OK, it barely made it to the news; a mere 2.7 earthquake on the Richter scale, 60 miles east of me. Yawn. I didn't feel it... it was after all early in the AM on a school day, and I was busy getting the bulletins out to the kids and teachers, filling out the paperwork and making the class advisements, getting everything ready for next Monday which will be a half-day and a pain in my rear. Too many people get overexcited about the damnedest things where, if they would just take a breath, they would realize that accomplishment isn't dependent on the panic principle.
I have made a friend with a retiree from the USGS; a funny and friendly older gent who hides his engineering knowledge and voluminous skills under a 'hail fellow well met' kind of attitude. He is going to be loaning me a book about the area and its faults and earthquakes; a voluminous research with pictures. I like that kinda thing. I like learning things I didn't know before. I may have to cruise down and check out the fault line - or is it a fold line? - west of us.
No, I don't operate on the Panic Principle. Never have. Don't like drama queens and kings. Believe everything can be handled with reason, understanding, preparation, and a calm approach. I love it when the NOAA warning system goes off, telling me that a tornado may be approaching. I figure that everything I can tie down has already been tied down, I can only do so much - and then clean up afterwards if necessary. So I go outside with my camera and get kewl pics of the skies and clouds and rainbows, and wait to see if there will be any damage. There rarely is.Like most fears, when they pass, you get to realize how little good panic and hysteria really do. Even though some people need that constant upheaval in their lives, I don't.
I have always liked the quote, the Litany Against Fear, from Dune. "I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain."
Fear is overrated. Experience, now. Experience is key. So even when one has a fear, the only way to overcome it is to attack what one fears, educate oneself about every tiny fact of it, let the fear become understanding and accomplishment instead. Then one has a wealth of knowledge or experience on which to draw.
It isn't that I am fearless. I am a reasonable human, though, who can gauge levels of potential and determine all possible and likely outcomes, then act (or not act) accordingly. So no I don't fear earthquakes or tornadoes, any more than I feared hurricanes or floods or mouth-breathers. I simply gauge appropriate defenses against them before they occur, and responses to them afterwards. Only I remain.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Sunday, March 14, 2010
The Kleptocracy
There are people whom many call 'products of the entitlement mindset' - people who honestly do believe that the world owes them a living. They are catered to by the bleeding hearts who say, "But look their children are starving!" or "Everyone deserves a home!" or other fatuous and ultimately self-serving platitudes. We have now evolved into a whole generation of people who see absolutely nothing wrong with taking other peoples' earnings, profits, and property, even their lives, to suit their own demands and requirements.
The cashier at Wal Mart who rings up her friends' groceries, only charging for one out of every 5 items. The door-greeter and security guards who look the other way as people carry unpaid-for items out of the store. The clerk who takes things home from the job. The person who doesn't use their real name or address to seek medical care. The purchasing agent for any bureaucracy that adds items onto a purchase order that never get used at the bureaucracy, but instead get taken directly to his or her home - sometimes even shipped there. The judge who goes into a high-end car dealership to 'test-drive' a vehicle - and doesn't bring it back for over a week. The politician who superciliously informs people that they "owe" him and his wife vacations, or the use of public property for his own private interests. All of these are real people, all of these things happen all of the time, all of these things cost everyone by raising prices or using tax dollars to pay for their stealing. Because, call it what you like, it is stealing.
What happens in a disaster, like in Haiti or Chile? The kleptocracy steps in, just like they did in the aftermath of Katrina, taking whatever they need - or sometimes, all too often, things they don't need, just to have, or to trade or sell. And everyone makes a joke or turns the other way - or excuses them - "They don't know any better." "They needed it." Or my personal favorite - "Let them have it! They can't help themselves!" - yes, they can help themselves. And they do, to everything that isn't nailed down or red-hot, or protected by highly armed, highly criticized owners of that property. "Why don't they just give it to them?"
I always note that the ones who exclaim the latter are NOT the ones who are being invaded or assaulted; those who, in fact, think that it can never, will never happen to them. The shopkeeper snatching an hour of sleep here or there, his shotguns by his side, probably thought that, too. Yes, the exact same thing that those beat-up or heavily-armed people thought, six months or a year ago.
As the economy bottoms out, as schools close and more and more people are laid off, as things slowly fall into an economic mire, I wonder just how long all of those self-righteous people, living in their safe and gated communities, think they can hold out against the kleptocracy that they encouraged and pitied last year and this year. Do they really think that unarmed security guards will fight and die to protect them and their property? Do they really think that, in the event of a hurricane, massive flood, power outage, earthquake, pandemic, or any 'natural' or unnatural disaster, that they are safe? Or will they be crying out, "Where am I going and why am I in this handbasket?"
The cashier at Wal Mart who rings up her friends' groceries, only charging for one out of every 5 items. The door-greeter and security guards who look the other way as people carry unpaid-for items out of the store. The clerk who takes things home from the job. The person who doesn't use their real name or address to seek medical care. The purchasing agent for any bureaucracy that adds items onto a purchase order that never get used at the bureaucracy, but instead get taken directly to his or her home - sometimes even shipped there. The judge who goes into a high-end car dealership to 'test-drive' a vehicle - and doesn't bring it back for over a week. The politician who superciliously informs people that they "owe" him and his wife vacations, or the use of public property for his own private interests. All of these are real people, all of these things happen all of the time, all of these things cost everyone by raising prices or using tax dollars to pay for their stealing. Because, call it what you like, it is stealing.
What happens in a disaster, like in Haiti or Chile? The kleptocracy steps in, just like they did in the aftermath of Katrina, taking whatever they need - or sometimes, all too often, things they don't need, just to have, or to trade or sell. And everyone makes a joke or turns the other way - or excuses them - "They don't know any better." "They needed it." Or my personal favorite - "Let them have it! They can't help themselves!" - yes, they can help themselves. And they do, to everything that isn't nailed down or red-hot, or protected by highly armed, highly criticized owners of that property. "Why don't they just give it to them?"
I always note that the ones who exclaim the latter are NOT the ones who are being invaded or assaulted; those who, in fact, think that it can never, will never happen to them. The shopkeeper snatching an hour of sleep here or there, his shotguns by his side, probably thought that, too. Yes, the exact same thing that those beat-up or heavily-armed people thought, six months or a year ago.
As the economy bottoms out, as schools close and more and more people are laid off, as things slowly fall into an economic mire, I wonder just how long all of those self-righteous people, living in their safe and gated communities, think they can hold out against the kleptocracy that they encouraged and pitied last year and this year. Do they really think that unarmed security guards will fight and die to protect them and their property? Do they really think that, in the event of a hurricane, massive flood, power outage, earthquake, pandemic, or any 'natural' or unnatural disaster, that they are safe? Or will they be crying out, "Where am I going and why am I in this handbasket?"
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Here is my Whole Cloth
Almost two years here.
Things are getting pretty intense; and no I don't mean politically or socially. They are intense for me, because doing what I've always wanted to do was a scary jump into a void. Not of knowledge, I had that. Not of experience, because I've had that, too. But of occurrences. When single threads start coming together to make a whole cloth, the cloth sometimes has colors that one does not expect. The challenges of weaving together a life from different threads are, in a word, multitudinous.
Who, after all, believed that this was what I really wanted? So many folks came up to me and said, "If I'd'a known you were like THAT..." and "You can't be SERIOUS!" and even "You'll be back!" - the folks who obviously didn't know me at all, of course.
I have things on my webpage and blog now that would interest no one in Beaufort or Jasper County, certainly no one whom I used to hang out with. How many of you would want to view the graphic pictures of my boss cow, Billy Jean, delivering her first calf? To me it is a miracle, and not just of birth, but of life and future and hope and change that matters personally, not in some unreal fantasy or phony political promise. How many of those folks who used to buy my eggs back in Hardeeville could relate to the fact that here there are no ordinances to ban my chickens, that my cows can be seen from the road in front of my house, that my eggs are the biggest and brownest and most sought after in town? How many of you would marvel at the progress of my reversible quilt, with the summer fruits on one side, the Christmas colors on the other, and the ruffles all around? Would you want to hear of the fourth snowiest season ever recorded that occurred this year, of what fun it is to whisk through snow-covered streets and skid into turns on ice, or to watch the snow drift down like tiny cellophane flakes?
Would you want to see pictures of the day-old calf gamboling happily around his mom, or the way the other cow and even the bull babysit him, or the way they all lay together in the afternoon sun, a happy and content family? Do you want to hear how we bake our own bread, fill our woodbox for the next snowstorm, take out the ashes and put them with the manure and kitchen scraps to compost? Do you care how we clean out the coop and corral, sludging through manure that we see as glorious and full of natural fertilizer and mulch, good for our growing things, an endless circle of life? Do you care if we steer the newborn bull for processing later, or keep him whole to sell his semen to promote good breed traits? Do you want to know if we will band or use the paste to dehorn him, do you care if he appears to be a successful production of homozygous traits?
Do you want to know that my lupus lesion has quit splitting open and has stopped oozing and bleeding, and that my body is actually starting to clean itself out and correct all the damage done by fast foods and a faster lifestyle? Do you care that my DH, whom so many were so interested in insulting and trashing just for being married to me, has found a quiet joy again in building things and working on engines, and working with animals who do not judge him, who do not scream at him and curse him as most of his patients did, who appreciate what he does for them - and who are fond of him and show it? Do you care that he no longer has to work a 60-hour work week, but can take his time as his pain levels dictate, and work at his own speed, and still be respected and included in a comfortable and friendly lifestyle?
I am happy to have left the WalMart and Starbucks world behind. I am content in what I have chosen. Folks say that I should write a book about what "really went on" the past 20 years, but you know what? None of it was important, as much as they like to think it was. Mean and angry and perpetually cruel people banding together to tear each other apart have no interest for me - or, now that I'm gone from their sights, in me, either. Any book I write will be about the joys, the hardships, the overcoming, the successes, even the failures; the building of my life the way I choose, not fighting those who choose different paths and want to drag me vociferously with them, or down if I do not agree with them.
Here I am, weaving the threads of all of my knowledge, all of my experiences, and all of my desires into a whole cloth, something to last, something to remember, something that is real and able to be felt, held, and used in a good clean manner. Something that all of the naysayers and eternally self-involved can never take away. Here is life. Here is joy. Here is hard work and success and achievement, sweat and dirt and tiny green plants poking their way into the sun, tiny newborns growing to full and heavy production. Here is blood and bone, feather and fur, knife and axe and fingers separating meat from skin, nitty and gritty and hay and manure, life and death in its most definite beginnings and ends. Here are long silent nights and endless silent days, with nothing but the cackling of an egg-laying hen or the indulgent moo of a mothering cow, or even the gobbling of the wild turkeys or the far-off howls of the yotes being hunted once again. Here is my whole cloth.
Things are getting pretty intense; and no I don't mean politically or socially. They are intense for me, because doing what I've always wanted to do was a scary jump into a void. Not of knowledge, I had that. Not of experience, because I've had that, too. But of occurrences. When single threads start coming together to make a whole cloth, the cloth sometimes has colors that one does not expect. The challenges of weaving together a life from different threads are, in a word, multitudinous.
Who, after all, believed that this was what I really wanted? So many folks came up to me and said, "If I'd'a known you were like THAT..." and "You can't be SERIOUS!" and even "You'll be back!" - the folks who obviously didn't know me at all, of course.
I have things on my webpage and blog now that would interest no one in Beaufort or Jasper County, certainly no one whom I used to hang out with. How many of you would want to view the graphic pictures of my boss cow, Billy Jean, delivering her first calf? To me it is a miracle, and not just of birth, but of life and future and hope and change that matters personally, not in some unreal fantasy or phony political promise. How many of those folks who used to buy my eggs back in Hardeeville could relate to the fact that here there are no ordinances to ban my chickens, that my cows can be seen from the road in front of my house, that my eggs are the biggest and brownest and most sought after in town? How many of you would marvel at the progress of my reversible quilt, with the summer fruits on one side, the Christmas colors on the other, and the ruffles all around? Would you want to hear of the fourth snowiest season ever recorded that occurred this year, of what fun it is to whisk through snow-covered streets and skid into turns on ice, or to watch the snow drift down like tiny cellophane flakes?
Would you want to see pictures of the day-old calf gamboling happily around his mom, or the way the other cow and even the bull babysit him, or the way they all lay together in the afternoon sun, a happy and content family? Do you want to hear how we bake our own bread, fill our woodbox for the next snowstorm, take out the ashes and put them with the manure and kitchen scraps to compost? Do you care how we clean out the coop and corral, sludging through manure that we see as glorious and full of natural fertilizer and mulch, good for our growing things, an endless circle of life? Do you care if we steer the newborn bull for processing later, or keep him whole to sell his semen to promote good breed traits? Do you want to know if we will band or use the paste to dehorn him, do you care if he appears to be a successful production of homozygous traits?
Do you want to know that my lupus lesion has quit splitting open and has stopped oozing and bleeding, and that my body is actually starting to clean itself out and correct all the damage done by fast foods and a faster lifestyle? Do you care that my DH, whom so many were so interested in insulting and trashing just for being married to me, has found a quiet joy again in building things and working on engines, and working with animals who do not judge him, who do not scream at him and curse him as most of his patients did, who appreciate what he does for them - and who are fond of him and show it? Do you care that he no longer has to work a 60-hour work week, but can take his time as his pain levels dictate, and work at his own speed, and still be respected and included in a comfortable and friendly lifestyle?
I am happy to have left the WalMart and Starbucks world behind. I am content in what I have chosen. Folks say that I should write a book about what "really went on" the past 20 years, but you know what? None of it was important, as much as they like to think it was. Mean and angry and perpetually cruel people banding together to tear each other apart have no interest for me - or, now that I'm gone from their sights, in me, either. Any book I write will be about the joys, the hardships, the overcoming, the successes, even the failures; the building of my life the way I choose, not fighting those who choose different paths and want to drag me vociferously with them, or down if I do not agree with them.
Here I am, weaving the threads of all of my knowledge, all of my experiences, and all of my desires into a whole cloth, something to last, something to remember, something that is real and able to be felt, held, and used in a good clean manner. Something that all of the naysayers and eternally self-involved can never take away. Here is life. Here is joy. Here is hard work and success and achievement, sweat and dirt and tiny green plants poking their way into the sun, tiny newborns growing to full and heavy production. Here is blood and bone, feather and fur, knife and axe and fingers separating meat from skin, nitty and gritty and hay and manure, life and death in its most definite beginnings and ends. Here are long silent nights and endless silent days, with nothing but the cackling of an egg-laying hen or the indulgent moo of a mothering cow, or even the gobbling of the wild turkeys or the far-off howls of the yotes being hunted once again. Here is my whole cloth.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Season's Greetings
I have a passion for seasons. I don't like the vaseline-smeared-lens-fantasy of always-summer-at-the-beach ideal of eternal joy.
Let there be fall, with the wet-leaves smell, the crisp bite of the first fire that scents the air with a smoky promise of good warmth, to challenge that fresh clean first cold snap. The rustle of leaves that betrays the squirrel in the tree, or the sneaking deer coming up to the pond for the evening drink. The 'settling' conversations of turkeys in the trees outside my bedroom window as the night moves in ever earlier, ruining their little foraging plans and causing them to grumble. The deep lowing of the cattle over the hill, clearly heard in the evening chill, as the coyotes howl and whine and complain around them, looking for a victim amidst the sharp hooves and willing horns.
Let there be spring; the tulips pushing through the ground as mightily as they can, hard green heads against the hard gray grass. The gray branches of the maples and cottonwoods suddenly covered in soft green fuzz as the new leaves struggle to stretch to the sky, juxtaposed against the cedars and loblollies, blacker and more ponderous with the gentle new growth around them. They are the old dogs, the sturdy dogs, who have survived another winter with their foliage and dignity intact, and now hover over the giggling new growth, growly and protective over the spring growth, guarding it from the sudden and capriciously violent spring storms. Small fluffy chicks peeking out from uinder their mothers, shy and skittish, while the hens dare the roosters to come one step closer. New calves are staggering and investigating, running too far and bleating, returning to a lowing and comforting, never perturbed mother.
Let there be summer - a brief one, anyway. One that lets the garden tumble over itself in wild abandon; the lilacs bushy and throwing their purple raiment about like careless silk scarves, draping the burgeoning sunflowers and shy salvia with extra color. Green beans snapping in the sun, heavy tomatoes hanging in red Christmas-ornament colors, begging to be picked to free the branches to reach higher. Pumpkin, watermelon, and canteloupe vines sprawling across the rows in wild abandon, throwing out first the golden flowers as big as your hands, then the green balls of fruit that hide so much promise in their juicy interiors. The potato plants reaching for the sky, burying their gold like misers underneath layers of mulch and sand. The ground-hugging strawberries that nestle together like gossips, sharing their pollen and secrets with the bees, pregnant with the hope of a red and glorious birth. The apple, cherry, blueberry and gooseberry trees and bushes that rise disdainfully above them, waving their arms full of flowers and then proud and multicolored fruit. The calves are playing next to their mothers or dozing in the hot afternoon sun, the chicks are becoming aggressive as their teenage temperaments emerge; either trying to crow or racing each other endlessly after whatever bug enters their domain. The rush to can or dehydrate or collect the bounty, put it away to be enjoyed all year long. The rush to fatten, arrange, prepare to butcher or smoke or skin or defeather before the long-hanging sun finally settles into a brief and cooler nap. The endless sweat puddling in the clothing, drawing dirt and bugs, dripping in salted brine from your hair and face, so that a sudden plunge into the icy trough is a welcome but brief relief.
Ah, but winter! Winter is the best! Stomping in from the ice and snow outside, stripping off the layers of coats and snowproof overalls, thick heavy boots and gloves endlessly soiled by tramping through the toil. One makes quick work of feedup time; keeping the heated trough full of water for the big critters, knocking off the ice from the chicken waterer, piling up the snow from last week's blizzard as a wall to protect the chicken coop from tomorrow's predicted snows. Brushing the glittering snow from the cows' and horse's backs where it has melted to their heat, then refrozen in a winter ice cap to their heavy winter fur. Tracking rabbits in the snowy moonlight, scanning the sparkling starlit sky for any sign of those elusive wonders, the Northern Lights. Bright sunshiny days where 'diamond dust' - those glittery sparkles of frozen humidity that dance in the breeze, too light to fall to the ground - swirls around you in a softly billowing cloud of glory. Long black nights where the only sound is the crackling of the wood in the woodstove, the "ping" and "pang" of the cold metal stovepipe heating under a new assault of freshly blazing firewood, the rumble of the slowly collapsing log pile as it sacrifices itself in agonizing slow-motion to heat and light. Days of planning, days of dreaming over the seed catalogs and order books - what shall we have this year? What new adventures shall we undertake once the frost line permits the plow to cut instead of bounce? Endless evenings in the sewing room working on the next quilt, or in the ceramics room, painting pictures of sunlight and shadow on smooth clay canvas. No rushing, no hysterical to and fro, no gotta go see-buy-have-possess. Just the slow drowsy glide of one short day into the next long night; a chance to dream, to read, to think, to plan. Like the earth, a knowing that spring will come, and a restful preparation for that coming. A conviction that perfection can be attained, that this year and every one following can only get better and better, as the seasons slide into each other with graceful endless subtlety.
Let there be fall, with the wet-leaves smell, the crisp bite of the first fire that scents the air with a smoky promise of good warmth, to challenge that fresh clean first cold snap. The rustle of leaves that betrays the squirrel in the tree, or the sneaking deer coming up to the pond for the evening drink. The 'settling' conversations of turkeys in the trees outside my bedroom window as the night moves in ever earlier, ruining their little foraging plans and causing them to grumble. The deep lowing of the cattle over the hill, clearly heard in the evening chill, as the coyotes howl and whine and complain around them, looking for a victim amidst the sharp hooves and willing horns.
Let there be spring; the tulips pushing through the ground as mightily as they can, hard green heads against the hard gray grass. The gray branches of the maples and cottonwoods suddenly covered in soft green fuzz as the new leaves struggle to stretch to the sky, juxtaposed against the cedars and loblollies, blacker and more ponderous with the gentle new growth around them. They are the old dogs, the sturdy dogs, who have survived another winter with their foliage and dignity intact, and now hover over the giggling new growth, growly and protective over the spring growth, guarding it from the sudden and capriciously violent spring storms. Small fluffy chicks peeking out from uinder their mothers, shy and skittish, while the hens dare the roosters to come one step closer. New calves are staggering and investigating, running too far and bleating, returning to a lowing and comforting, never perturbed mother.
Let there be summer - a brief one, anyway. One that lets the garden tumble over itself in wild abandon; the lilacs bushy and throwing their purple raiment about like careless silk scarves, draping the burgeoning sunflowers and shy salvia with extra color. Green beans snapping in the sun, heavy tomatoes hanging in red Christmas-ornament colors, begging to be picked to free the branches to reach higher. Pumpkin, watermelon, and canteloupe vines sprawling across the rows in wild abandon, throwing out first the golden flowers as big as your hands, then the green balls of fruit that hide so much promise in their juicy interiors. The potato plants reaching for the sky, burying their gold like misers underneath layers of mulch and sand. The ground-hugging strawberries that nestle together like gossips, sharing their pollen and secrets with the bees, pregnant with the hope of a red and glorious birth. The apple, cherry, blueberry and gooseberry trees and bushes that rise disdainfully above them, waving their arms full of flowers and then proud and multicolored fruit. The calves are playing next to their mothers or dozing in the hot afternoon sun, the chicks are becoming aggressive as their teenage temperaments emerge; either trying to crow or racing each other endlessly after whatever bug enters their domain. The rush to can or dehydrate or collect the bounty, put it away to be enjoyed all year long. The rush to fatten, arrange, prepare to butcher or smoke or skin or defeather before the long-hanging sun finally settles into a brief and cooler nap. The endless sweat puddling in the clothing, drawing dirt and bugs, dripping in salted brine from your hair and face, so that a sudden plunge into the icy trough is a welcome but brief relief.
Ah, but winter! Winter is the best! Stomping in from the ice and snow outside, stripping off the layers of coats and snowproof overalls, thick heavy boots and gloves endlessly soiled by tramping through the toil. One makes quick work of feedup time; keeping the heated trough full of water for the big critters, knocking off the ice from the chicken waterer, piling up the snow from last week's blizzard as a wall to protect the chicken coop from tomorrow's predicted snows. Brushing the glittering snow from the cows' and horse's backs where it has melted to their heat, then refrozen in a winter ice cap to their heavy winter fur. Tracking rabbits in the snowy moonlight, scanning the sparkling starlit sky for any sign of those elusive wonders, the Northern Lights. Bright sunshiny days where 'diamond dust' - those glittery sparkles of frozen humidity that dance in the breeze, too light to fall to the ground - swirls around you in a softly billowing cloud of glory. Long black nights where the only sound is the crackling of the wood in the woodstove, the "ping" and "pang" of the cold metal stovepipe heating under a new assault of freshly blazing firewood, the rumble of the slowly collapsing log pile as it sacrifices itself in agonizing slow-motion to heat and light. Days of planning, days of dreaming over the seed catalogs and order books - what shall we have this year? What new adventures shall we undertake once the frost line permits the plow to cut instead of bounce? Endless evenings in the sewing room working on the next quilt, or in the ceramics room, painting pictures of sunlight and shadow on smooth clay canvas. No rushing, no hysterical to and fro, no gotta go see-buy-have-possess. Just the slow drowsy glide of one short day into the next long night; a chance to dream, to read, to think, to plan. Like the earth, a knowing that spring will come, and a restful preparation for that coming. A conviction that perfection can be attained, that this year and every one following can only get better and better, as the seasons slide into each other with graceful endless subtlety.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
He was PUSHED!
Y'know, I've known Joe Wilson for several years.
I know he retired as a Colonel from the National Guard, and that all four of his sons serve in the military and have been to Iraq - so all of those morons screaming about his ignorance of Iraq and his lack of patriotism can kiss my entire ass.
I know what he has done for all of those folks who now call him "racist" for standing up for what he believed in - his constituency is about 40% black. What he has done to raise their standard of living and help provide jobs and education for them is incalculable. And of course - as is so common in SC - the very people whom he has helped have turned on him for one instance of heated and emotional outspokenness, and called him names.
And for what? For speaking - as he always does - the truth, forthrightly and plainly. I have argued with Joe over points, and he never gets mad - but then he and I are friends and respect each other. Joe was tired of the disrespect shown to the American people and to the Congress by POTUS; the endless lies and half-truths finally got to him. So he simply couldn't help himself. It wasn't orchestrated, planned - it was simply the visceral action of a man who has tirelessly for many years tried to discuss and reason and play fair with others, and simply couldn't stand the lies any more. Pushing Joe Wilson to stand up and cry out, "YOU LIE!" means that the perpetrator repetitively refused to enter into a real discussion, the opposition had refused rational discussion time and again, and had purposefully and deliberately set himself up as the one telling the truths "to the American people" when all around him knew better. Joe rarely loses himself or his gentlemanly demeanor - so mark that one on your calendar. He had to be pushed to the limit of his reasonable, intelligent, and rational mind to do that. You can only kick a dog so many times before it turns on you. Joe turned and bit.
When it happened, I took one of the photos of Joe and me to work the next day to show my friends. They had all heard about it - and all were in his corner. My other friends whom I sent emails to all signed up on his webpage, and many sent donations and encouraged THEIR friends to back Joe. Some are even asking him to run for President in 2012. His response was much what others said they were screaming themselves, unheard and perennially ignored, in the privacy of their homes during that speech or in town hall meetings across the country. Because they won't drink the POTUS KoolAid, they are called "terrorists" by their own government officials.
Damn the Democrats who pretend to be the lily-white offended party - who as a group booed President Bush, and then self-righteously talk about decorum. And damn the pathetic limp-wristed and weak-kneed NeoCons, the RHINO (Republican In Name Only) cowards who are demanding that Joe apologize. You bunch of self-impressed Froot Loops - it's about time you realized that you are representing no one but your own special interests, and the thinking, reading, and cognizant American public has had enough of you. Be afraid. Be VERY afraid. Now thay have a rallying point and a leader - and his name is Joe Wilson. Yes, it is time to clean House and Senate alike. Time to take this country back from the socialists and liars, who slide on their bellies like insidious snakes into our living rooms and tell us how much more they will give us, while taking everything from us.
I know he retired as a Colonel from the National Guard, and that all four of his sons serve in the military and have been to Iraq - so all of those morons screaming about his ignorance of Iraq and his lack of patriotism can kiss my entire ass.
I know what he has done for all of those folks who now call him "racist" for standing up for what he believed in - his constituency is about 40% black. What he has done to raise their standard of living and help provide jobs and education for them is incalculable. And of course - as is so common in SC - the very people whom he has helped have turned on him for one instance of heated and emotional outspokenness, and called him names.
And for what? For speaking - as he always does - the truth, forthrightly and plainly. I have argued with Joe over points, and he never gets mad - but then he and I are friends and respect each other. Joe was tired of the disrespect shown to the American people and to the Congress by POTUS; the endless lies and half-truths finally got to him. So he simply couldn't help himself. It wasn't orchestrated, planned - it was simply the visceral action of a man who has tirelessly for many years tried to discuss and reason and play fair with others, and simply couldn't stand the lies any more. Pushing Joe Wilson to stand up and cry out, "YOU LIE!" means that the perpetrator repetitively refused to enter into a real discussion, the opposition had refused rational discussion time and again, and had purposefully and deliberately set himself up as the one telling the truths "to the American people" when all around him knew better. Joe rarely loses himself or his gentlemanly demeanor - so mark that one on your calendar. He had to be pushed to the limit of his reasonable, intelligent, and rational mind to do that. You can only kick a dog so many times before it turns on you. Joe turned and bit.
When it happened, I took one of the photos of Joe and me to work the next day to show my friends. They had all heard about it - and all were in his corner. My other friends whom I sent emails to all signed up on his webpage, and many sent donations and encouraged THEIR friends to back Joe. Some are even asking him to run for President in 2012. His response was much what others said they were screaming themselves, unheard and perennially ignored, in the privacy of their homes during that speech or in town hall meetings across the country. Because they won't drink the POTUS KoolAid, they are called "terrorists" by their own government officials.
Damn the Democrats who pretend to be the lily-white offended party - who as a group booed President Bush, and then self-righteously talk about decorum. And damn the pathetic limp-wristed and weak-kneed NeoCons, the RHINO (Republican In Name Only) cowards who are demanding that Joe apologize. You bunch of self-impressed Froot Loops - it's about time you realized that you are representing no one but your own special interests, and the thinking, reading, and cognizant American public has had enough of you. Be afraid. Be VERY afraid. Now thay have a rallying point and a leader - and his name is Joe Wilson. Yes, it is time to clean House and Senate alike. Time to take this country back from the socialists and liars, who slide on their bellies like insidious snakes into our living rooms and tell us how much more they will give us, while taking everything from us.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Good Riddance
Ted Kennedy died of brain cancer.
Who the hell cares?
I'll bet the Kopechne family doesn't - if there are any of them left.
Now of course we will be regaled for the next two weeks about all of Kennedy's exploits; one of the people who was the most instrumental in the past 30 years in destroying the Republic and making his home state of Massachusetts a tax hell-hole and socialist nightmare.
Like Paris, Britney, and Michael, stupid, drunken, stoned, selfish and greedy idiots are portrayed in the media as being people who should be admired and praised and followed after.
Like the folks who follow 'reality TV' that isn't real, and the "Survivor" shows that are pure bullshit, too many people mindlessly follow after unadulterated garbage, mouth breathing and panting after untruths and falsehoods while neglecting what is going on right in front of them. We really are going to hell in a handbasket when people like this are lauded and praised, and good and decent, hardworking, successful-by-their-own efforts Americans are sneered at and criticized by the media and the idiot public.
I hope Mary Jo has the privilege of escorting that worthless drunken bastard to hell.
Who the hell cares?
I'll bet the Kopechne family doesn't - if there are any of them left.
Now of course we will be regaled for the next two weeks about all of Kennedy's exploits; one of the people who was the most instrumental in the past 30 years in destroying the Republic and making his home state of Massachusetts a tax hell-hole and socialist nightmare.
Like Paris, Britney, and Michael, stupid, drunken, stoned, selfish and greedy idiots are portrayed in the media as being people who should be admired and praised and followed after.
Like the folks who follow 'reality TV' that isn't real, and the "Survivor" shows that are pure bullshit, too many people mindlessly follow after unadulterated garbage, mouth breathing and panting after untruths and falsehoods while neglecting what is going on right in front of them. We really are going to hell in a handbasket when people like this are lauded and praised, and good and decent, hardworking, successful-by-their-own efforts Americans are sneered at and criticized by the media and the idiot public.
I hope Mary Jo has the privilege of escorting that worthless drunken bastard to hell.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
"Oh, NOOOOO!!"
So Glenn Beck, the new darling of the Neo-cons, has discovered something evil and subversive in the new "Cash for Clunkers" program - ALL information entered into this new Welfare system can be tracked by government agencies foreign and domestic for whatever reason.
They're after us! They're after us! The sky is falling! The sky is falling!
Dumbazzes. We've been tracked for years, since before the Patriot Act, and NOW they're freaking? Reminds me of Madeleine Kahn in Blazing Saddles, "It's Twue, It's Twue!" Star Wars was already firmly in place in the heavens, long before Ronnie Reagan broke the news. (I know - my brother worked on it in the '70's.) So were a lot of other things - things that people insisted were mere conspiracy theorists' maunderings.
Like the Tea Parties and all of the other hysterical reactions, this stuff just cracks me up. Where was everyone 20 years ago when this really started happening? Most folk today weren't even born in 1914 when the Fed Reserve was started and started printing money without backing in gold. Yet like good little sheep they have followed along, going along to get along, whining about the dot.com revolution and Enron and the housing scandal and Madoff that cost them millions in unsecured funds -because they were not smart enough to understand that WHEN THERE IS NO INTRINSIC VALUE, money means nothing - literally nothing. It is a fantasy of "legal tender" that has no basis in reality. And because it is not reality-based, tangible and fungible, it can be manipulated by anyone seeking "riches" and power. Just like their 'freedoms' and their 'rights', that have been expanded so far with hysterical hyperbole, emotionalism, and fear, so as to mean absolutely nothing.
They think the whole think started when they woke up last year, when it has been going on for decades while they danced and sang at all the parties funded by nothing, backed by nothing. They are screaming, ranting, and raving at the end, not at the beginning. And there is nothing that can be done to save them now - all of those self-satisfied people who have suddenly had the rug snatched out from under them, whimpering and whining because Mommy, it hurts! Kiss and make better!
They're after us! They're after us! The sky is falling! The sky is falling!
Dumbazzes. We've been tracked for years, since before the Patriot Act, and NOW they're freaking? Reminds me of Madeleine Kahn in Blazing Saddles, "It's Twue, It's Twue!" Star Wars was already firmly in place in the heavens, long before Ronnie Reagan broke the news. (I know - my brother worked on it in the '70's.) So were a lot of other things - things that people insisted were mere conspiracy theorists' maunderings.
Like the Tea Parties and all of the other hysterical reactions, this stuff just cracks me up. Where was everyone 20 years ago when this really started happening? Most folk today weren't even born in 1914 when the Fed Reserve was started and started printing money without backing in gold. Yet like good little sheep they have followed along, going along to get along, whining about the dot.com revolution and Enron and the housing scandal and Madoff that cost them millions in unsecured funds -because they were not smart enough to understand that WHEN THERE IS NO INTRINSIC VALUE, money means nothing - literally nothing. It is a fantasy of "legal tender" that has no basis in reality. And because it is not reality-based, tangible and fungible, it can be manipulated by anyone seeking "riches" and power. Just like their 'freedoms' and their 'rights', that have been expanded so far with hysterical hyperbole, emotionalism, and fear, so as to mean absolutely nothing.
They think the whole think started when they woke up last year, when it has been going on for decades while they danced and sang at all the parties funded by nothing, backed by nothing. They are screaming, ranting, and raving at the end, not at the beginning. And there is nothing that can be done to save them now - all of those self-satisfied people who have suddenly had the rug snatched out from under them, whimpering and whining because Mommy, it hurts! Kiss and make better!
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