God, I'm such an asshole. I'm sitting here worrying about maybe getting blown up by terrorists who may or may not exist, and who may or may not consider that the war we're about to have is a good reason to blow some people up in New York. I'm worried about getting poisoned by gas or germs or something in the subway as I travel from my perfect apartment to my perfect job, or nuked on my way from my perfect job to a delicious dinner with my lovely friends or on my way back home to my perfect boyfriend and adorable cats. Where my biggest worry is whether or not my neighbor might play his music too loud and not turn it off at exactly ten p.m.

Meanwhile, plenty of perfectly nice people who may or may not have perfectly lovely lives, because they have been shit on, tortured, starved and killed by Saddam Hussein for the last 25 years are about to get definitely, no question, blown into little bloody pieces, because our lunatic president and his pals have balls so big they can barely keep them in their pants, and they want the world to know it. Oh yeah, also, they stand to make a shitload of money off this deal.

So who am I to complain? Chances are I'll survive this war.

This morning on BBC World, they talked to some Iraqi refugees in Jordan. One of them was a painter, some others were putting on a very arty play. Then they showed German diplomats leaving their embassy in a perfectly nice suburb-looking part of Baghdad. In other words, despite what it may look like on CNN, the Iraqis apparently aren't all whimpering victims or scary militants. And the country isn't just a big desert. When we bomb it, we'll be destroying some really nice things, and killing lots of normal intelligent interesting people just like ourselves.