Really, New York Times? m.snowe thought this story about the “trend” of pot bellies was ridiculous, and she scoffed at you, and then quickly went back to her own business. But then, she saw this one, on women in the military and combat and such, and she wanted to yell at you through the computer and hope you could hear her angry and disgusted scream all the way over at your stupid ladder building on 43rd Street.
Why is m.snowe appalled? This is after all about ladies kicking ass in the armed forces, which clearly m.snowe has no problem with. But look at how the “journalist” begins the “Woman at Arms” article:
“As the convoy rumbled up the road in Iraq, Specialist Veronica Alfaro was struck by the beauty of fireflies dancing in the night. Then she heard the unmistakable pinging of tracer rounds and, in a Baghdad moment, realized the insects were illuminated bullets.”
Yes, all girls do is daydream about fireflies, fairies, and lollipops. Also, if we weren’t so damned distracted by said daydreams, our convoy drivers wouldn’t have been riddled with bullets.
Aren’t journalists told to front load? So why did this journalist (a lady journalist, no less!) begin with fireflies, and not the real meat of the story, which is:
“She jumped from behind the wheel of her gun truck, grabbed her medical bag and sprinted 50 yards to a stalled civilian truck. On the way, bullets kicked up dust near her feet. She pulled the badly wounded driver to the ground and got to work.”
Let us not forget, this is super heroic, because the Specialist is a chick. She deserves not a purple heart, but a pink one, because hey, she’s a girl. And when little grown up girls do something so heroic that even most men wouldn’t do, well, that’s extra-special extraordinary. (m.snowe is laying this on thicker than the cream cheese at the corner deli … ).
Give us a break, Times.