Gary Larson and Human Nature

Only the truly gifted can accurately depict the wanna-bes:

Shamelessly lifted from Mrs. Who, who pilfered it from Conservative Punk.

The Big Irony of "Job Creation" is...

... is that our military has apparently done a better job of pulling a national economy back from total destruction, made for safer streets, and encouraged free-market capitalism and job-growth opportunity for millions than our much-vaunted intelligentsia and elected dancing moneys can manage right here at home.

I'm moving to Iraq. I hear they're hiring.

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h/t Ernie Mannix.

Here. I'm Busy. Watch this:

Laters.

The French: Explained

I think most have read about toxoplasmosis parasite by now with a vaguely passing interest in the idea of cats causing schizophrenia, but TJICistan has unearthed a wiki entry chock full o' fun:

in France, for example, around 88% of the population are carriers…

I "heh" in your general direction!

Dear GOP:

There are still people in my party who believe in consensus politics. I regard them as Quislings, as traitors... I mean it.
Margaret Thatcher

Can't Put My Finger On It

I'm not one in a million, but I AM one in about 500.

Electronic fingerprinting will not verify my prints from finger to finger-roll. Thirty minutes, sixty attempts, re-matching, wet fingers, dry fingers, press hard, press lightly, get two other experts to try. Nada.

No, I'm not gonna be a prison guard, Jean! I'm going to be doing the dangerous work of insurance. Again. I try to escape it, but it keeps dragging me back into its clutches. I'm going to make my peace with it, however, and hunker down and pass the State Exam in a few days. If you haven't seen me around at your blog, know that I'm thinking of ya'll, but just slammed with too much of life happening all at once.

Meantime, I'm guessing I won't need gloves for my next heist, huh? I'l like to see an O.J. jury convict me. If the prints don't fit on a dedicated scanner, what hope for a smudge or careless mark left as I grab a handful of diamonds? Reasonable doubt? After watching a stupid machine remain unable to verify what three sets of eyes have watched sixty times, I'd be a bit skeptical about electronic fingerprint evidence.

Just sayin'...

Blowing Up Cleveland

I've never been to Cleveland, and I wish I could say I was sorry about that, but, I'm not. My father grew up there, a teenager during the Depression years when everyone was moving West, including my grandfather. Grandmother refused to follow him and stayed in Cleveland to raise five young children with her sister's help. The youngest of the family, dad would work evenings in the local theater as an usher for a few hours. The meager pay would help the family and still leave him time for school.

He was not made for school, however. Being deserted by one's father was an unfortunate status that made him a target for bullies and he was never one to back down. He was excommunicated from the parish church for accidentally punching a nun who got between him and his tormentor. It took a mother's pleading tears to get him back into the good graces of the Monsignor, but he was done with school by eighth grade and dropped out to get a job. Many years later he would learn that his IQ was very much higher than most, but that's for another story.

Now, being smart wasn't the same thing as knowing everything , but it was a resourceful sort of mind that enjoyed building 6-foot tall kites, only to have them snap the heavy twine and end up in Nebraska still plastered to the front of a train car. Or that would take an entire Saturday to team up with an accomplice and place tiny little limestone pebbles down a mile's worth of railroad tracks leading into the main station. Why little chips of rock instead of the popular penny? Why, to have the big, proud, shiny black diesel from some better town come roaring in, all full of itself and engineered by some imagined nemisis go flying over those itty bits of limestone. The goal was not to derail or harm the train but to merely pull it down a peg before it arrived in town. For a mile, those tiny flecks, pounded by tons of steel, exploded into a fine white powder that would coat the sides of the train, turning it a dusty gray before it got to the station. Of course, young Robert would be there at the station, too, awaiting the satisfactory sight of the engineer huffing and cursing at the insult.

But experience is still the better teacher, so when my then-young father and his band of friends discovered the dryer areas of the city's sewer system, they were unaware of the finer chemical attributes of same. It became their hideout and fortress against the oppressive heat of summer, providing the perfect hideaway from the city streets, hovering moms and fussy aunts. A place where boys could try out new vocabulary, vices and vanities, a Man Cave. As the months rolled by and the Autumn chill set in, a thought occurred to the boys that it would be grand to build a bonfire on some future night, there in the seemingly forgotten arm of the underground system. For weeks, scrap board was hustled into the tunnel, and hard-earned pennies went toward the purchase of what would prove to be an astonishingly effective amount of accelerant.

Now, because I am the youngest of my father's tribe it could be that my memory of his telling this story is faulty, but to best of my understanding they had a roaring big fire that jumped up pretty quickly to a startling ferocity. As they stood admiring their handiwork they could feel a breeze rushing up behind them as the fire's growing hunger started pulling in air from the vast sewer network. A little too much air, maybe. A bit too grand of a fire, don't you think? What's that smell? Holy cow, Am-scray!!

They poured out of their hideout like they were Chicago mobsters caught in a shakedown raid and scattered down the back alleys toward home and alibis as the street beneath them began to rumble slightly.

Ka-pow! Ka-Boom! shattered the early evening air as smoke and fire blew out of the nearest manhole covers. Maybe that was the worst of it? Ka-blams sounded as clanking manhole covers went up brightly and came down heavily in every block for almost half the city. Firetrucks would rush to one area only to have more reports in three others. In the end, it was a busy night for the cops and firefighters but no lasting harm to persons or property. It was the equivalent of lighting a very big fart, I guess.

It might have been about that time that he decided to quit school and follow his father's trail to the west. He traveled by tying himself to the top of a box car and braving wind, rain and Dust Bowl weather and being shot at and quite a few other adventures. But blowing up half of Cleveland?

Priceless.

The Farce is With Us

h/t to Liberty Girl (damn, she kicks ass!) and this, from Fox News. Money quote:

Pressed further by the Politico reporter about his Pentagon nominee, Obama turned more serious, putting his hand on the reporter's shoulder and staring him in the eye.

I know I would've burst out laughing if that lightweight tried that crap on me while I was just doing my job. If I was the editor for those other fawning fan-boys I'd have fired them after seeing how they missed an opportunity to catch the Zero without a handler or teleprompter.

If you've ever read The Horse and His Boy you'll see what I see in this: the scolding look, the intense stare, the effort to wield some sort of magical power remindes me of the Calormene Prince just before he got hung up in his own armor.

Really, press corps, he's just a man. He has no magical power over you. Snap out of it.

Disagreement and Dysfunction

This was first posted on March 7, 2008. Funny, with all the hope and change, I still stand by this rant, because I refuse to see the Left's dysfunctional mindset being lauded as simply a new and better way of managing things. I love the good-hearted liberals who wish for a healthy self-examination of the National Conscience, but...

If I spoke of my own life like the elitist Liberals speak of America, I'd be Baker Acted for fear of suicide. Wishing oneself out of existence for the "greater good" is NOT healthy or normal. It's less violent than suicide bombing, but the Left is determined to eradicate its American identity and replace it with one person.

And you, dear Republican progressive, thought the Christian Right was your problem? Boy were you fooled.

Anyway, here it is, bad words and all:

*****

My dearest detractor, one 'mouse, writes me in the comments and I excerpt here:

At the end of the day, I know you and I agree about wanting a country which is internationally respected, whose currency doesn't suck, which has great education and good opportunity for anyone willing to work their ass off, pay their taxes and follow the rules, where the forces of greed are tempered by enough oversight that half of Florida doesn't end up in foreclosure and so forth.

What we (you and I) need is to figure out how to get the rest of this nightmare of near-50:50 devisiveness off its ass and doing something about the things that matter locally and globally.

Either that or let's have a margarita and listen to the band while the ship goes down. I'm mixing -- frozen or rocks?

I love the dear 'mouse, I really do, but I gotta post my reply out here, where we can all take a look and discuss it. Herewith, my scattered reply:

I could care less if my country is respected around the world, 'mouse. That's where we just need to have a margarita. Um... Frozen!

I don't care about what others think. Even other countries. You can't live like that on a personal level, and you can't live like that on an international level. It's a paralyzing mindset, as any psychologist will attest. You have to make your best effort based on solid principles and go with it. If you doubt yourself and what you're made of, there are plenty of jackals waiting to devour your remaining sense of Self.

No nation on earth does as much, is more giving, less greedy, less corrupt and full of such goodwill. If other countries can't see that, how are we to blame?

I've been to three other countries besides my own. I've lived in one for an extended period of time. While I loved its people, I could see its core was full of fear, envy, greed and corruption. Not borne of oppression from without, but from lack of a moral compass within.

I will never willingly consent to my taxes subsidizing laziness, corruption, another family's responsibilities, or another's chosen lifestyle, even if that lifestyle foolishly didn't count the cost of its mortgage. But my "public servants" will certainly see to it that I do so anyway.

Saying that, I propose that if we insist on prosecuting drug pushers, we also prosecute loan pushers when they offer easy money to unqualified applicants. Oh wait. The liberals insisted we do so. Shall we vilify those who did their bidding, just because they expected to make their money back? Or see if maybe Rezko can front a bit of mortgage money for the rest of us?

Obama isn't going to make our currency suck any less. The Euro is overvalued and Bush keeps printing money, so yeah, I can agree with you that we need a stable fiscal policy. Yea! Pour another round, darlin'!

****
Hey, how come the NEA has no problem with how it's perceived by other people? How come lawyers don't fret about how they are perceived by other people? Why aren't our Congressmen concerned with how little we respect them? Why doesn't the MSM fall over in a dead faint because of how they are viewed?

I know the answer to this one! It's because they are IN and their detractors are OUT. They are proud of their accomplishments and their unity, no matter how many kids can't read, widows' pensions are devoured, imminent domains are confiscated or ficticious stories are produced and lives are ruined. But they won't extend that grace to their own country. It's a dysfunctional mindset on a deeply and seemingly irretrievable level.

Great education comes from healthy competition. Truly awful tenured professors and teachers at public schools can't get fired. More money will not fix that, and Obama is too much of a fucking Chicago politician --bought and paid for-- to buck the NEA or any other inbred group of union slackers.

The best education? Pain.

If life doesn't hurt when we do stupid things, we don't learn. You posted rules and consequences for your daughter, based on that marvelous and healthy compassion for her well-being. It's not punishment when people do stupid things and suffer for it. It's called "learning one's lessons." It's nice if kids will listen and avoid "lessons", but prepare your heart to be broken, 'mouse. You just can't control her life every minute, or spare her from her choices. Not without creating a lesser being... in your eyes and her own.

My compassion is my own to mete out or withhold. It is not the job of my government to be God, to be All, to be Mother or Father. It just needs to be cohesive enough to call together an army for defense, judges for interpretation, and a representative body that listens to its constituency.

The divide resides in a deep, deep philosophical and moral void, that didn't use to exist between Left and Right, back when it was a matter a style and not substance.

Today's adults have grown up in a world that expects the government to be more than any government should ever aspire to: a supplemental oversight of the individual and their daily choices of normalcy.

We no longer agree on the substance, so the style isn't even arguable any more.

And greed? The truly greedy are the ones who are first envious of someone with more. That is the one really ugly thing about the liberal Left: Class warfare. I'm the last of eight kids, and my mom understood human nature amongst contending peoples. "What do you care what your brother has in his stomach? Do you have enough? Yes, so shut up!" And she was a lifelong Democrat! But that was back when it was about style, not substance. An honorable difference.

Now, those who do not work for the government outright, are bound to support those who do. When government grows beyond its rightful place, the silent, plodding cows of capitalism bear the burden.

I'm tired of it. Tired way down deep. It's the new slave class, the new Company Store that makes me pay for the fantasies and guilt trips of the privileged few who score a sweet government job. And will continue to vote largesse unto themselves as long as they can get away with it. And nobody on the Left will ever use the word, "greedy" for such. I read today where Wellstone didn't provide Workers' Comp for his campaign staff that died with him in the plane crash, so the taxpayer, the little guy, gets to ante up one more time. He was another one, another Hope and Change hypocrite.

Fuck 'em all. Fuck FDR and LBJ and O-ba-ma.

CHANGE? Hardly. Just new shiny faces to shine the light into to keep 'em from noticing the grimy truth of it all. What's new about more government programs that I get to pay for? Fuck Obama. And fuck Michelle O., Hillary, John McCain and George W. Bush for playing along with it. Everyone of them is pandering to the class warfare, the free ride, the easy ticket, the expanded and distant responsible Parent Government Educator Moralizer GOD. At my expense.

The cardinal rule of the jungle is: don't mess with a man's woman, or with his money. If this all sounds personal, it's because the Government is intensely personal when it dips into my wallet. It touches the very heart of my survival and then it chides me for wanting some accountability for my sacrificial contribution.

I'd rather have Bill Clinton back. At least he left the economy alone. The only smart thing he ever did.

Yeah, I HOPE to keep most of the money I've worked for. I'd rather have compassion on my neighbor that I know, that I can call to account, rather than toss it to a committee of far-flung do-gooders who wring their hands at the thought of inconvenience and hardship and call it, "suffering.'

Precious few folks alive in the U.S. are "suffering" from anything we as a country have done. For true suffering, just have your little business get audited by the IRS or sued.

Yes, another 'rita, please! On the rocks -- where we're headed.

A Job Description You Don't See Every Day

The job hunt saga continues, of course. I have mad skills in administrative support, but then so does about 50% of the population, apparently. But they're not me, dammit!

At any rate, I took a break from my sorry safari and decided to give my mind a mental jolt out of its rut. I buzzed over to visit the website of the famous Good Pirate, Max Hardberger, to see what was new, what with piracy being the new third-world chic. Maybe something to write about in there, y'know?

So just for fun, I started clicking links around in there--it's a big site --and came upon a unique and exciting job description. Some of you guys back home from Iraq might just find this challenging:

Requirements
... team members must be ready to travel anywhere in the world on a moment’s notice. They must be prepared to act alone or as part of a team, to follow legitimate orders exactly, and to keep the client’s interests in mind at all times. They must be capable of multi-tasking, prioritizing objectives, and making difficult decisions correctly and immediately when confronted with novel or unexpected situations.

Argghh! That be a job! "Novel and unexpected situations" certainly doesn't evoke visions of a cubicle farm.

It also reminds me of a famous job-posting of legendary status:

"Men wanted for Hazardous Journey. Small wages, bitter cold, long months of complete darkness, constant danger, safe return doubtful. Honour and recognition in case of success." -Ernest Shackleford's Antarctic Expedition Ad

I'm hopelessly unqualified for either, but it is nice to think that there are still jobs out there for the good and honorable "rough men" who move in such rarefied fields of work.

Meanwhile, I'm going to apply for a dishwasher's job. Ain't too proud to beg. My bi-lingual skills should help, no?

*****

Update: from Suzette's comment below, I clicked the link and uploaded a video of the Jolly Roger. Some of you haven't seen it, so I'll repost:

On a More Positive Note... [Important Update!]

We're already making progress!

"Click it!"

I shall post it on my sidebar, as may you, as a silent and gentle reminder that we are not deranged, enraged, or otherwise distracted. We are determined.
It's good to have a goal.

Update: Aw, Fuckkittall:

I want these precious, unicorn-sucking, rainbow-farting shitheels to show me some gravitas. Beginning with Obama. Orcs do not simply materialize around a man, after all. They are nurtured, fed, agitated and instigated. Obama sowed the whirlwind, let us see if he might reap it.

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Hey, Speaking of Blow Jobs...

What? See previous post.

My Momma Said...

...if you can't find something nice to say about someone, don't say anything.

So... um... Sorry for not posting tomorrow.


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Anchors OyVey!

Via The Corner, Jewish Pirates of the Caribbean.

"My son, the swashbuckler."

It wouldn't kill you to go read it, already.

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Of Trains and Higher Planes

This lovely Pullman car as photographed by Mike Reynolds has had the distinction of hosting many presidents before Obama. It's practically a political institution in and of itself. It used to be my almost-daily companion, too. Here it is, working for its keep:

I used to have the privelege of looking upon that Pullman car almost daily, as my once-upon-a-dream art studio used to be upstairs in the old train station in the town where I used to live. Lots of beautiful club cars are lovingly cared for and restored in one of the last remaining privately-owned train stations in the South.

Here's that beauty at rest as seen by my own camera, up close, complete with spotty dog! You'll want to embiggen these pics:

It looks so lovely next to the palm trees, too:

Here's the old train station where my art studio was upstairs. The train tracks were directly behind me as I took this picture, and the train yard to the left. In the studio I used to have to hold my paintbrush away from the canvas as the trains rumbled by, which they frequently did, shaking the whole building:

Sometime if you're riding the Silver Meteor of the South, you may just pass right by these beauties:

Sigh. It was a wonderful place to catch the morning sun, let the air conditioners hum along and the mind wander to that place of perfect creativity, about as close to being and not-being as I'll ever achieve this side of eternity I suppose:

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Is Something Untrue if We Don't Know Who Said It?

Anonymous Truth is Irrelevant:
	Yes
	No
	Shut up, Publius!
pollcode.com free polls

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Economic Visual Aid for the Day

Observe and then vote:

Next analogy in the scenario is:
	Middle Class as Economic Engines
	American consumer as Pilot
	Bloggers as Crew
	Congresscritters as Silly Geese
	Reality as Hudson River
	River Taxis as Bailouts
	Lawyers as Bus that Runs over Survivors
pollcode.com free polls

h/t to Dealbreaker and Insty.

The Hell That is Craigslist/Yahoo Job Postings

Take a tip from me, your happy job-hunting blog hostess: most jobs you see listed there are spam jobs, cut-and-pasted from corporate website job descriptions, and always offering unrealistic compensation or wildly varying pay range. Some, even go so far as to use corporate logos, all in an attempt to gain... I'm not sure what. Having my name, address, phone and a list of places where I've worked will provide them with... what?

Let me put my criminal mind to work on this: Hmmm... I call your former employers pretending to verify employment for you, the hapless "applicant." I find some young college grad chickadee trying to be helpful who gives out just a bit too much info, a SS number perhaps or enough snippets of it to help? [addendum: maybe it's just to help skip-tracers build a database for finding deadbeats?]

Some actually have email accounts that go to non-existent website addresses. What's up with that? Ya'll help out a girl here. WTF is going on? Why do they do all this, any ideas? [another thought: the placement agencies are doing this to clog up the landscape and drive despairing applicants to their door. Yes, I'm a cynical sort, but if it were my placement business sinking below the horizon, I'd get aggressively creative.]

It's a nasty world out there for the job hunter. I'm even seeing these spam jobs creeping into the paying websites like Yahoo and Monster. There must be money to be made in gathering this information, and it must be quite a bit of money, as the ads are not cheap.

Of course, if they're looking to steal money from the unemployed, it certainly is going to have to be a volume-based enterprise. Well, they're in luck, I guess.

Let's be careful out there.

Why My Little Town Is the Drinking Capitol of the U.S.

Yep. Had a local cop tell me once that he'd been a policeman in Cleveland, but that he'd never seen so many drunk drivers as in this little corner of Florida.

There's a reason for it.

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Wrap Your Mind Around This, and then double it.

Today's visual aid for economics professors, pundits, politicians, and folks who are tired of having their pockets picked. Staggering

Be sure to scroll all de way down, mon.

Yeah, this one goes into my favorite category: no telling where the money went.

Leapfrog

Sometimes you find a website that is chock full of fun stuff. My blog is not one of them.

However, via the always interesting, if sometimes inscrutable, Innocent Bystanders (lovable Ace Morons), is a link to Ruining the Internet. Oh yes, my lovies, you will get nothing done today.

That should hold you for a few hours until I find something else. Of course, out of everything there is to see out there, I know what my readers want:

Best Headline of the Day

Or post of the week. In keeping with the "Lincoln Inauguration Menu" nonsense, Confederate Yankee expands on a theme. Just click, you won't be sorry.

Huh. Not a Political Phrase in the Whole, Short Speech

Sen. Inhofe makes a stunningly simple plea. I admittedly know little about him, except that he speaks more plainly than any politician I've listened to in the past year, and that includes Fred Thompson. Wait, he does use the political phrase, "abuse of power" but then it's really not so political as it is true:

He's launching a website, and asking for feedback if you're concerned about another $350B evaporating without a protest.

h/t: Pat Dollard/Young Americans.

Flat Earth, Closed Minds and Hollywood

Further to my essay of a few days ago and further to a dialogue in subsequent comments here, allow me to ask a rhetorical question: How do you know when you've been lied to?

Bruce Walker, in American Thinker has easily deconstructed one of the most common held beliefs about the Christian Mind that so many have taken as *ahem* Gospel.

Who else has lied to you, besides Cornell University and Bugs Bunny (do you remember the cartoon of Columbus and Isabella: "the world is flat, like your head!")? One little tiny, casual lie from some lying Frenchman, picked up by a tenured, yet remarkably uneducated college president; one funny scene in a cartoon, and years of textbooks, graphics, movies, comedians and other indoctrination, and you and I and every everyday person believes the throwaway gag that Christians were backwards and superstitious, when the Truth is, only Christians were mentally free to consider the world as it truly was and is. You could Google it. Maybe. If Google hasn't caught on yet, or if Wiki editors aren't tenured professors.

I don't care which side of the political spectrum you fall into, Bruce Walker's short essay should give one pause. Why would someone lie about something that is easily refuted and knowable, something seemingly obscure or insignificant? Why reproduce that lie down through the years, into the culture, and make it a staple of comedians and entertainment? That's for another post.

Andrew Breitbart's newest effort called, Big Hollywood may be more significant than any political musings of the GOP or RNC leadership. In the grand hope of restoring sanity and truth in our culture, or maybe just balance, Big Hollywood is a return to the freedom to think about what is true, what works, what is important.

Michael Steele, Jindal, Rush, Palin-- none of these so-called champions of Conservatism will EVER save Conservatism from the casual Lie (of whatever stripe) and the shallow culture that propagates it. Politicians and pundits are all well and good, but by the time they've commented on a lie, that lie had long-ago sprouted wings and flown to the receptive hearers, there to nest and grow. We are only about 45 years behind the lies, folks.

Andrew Breitbart just might be an American Hero. You might consider the larger vision of his efforts, support him and his advertisers, and be sure to point others to his website. In a cultural war and there must be a place where opposing ideas can be heard, seen, understood. While everyone is focused on Washington for answers, yoeman's work is undertaken in the very heart of our culture, in Hollywood itself. It's a very good start.

The world is not flat, just Hollywood's two-dimensional portrayal of it.

I Hate the National Media.

They hounded and harassed, attacked and needled until a sitting President is forced in his final press conference, to defend even his vacation time, pointing out the obvious that any citizen can guess: that the job follows him everywhere. He's forced to remind the Press that 30,000 people were plucked off of rooftops in New Orleans as an immediate response and please go interview some folks who were rescued and ask them if they think the response was adequate. He's forced to remind them that the National Security Briefing was a daily reminder of the weight and seriousness of the job. You can see they have no clue and could care less about Truth.

I think he did a lot of things that will have far-reaching consequences, some good, some bad. But no man who lowers himself as a true servant, to lift a nation of stupid people toward safety in an increasingly unsafe world, deserves the vilification spewed out by our national press. A man who visited (off camera!) hundreds of soldiers and their families, and who wrote thousands of letters of heartbroken sympathy, who alone bore the responsibility for sending young soldiers into harm's way. Meanwhile Congress creatures who also voted to send them, stood back and lied about everything, disavowed it, lied even more to secure their own comfortable publicly funded lifestyle while soldiers die. Don't see the NYT covering that, huh? Cowards, all.

He's giving a very candid press interview, but like Sarah Palin, cannot really unleash on the vileness and absurdity that he has endured at the hands of so-called guardians of the Fourth Estate. To defend against the cacophony of shriekers, at this point, sounds like whining.

And still he knows each and every name of those in the room, the mewling class, the hyenas who could not do his job nor bring him down except that they join and close ranks and bare fangs. Individually, they wouldn't dare.

Fuck 'em all.

Card Check: To Read This Blog You Must Not Pass This Test

Barack is very disappointed with me!


I only scored 22 on the Obama Test

I can't help it. Speaking two languages pushed me up to 22%. But I didn't learn another language for snobby reasons. I learned another language for survival in a country where they don't have a "press 1 for Spanish" policy.

h/t Red Hill Kudzu

Want.

You know you dreamed of something like this when you were a kid:

It would be pure entertainment if we could get a dwarf to wear a pair of these at the next blogmeet. Just sayin...

Update: they're called, Powerisers.

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Please, don't bother

...reading my crap. Go see what Velociman wrote. It's not what you'd expect. Incorrigible as he is, he is so eloquently spot-on in this as to make one weep.

There is a strange convergence in the blogosphere today. Read Bill Whittle, too.

Freedom is on everyone's mind, and the cosmos is roaring at us.

Nah. It's all just an amazing harmonic convergence of coincidence, I'm sure.

From Freedom's Holy Light, to, Free Stuff!

Verse Four of Samuel Joe Smith's My Country, 'Tis of Thee reads thus:

Our father's God to Thee,
Author of liberty,
To Thee we sing.
Long may our land be bright,
With freedom's holy light,
Protect us by Thy might,
Great God our King.

In an age that increasingly seeks to usurp what is holy and exalt what is profane I found this verse quite stirring as we warbled it out during Sunday morning's prayer service.

Is freedom a holy illumination, available only to those who have sought divine guidance? How quaint! How precious. As though a rational people couldn't rule their lives and fortunes without the silly and repressive fairy tales?

That entire peoples or countries have sought liberation from oppression is not new; it's as old as Exodus, at least. But this idea of an individual destiny and personal possibility used to be a thing won by individual might and tyranny. It was not a "given", or self-evident truth.

The idea of individual freedom is only 200+ years old. On the linear scale of history, that makes Freedom young, hip and now. It was missed for so many milennia, and only in recent history did it come to be an Idea worth dying for. And now that is slipping past us. What is necessary for Freedom to thrive, or at this point, survive?

The landscape of freedom has been allowed to go feral and wild, like a renters' unkempt lawn. Lack of vigilance belies a lack of ownership. Our leaders have devalued the uniqueness of our Freedom, treating it like it runs on air instead of hard work, wisdom and careful accountability. They have taken the ownership of our corporate fate out of the picture and replaced it with comfort and entitlement and ...indentured slavery to the State.

The parable says, the Shepherd cares for and defends his sheep, and the hireling runs away from danger because he has no investment in the life of the sheep. We've invited hirelings to rule over us, whose only care for us is not our eternal soul, nor or our temporal freedom, but the promise of lining their pockets with cash.

Worst of all, our legislators have mocked Truth right out of the picture, time and again. Spinelessly and selfishly have they awarded sloth by cloaking it with "compassion" and they've depreciated human value in the process. They have usurped the warmth and parentage of the family and replaced it with something so cold, thin, and short-sighted as to enslave an entire generation to dependence and slavery. But they've sold it as caring and helpful, so how could it be a Lie? Time and again they've rewarded the externals of race and color and tenure, and have failed to require an account of what has been so freely given and received.

Mostly, they have mocked the Truth out of Life itself and have offered... what? in its stead? A thin veneer of personal freedom and choice that quickly fades as the years progress.

Our leaders and public servants neither lead nor serve, and now tell jaw-dropping, easily refuted lies with the temerity of tyrants. The Lie is First and the Truth lags behind, trying to be heard over the din of the sound bite. Our leaders are footling creatures who know that nothing succeeds like success, no matter how it's earned. Lie first. Lie fast. Lie loud,and Truth will die, one lie at a time.

Not to speak of the echo chamber of their lies, the incurious Media, as indoctrinated by our schools. And our schools, as indoctrinated by tenured liars, safe in their ivory towers of soul-sucking delusion. There they live and work, like vivisectionists of our culture, who find upon dismantling it that it has died on the table.

Like it or not, our country was founded on a moral Absolute. Without this vital ingredient, the concept of Freedom cannot stand. Lacking the sense of our birthright of Freedom and lacking the conviction that it is endowed by a greater Truth, we will lapse quickly back into tribalism and penury. Law, founded on that birthright and Truth will lapse into the manipulative and capricious creature it is quickly becoming.

Truth came before Freedom, and Freedom, that delicate notion, cannot stand on its own without it.

Lies flower, Truth withers, and while the good and the decent are vilifed as contemptible hypocrites, the selfish and unserious are voted into office on their promise of Free Stuff.

That's how far we've fallen. From the sacred (unique and set-apart) heights of Freedom to the common flatlands filled with uninvested renters of the corporate weal, a land of tenured hirelings, afraid of the wolves now threatening at the door as economic Night is falling.

We are rejecting the Author and Source of Freedom's Light as a mere fantasy. Out of the fear of appearing foolish, like some two-dimensional caricature of religion as portrayed by those (upright and pure of heart!) Hollywood moguls who love our country so much, we reject it all without so much as a reasoned thought of how it came to be. The answer is not as easy as you think. How did this fragile notion, so unique in the world, fall into our laps?

"Wait. Don't answer that. Look! Free stuff!"

Long may our land be bright...

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Grown Woman Gets Spanked--Hard!

Of course, she blubbers like a child, too. Makes excuses, obfuscates and blame-shifts.

So TJIC had to dish out a second round of Cry Me a River.

He so perfectly and deliciously fisks the bullshit that you needn't click on the first link, just go read his post.

It's a thing to make Bettie Page proud, seeing an affirmative-action'ed spoiled brat, unqualified princess pretender-to-"public servant" status actually get smacked around a bit.

And no, it's not Caroline Kennedy.

*****
Update: Just want to point out how sick I am of the Left's Excuse Mantra of "working harder than I ever have," as though it explains every shortcoming as being simply a victim of circumstance. Bill Clinton still wins the prize for using it the most.

Tipping Point

We there yet? No?

Just checking...


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Since It's Awards Wednesday, or Something

The always happy-fun-anger blogger, Liberty Girl has such awesome awards that she creates herself and gives out with joyful abandon to such deserving people. My personal favorite is when she calls for the cheese grater to work its magic on deserving cheddar heads.

I'm diggin' it. But I found something that I think will really work for my admittedly more pedestrian and visceral needs, my own personal Whac-a-Mole game! Squee! Check it out:

Best of all? Oh you won't believe it!! Getta load of this:

Though it operates just like the amusement park models, this Whac-A-Mole game can be personalized with molded caricatures of your family and friends (you send in photos of the hapless victims).

Just name those vermin after your favorite aggravation and get over yourself. Catharsis, fun, therapy. All for $35,000. Such a deal!

Yeah, Uncrate. How'd you guess?

Job Interview Round 1

The long-awaited job interview process has started and I passed round one with the Database manager with whom I'll be working closely. He remembered me from before and was very happy to give me full marks for a passing grade. Woot!

The new process is supposed to go online Feb 1, so hopefully, I'll be vetted and approved sometime in the next two weeks. That's the good news. The dubious part is that the job has already branched into Executive support as well, and that's where the trouble was last time I worked there. Folks started fighting over their "control"of me. You know what they say, "when elephants fight, the grass gets trampled." It got so uncomfortable I jumped ship. But they really are a great company full of smart people, good people. Why they want me is the mystery!

Please cross fingers, offer prayers, align your Chi, shui your fung, or whatever, peeps. I need a job and that right away! I promise I'll keep this one. Heh.

Hey NBC! Remember Kitty Kelly?

It seems that Ann Coulter has been banned from NBC because of her poor timing in the release of her new book, Guilty. A lifetime ban. Drudge has the scoop.

But I have the irony.

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Bring.It.On! Two-fer Monday

The always-readable Waiter Rant has turned to Road Ranting about New Yorkers.

As a proper Southern Gentlewoman I say, "Like Hell!"

Fifty-plus comments and it's just getting off the ground, people. If you lived in Florida, you'd know that Jersey drivers are the worst. I've lived in the world's largest city and never found Mexican drivers to be as bad as the bad Jersey drivers.

Are there good Jersey drivers? Are there good NY drivers? To read the comments you'd think Pennsylvania was walking away with the prize. If you have a dog in this fight, go join in the good-natured "dialogue among equals" there. Heh.

In another matchup, the Weblog Awards is on and I have a special request for all of you folks who dutifully waded into the Sullivan Sewer and secured certain shame to redound to Vman's glory.

Here is a chance to wash away all the horrible smelliness of that stagnant sewer, and vote in the glorious category of "Best Religious Blog". Time to go down to the river and pray.

Now, I wouldn't exactly call One Cosmos a religious blog, because it really isn't about "religion" (yes, scary quotes!) so much as it is about... Hmmm. Here's an example:

In short, as we discussed at length a couple of weeks ago, fate is precisely what interferes with our destiny. Or, to put it colloquially, if you remain on the path you're on, you're liable to end up where you're headed. Which could very well be a waste of a perfectly good cosmos. So if you see a fork in the transdimensional road, by all means take it.

How can you not vote for a guy who describes himself thus:

Who slides down the celestial firepole each morning, seizes the wheel of the cosmic bus, and embarks on a bewilderness adventure of higher nondoodling and overmental blogging? Who, hallowed be his gnome, loiters on the threshold of the transdimensional doorway, looking for handouts from Petey? Who, with Cousin Dupree's pliers and a blowtorch, yoinks the ancient sword from the stoned philosopher and shoves it in the breadbasket of metaphysical ignorance and tenure? Whose blog is the vertical church of the New Testavus for the Restavus, channeling the roaring torrent of O into the feeble stream of cyber-k? Whose absurcular mythunderstanding blows the locked doors of the empyrean off their rusty old hinges? Who lobs the first water balloon out the hotel window at the annual Raccoon convention? B'ob! Can you dig it?

With large doses of Van Morrison, Toots Mondello, the Honeymooners, and a cast of thousands, it's a Free For All excercise in curing your religion. Plus, it'll teach the Mackerel-Snackers not to stuff the ballot box. This is the Weblog Awards, not Minnesota! Holy War, Batman!

So, if all my metaphysically inclined readers could handle Sully, all of my reality-is-the-only-reality readers can certainly darken the door of the Weblog Awards without compromising their too-smart-for-the-rest of us creds. I won't tell a soul. Or even a non-soul!

13 Seconds of Schadenfreude

The music really makes this video:

Found it at SNOTR.

"Dont. You. Ever...

I found this Bas Rutten video amongst my bookmarks and it still makes me smile. I'm pretty sure it was the incomparable Bane who first linked this. It's safe for work, but the F-bomb gets dropped one time.

It's been over three months since Bane's passing and his family must still be reeling from the loss. Everyone has likely forgotten that his wife and kids are struggling to make it. If the New Year affords you an opportunity, try to remember all the good stuff Bane brought to your computer and drop a little something into his tip jar.

As Long as We're Profiling

Exhibit A:Muslims Kicked off Plane (h/t to LibertyGirl').

Nine Muslim passengers were kicked off a flight from Washington, D.C., to Florida after other passengers reported hearing a suspicious remark about airplane security.

Religious garb: check. Easily identifiable gang "tells": check. Members of a faith that has yet to denounce terrorism: check. "Safety" comments: check. My suspicion: "Religious pilgrimage" for all of us. No thanks.

Exhibit B: (thanks to Dogette):

Backwards cap: check. Flashing gang sign: check. (Hey, I'm not Hawaiian, it looks like a gang sign, okay?) Sloppy attire: check. Tons of attitude: check. My suspicion: a street thug, or someone who approves of and emulates street thugs. No thanks.

But will the DC cops pull him over? Will Congressional thugs ever get pulled over by the voters?

We do live in inconsistent realities. But I'll say this, the Muslim family seem like nice folk. If they are victims, as suggested, they are victimized by the actions of their own, not by reasonable doubts voiced by reasonable people. After all, flying is a delicate lesson in physics and as Liberty Girl notes, you don't get a "do-over" if crucial elements fail. Safety first.

Nobody's freaking out about Amish folks on a flight. I wonder why?

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The Ninth Circle of Limbo

No matter how much the nuns would try to assure me, the idea of "Limbo" just unsettled my six year-old brain. It still does.

Now that we're all past the maudlin meditations of Peace on Earth and New Beginnings, I feel perfectly released to cry out in the anguish of Limbo, a place worse than whatever fresh, new Hell may be awaiting us on the other side of it. Here I have a handy scale that moves from the personal to the cosmic. Is it as much fun as a Death Pool? No, but it's far scarier.

With apologies to Dante:

Limbo 1: Job situation. I haven't said much, but after yet another Flying Dutchman career performance in Real Estate support (what fun that was, to watch property get marked down by the 100's of thousands overnight!), I do have a pretty big fish on the line. It's with a company I've worked for before and it's in the para-hospital industry. Could be another sign that the medical industry is headed for collapse, if they hire me. Which, I'm told, any day now. It's a newly created position and I'd be the first and preferred applicant. But you know, protocols must be followed. I've been waiting for two months. I really can't get another job for the interim as I don't know when, exactly. Or where, at this point, since we'll be moving soon. Can't make any plans except for packing things up.

Limbo 2: My stock portfolio, ravaged and shamed as it is, needs someone to love and protect it, someone who still finds worth in her slight frame and pitiable offering. But where is such a White Knight of investment? They're all home in their castles, wondering what their money is worth, too. So there she sits, waiting. Her shelf life is waning as more and more money is printed.

Limbo 3: Credit Lending. If the bank doesn't have money for sale, where is everyone going? I mean, besides to their Rich Uncle Sam? They're not. Not going. Just sitting and waiting. I heard an economist on NPR the other day talking about the Scrooge Effect of just holding onto one's money and not investing it anywhere but into the mattress. This economist went further to state that banks are like faeries: when people don't believe in them, they die.

Limbo 4: Health Care. If the One makes good on the so-called Mexico City Policy matter, we'll lose around 1400 hospitals when the Catholics demur on their charitable willingness to provide quality health care in an already marginalized industry, refusing to compromise their moral conscience. I believe this will be a win-win for Obama when it becomes another crisis in need of government intervention. He'll look progressive for embracing the Left's death cult and he'll gain another huge foothold into the economy.

Limbo 5: Global warming. I think it's a farce but that doesn't matter to the delusional press, whose journalism degrees should be revoked en masse. But it's got everyone in a state of flux; coal, gas, manufacturing, automakers, builders... everyone. Which means we wait. But we can't just wait, we'll have to listen to stupid politicians pretend they're scientists and watch sad polar bears and penguins die slowly on our television.

Side Out: Sarah McLaughlin et al, you lost me with your, "Silent Night" bit. I swear, it's enough to make me want to drown kittens and put down mongrel dogs with a hammer. I love animals enough to do the right thing by them; namely, cull the feral cats, raccoons, dog packs and squirrels that bring disease, fleas, and rabies into the community. You wanna spend your money and sanity on disease-ridden curs, well I guess the young vets need the practice. But don't go equating your "humane movement" and whale wars with religious salvation and arms of angels, (which I always thought was a song about blow.)

Limbo 6: Yellowstone. It's just there, simmering away in the cold of winter.

Limob 7: Russia. It's just there, simmering away in the cold of winter.

Limbo 8: Iran. Palestine. Pakistan. Syria. - see my remarks to Sarah McLaughlin about diesease-ridden animals.

Limbo 9: The Piracy of a Nation. Don't scoff. You thought Waterworld was just another overwrought post-apocalypic vision? Well, if Al Gore is right, and the banks are broke, and the world stage is at war, our savings are plundered, our industries choked by specious sceince, our personal Rights squelched, well... what better time to be a pirate with the Presidential Seal of Approval? Health Care, Energy Resources, Banks, Industry, and Infrastructure all up for grabs, backed by the Civilian National Security Force.

I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

Things I Won't Be Doing in 2009

Peeps, I've been surfing the Intardtubes a long time and have seen maybe 33% of the following video clips somewhere before. That doesn't mean that the other 66% isn't worth your time. It's funny and wrong to laugh, it's okay to wince, and normal to think that the following people were dropped on their heads when young and have never recovered from it:

Forgive me, but I laughed and laughed. Oh, and the music is awful, so, you've been warned.

Hat Tip

The Roaring 20's party last night was fun. We danced like crazy, and the bar was free and open to all. The band was teh awesome, bringing big-band sound to the night.

No, I did not flap or dress as a flapper. It was all very elegant gangster styling. My outfit was Correct in details right down to the button-strap Mary Janes, but my hat went for the kill. It cowed all the wanna-be dress up dolls in their Adult Store Fantasy Flapper outfits and tacky feather boas. (Meow!) They oohed and ahh'd over my get-up, likening it to a costume in some slick Hollywood production. The Jolly Roger, dashing as he is, was quite simply irresistible in his pinstripes and white tie and silk double-breasted blazer with adjunct fedora.

The room was full of gangsters and swells. One couple arrived in their vintage Hupmobile and encouraged us to go and stand by it for a picture. We never did, sorry to say. Actually, I'm not sure there is a picture of us at all. We're bad about that.

But as gangsters, we slayed the room on the dance floor, too. Lots of double-time swing with a bit of the ol' Brick House bump and hustle. But can I just say this? Do all women now have to be pole-dancers? Don't answer that.

Anyhoo, it was fun and frothy and, as an added bonus, extremely gratifying to be hit on by a younger man with too many beers and too little sense than to lay it on with a trowel right in front of the J.R. (although he did show proper deference of a sort). I thanked him for his flattering attentions, encouraged him to have another beer, and shocked him when he heard I had a son almost his age. He was apologetic and stunned, and I assured him it was simply The Hat, working its magic.

The Jolly Roger was fun, too. I deployed his charming smile and footwork talents to rescue his co-worker's date from an evening on the sidelines. She knew no one, and her beau was too shy to dance. We did our good deed by dragging them out onto the floor, he with her, and I with him. How could he say no to The Hat and smiling face behind the proffered and elegantly-gloved hand? Soon they were dancing with each other, laughing and smiling all on their own.

The J.R. is a good man. I don't advertise him much, as the song warns, but I have to say, he was the best of company, and the best man in the room. It was a wonderful way to end the year: healthy, happy, and magical.

Could just be The Hat. Mebbe shoulda bought a Lotto ticket, too.