Curb MY Enthusiasm

Larry David—the model for George Costanza on "Seinfeld"—appears on my favorite HBO comedy series, "Curb Your Enthusiasm." Larry David—as himself—has created another show about nothing. Larry David is small-minded, self-absorbed, and capable of mean spiritedness. My kind of guy. On a recent show, he got into a fight with a Russian immigrant during the eulogy for the immigrant's beloved uncle. The immigrant's wife was serving as an interpreter and was repeating the remarks to her husband in Russian. Larry David—sitting at the next table—asked the woman to "hold it down" and when the Russian immigrant learned what David had said, the fight was on. In this op-ed piece for the NYTimes, Larry David thanks W for restoring David's pride in serving in the Army Reserve during Vietnam. If this is (fair & balanced) mockery, so be it.

[x NYTimes]
My War
By LARRY DAVID

LOS ANGELES

I couldn't be happier that President Bush has stood up for having served in the National Guard, because I can finally put an end to all those who questioned my motives for enlisting in the Army Reserve at the height of the Vietnam War. I can't tell you how many people thought I had signed up just to avoid going to Vietnam. Nothing could be further from the truth. If anything, I was itching to go over there. I was just out of college and, let's face it, you can't buy that kind of adventure. More important, I wanted to do my part in saving that tiny country from the scourge of Communism. We had to draw the line somewhere, and if not me, then who?

But I also knew that our country was being torn asunder by opposition to the war. Who would be here to defend the homeland against civil unrest? Or what if some national emergency should arise? We needed well-trained men on the ready to deal with any situation. It began to dawn on me that perhaps my country needed me more at home than overseas. Sure, being a reservist wasn't as glamorous, but I was the one who had to look at myself in the mirror.

Even though the National Guard and Army Reserve see combat today, it rankles me that people assume it was some kind of waltz in the park back then. If only. Once a month, for an entire weekend — I'm talking eight hours Saturday and Sunday — we would meet in a dank, cold airplane hangar. The temperature in that hangar would sometimes get down to 40 degrees, and very often I had to put on long underwear, which was so restrictive I suffered from an acute vascular disorder for days afterward. Our captain was a strict disciplinarian who wouldn't think twice about not letting us wear sneakers or breaking up a poker game if he was in ill humor. Once, they took us into the woods and dropped us off with nothing but compasses and our wits. One wrong move and I could've wound up on Queens Boulevard. Fortunately, I had the presence of mind to find my way out of there and back to the hangar. Some of my buddies did not fare as well and had to call their parents to come and get them.

Then in the summer we would go away to camp for two weeks. It felt more like three. I wondered if I'd ever see my parakeet again. We slept on cots and ate in the International House of Pancakes. I learned the first night that IHOP's not the place to order fish. When the two weeks were up, I came home a changed man. I would often burst into tears for no apparent reason and suffered recurring nightmares about drowning in blueberry syrup. If I hadn't been so strapped for cash, I would've sought the aid of a psychiatrist.

In those days, reserve duty lasted for six years, which, I might add, was three times as long as service in the regular army, although to be perfectly honest, I was unable to fulfill my entire obligation because I was taking acting classes and they said I could skip my last year. I'll always be eternally grateful to the Pentagon for allowing me to pursue my dreams.

Still, after all this time, whenever I've mentioned my service in the Reserve during Vietnam, it's been met with sneers and derision. But now, thanks to President Bush, I can stand up proudly alongside him and all the other guys who guarded the home front. Finally, we no longer have to be embarrassed about our contribution during those very trying years.

Larry David, who served in the Army Reserve in the 1970's, appears in the HBO series "Curb Your Enthusiasm." David also was a writer for "Saturday Night Live" and the co-creator of "Seinfeld."

Copyright © 2004 The New York Times Company

Why I Am Voting For Dave Barry In 2004

It doesn't get any better. Another campaign piece by my candidate for President of the United States: Dave Barry. And Candidate Barry supplies a lagniappe: lyrics from my favorite song: My Way. Barry also includes Gandhi and Moses in his panthenon of great Americans (Lincoln, Kennedy, and King) and finishes with Perry Como. There are zillions of Protestant Rightists who would not object to the inclusion of Moses, but might choke on Gandhi. Nonetheless, Dave Barry has a great ear for the U.S. street. To wit: [Barry promises to govern according to] old country expressions that express the homespun wisdom acquired by rural people over years of drinkin' contaminated groundwater, such as: "Don't light a match 'til you know which end of the dog is barkin'.'' If this is (fair & balanced) political wisdom, so be it.

[x Miami Herald]
I'll do it yooooour wayyyyyy
by
DAVE BARRY

My fellow and gal Americans:

For the past few months, as I have traveled around this great nation talking about my campaign for president, the one question I have heard most often from the voters, in these troubled times, is: "President of what?''

Ha ha! Such kidders, those voters! But seriously: According to my team of policy advisors, it is now 2004, which means this November the American people will go into the voting booth and cast ballots for the leader of our nation, except in Florida, where they will become confused and attempt to produce urine samples.

But that is the imperfect nature of our political system. As the late Winston Churchill once said: "Democracy is the . . . the . . . (WHAM).'' Winston was on his 17th glass of gin when he said this, and would have broken his nose had he not landed face-first on a member of the British royal family, who, fortunately, was lying on the floor at the time.

Yes, Winston Churchill, like democracy itself, was not perfect. Neither was Abraham Lincoln, John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King, Gandhi, Moses or the late Perry Como. And like these great Americans, I am not perfect, either. To quote the classic song My Way, which I think we can all agree, as Americans, has some of the worst lyrics ever written: "Regrets, I've had a few. But then again, too few to mention.''

Yes, I have made mistakes. But who has not? Are you perfect? Can you look yourself in the eye and honestly say: ''I have never, while high on crack, driven a bank-robbery getaway car into an elementary school?'' So if my opponents wish to dredge up that unfortunate incident from my past, I say to them: "Fine, go ahead, but I do not believe the American voters are so petty and vindictive as to punish a candidate for something that happened nearly six weeks ago.''

I say this because, unlike my opponents -- with their image consultants, their pollsters, their all-night sex orgies with the cast of Celebrity Mole Yucatan -- I trust you, the American people. I am not some professional politician in a silk suit who has never worked with his hands. I work with my hands! I am typing with my hands right now! I've tried working with my feet, but it comes out Welsh, as follows: ''Wel, dyma i chi ddefaid da!'' ("My goodness, what magnificent sheep!'')

Yes, voters, I trust you, because I am one of you. I even talk like you. For example, when I'm campaignin' in the South, I leave the 'g''s off the ends of words, and I use old country expressions that express the homespun wisdom acquired by rural people over years of drinkin' contaminated groundwater, such as: 'Don't light a match 'til you know which end of the dog is barkin.' '' As your president, I will govern the nation, or at least the South, in accordance with those words, whatever they may mean.

Voters, I have the same values, morals, religious beliefs, ethnic background and number of children as you. We even have the same blood type! If I am elected president, and you ever need blood, or an organ, you just come to the White House, and I will immediately hang up the Hot Line phone, and, bam, I will give you a kidney, lung, pancreas, liver segment, whatever you need, no questions asked. Name me one other candidate, besides Dennis Kucinich, who has made that promise.

Of course this is not enough for the so-called ''news media,'' which as we know is dominated by left wingers; or, if you prefer, right wingers. The point is, they are wingers, and they are always nosing around, asking questions, trying to make me reveal intimate details about my personal life, such as which party do I belong to, and do I have a domestic or foreign policy. Well you can call me a man of deep moral principles if you want, but I happen to believe that even a presidential candidate is entitled to a ''zone of privacy'' covering his political beliefs, criminal record, recreational use of household chemicals and Internet purchases of inflatable sheep.

Because in the end, I am a man, just like you, unless you are a woman, in which case, so am I. And in the words of the great Canadian-American songwriter Mr. Paul Anka: For what is a man, what has he got? If not himself, then he has naught.

© 2004 The Miami Herald and wire service sources. All Rights Reserved.