right.

Big hail and farewell party. Folks headed stateside get lovely parting gifts. Thanks for playing National Defense!

Bike ride with son through the countryside. Stopped for water on a hill top with spectacular view on a beautiful day. Church bells started ringing in the valley. Awesome. Got home tired at sunset.

Time to write...

One thing I'd never thought I'd write about would be another blog entry, but the Rick Rescorla post below has generated a bit of traffic this way, and now has stories surrounding it that I'd like to tell. That will have to wait too.

I may create a blog roll just for blogs that have linked it.

Blogs like this one, this one, and this one, to name a few. I think it's safe to say that this story transcends politics.

I'd list them all the links right now, but time won't permit. I will eventually acknowledge all of them.

And here's the link that wasn't, from Lileks:

At work I was talking to a colleague about a story I’d read, a piece on a man who perished in the towers. He was the solider on the front of the Vietnam history “We Were Soldiers.” The piece has been going around the blogosphere, and even if I could find the link the site’s bandwidth has been exceeded for a while so I’m not sure a link would be helpful today. Anyway. I’m relating the tale, how the man helped to evacuate everyone in his office, and cheered them with lusty old British war songs - and at that point I couldn’t talk anymore. That was it. You make some gestures to indicate you’ve lost your handle for a moment; you turn away and get your grip. Didn’t happen when you read the story; didn’t happen when you thought about it the other day; but it’s happening now.

Oh by the way the Democracy, Whiskey, Sexy, post below has been updated again. You can read it while waiting for Bill Whittle to put up his promised essay for this weekend.
And now, my time is up. Here it's 10PM, Saturday night, and time for me to don the uniform once again for another few hours of service to you all.

I hope I don't let you down.

Sleep well. See you at dawn.