Yasser, That's My Baby

Came into work this morning and logged on to AOL as usual only to learn that long-comatose Palestinian leader Yasser Arafat died overnight at the age of 75.

I can imagine the Israelis welcome this news like the release of a shitty new Streisand picture or a Chanukah card from Joe Lieberman hisself.

Me, I’m not so sure.

Never much of a Gipper fan (to put it mildly), I must admit I took the news of Reagan’s passing earlier this year as something of a relief.

Though I never doubted for a moment his heartfelt and genuine commitment to those blockheaded policies of his, this didn’t lessen the suffering they caused nor excuse his penchant for short-sighted solutions to very complex problems and issues.

Who’d of thunk that by the time he finally kicked we’d wind up with his veep’s addle-brained son behind the podium.

Say what you want about his recent obsession with hurricanes, the Good Lord certainly do have one strange sense of humor.

Which, of course, brings us back to the Arafat situation.

Let’s hope his successors in the PLO and Palestinian Authority (Mahmoud Abbas and Rauhi Fattouh, respectively) emulate the old man’s finer diplomatic qualities while dismissing the very tendencies toward violence and antagonism that have always added so much weight to his enemies’ accusations.

Of course, I’m also hoping for a new house, world peace and that my old Time-Warner stock takes a turn back toward 90 bucks a share.

I’m not holding my breath.