Calling the pullout “essential for Israel,” Prime Minister Ariel Sharon began the wrenching process of deracinating Jews from their encampments. Palestinian Authority President Mahmoud Abbas sniffed that the relocation, “is a very important and historical step, but it is an initial step that should take place not only in Gaza, but in the West Bank, east Jerusalem and especially L.A.’s Fairfax district.” To that end, Sharon deployed a phalanx of yuppie developers below Melrose Avenue to raise rents and evict long-time merchants. While Simon Rutberg of Hativkah Music wistfully lamented, “This is the end for a lot of us here,” the Picanty Kosher Market’s Nori Zbida reluctantly admitted, “I can’t hold out. I have no choice but to sell the business.”

As front row witnesses to the abject failure of Donald Rumsfeld’s minimalist approach in Iraq, the Israelis willingly paid full retail in Gaza. After thirty years of occupation, 50,000 soldiers and police officers were called in to remove a contingent of 8,000 hard-line settlers, which was, by the way, surrounded by a million Palestinians. When Asher Weisgan gunned down four Arabs, the situation grew desperate, but, miraculously, the shootings fomented no retaliation. A protest here, a skirmish there, and in a matter of days it was over. President Bush called the withdrawal a “courageous and painful step,” and optimistically trumpeted, “peace is within reach in the Holy Land.” Yet the question begs: If surrendering territory captured from Arabs and Muslims is such a brilliant idea, why are we still in Iraq? Bush asserts that in the war or terror, “a policy of retreat and isolation will not bring us safety,” yet this is exactly what he advocates for Israel. “If we do not confront these evil men abroad,” he opines, “we will have to face them one day in our own cities and streets.” Which is utter nonsense: As the transit bombings in Madrid and London acutely demonstrated, the terrorists are perfectly capable of operating — quite successfully — on multiple fronts. On the other hand, after a week that saw plane crashes in Peru, Greece and Venezuela, who needs Al Qaeda, anyways? We’re doing a sparkling job of killing innocent civilians all by ourselves, thank you. Notably, one of the smoldering wreckages yielded the ironic twist that Australian Kirralee Thomas, who went down in Peru, had ridden one of the buses targeted by the failed London bombers.

Now when I say “went down,” I don’t necessarily mean plunged to earth in a giant fireball; I might mean that she took a little nap or that she face fucked the co-pilot. One must concede that given the contrary effects of recent presidential initiatives like No Child Left Behind or Clear Skies, words — depending on what the definition of “is” is — have lost what little meaning survived the Clinton administration. The Christian “Culture of Life,” for example, now endorses murder and prays for divine slaughter. Televangelist Pat Robertson beseeched the Almighty to vacate several seats on the Supreme Court by atomizing liberal Justices either aging or infirm. He then said of Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez: “You know, I don’t know about this doctrine of assassination, but if he thinks we’re trying to assassinate him, I think that we really ought to go ahead and do it. It’s a whole lot cheaper than starting a war.” The ensuing media backlash, including reports of threats to Christian missionaries plying Third World countries, forced Robertson into a feckless apology: “Wait a minute, I didn’t say ‘assassination.’” Uh, yes you did. “I said our special forces should, quote, “take him out,” and “take him out” can be a number of things including kidnapping or inviting him to dinner at Outback Steakhouse. I was misinterpreted by the AP, but that happens all the time.”

Albert Einstein postulated that time is relative and the anecdotal evidence certainly seems to support his position. While some think summer went by far too quickly, others are overcome with tears of joy at the sight of an approaching school bus. Mired together in a twenty-minute Starbucks queue, my neighbor told me his thoughts: “Sometimes, late at night, I imagine Pamela Anderson in a large vat of pudding”… sorry, those ruminations would be mine. What he said was: “I’m so giddy my kids are going back to school, I couldn’t give a shit about Darwin or his theory of evolution. Go ahead and warp the little bastards with notions of Intelligent Design. Teach them L. Ron Hubbard’s thesis of alien implantation for all I care… just get them the Hell out of my house.” As I waited for my three-dollar cup of coffee I couldn’t help but wonder: what would dear Mr. Abbas have to say about that?