When God Laughs... .

It’s been another week to make God laugh. Obama accepts his Peace Prize by excusing war, offends his hosts by not showing up at the proper receptions, and the Norwegians wind up wondering how and why they ever gave him the Prize in the first place.
Relax, guys, we’ve been wondering that for weeks. Obama’s behavior suggests he wonders, too. Having bowdlerized Health Care Reform, the Senate busily scurries about trying to find enough Democratic Senators to vote for what’s left of it (yes, I said, Democratic).
We have conditioned our whole response to the Afghanistan War on the current Afghanistan administration eliminating corruption. (That’s like telling Al Capone he may have the South Side of Chicago, but only if he stops running booze.) AND,
If the Afghani army and police whip themselves into shape so they can take on the Taliban, Al Qaeda, and a raft of hostile tribes in the various parts of the nation. Why not throw in another, perhaps more reasonable demand—that they increase national rainfall levels?
(Does remind one of the Russian tank commander trying to train Egyptian tankers during the bad old cold war days. He started explaining to the Egyptians how, should there be a fixable equipment failure in your tank during battle, you stop the vehicle and get out.
He tried to explain how you might fix this or that outside the tank, but he was interrupted by howls of laughter from his Egyptian trainees at the very thought of getting OUT of a nice, all steel tank during the midst of a battle. He never succeeded.)
We are observing a phenomenon in Iraq that may possibly mystify the planners in Washington, the surge—read lots of armed troops ready to shoot—goes in and car bombs get fewer and fewer. The surge comes back out and car bombs start to go off again.
One hopes our war colleges aren’t going to waste a lot of time trying to figure this out.
Alas, poor Tiger Woods. He succumbed to all the temptations available to a billion dollar golfer; it turns out he’s been succumbing happily since he first came on the scene—and in an attempt to save his marriage quits the one thing he’s good at: golf.
This is going to make him happy enough to make him a nicer, more faithful husband? Why not do the sane thing? She says to him, “We’re hiring some nannies and I’m going on tour WITH you”. That forces good behavior on him—and gives him the fastest and fullest amount of restoration possible, by letting him win tournaments—something his psyche will always need.
Right now, like the army in Afghanistan, they’re setting themselves up for the worst of all worlds. Doesn’t she see that—or is she just setting him up for the big pre-nup payout?
I remember several European friends of mine who routinely referred to such developments as “comedies”. They seemed to have an acute understanding of the ancient Greek notion that comedy is simply the flip side of tragedy (remember the two masks?).
There’s the operatic character, Pagliacci the clown, who stabs his faithless wife and her lover in front of a full house and then turns to the horrified audience on stage and says—in one of the few spoken lines in opera, “The comedy is finished”.
Incredulous laughter is sometimes the only way to deal with life on this earth. (As a child, during the height of the Cold War, I recall thinking, “This is such an interesting planet to watch. I only wish I could watch it from some other planet.”)
The Jewish psalms say that even God, who “sits in Heaven, shall laugh. The Lord shall have them in derision.” We are too often stupid and silly enough to merit the laughter. God help us.