The New York Times reports that U.S. troops will begin shooting Iraqi looters soon:
United States military forces in Iraq will have the authority to shoot looters on sight under a tough new security setup that will include hiring more police officers and banning ranking members of the Baath Party from public service, American officials said today.
"They are going to start shooting a few looters so that the word gets around" that assaults on property, hijacking automobiles and violent crimes will be dealt with using deadly force.
How Iraqis will learn of the new rules is not clear. American officials in Iraq have access to United States-financed radio stations, which could broadcast word of the shift.
posted by Arne at 8:15 PM

Some notes after two days of this war:

The dominant narrative the networks are using these first two days is the one they’ve used before. They’re focusing on the individual soldier, with his parents or his wife back home waiting for him, anxious for his return. Also, in the case of the few casualties, the networks rushed to capture their grief, while repeatedly mentioning the soldiers’ sacrifice for freedom. On the other hand, Iraqi military casualties are mentioned in passing. Also, despite the Bush administration’s insistence that is a multilateral effort, both the media and the government are speaking as though the U.S. military was alone in Iraq, usually saying “our troops,” not, for instance, “the American and British troops.” As in former military efforts, both tv and radio networks are using retired U.S. generals and colonels as the main commentators, with very little use of independent military experts. The focus on getting Saddam is constant-is he dead, where is he, did we get him-this is very similar to the obsession with Osama bin Laden in late 2001, early 2002.

Aside from the coverage of protestors and their protests, very few critics of the tactics being used, or of the idea of this war, are seen on major media. There is very little footage from the rest of the Middle East, with some news of protests, but just one civilian from Iraq has been interviewed, on ABC a couple hours ago. That man, a professor at the University of Baghdad, saw the attacks on the Baathist buildings as an attack on all of Iraq, and asked Americans if they would regard an attack on the Pentagon as an attack on just the military and the government, or as an attack on the entire country. Lastly, in the footage from Sirwan’s liberation, the sight of a soldier beginning to tear down a poster of Saddam is of note. That's because we then see an Iraqi banging a shoe on the face of Saddam-in a culture where pointing your feet at someone is a deep insult, this is like burning someone in effigy. For example, in a Reuters story, Iraqi Information Minister Mohammed Saeed al-Sahhaf said about Rumsfeld and President Bush, "Those only deserve to be hit with shoes."
posted by Arne at 9:12 PM

Today's Wall Street Journal story, headlining the "Marketplace" section, on the attempts of companies like Hershey, Mars, Walt Disney and ConAgra to distribute their branded products to soldiers in the Middle East, opens, "There is nothing like a war to build brand loyalty."
posted by Arne at 4:32 PM

The local Sunday paper includes two comics, Over the Hedge and Get Fuzzy. Over the Hedge features a raccoon and a turtle living in the suburban landscape, and Get Fuzzy features a cat, a dog, and their owner, a 20-something man. This Sunday, Get Fuzzy's cat puts on "the hat formerly known as 'turtle'"-the dog says, "Bucky, that's crazy! Somebody is going to spray-paint 'shell is murder' on you."

Over the Hedge opens with the turtle, Verne, discovering turtle soup in a home's pantry. The raccoon says he tasted turtle "once...I was curious..not bad...needed sugar." Verne the turtle puts on a coonskin hat in response, and the raccoon says, "you know, wearing fur makes your head look fat." Both these comics are syndicated by United Feature Syndicate, Inc.-is this a bizarre coincidence, or some misguided attempt at corporate synergy?

posted by Arne at 2:40 PM

A Wall Street Journal article a few months ago described how Clear Channel, the national radio station conglomerate, produces brands, logos, even entire radio shows, for radio stations across the country. This excerpt, taken from a reprinting of the article at Stay Free! Magazine, describes how one DJ tapes his show in San Diego and re-presents it for a later, seemingly live and authentic, broadcast in Boise:

Mr. Alan also used phone calls he had recorded during his live show in San Diego, editing out local references to make them usable in Boise. He typically greets Boise listeners by using names taken from e-mails he gets from Boise, or sometimes from San Diego callers. Then, he puts them in a situation using a real local place drawn from his research. Sometimes he does a bit less, though. After greeting "Dawn," who "is stuck at work today," he admitted off the air that she was "somebody I just made up right now."
posted by Arne at 7:31 PM

Welcome to the
LITTLE ENGINES Issue Three Electronic Reading Tour!

--------------

The Pockets
by Paul Maliszewski

"There is nothing that makes one feel so much at home in a foreign city as knowing a good bar: a place where one can feel comfortable quickly, and go back to, in the hope, if not the certainty, of being recognized."
-Financial Times

Let me give you this example: In Marrakech, at Tapster's, everyone knows my name. Because I tell it to them, straight out. In a way I instruct them, but totally without guile, mind you. I say to them, I say, Sound it out now. I say, Listen to me. I say, Watch my mouth. See my lips? It's easy. I say, Listen, a wise man once told me that no sound is sweeter to a man than the sweet sound of his own name. And I say to them, Ergo, because I like the sound of that too, Ergo, I will pay you, right now, right here, understand? to tell me mine.

I've discovered that money, when strategically deployed, assists the process of memory formation and, in particular, promotes the cementation of certain long-term memories. The upshot there being that everywhere I go people know who I am.

I carry all the funny little pink and yellow and orange currencies of the world, in my pants pockets, my wallet, and stuffed in my back-up billfold. Some I have zipped into my belt, in a discrete pouch. I line my shoes with the stuff; I walk all over it. In my hotel room, alone, before venturing out into the night, I sit on the edge of the bed and fan a sheaf of bills into a thin layer and spread it over my calves. The TV in the corner is tuned to VH-1, replaying an in-depth documentary history of rock history documentaries. My gold-toe socks, pulled smartly up and over the bills, hold the thin layers of currency in place.

The wondrous elastic properties of my socks have never once embarrassed me. Disinterested third-parties have commented that the subtle effect on my legs' musculature is somewhat stunning, provocative even, so long as I'm seated just right, and there's the sort of light that not so much hides as forgives flaws and perhaps a little of that music they play, in the background, not blaring, never blaring, and so long as I have my one good leg dangling jauntily over the other, and then the cuff of my pants (worsted wool!) creeps up just so. It's quite perfect.

You may have to work at it, but they'll remember your name provided you get a fix on their price. Don't let the "language barrier" grind negotiations to a halt. Use your hands, gesture if you have to, speak loudly. My name, I say, pointing to myself. My name, I repeat, thumping my sternum with cupped hands. Cupped hands being what you call your inclusive, gentle, and warm body language.

I have inner pockets, coin purses, money clips, a beautiful chrome change machine hanging from a leather strap around my neck. My checkbook's the size of a photo album, one for a big family. Everything's monogrammed, embossed or engraved or otherwise emblazoned with the initials that spell the very names by which I'm known and are sweet for me to hear. These days I pad the shoulders of my suit with rolls of American quarters, which coin seems to be hot with the kids. Used to be nickels were. Even my pockets have pockets, and they're all full.

My bad leg doubles as a bank safe. The Vault is what I call it. It's got a surgical steel, triple-tumbler combination lock machined right into the kneecap, just set right into the sucker. The combination changes each month. Has to, for security. Additionally, I possess a killer fanny-pack whose equal is not known, will not, in fact, ever be known, because I had it custom-tailored in southern Italy, out of Spanish leather and the finest Libyan thread. This southern Italian guy did the stitching using a fossilized pine needle from a rare tree found only near the very top of the western face of Mt. Sinai, he told me.

You can hold your fingers up to show how high you're willing to go. For instance, two fingers means you'll give them two of whatever it is they happen to want most of all in the place wherever you happen to be at the time. My name, I say, gesturing openly and warmly, and then hold up seven fingers in front of my face. Then I look at my fingers outstretched like that, nodding at them from left to right, to emphasize the sheer plenitude of digits I'm abstractly offering in place of what they want most of all.

When in Alma-Ata, Kazakhstan, you have to track down Lou's or Tip-A-Few if that's closed the night you go. The Kazakhs moved their capital last summer sometime, I think, or maybe the year before, so neither place is overrun with miserable administrator types anymore. You get a whole different crowd, friendlier and polite like you wouldn't believe, while still not compromising the frisson of danger thing I associate with all those breakaway republics.

Which reminds me, there was a place on the island of Borneo, this is in the interior, that used to be called Olde Ale House. It got bought out five or six years ago by Slim's. Slim's is sort of a semi-local chain of similar independently-managed establishments in the western Pacific Malay region. In spite of the new owners and what have you, it's still good. They kept the same bartender on. Definitely worth the trip if you have time off in Jakarta and just want to get away from everything for awhile.

In Cabo Frio, which I prefer to Rio de Janeiro - same coastal clime, same access to airports, same etc. - do yourself a favor and inquire about this place that's a bar disguised as a fully-operational eighteen-wheeler. It doesn't even have a name. Say the truck/bar is driving by, on the outside it looks every bit the spitting image of those trucks that carry the poisonous gases, all plastered with red signs and stern prohibitions, saying whatever 'notice' and 'warning' are in Portuguese. But inside they've got a teakwood bar that will quite simply impose a stiff excise tax on your lungs.

The next time you're in Djibouti, try Ed's. I met an Account Rep for Barbasol in Gdansk who told me about it. He was there creating some new popular thinking about facial hair. And go to The Pub in Perth. That's what they call it, everyone'll know what you mean. At the South Pole, there's a little place, Eddie's Tavern. It's quaint but not too. Not so many people know about it yet. You can walk in there a second time with every certainty of being recognized as a regular. You don't get that whole expense-account crowd in there.
posted by Arne at 11:23 PM

From yesterday’s Wall Street Journal:

Almost 20% of the 400,000 or so people who play EverQuest-Sony Online Entertainment Inc.’s popular online game-say they actually spend most of their time in the game world, Norrath, and “commute to Earth.”
posted by Arne at 3:55 PM