Andy Warhol promised that everyone, on average, can expect about that much fame. Do better than that, you're beating the percentages. Last night we got to see an auditorium full of lucky stiffs who've not only won fame, but a mighty opulent lifestyle to match it. Maybe it's just me, but as I watched the damn thing, all I could think of were the endless parties these people go to, rubbing elbows, crapping on lawns, the whole decadent package of plutocratic perversity.

But if these Oscars proved anything, they made the point that they're just like real life—a rigged game that rewards the useless and punishes anything above the mediocre. Peter O'Toole had never bagged an award to date, but Ernest Borgnine had one? What kind of justice is that? The same kind that put the Lexus driver ahead of you in traffic, and catapulted a sub-par C-student with a taste for liquor and cocaine into the Oval Office.

Then there was Michael Moore, netting his statuette for Best Guilt Tri—er, Documentary, and for a moment, during the ovation that greeted him, he figured he had the crowd on his side. So far, so good. Then he decided to milk it hard.

"Shame on you, Mr. Bush. Shame on you! Anytime you've got the pope and the Dixie Chicks against you, your time is up!"

The consensus on Moore's ignominious bum's rush is mixed, and obviously laced with confirmational bias on either side— the liberal assessment posits a lone hero chastised by a thousand roundheads, and the conservative eye saw a preaching loudmouth slapped down like a puppy scrabbling at the dinner table. In other words, people are framing the story in line with their own beliefs.

While Adrien Brody found the right words to move the crowd with a brilliant incantation: "Whomever you believe in, if it's God or Allah, may he watch over you, and let's pray for a swift resolution," it was Nicole Kidman's simple observation that "art is important" that reminded us that the cinematic mission isn't to teach us what to think, but how to feel.

A Serious Line

The Iraqis have been crossing it with sneak attacks that have killed about a dozen of our troops. Maybe they picked this up from Guadalcanal Diary, a WWII propaganda film; but if so, they didn't catch the point that, while effective, the ruse tends to harden hearts and stiffen resolve. As a case in point, Lt. Col. B.P. McCoy of the 1st Marine Division has been briefing his men on the rules of engagement. He reminds his officers to aim their weapons at surrendering prisoners and order them to approach.

He also told his officers to remind their men that many prisoners of war sometimes approach with their rifles held high. He said the Marines should order them to drop their weapons and, if for any reason they don't, fire a couple of rounds in the dirt at their feet.

"What do you do if he still doesn't drop the weapon?" the major asked.

From the rear of the group came a voice that responded: "You light him up."

"I was whipped with a piece of leather whip, and burned with cigarettes in my interrogations. What got me through my whole experience was praying to God most of the time, and I also thought of happy times I had growing up in New Jersey and also happy times to come when I got released from my captivity."

A Raven's Dream

Perhaps we'll witness something wonderful and unexpected when the Battle for Baghdad begins. It might happen that when the U.S. Army's V Corps lines up against the Medina Division of the Republican Guard, that the combatants on both sides will realize the utter futility of war and spontaneously refuse to obey their orders to kill.

First, the Americans will lay down their arms and stride forward, the flower of the New World smiling in openness. The fruit of Iraq also, sensing the spirit of brotherhood, will spring forward in joy. These proud, strong young men will strip off their uniforms, and laughing, run hand-in-hand together to jump from the banks of the Euphrates and frolic in the calming balm of azure waters.

Naked, these Adoni of Mars will roll atop each other, locked in manly embraces; and some will dance lustily to pan pipes fashioned from broken gun barrels, cavorting and leaping beneath Helios' blessing. It could come to pass that, spent and gasping, they will arrange themselves into alfresco entabulatures beneath the desert sky, spelling out messages of peace with their bodies, spanking a glistening haunch here, rubbing cheek to buttock there, glorying in their masculinity and reveling in one another's bracing manly scents.

But that would be kind of gay.

4:34:49 PM