David Adesnik has a fitting response to Daily Kos’s “Bush Destroys Another 22 Families” post.

Last week a liberal friend argued that I was wrong to lable Kos a “far-left website.” My friend–who’s one of the best and smartest guys I know–insisted that Kos was pretty mainstream. I hope, for liberalism’s sake, that I’m right and my buddy is wrong.

Still wondering what to get your dad for Christmas? Or perhaps you yourself are unsure of what you want? Well, if you or someone you know is a Scotch fan, I highly recommend getting him or her what will no doubt be a bestseller next year: Johnnie Walker Green Label. That’s right, Green.

Only the fifth label to be introduced by Johnnie Walker in almost 200 years, Green Label is a pure malt whiskey resulting from a blend of such notable single malts as Talisker and Cragganmore. Until recently it had only been available in a few markets and knowledge of its existence depended largely on word-of-mouth. But last month, JW’s parent company Diageo decided to revamp it and sell it across the country. It’s still hard to find, and chances are you won’t yet see it at your local liquor store, but you can order it from a few online sites including 877Spirits for a somewhat hefty $88.

Scotch lovers may be wondering where Green falls within the Johnnie Walker family. One Diageo official tells me it comes after Black but before Gold. A few weeks ago, at a Christmas party thrown by one of my fellow Galley Slaves, I had the honor of taste-testing Green Label (thanks to a generous guest who is connected to Johnnie Walker). I would agree it is above Black, with definite hints of peat and smokiness, yet leaving a cleaner, smoother finish. (And no, I am not benefiting in any way from plugging this Scotch–consider it a Public Service Announcement.)

You have to scroll down in Wretchard’s latest post to get to the truly scary stuff: Namely that Europeans are refusing to investigate mass grave sites because they don’t want to turn up evidence that can be used against Saddam Hussein.

Couple this news with an earlier Wretchard post about Paris Match correspondents who were essentially embedded with Iraqi terrorists and went on a mission to report on the terrorists’ attempt to shoot down a civilian cargo plane.

And add to this mix the fact that Clive Stafford-Smith, a British “human rights lawyer,” is helping Saddam’s legal defense. Then finally, figure in that, as Charles Johnson reported, Stafford-Smith is a beneficiary of the George Soros Foundation.

Now, let me just ask: How long is it before Saddam Hussein becomes not an embarrassing, unspoken ally of the left, but an actual hero to them?

It will happen in Europe first, obviously. I suspect that in the run-up to his trial, he will be transformed from monster to victim in the mind of the left. Then, as the trial unfolds and Iraq’s mass graves are placed in context next to the abominations of America’s Abu Ghraib, he’ll mutate from victim to folk hero. Not the sort of fellow you’d invite to dinner, mind you, but an okay sort. Certainly good enough for those people. Before the trial’s conclusion, Saddam might be the next Che Guevara.

The real question is: Will this view then infect the American left, too?

Crush Kerry is pondering a Sam Brownback run for 2008. That’s a name I hadn’t heard on the list before.

I realize that this is the year of the blog, and I certainly don’t begrudge the fine gentlemen at Power Line any of their deserved accolades. But a handful of bloggers excepted, I’m often surprised by how poor the quality of writing is in the blog world. Even though it is a textual medium, most bloggers pay little attention to their writing. There’s a reason, of course: The twin monsters which drive the Internet are “MORE” and “FASTER.” The web does not value “beautiful” or “elegant.” Such is life. What bothers me is that as the Internet remains ascendant, its standard for the written word becomes more the norm, instead of an expedient exception. You know it’s bad when serious people like Jack Shafer start throwing around the names of relative illiterates as possible New York Times columnists. (Read Shafer’s list, you’ll know who I’m talking about.)

As an antidote to this sickness, I recommend three writers. The first is my friend Andy Ferguson, whose workis as flawless and elegant as you’ll find this side of E.B. White. The second is the New Yorker‘s Anthony Lane, who can do just about anything. Whether he’s reviewing bad movies or waxing nostalgic about P.G. Wodehouse, Lane is the real deal. (What’s the definition of a good film critic? A writer whose essay is equally enjoyable whether you agree or disagree with his assessment of the movie.) The third is Lane’s colleague David Grann.

Grann does gonzo-deep reporting, and recently has turned in masterworks on subjects as wide-ranging as New York City’s aqueduct infrastructure and the search for giant squid. In the New Yorker of a couple weeks ago, Grann spun 12,000 words of immaculate reporting and silky-smooth writing on the mysterious death of the world’s foremost Sherlock Holmes scholar. None of his work is available on the Internet, and yet Grann is my Writer of the Year.

Which leads me to a larger point: One of the themes often associated with blog triumphalism is the idea that people are increasingly turning off old, dead-tree media. That’s fine, as far as it goes; the new media pays my mortgage and I’ve got nothing against it. But to fixate on the Internet and turn your back on the old media is as foolish as doing the reverse.

So in 2005, do yourself a favor: Make it a habit to shut down the computer and curl up with a magazine every so often. Track down Ferguson and Lane and Grann. Take a break from the now and enjoy the beautiful. You won’t be sorry.

Hugh Hewitt’s new book, Blog, has just landed on my desk. I’ve been browsing through it for a bit and so far, it’s really delightful–like a long, comfortable, interesting blog post.

I’m going to read more of it while waiting for The Life Aquatic tonight, but I already recommend it.

Update, 12/22/04, 7:46 a.m.: Finished Blog last night, so I can now recommend it without reservation. An insightful, interesting book that’s worth reading if you have anything more than even a passing interest in new technologies.

I should have known better than to provoke you with a Goodfellas reference. When you’re right, you’re right (about Goodfellas).

As other Galley readers will no doubt point out, David, the pink Cadillac Coupe de Ville did not belong to Frankie Carbone, but rather, to Johnny Roastbeef. (It wasn’t even under his name, may he rest in peace.) But yes, it was a terrific shot, so to speak, with Derek and the Dominos playing in the background. I’ll never forget it. But then again, the American public is not subjected to this scene five times a day the way they are treated to other Cadillac commercials. If that were the case, I’d be pretty sick of that too. (But since I’ve only seen Goodfellas 500 times or so, I’m not tired of it just yet.)

But Cadillac is just one example. Remember when McDonald’s introduced their new sandwich to the tune of “New Sensation” by INXS? Michael Hutchence would have hanged himself if he hadn’t already. Yes, Volkswagen brilliantly used Nick Drake’s “Pink Moon” in one of its ads, as well as “Mr. Roboto” by Styx, but the list of songs ruined by overplayed and overbearing commercials is much, much longer. Or so I posit.