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WASHINGTON, June 23 (UPI) — The DHS did not notify the White House of its final allocations of anti-terrorism grants for major U.S. urban areas.

U.S. President George W. Bush and his White House were kept in the dark about the Department of Homeland Security’s grant allocations, even though they included controversial cuts to New York City and Washington, until after the decisions were made, congressional and administration officials said Wednesday.

[full story here.]

I’m starting to think that this Presidenting gig doesn’t really require much skill. Lots of style, but very little substance, from what I’ve seen over the past five years. I mean, your working knowledge of geopolitics need only be basic; whenever something bad happens, your press secretary burns a DVD of all the news footage for you to watch while you’re perched on the West Wing john; the Armed Forces keep dressing you in discontinued, presidential seal-emblazoned "Members Only" jackets that would make Kim Jong Il launch an ICBM in a fit of envy; and you get to hand-pick your audience when you have to make that annoying policy speech over and over again.

God knows, you don’t have to be particularly photogenic or articulate. You don’t even have to believe what you’re saying. To quote Eddie Izzard: "70% of what people react to is how you look . . . , 20% is about how you sound, and only 10% is what you say." All you have to do is mouth the words.

Yeah, yeah, you occasionally have to entertain foreign dignitaries at state dinners or go abroad to smooth feathers, but it’s not like you have to know their names or observe their customs or even eat what passes, for them, as "food."  That’s what the Secretary of State is for.  And besides, all those trips are terrific for amassing a "spoons of the world" collection.

Best of all, even though you’re the Executive, you don’t have to make any executive decisions – that’s why you stock your Cabinet with people smarter and/or smarmier than you are. Heck, they don’t even have to be qualified for their positions. It makes life a lot easier to nominate your friends and frat brothers.  (Like Congress is going to say no.  Oh, please.)  And when the press hounds you for surrounding yourself with over-protective sycophants, all you have to do is forcefully pound the podium, look sternly at Helen Thomas, call yourself "The Resolver" or "The Chooser" or "The Figure-Outer," and you’re out of the Rose Garden and on your mountain bike before Andy Card can put on his jock.

I’d like to be President.  I could use the exercise. And I’d really like to expand my assortment of snowglobes.