Industrial Poetry

Fred Schoeneman posts on Blackfive about the surprisingly male former editor at Wine Spectator and current L.A. Times editorial writer. Matthew DeBord clutches his tasteful strand of pearls in distress at the mere sight of General Patreus:

"There he sits in elaborate Army regalia, four stars glistening on each shoulder, nine rows of colorful ribbons on his left breast, and various other medallions, brooches and patches scattered across the rest of the available real estate on his uniform. He even wears his name tag, a lone and incongruous hunk of cheap plastic in a region of pristine gilt, just in case the politicians aren't sure who he is."

I think that's called a uniform, Mattsy. I hear all the soldiers wear them. Or as Schoeneman puts it:

"Your attempt to portray Gen. Petraeus as a chickenhawk is the weakest of all arguments especially coming from someone who could only charitably be called even a girly man. Go back to your fern-filled loft and compare notes on the latest swill turned out by the grape-stompers. You need to leave the important business of who shall lead our country in war to those whose concept of it has progressed farther than fashion commentary about a man whose glass you are not
fit to fill."

What he said.