Don't reward those who voted for war - The California Democratic primary

For 800 words each Wednesday, we have a conversation; one-sided though it may be. If I can make you consider a different point of view and even laugh once or twice while you’re waiting for a bus or in front of a computer somewhere, that’s good enough for me. The point is I know I ain’t about to win the Pulitzer Prize for Commentary talking about Hollywood celebutantes, so I try not to take it too seriously. Except this week. This is my last chance to talk to you before Democrats vote next Tuesday. I especially want to talk to John Edwards Democrats and Hillary Clinton Democrats. Please understand when you cast your vote for either of these people, you will be giving them a pass on the war; and nobody deserves a pass on the war.

If you’re a John Edwards voter, you asked yourself, “to Hillary, or not to Hillary?” For whatever reason, you decided not to go with her. If you’re anything like me, you absolutely believe that there is nothing a man president can do that a woman president can’t do, Hillary’s just not that woman so you rejected her (congratulations, you’re halfway home). Maybe you heard John’s “Two Americas” speech back in 2004 and it resonated or maybe his “son-of-a-millworker” persona has you believing he understands the problems of the common man. Or maybe you like his tough talk about the Republicans and the president. I agree you and with a lot of what he says - and I like the way he says it. I can see how he made enough money as a trial lawyer to be able to spend four bills on a haircut.

But do you know when the right time was for all this tough talk? Do you know when he should have said all the things he’s saying about the Bush administration so the Democrats could have a shot to win the White House? Four years ago when he was on the ticket. That’s the VP’s job: to be the attack dog so his running mate can appear Presidential. John Edwards didn’t do that. Had he done his job in 2004, we might be out of Iraq right now. And, of course, if he hadn’t voted to authorize a war, we might never have been there in the first place. If you are an anti-war voter, you can’t vote for John Edwards. He was wrong to authorize war, and you can’t give him a pass on his vote.

If you’re a Hillary Clinton voter, we need more than the remaining 360 words of this column. Essentially, the reasoning is identical, only worse. Not only did she vote to authorize war, she voted to authorize war in Iraq without reading what 16 intelligence agencies had to say about the Iraq threat. She’s never said she regrets voting for war, she’s never said it was a mistake to vote for war, and she has never said she shouldn’t have voted for war. Keep in mind, it’s a Senators job to draft, debate, and vote on legislation – and the Senate keeps great records. If you’re a Senator, you are how you vote. Time and time again, Hillary Clinton has voted in support of the President’s Iraq policy.

It’s not because she’s a woman. It’s because she was wrong on the war, is still wrong on the war, and she refuses to admit it in an anti-war primary in an anti-war party. There is no room in the Democratic party for a candidate or a President who cannot come out and say it was a mistake to invade and occupy Iraq. It seems to me that should be an easy litmus test for Democratic candidates. But when you look at her voting record (the only thing that qualifies as her experience - don’t talk to me about sharing the presidential pillow), she has voted with the President on Iraq from the very beginning. What on earth would lead an anti-war voter to believe she would do anything differently? Voting for her would mean she gets away with “triangulating” on the life-and-death issue of our generation. Voting for her would mean giving her a pass on her support of the war.

I’m sure they’re good people, but one simple truth applies to both of them: they were wrong. The decisions they made cost hundreds of thousands of Iraqi lives – and counting, tens of thousands of American wounded – and counting, thousands of American lives – and counting, and hundreds of billions of dollars – and counting more every day.

If you’re an anti-war voter and you want an anti-war President, remember which candidates voted for war with Iraq. Next Tuesday, don’t give either of them a pass for their vote.

If only Britney would make the right choice - Once she goes black...

Readers of this column should know by now that the main reason I came to L.A. was I’m convinced that Britney Spears and I were destined to be together. Sure, I’m crazy about her (who isn’t?), but I really think she would like me. And I could see our relationship progressing to a place where we become one of those couples that everybody hates because they’re so obviously in love with each other.

Recently, however, I’ve been a little upset with her. I understood the Justin thing (they were just kids in love), and I was willing to overlook her chaotic Federline period (because it gave us Small Fry and Tater Tot). But her fling with Adnan Ghalib, the married British photographer, was tougher to forgive. I get that he was a familiar face because he spent two years following her around; and I get that by holding doors and pumping gas for her, he became the nicest wolf in the pack of paparazzi wolves surrounding her all day and night. I just don’t get how he could be so stupid that he would get caught shopping bad semi-nude shots of her (that no magazine outside of Australia even wanted). First of all, how do you take a bad semi-nude photo when Britney is the subject? Secondly, when an international pop star who takes home over $750k per month trusts you enough to let you (ahem) inside, why would you betray her for money? This question and others (like why would a Muslim wear two crucifixes?) will dog him for a long time, I’m sure.

My original, post-Federline plan was to be the man who took care of all of her needs so that she could concentrate on recording and performing her music. I’d arrange her schedule, hire the drivers, gardeners, and nannies, and make sure she didn’t have a care in the world. As arm candy, I would escort her anywhere she wanted to go. As a caring partner, I would listen to her complain about her problems at work and offer her my opinions over intimate dinners or gentle foot massages. Then we would turn in, make the beast with two backs, and do it all over again the next day.

In the past few months, however, I’ve come to realize she doesn’t need me for all that - she has Sam Lutfi. I don’t know where he came from or how he got the job, but he’s the one who takes care of her day-to-day requirements in terms of travel, logistics, and planning. And, as Adnan Ghalib recently discovered when he found out that there may or may not be a restraining order preventing him from coming within 500 feet of her, Sam also approves or disapproves private time with my Britney. I’m a little jealous of Sam, but I ain’t mad at him. Somebody has to look out for her, and it might as well be him. Sam also understands that there is another side to our girl that comes out when she puts on that pink wig - and pink wig Britney has needs. He also knows his limitations in terms of meeting those needs. He’s not the best-looking guy in the world and he probably can’t dance; and we all know that pink wig Britney’s weaknesses are good-looking guys, guys who can dance, and especially good-looking guys who can dance.

That’s where I come in. A few days ago, Sam and Britney were at her car in a Ralph’s parking lot or something and someone off-camera said something to my Britney in public that I’ve been saying in private for a long time, “you need a black dude.” When I look back at what happened next, I think it could end up being the defining moment in my romantic life. My Britney repeated the statement in the form of a question, “I need a black dude?” But she did it with the kind of laugh that said, “that’s not a bad idea.” More importantly, Sam Lutfi doesn’t immediately disapprove. In fact, he smiles at her and laughs – which makes me think he might actually go for it. Then she says the words I’ve been longing to hear since I got to L.A., “shit, I like black dudes. You guys are cool.”

So here we are. She’s single and I’m single. She likes good-looking guys who can dance and I am a good-looking guy who can dance. She thinks black dudes like me are cool and I think white girls like her are hot. She’s got that pink wig and a body built for sin and I have a talent for keeping secrets and no plans for the weekend. It’s just crazy enough to work.

A little brotherly advice for Reggie - Stay away from girls who make sex tapes

One of my best friends was born in Shanghai, so he was legally not allowed to have a brother. At his surprise 25th birthday party, he told his friends that didn’t matter any more because we were his brothers. “There is nothing like a brother,” he said. I’ll never forget that because it made me grateful for my three big brothers and the lessons I learned from them growing up. They taught me to be loyal, they taught me sometimes you have to hit first, and they taught me to never play myself (for the slang impaired, that means never make yourself look bad). I don’t know if former USC running back Reggie Bush has a big brother, but he really needs one right now. So I’m offering Reggie this brotherly advice: you’re playing yourself right now, knock it off.

I understand where your head is at right now, Reg. You grew up in San Diego, so you had Hollywood dreams. You came to L.A. where, by the age of nineteen, you became a star at USC. You played in two national championship games by the age of twenty, winning one of them. You were a Heisman trophy finalist as a sophomore and won the award as a junior. And you enjoyed all the nubile, hard-bodied benefits of being a high profile LA bachelor. And I ain’t mad at’cha for that, little brother. But that was college – where the worst thing that could happen to you if you messed up was you would lose eligibility (like coach Pete Carroll would ever let that happen). Now you’re a professional, you just can’t have the off-the-field distractions you had back in school because there is too much money at stake.

I’ve got to hand it to you – your pro career started with a bang. The only NFL player who had more than your $5 million in endorsements by this point in his career was Peyton Manning with $10 million, and you became the signature athlete on the New Orleans Saints before you ever played a single minute of pro football. Why? Because coming out of college, you were a winner. But the big difference between (ahem) amateur athletics at USC and professional sports is that winning is much more difficult in the NFL. It’s also tougher to earn the respect of NFL players. They don’t care about your Heisman, they care about your work ethic and your dedication to your team. But when you miss a month of off-season workouts in New Orleans so you can shoot commercials in L.A., that tells your teammates you’re not with them. When you take off for Madrid to film a spot with futbol star David Beckham, that tells your coaches that you’re not focused on NFL football. And when you miss games because of an injury which may have been prevented by working out harder in the off-season, you’ve played yourself.

Your biggest problem, though, isn’t the way you’re handling (or not handling) your football business, little brother. Your biggest problem is how you’re handling your personal life. I won’t even get into the whole issue of accepting favors while you were at USC because I don’t care about that. The university isn’t owed an explanation or anything else, for that matter. You more than lived up to your end of the deal on the field and if the university wants to pretend it didn’t know you were getting special treatment, then let them have their hypocrisy.

No, you’re biggest problem is that you are seriously considering marrying Kim Kardashian. Never mind that NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell is trying to turn players into boy scouts, do you realize what being married to an amateur porn star is going to do to your endorsement deals? I’m not saying your wife needs to be Polly Pureheart, but she should at least be good for your image. The fact that footage of your queen to be engaging in sex acts is readily available on-line for $4.95 and she put her lovely lady lumps on display in Playboy is most certainly not good for your image. Neither is the fact that she’s been “linked” with (and I’m sorry to do this, little brother): the Game, Nick Cannon, Benji Madden, Nick Lachey, Joe Francis, Fabolous, Terrance Howard, Evan Ross, and Ray J – and none of them ever gave her a ring.

A lot of guys think about it, Reg, but very few actually do it. Dennis Rodman and Dave Navarro tried with Carmen Electra; Tommy Lee, Kid Rock, and Rick Solomon tried with Pam Anderson; even Sean Penn tried with Madonna - and they all played themselves. Because you can’t turn a hoe into a housewife, even if she’s a “socialite” from Beverly Hills.

Bill needs to give Hillary a dose of serious reality - It's over

I’m not the kind of guy to say “I told you so”. Besides, it’s not like I need to; my readers know I predicted Barack Obama would be our next President back in April of last year. Still, after he won the Iowa caucuses and took the lead in every poll in New Hampshire last week, I thought I’d be able to gloat a little. Until I saw Hillary Clinton break down and cry on national television. Now I’m actually worried about her.

If it had been an isolated incident, I could move past it. But it wasn’t. It began back in October at the debate in Philadelphia when she was asked her position on New York Governor Eliot Spitzer’s plan to give driver’s licenses to undocumented immigrants. As we all know by now, Clintons position themselves, they don’t take positions. So she tried to have it both ways saying, “I did not say that it should be done, but I certainly recognize why Governor Spitzer is trying to do it.” That was the beginning of the end for her, though she didn’t know it at the time.

I started to get concerned around Thanksgiving when she sat down for an interview with Katie Couric. She was asked how disappointed she would be if she wasn’t the nominee. She responded by saying, “Well, it will be me.” When Katie pressed her about whether or not she had even considered the possibility that she won’t be the nominee, she said, “No, I haven’t.” As someone who saw the writing on the wall a long time ago (remember I called the race for Obama last April), I started to have questions about her mental health. After all, denial ain’t just a river in Egypt.

Then came Iowa – and there’s no denying that Barack Obama took her out behind the woodshed and gave her the whooping of a lifetime. Across the board in every category, he won and she lost. He made her look like exactly what she is: a relic of a bygone era. She’s the past and he’s the future. After Iowa, he rode a wave of hope into New Hampshire and the debate last Saturday where Hillary went from denial to anger. She was literally angry that she wasn’t being associated with the catchword of the campaign: change. “I want to make change,” she said, “but I’ve already made change! I will continue to make change! I’m not just running on a promise of change, I’m running on thirty-five years of change!”

A few days later, with Barack Obama taking an impressive lead over her in every poll in New Hampshire, she moved on to acceptance. She was at a coffee shop talking to a group of women (shocker) and was asked, “how do you do it?” That’s when the woman who would be Commander in Chief showed that she is, in fact, just a girl (not that there’s anything wrong with that). “It’s not easy, it’s not easy,” she said with tears welling up in her eyes. When I saw it, I thought to myself, “are you crying? There’s no crying in presidential politics. There’s no crying in presidential politics!”

Which brings me back to why I’m worried for her. A wise man once told me that the key to a lasting, happy marriage is to pick the hill you want to die on. I took that to mean the key to a husband’s happiness is knowing when to let the wife win. Bill Clinton has been letting his wife win for so long that she’s deluded herself into thinking she’s a winner. Bill is the only person in her world who can speak the truth to her, and he’s not doing it. He’s the only person on earth who can tell her that she can’t win the nomination, much less the presidency. He needs to do this right away because if she stays in this race until February 6th, she is looking at the worst month of her life: consecutive losses in five states leading up to Tsunami Tuesday where she could actually lose her “home” state of New York (which would put her Senate seat in play in 2012).

At this point, Bill Clinton needs to tell his wife that it’s time to find the least humiliating way out of this race. Because if she doesn’t have the common sense to drop out of this race for the sake of her own future in the Senate, she should at least have the common decency to get behind the eventual nominee for the sake of her party. I know he doesn’t love her any more, but his wife is crying on national TV. She needs you, Bill. Get her out of there and take her home.