Over at NRO’s non-blog, The Corner, Kathryn Jean Lopez is appalled that she saw a four-year-old boy searched in Seattle at the boarding gate.

As I was boarding a flight from Seattle to San Francisco, it was clear that the gate agent was merely counting, and sending every n-th person to be searched more thoroughly than the rest of us. The entire line was shocked and appalled when A 4 YEAR OLD BOY was selected as a target of their mindless procedure. He was scared, and his Dad was quite put out (understandably) as the security guy asked him to spread his arms and finagled his metal-detecting wand into his nooks and crannies. (Well, his nooks, anyway.)

We were all aghast, but it seems fruitless to complain about anything in this environment. If we don’t expect airline or security workers to THINK, is it too much to ask that the Sec. of Transportation think? I don’t think so. Isn’t profiling better than THIS?

I think that she, and others who think that children shouldn’t be targeted for searches are missing the real point. I’m opposed to such searches also–not because the targets are children, but because, post-911, for everyone, they are annoying and useless.

Once you accept the logic (as Ms. Lopez seems to) that we really do need to worry about box cutters, nail clippers, and Congressional Medals Of Honor on aircraft, then it actually makes more sense to search a child than, say, a little old lady. After all, how do they know that the child isn’t carrying something that the father slipped on to his person to avoid getting searched himself? Once on the plane, he could simply retrieve it from the kid, and do whatever nefarious acts he could do with a sharp object.

Which is to say, nothing, because he’s be torn limb from limb by crew and passengers, who are the real defense against air terrorism now.

That last is the argument that we need to make, and continue making, instead of whining about who’s being searched and who’s not.

The group Students for Individual Liberty is sponsoring a gun control debate at LA Harbor College, in Wilmington, CA. It will be between the Liberty Belles, a pro-2nd-amendment women’s group, and the Million Mom March. The “million moms” are sending a man to debate their side.

Sorry about the post paucity, but I’ve had a busy weekend, pulling CAT5 cable for a new LAN connection to the spare bedroom (Patricia needs it now that she’s spending more time at home), seeing the latest Cirque du Soleil down in Long Beach (hint–it’s mostly Chinese, and not as good as some earlier shows, but OK), picking up a niece at LAX (returning to USC from spring break) and nursing Patricia, because she’s come down with some throat rot.

Tomorrow I have to finish up a proposal, but there may be some new stuff up in the afternoon (PST).

Milla Jovovich loves guns. It’ll be interesting to see how Hollywood reacts to this.

I guess those Eastern European Slavs know which way the wind blows when it comes to gun control.

George Will’s commentary on This Week was Yet Another Rail against farm subsidies. I’m glad that he’s willing to keep tilting at that windmill, but I found it amusing that he was too polite to mention Sam Donaldson’s ongoing mohair payments.

Mark Steyn is once again a lonely but articulate voice in a call for common sense in airline security (and our utterly unjustified trust in big government since September 11). Where is everyone else in the punditocracy?

Brian has been missing in action for several days. Stephanie is first worried, then angry, as he pays no attention to her, and instead hobnobs in Europe with his friends at their “la de da” web sites and blows kisses at Ms. Berlitz.

Will Brian’s jeep start? Will his hamsters be found lying in the shredded newspaper, their rodentary ribs showing, upon his return? Will they instead turn on each other, like a dinner party with Alferd Packer and Jeffrey Dahmer at the Donner’s?

Will Stephanie ever forgive? Will she instead attempt to seduce the noble and ever-faithful Instantman in his Kentucky trailer?

More to the point, has Brian decided to kill off the Stephanie Dupont character?

Find out next week, on “As The ‘Ain’t’ No Bad Dude’ World Turns…”

Brian has been missing in action for several days. Stephanie is first worried, then angry, as he pays no attention to her, and instead hobnobs in Europe with his friends at their “la de da” web sites and blows kisses at Ms. Berlitz.

Will Brian’s jeep start? Will his hamsters be found lying in the shredded newspaper, their rodentary ribs showing, upon his return? Will they instead turn on each other, like a dinner party with Alferd Packer and Jeffrey Dahmer at the Donner’s?

Will Stephanie ever forgive? Will she instead attempt to seduce the noble and ever-faithful Instantman in his Kentucky trailer?

More to the point, has Brian decided to kill off the Stephanie Dupont character?

Find out next week, on “As The ‘Ain’t’ No Bad Dude’ World Turns…”

Brian has been missing in action for several days. Stephanie is first worried, then angry, as he pays no attention to her, and instead hobnobs in Europe with his friends at their “la de da” web sites and blows kisses at Ms. Berlitz.

Will Brian’s jeep start? Will his hamsters be found lying in the shredded newspaper, their rodentary ribs showing, upon his return? Will they instead turn on each other, like a dinner party with Alferd Packer and Jeffrey Dahmer at the Donner’s?

Will Stephanie ever forgive? Will she instead attempt to seduce the noble and ever-faithful Instantman in his Kentucky trailer?

More to the point, has Brian decided to kill off the Stephanie Dupont character?

Find out next week, on “As The ‘Ain’t’ No Bad Dude’ World Turns…”

Patricia was home for the weekend from Reno, and we went for a walk on the strand in Manhattan Beach to watch the sun sink beneath the Pacific. As we passed the pier, heading north, I saw a vertical arrow of white smoke, its head a ball of fire rising upward from the mountains above Malibu.

I pointed it out to her. “There’s a launch out of Vandenberg.”

We watched as it continued to move upward, and then curved over, compelled by gravity, as it headed south. The stage flickered out, and a second one ignited.

A couple minutes later, and it disappeared, its propellant expended, its fire extinguished, and its body invisible from the distance of hundreds of miles.

I told her it was probably a Minuteman, perhaps to launch a target thousands of miles southwest, to the lonely atoll of Kwajalein in the South Pacific. In the war, it suffered what was probably the most dense and intensive bombardment in history–thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of pounds of explosives, on a tiny lump of coral, to ferret out or destroy Japanese soldiers dug into it like ants in a hill. Now, it is the launch base to test the weapons that may allow us to knock down smites from our new enemies.

The smoke trail was twirled on the fingers of the jet stream. It was dark on the ground, but the rocket exhaust was dancing in the dying sunlight, lighting the night sky in a sun-drenched kaleidescope of swirling vapor and chemical fumes. It was a beauty both natural and artificial, and we were glad that we decided to take a walk on the beach that night.

When I got home, and heard that the most recent missile test was successful, I was most pleased to hear that my surmise was correct.