It probably seemed like I was going to write you from New York this morning. It seemed that way to me, even after Green Taxi forgot to pick me up yesterday, and even after United delayed my flight three hours, and after I spent 40 minutes in line at customer service, and after a young man spent 20 minutes trying to book me on a later connection in Denver while periodically mumbling “I don’t know how to do this,” and after he couldn’t print any boarding passes, and after I got back in line and went through the whole rebooking process with somebody else. Then United delayed my flight again, past the last possible connection, and my choices were to fly into an overnight stranding in Denver or go home. So I spent four hours at the airport yesterday and achieved nothing, except $40 in wasted cab fare. Today, I will do it all again. United sucks. We’ll be back Monday with a real blog.

It’s amazing how the signal moments of one person’s life constitute mundane detail in another’s. There is no Combat! blog today, because I am flying to New York. Probably, you don’t care. But it’s exciting and fun for me, like a series of arbitrary events that become ironized or surprising from a certain perspective. You know: like a joke. How about you read this work of genius while I eat airport Chili’s. We’ve both been so terribly reduced.

The Departments of Defense and the Army will exercise final review over accusations of plagiarism against Sen. John Walsh (D–MT,) according to Army War College spokeswoman Carol Kerr. Walsh is a sitting lawmaker and veteran, so the DOD has claimed jurisdiction over any investigation. This news caps a confusing couple of days for the AP, which also reported that the War College claimed final authority. If the War College revokes Walsh’s master’s degree, it’s hard to envision a situation in which Defense can plausibly restore it. Any other punishments, though, appear to be up to the Pentagon, which I’m sure will not do anything weird or biased in the end. While we wait to see how much our military procurers care about academic honesty, you could read my column for the Missoula Independent, in which I excoriate Walsh and his relentless ineptitude. Yes, he fought in a war, but we’re not electing someone to send to Iraq. We’re electing someone to send to Washington, and I cannot believe that Walsh is the best option among a million Montanans. At this point, though, we’re choosing the best option between him and Steve Daines. I’m not encouraging voters to stay home on election day, but I am urging voters to build time machines and get nominated in 2013. Anybody.

Ever since Burwell v. Hobby Lobby, in which the Supreme Court exempted the craft store chain from covering certain types of employee birth control due to its owners’ sincere religious objections, I’ve been chafing under the yoke of federal oppression. My beliefs may not be as popular as the notion that a fertilized egg that fails to implant in the uterine lining counts as an aborted baby, but I believe them just as hard, and I assure you they are supported by just as little evidence. That’s the key to getting exempted from federal law: your opinions have to be religious, meaning arbitrary and not open to discussion. If you believe the IUDs are bad because they reduce the overall marriage rate or because women who are sexually active are more likely to be victims of assault, you can shut up and pay your employee coverage. But if you believe it because your church told you the morning after pill is murder, we can’t even argue with you. That’s why I’ve taken a series of exemptions to federal, state and baseball-park law, as I explain in my most recent column for the Missoula Independent. You can read it today instead of a real blog. We’ll be back tomorrow with Friday links and, probably, a tiny baby growing inside us.

 

Combat! blog’s beautiful Chicago trip is drawing to a close, which means it’s time to head to beautiful O’Hare and eat at a beautiful airport Chili’s. While I experience the apogee of American culture, how about you read this article about the shift away from cars-first transit design in California? I know it sounds dry, but that’s the futch. The futch (pronounced fyooch) is what hip young people call the future, as in (while bicycling) “don’t nuke my futch, bro!” We’ll be back with more information on how you should talk tomorrow, tomorrow.