Dressed for surveillance. (Unplugged).

Silly me. Bush was elected. War is the answer. A little torture is a good thing. Ditto racial profiling. I've got to learn to kick back and enjoy this. What was I thinking? What's that sound I hear? The Constitution being shredded? Whoopee! Confetti!

Of course I'm bitter that I was not offered the USO gig to entertain the troops at holiday time. No, that went to "the new Bob Hope," Wayne Newton. Unless there is an elite troop of altacockers special forces in Afghanistan we don't know about, which would be brilliant and unexpected, I would think that * NSYNC, Missy "Misdemeanor" Elliott, or Britney Spears would be a better choice.

Since 9-11, I have been doing my own version of a USO tour performing throughout the country. When I leave the house, on a road trip or even on an errand, my own strict Dress for Success code has been replaced by Dress for Surveillance. You like to look your best for the cameras. Ix-nay on the stripes; they go wiggly and grainy. Unless they're red and white. Did I already mention I love my country?

When I was first searched at airport security, I actually felt relieved they were surveilling the less obvious suspects, larger, older white gals like myself. After my fourth random wanding (not in the Harry Potter sense) from a lovely woman at O'Hare, I learned a new meaning of heightened state of alert.

The troops are traumatized. At the beginning of every show, I have always thanked people for coming out, implying out of the closet. Now I mean out of the house.

Since the Presidential selection process last November, I have found it harder to come out as a justice-loving progressive than as a lesbian.

I was asked to appear at a Women for Ferrer breakfast the day before the almost overlooked NYC Democratic mayoral runoff. It was a powerfully diverse gathering of women -- African American, Latina, Asian American, unionists, politicos, organizers. I was proud to be there and remarked that it was such a relief to be among women after days of watching men talking to men about other men, only men. The men had not yet picked up and played the convenient "we-are-freeing-the-Afghan-women-we-just-noticed-are -- oppressed-under-the-Taliban" card.

In a throwaway line, I referred to George bin Bush. The women in the audience did not bat an eye. But some reporter there from the New York Post picked it up, challenged the Ferrer people with it, and printed it the next day. My manager called me, frantic about the phone calls, wondering what sacrilege I'd committed. My web site was flaming with e-threats. Now I know what it takes to get in the Post.

No telling if my remarks have already gotten me onto the list of offending comments compiled by Lon (I mean Lynne) Cheney's "Committee to Protect American Civilization," not to be confused with "The Ministry for the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice." That's Bill Bennett. No wait, sorry, that was the Taliban.

Cheney runs the committee out of the secure and undisclosed bunker she shares with her husband, the Veep. It's a duck blind in eastern Pennsylvania. Todd Gitlin, a professor at NYU, no leftwing nut bucket he, is on the list for the highly inflammatory statement, "There is a lot of skepticism about America's policy of going to war." Sometimes I like to imagine Tipper Gore getting away with a committee like that.

These days, I find myself approaching political material in my shows much as

I approached the Golden Gate Bridge that day when Gray Davis warned of possible, highly probable terrorist attacks. I take a deep breath and floor it.

Kate "I bought Continental Airlines!" Clinton is a comedian.