Nucular stuff

Hey. I'm just following in the footsteps of our Learned President. And what's the problem with a bunch of college students wearing flip-flops to the White House? If Dubya can wear cowboy boots, I think flip-flops are eminently proper.

I digress. Things are heating up in Iran. Or, more accurately, in the EU over Iran. I suspect things will be heating up here shortly, as well. Iran has declared that it will recommence converting raw uranium. Naturally, this has the EU's shorts all tied up in knots. No one's terribly excited about Iran creating products that could possibly lead to nuclear weapons, despite its protestations otherwise. Iran's track record on honesty in this area is a bit thin.

From an intellectual standpoint (and I can pretend I have one), I don't fully grasp the argument that some countries are allowed to have nuclear weapons and some are not. Who died and made US king? Or any of the other countries who have them and want to deny them to others?

I know. It's too dangerous to have so many countries with this capability, so we must limit it. Dumb argument. If it's too dangerous to have so many, or even some, countries with this capability, then no one should have it. The entire earth should play fair and get rid of them all. If you don't bring enough to share with everyone, or you aren't willing to share, then you have to put your toys away.

Simplistic argument, perhaps. But I don't see where being the bully of the world is getting us--or the EU. I'd love to think we are all imposing civility on the world. But we haven't been terribly civil ourselves, lately. So I'm missing the part where we then get to impose our rules on civility on others.

If the US and the EU want to tell other nations what to do, perhaps we should all clean house first. Stop torturing people in prison camps, hold fair elections (even in Florida), clean up the death penalty in Texas, stop outing our CIA agents, don't use Homeland Security bills as pork barrels . . . .

Spent most of the day painting my living room. Frosted Cafe. Nice walls. Sore arms. Off to bed.

Until tomorrow,
Liz