A good bit of today I spent doing errands. I wrote and filed the story with NRO this morning, reviewed a book proposal, and got a haircut. Of course, a haircut here also involves a shave, with a straight-edge razor. I must admit that as I sat in the chair, my head leaning back, with the barber running his razor over my jugular, scenes from old gangster films involving Columbian neckties ran through my head. But the barber didn’t even nick me, which is more than I can say for many a barber visit in the States.

When I filed the story this morning, I ran across the street to the internet cafe, so I did not take the time to get into my normal "desert reporter attire" of khakis, a long sleeve shirt (hiding my bullet-proof vest), and boots. Instead, I just threw on a shirt, some shorts, and sandals, and made my way out. What struck me was that the Iraqi security guard doing the pat down still patted down my legs below the shorts. This seemed wholly unnecessary, and reaffirms my belief that these security details (and the TSA at the airport for that matter) should be replaced with leggy models.