I can't bring myself to care about this whole sordid affair between General Petraeus and his biographer and the shirtless FBI agent and the Florida socialite and General Allen. It seems too much like a bunch of adults acting like adolescents, and is worthy only of a mid-season replacement series on Bravo.
Are we really that concerned about sensitive military secrets being passed by anyone involved? Are we just a bunch of depraved gossipwhores? Because from where I'm sitting, this boils down to a semi-obsessed biographer getting turned on by a not-very-good-looking guy in a position of power and the two of them letting that obsession get out of control. They knew they were doing something wrong, but that something was sneaking around committing adultery, not compromising the security of the United States.
If we cared as much about the thousands of soldiers facing enemy fire right now as we do about how many times Petraeus and Broadwell did it doggie-style, we would be a happier nation.
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