Tom Maguire is 100 percent right about Alan Keyes. Keyes used to be a quirky, faintly quacky political character. This story suggests that he’s actually a monster.

Of the three best weekly reads in America, one is the New Yorker, for which my fondness knows no bounds. Another is the New York Observer, which this week carries a fascinating George Gurley article on Dawn Eden.

Eden used to work at the New York Post, where she edited and wrote–brilliantly–headlines. Then she was sacked for a journalistic error by the man who declared that Dick Gephardt was John Kerry’s running mate on the front page of the Post.

I met Eden once and will always be grateful for a bit of advice she gave me. I was working on a piece about Hollywood and wanted, badly, to interview one of my writing idols, a man whom I was terrified of calling. I mentioned this to her in casual conversation and she, having just met me, became very serious and insisted that if I didn’t reach out to him I would regret it for the rest of my life. The next day I called him, we spoke for a long while, and we’re now acquaintances. I thank her for giving me that push.

Today Dawn has a wonderful blog, the Dawn Patrol, which I hope you’ll visit often. And I hope she finds much post-Post success.

(Also, read the Gurley profile, it’s fantastic.)

I often wonder what a cruise ship would be like if not for the casino. On our recent Weekly Standard jaunt aboard Holland America’s Westerdam, I found myself ending my nights with either a few hands of blackjack or a quick roll of the dice. Two of my colleagues, Jonathan V. Last and Stephen F. Hayes, also dropped by to check out the action. And by the second day, there was no question where that action was to be found–at the craps table. There, around midnight, as the ship rocked to and fro, a crowd gathered to watch one of the gaming industry’s most colorful players: Fast Freddie.

Truth be told, I don’t know if Freddie’s fame was limited to the Westerdam or if he was known in Reno, Vegas, and AC. What I do know is he electrified the audience with his lob of the dice. And he was hard to miss: Freddie (last name unknown) was in his late forties or early fifties, wore tropical shirts buttoned down to about midchest, and sported gold necklaces and a rock on his finger that would have earned the gaze of Liberace. Most of all, Freddie had a permed reddish-blonde head of hair that someone described as “porno-style” (I believe it is a loving tribute to Mike Brady).

I had one good streak as a shooter and Freddie knew it. He dropped hundreds in chips on the six and eight. Maybe even a nine. And I just kept on hitting it. There is nothing better than getting an approving look from Fast Freddie. He would then stretch out his arm and point to you in knowing silence. I pointed back in acknowledgment. No words, just looks, and all while the crowd went wild. A couple of nights later, Jonathan Last became the hot shooter. Last, too, received the point and the nod. And both of us were fortunate to be tipped by Fast Freddie. Each of us received $25 chips.

According to rumor, Freddie is in the “NASCAR asphalt business.” He is also, it turns out, a staunch conservative who loves Ronald Reagan. As it turned out, at the end of my run, I won Fast Freddie about $3,000. Still, as I saw him on our last day at sea, he told me he finished down. I don’t know if I’ll ever see Fast Freddie again, but I’ll keep an eye out for him and his flashy shirts, his bling, and, yes, that unmistakable point.

The Law Jedi caught a claim that Eason Jordan may have leaked the names of two CIA-recruited operatives while he was in Amman.

So you thought the Wall Street Journal was being totally ridiculous in its assessment of the blogosphere? Yeah, me too.

Even though Lockheed/AgustaWestland are the official winners of the $1.8 billion Marine One contract, they may wish it didn’t work out so well: Rival Sikorsky had already lost its multibillion dollar Comanche program. Losing a prestige contract like Marine One was even worse (they had been carrying the president since the 1950s). If Sikorsky loses the PRV (Personnel Recovery Vehicle) competition this summer, America’s most famous helicopter-maker could be facing some hard times–which is why some believe it will win the PRV contract as a consolation prize. Meanwhile, the Europeans have now gotten a foothold in the U.S. military copter market and have no intention of leaving. Both sides cry politics and to some extent they are both right. For in-depth analysis, see my recent article in The Daily Standard.

Someone very close to me, years ago, told me she was looking for dates in the singles section of the local paper. This I thought so funny that I whenever I called her and got her machine, I’d leave some ridiculous message from “Bob, Pisces, SMF, non-smoke, pets yes, drag queens no. Saw your ad. Loved it. We need to meet, babe.” Sign of the times: This very attractive woman eventually met a true sweetheart of a guy, whom I’m now glad to call my brother-in-law. All of which has nothing to do with this terrific link from Anonymous

PS. Anonymous mentioned an old article of mine he loathed. It was about Moulin Rouge and nothing I’ve written has brought me so much hate mail. In case you’re curious and harboring your own mixed feelings about Baz Lurhmann’s musical.

Boy, is it quiet around here. My lame-O posts are stuck like krazy glue to the top of the page. And you’re probably wondering if you’ve ever read my stuff before. My better two-thirds, Jonathan and Vic, are away this week on The Weekly Standard cruise. Jonathan, however, is posting on weeklystandard.com with daily updates on his life at sea.

Day One

Day Two