I’d like to invoke the Founding Fathers’ dear departed spirits as some kind of muse for this book review because I’m really praying I do good enough justice to Ron Paul’s ideas. I’m sure I don’t, but I will take a stab at it.
I cannot recommend strongly enough that you read this book. It’s 210 pages. It’s very plain-spoken and clearly written. And it goes fast. I got it from the library. I have zero background in Economics. I studied the Italian Renaissance and 19th century French literature in college, and my reasoning ability is average. Well, above average for a woman probably. HAH. Anyway.
So what I’m trying to say is that you don’t need to know anything about economics or be particularly clever to read this book and understand what it’s saying.
Let me paraphrase Jay-Z:
Nah, I ain’t passed the bar but I know a little bit
Enough that you won’t illegally search my shit
Put another way: You don’t need to be a Weatherman to know which way the wind blows.
Sardonic to the point of fucking Mercutio here (“Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man.”)
In the opening chapter Ron Paul writes “the title of this book [“End the Fed”] is not my own but rather comes from a slogan that can be heard at rallies all around the country.” (page 14, First Edition, September 2009)
In fact, Ron Paul’s book contains two premises:
1. The Federal Reserve should be eliminated, i.e. End the Fed.
2. American currency should be tied/based on/backed by gold. That is, the gold standard should be re-implemented.
Until 1971 the US dollar was backed by gold. The dollar is now basically backed by credit.
How good do you think US credit is right now?
First, the Constitution bans the use of paper money, money based on credit. Article I, Section 10: “No state shall . . . make anything but gold and silver coin a tender in payment of debts.”
I did not know this. This is illuminating.
Ron Paul writes on page 165:
The Constitution is clear about no paper money. Only gold and silver were to be legal tender. Since the states caused themselves harm when they issued their own paper money, the states were prohibited as well from issuing paper currency under the Constitution. Article I, Section 10: “No state shall . . . make anything but gold and silver coin a tender in payment of debts.” So there you have it, plain and simple: paper money is unconstitutional, period. (Page 165)
Where we do have socialism is in the money and credit and setting interest rates. This has been especially true since 1971 when the Bretton Woods Agreement ended and the dollar was delinked from gold.
By manipulating the supply of money and setting interest rates, the Fed has practiced backdoor economic planning. The Fed essentially keeps interest rates lower than they otherwise would be. In a free market, low rates would indicate adequate savings and signal the businessperson that it’s an opportune time to invest in capital projects. But the system the Fed operates discourages savings, and the credit created out of thin air serves as a signal for investors to spend, invest, and borrow excessively, compared to a system where interest rates are set by the market.
This causes a major problem. A boom results, and overinvestment and excesses are built into the system, creating a bubble. A recession or depression doesn’t come for some extraneous reason; it is a predictable result of the excessive credit and artificially low interest rates orchestrated by the Federal Reserve. (Pages 180-182)
The Fed today has ominous powers that Congress barely understands. There is essentially no oversight, no audit, no control. . . . [T]he Federal Reserve chairman has no obligation to answer questions that relate to Federal Open Market Committee meetings and actions taken in collusion with other central banks. Trillions of dollars can be created and injected into the economy with no obligation by the Fed to reveal who benefits. (Page 50)
The Fed’s activities since the market meltdown of 2008 have been dangerous in the extreme. The Fed is using all its power to drive the monetary base to unprecedented heights, creating trillions in new money out of thin air. From April 2008 to April 2009, the adjusted monetary base shot up from $856 billion to an unbelievable $1.749 trillion. Was there any new wealth created? New production? No, this was the Ben Bernanke printing press at work. (Page 
So, you get the picture. Backoor economic planning. Manipulation of interest rates. De-linking the currency from the gold standard, so that, unhinged from a concrete standard, its value can be manipulated.
Well, there are a lot of bills out there to try to bring some transparency to the Federal Reserve, and it’s very confusing. It looks like the efforts to bring transparency to the Federal Reserve kind of get lost in the legislative process. Like, it looks like there was an amendment proposed by Reps. Paul and Grayson that would remove some Government Accountability Office (GAO) audit restrictions from the Federal Reserve and would allow the GAO to review the Fed’s agreements with foreign entities. But it was combined and combined and by the time it got anywhere, Ron Paul wouldn’t vote for it, so obviously in the end it didn’t do the job it was supposed to.
Still this is encouraging. Heartening.
This is what I think: We are going to hit a wall. The wall is the refusal of foreign creditors to loan us money.
This wall could be ultimately a good thing.
Schumer’s Wife’s Responsibility for the 2003 Staten Island Ferry Crash that Killed 11 People
Not mentioned a lot.
There’s an excellent article in the Village Voice on the subject, though. By a Tom Feeney Jr.
Iris Weinshall, who was the Department of Transportation commissioner overseeing ferry operations at the time of the 2003 Staten Island Ferry Crash- and who had been in this position for more than 3 years prior to the crash- is Chuck Schumer’s wife. Small world, right? She remained commissioner for a further 4 years after the crash.
Bloomberg called Weinshall’s service in the post “an extraordinary seven year tenure.”
Well, we would all hope it wasn’t ordinary. That a crash killing 11 people isn’t ordinary.
The Village Voice reports:
The two-pilot rule was created in 1908 to assure that two pilots be in the pilot house at all times. [It] was never enforced under Weinshall.
According to the independent federal probation report:
“There was a dangerous, systematic breakdown in the NYC ferry operations at the time of the accident since the Two Pilot Rule was not distributed and enforced, and the need for two pilots in the pilothouse is most compelling when a ferry approaches the terminal,” Garoppolo said. “This critical safety procedure was designed to prevent an accident under the very circumstances present in this case.”
Despite Garoppolo’s report, where he explicitly said that he viewed “the lion’s share of culpability in this case as resting with the high level management of the Ferry Service,” Bloomberg failed to discipline any of the Staten Island Ferry brass.
. . .
When Weinshall took over as DOT commissioner in 2000, she named Albano Assistant Commissioner of Ferry Operations, despite the fact that he had zero previous maritime experience.
Albano was so out of place as ferry boss that it prompted the probation report to say that “Albano should never have been in the position of running the ferry service. He was unqualified for a position of running the ferry service.” The report also took Weinshall to task, saying that “the individual(s) who were responsible for placing an unqualified person in charge of a large municipal ferry service also have a share of responsibility for the accident.”
. . .
After the crash, the National Transportation Safety Board made a report, according to which:
[W]hile the Staten Island Ferry had the second largest ridership in the United States, transporting 19 million passengers a year, it still “lacked many of the technological innovations that can assist operators during restricted visibility conditions.” In contrast, those in charge of the Washington State Ferries, which transport 26 million riders annually, install new radar equipment every five years. According to the report, prior to the crash the ferry “lacked even such basic instrumentation as speed indicators.”
Weinshall “complied with the implementation of a Safety Management System” in response to this report.
Another report was made on the crash by the Global Maritime and Transportation School (GMATS), a New York based school that offers training programs to private and public transportation systems.
The Maritime Report also identified primitive equipment on the ferry at the time of the accident. These deficiencies ranged from on-board blueprints, operational checklists to “reduce potential for complacency,” and Self-Contained Breathing Apparatus’, a staple piece of rescue equipment for first-responders since the early 1900’s.
The report also found that the ferry only had rowboats that were “antiquated, low free board, and manually powered,” insufficient to rescue the up to 6,000 passengers that sometimes board the ferry. After the accident, Weinshall corrected some of these deficiencies as well.
Prior to the crash, the ferry system was “95 persons short” of the staff members required to implement the Safety Management System, according to the same Maritime School report. Low funding levels “contributed to the apparent erosion of the overall ferry system organization.” The ferry crew was overworked and underpaid, to the point that the ferry employees were required to use vacation time to attend training.
Tom Feeney Jr. ends the article with this:
The reports all suggest that patronage was common practice in the ferry system, and that Weinshall left it unregulated. So bad, that the Maritime School report actually went on to credit the ferry system for how it performed under these conditions, claiming that “the Staten Island Ferry system appears to be a good operation overall, considering the existence of a corporate culture with the ferry organization which may not be conducive to operating a first-rate marine transportation system.”
There’s so much that we share
That it’s time we’re aware
It’s a small world after all.
Ever since the Massachusetts vote- what a week ago now?- [GOD BLESS THE GOOD PEOPLE OF MASSACHUSETTS. GO RED SOX.- Ed.], Chuck Schumer has been, uh, hanging around. All of a sudden he’s showing up at Stuyvesant Town in Manhattan railing against corporate landlords. Uh-huh.
Schumer, who famously sold New York down the river for health care reform- while Landrieu and Ben Nelson were getting millions for their constituents out of the bill, the bill saddled New York with, as Paterson and Bloomberg put it “significant and disproportionate burdens.” The New York Post put it this way:
Where were New York’s two US senators over the weekend, while Majority Leader Harry Reid was buying votes for his health-care bill?
Standing by while New York taxpayers’ pockets were picked — that’s where.
It’s obvious that Reid never would have secured the 60 votes he needed to pass his version of ObamaCare without bribery on a scale that would have made Boss Tweed blush.
Nebraska, Louisiana and Vermont got theirs — hundreds of millions worth.
But what about New York?
Bupkis.
But then came Massachusetts. Theme music, please:
Feel I’m going back to Massachusetts
Something’s telling me I must go home.
And all of a sudden Chuck Schumer is… around. His website’s all “Chuck Around New York,” and “Chuck Schumer is constantly traveling around New York meeting constituents.” Uh-huh. Just out of a casual sort of curiosity, wonder if his website was quite so insistent on the “Chuck’s definitely in New York, guys” tip BEFORE Massachusetts.
Theme music, please.
Something’s telling me I must go home. Home to the Constitution, boys. Eh-heh-heh-heh.
Yeah, Schumer’s got all these press releases on his website: He’s in Rochester, he’s in Brooklyn, he’s doing for New York, New York, New York. Every single press release post-dates Massachusetts.
I attended two tea parties in New York City last year. The awesome April 15th one (Will never forget it, City Hall, the Financial District, surrounded by people shouting themselves hoarse: “We are America! We are America!”), and the less awesome one on July 1st in Times Square. At both tea parties the chant kept going round:
“Schumer’s gotta go! Schumer’s gotta go!”
True then. True now. True always. You want any prosperity in New York. You want any business. Any opportunity. Any action. Schumer’s gotta go. Gillibrand’s gotta go. Governor LePetomane- sorry, I mean Governor “In the Closet” Paterson’s gotta go.
One of my favorite writers is Arnold Lobel. He is the author of, inter alia, “Frog and Toad Are Friends,” “Frog and Toad All Year,” “Days with Frog and Toad,” “Grasshopper on the Road,” and “Small Pig.” I read Lulu stuff I like myself, so, Beatrix Potter, Dr. Seuss, Curious George. I try to avoid the recent fare, although now she’s always picking it up at the library. “Lulu” seems to be quite a catchy name these days, judging by the children’s books. Most contemporary children’s books are utterly boring, many are sinister, and some are poisonous.
Headphones on in the library. Listening to Simple Minds “Don’t You Forget About Me.” Know why 80s music is so good? Number one, my consciousness was new and just bursting on to the scene: childhood, that is. Number two, Papa Reagan. With political stability, with a sense of “rightness” going on, the kiddies are free to play. Reagan and Thatcher are responsible for the explosion of good pop that was the 80s. Now listening to Depeche Mode “Never Let Me Down Again.”
I’m taking a ride with my best friend.
I hope he never lets me down again.
The other problem with contemporary children’s cultural fare: COLLECTIVIST INDOCTRINATION. “Let’s work together!” Lulu shrieks whenever she plays, “Let’s work together!” I commented on this to my mother who sniffed, “When everyone knows that anything great that’s been achieved in this world has always been done by individuals.”
Well, yes. Von Keuhnelt-Leddhinn couldn’t have said it better. Or Ludwig Von Mises in his book “Human Action” as quoted by Ron Paul in “End the Fed” (page 56 of 2009 edition):
The flowering of human society depends on two factors; the intellectual power of outstanding men to conceive sound social and economic theories and the ability of these or other men to make these ideologies palatable to the majority.
That’s when you get the really great music, writing, art, architecture. That’s part of “the flowering.” Mark Steyn the other day on Rush Limbaugh was talking about the gentle decline of Europe (the discreet charm of the bourgeoisie?), how almost imperceptible it’s been, as you may sit in your sidewalk cafe surrounded by all the glorious art and architecture (infastructure, cultural and physical) of glorious past civilization. And then you notice, hmm, compared with small town America: not that many children. A lot of old people. Oh, wait, that woman in the headscarf, she’s got a gaggle of tots with her, quite a prodigious brood, so somebody’s still reproducing…
Boy, do I love Frog and Toad. I’ve heard they’re supposed to be a gay couple, that Arnold Lobel was gay. Je m’en foue completement. For Toad I do a nasal voice, sometimes whiny and petulant, sometimes crotchety and grumpy, sometimes desperate. Frog is the straight man so he’s pleasant, agreeable, reasonable, and sometimes perplexed. Though he can be firm. Like when he insisted that Toad take the kite and do a running jump while shouting “Up, kite, up!” to get it airborne, even though these mean robins were totally taking the piss out of Toad. “That kite’s junk,” the robins said. “Throw it away and go home.” “Frog,” said Toad, “This kite is junk. We should throw it away and go home.”
Or the time Frog just wanted to have some alone time, so Toad freaked out and thought Frog was leaving him. He desperately put together this picnic and tries to pursue Frog to where Frog is hanging out, on this rock in the middle of a pond. Toad hitches a ride on a turtle to get to Frog. The turtle asks, If Frog wants to be alone, why don’t you just leave him alone. Toad responds miserably, “Maybe you are right, maybe Frog just doesn’t want to be with me anymore.” “Yes, maybe,” the turtle cheerfully concedes. Then Toad falls off the turtle, into the pond, utterly ruining his picnic, and shouting, “Frog! I am sorry for all the dumb things I do! I am sorry for all the dumb things I say!”
It strikes deep, this cri de coeur. Lulu and I recite it to each other on occasion. Vaguely reminiscent of the Jesus Prayer, come to think of it:
Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a poor sinner.
Aint.
That.
The.
Truth.
Another one of my favorite Arnold Lobel books is “Grasshopper on the Road.” Grasshopper is, as indicated, on the road, and he meets all these other insects with all these hang-ups( most of them OCD come to think of it): a housefly who can’t stop cleaning, butterflies who have to do the same thing at the same time every day, a tiny mosquito who, classical example of a pea-brained bureaucrat, insists that he must ferry grasshopper across this puddle in his tiny boat. “Rules are rules!” the mosquito cries incessantly. Finally, grasshopper carries the mosquito over the puddle and then thanks him very much for the ride.
The first story in “Grasshopper on the Road” is called “The Club.” Grasshopper stumbles across a group of beetles waving signs and singing and dancing. Their signs bear slogans like, “We Love Morning,” “Kiss Me, It’s Morning,” “Morning Is Tops,” “Make Mine Morning,” and “Sweet Sun Rise.” When Grasshopper is like, “Good morning”- because it actually is morning- the beetles are all like YAY!!! When Grasshopper admits under questioning that he loves morning they welcome him to their club, “The Morning Club,” with open arms. They give him a sign to carry and a wreath of flowers. “I knew it,” says one beetle, “I could tell by your kind face. You are a morning lover.”
In a few moments, however, Grasshopper happens to mention that he loves afternoon, too. And night.
“Stupid,” said a beetle.
He grabbed the wreath of flowers.
“Dummy,” said another beetle.
He snatched the sign from Grasshopper.
“Anyone who loves afternoon and night can never, never be in our club!” said a third beetle.
Yes. The lesson here.
Anyone who loves afternoon and night can never, never be in our club!
These are the books I read in 2009. It was a year of awakening, and I am not alone. It was the year I found Orthodox Christianity (“The Orthodox Church” by Timothy Ware, “The Gurus, the Young Man, and Elder Paisios,” by Dionysios Farasiotis, “Father Arseny 1893-1973: Priest, Prisoner, Spiritual Father”.
Thank God.
It was the year I finally read de Tocqueville. It was the year I found Von Kuehnelt-Leddhin (“The Menace of the Herd”).
It was the year I discovered Ron Paul.
So, out with it. I find this stuff really interesting, what people are reading. Maybe you do too.
Novels:
A. Books read for the book group at work:
1. Tortilla Curtain by T. Coraghessen Boyle. Eh.
2. The Yiddish Policeman’s Union by Michael Chabon. Amusing, charming. And loveable characters. I have a very soft spot for Orthodox Jews. Tried to read something else by him, however, and it was so strained and juvenile, felt I should get out my red pen.
3. The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold. Sure, if you like reading about the rape and murder of girl-children. If that’s your thing, and it seems to have permeated the popular culture, seems to be a selling point and all that, by all means. The hazards of book groups.
(4.) The Gathering by Ann Enright. I suggested this one because it was Irish and gloomy and won the Booker Prize. Fellow book-group member who was Brooklyn-Irish (New York City Irish have developed along different lines, the Irish being a rural people. This is either advancement or regression, depending on how you look at it. And the way I like to look at it is from a vantage point among the easy possibilities and comforts of the country.), anyway, fellow book-group member who was New York City Irish got a bit defensive in the discussion. See, this is New York City, this is not Irish. Irish is above all shame-faced. To, wit the following ad, which was always on tv when I lived in Dublin:
Could you live with the shame? Unfortunately, it doesn’t just apply to drinking and driving for Irish people, but seems to apply to all of life. But then all peoples have their foibles.
B. More Novels:
(5.) “A Singular Man” by J.P. Donleavy and and (6.) “Lucky Jim” by Kingsely Amis. Riffs on the disaffected pre-hippie Anglo-American male so famously depicted by the late J.D. Salinger. “Lucky Jim” was the better of the two, the funnier and more coherent. Martin Amis, Kingsley’s son, is also good, maybe better than his old man. I loved “Time’s Arrow.” “Night Train” was pretty good. Like Chabon, lovable character-driven. I couldn’t finish “London Fields.” I don’t have the stomach for nastiness now that I have a child. For gratuitous nastiness that is. Otherwise, as regarding non-gratuitous nastiness, the iron has entered my soul.
(7.) “Les Jeux Sont Faits” by Jean-Paul Sartre. To practice my French. It was ok. Fast, easy read.
(8.) “Arthur & George” by Julian Barnes. This was a quality historical novel, it’s based on the intertwining lives of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and a rather obscure solicitor who became the victim of harassment and whom Conan Doyle championed. Highly recommended. I also read another book by Julian Barnes, (9.) “The History of the World in 10 1/2 Chapters.” Eh.
(10.) “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time” by Mark Haddon. Diverting, positive, simple, very fast read.
(11.) “All the Pretty Horses” by Cormac McCarthy. Lyrical and truthful, spoke to my soul.
(12.) “Jude the Obscure” by Thomas Hardy. Awesome. Will I be re-reading it again any time soon? Not bloody likely. As personally scarring as a Lars Von Trier movie. As all in life that matters is.
(13.) “Small Island” by Andrea Levy. Charming, whimsical, pleasurable read.
I think that’s all the novels.
C. Memoirs
(14.) “The Naked Civil Servant” by Quentin Crisp. This is an absolutely mind-blowingly good book, with a perspective you will find nowhere else. You will come away with the sheer bravery and honesty of the man. Sophisticated it was. This from page 82:
In 1653, when God took a turn for the worse, the gusto with which the English took to a life of self-restraint undoubtedly contained an element of debauchery. If we don’t suffer, how shall we know that we live?
(15.) “Naked” by David Sedaris. Mildly funny. Also got out “When Your Head is Engulfed in Flames” but didn’t bother to finish it. Yeah, everything’s up for ridicule except for mindless collectivist nihilism. He could’ve been better.
(16.) “The Glass Castle” by Jeannette Walls. Everybody’s read this one. Totally engrossing, finished it in a day. The father was just a garden-variety charming alcoholic, the mother seems mentally ill. Or totally immoral. Or both.
(17.) “Daughter of Persia” by Sattareh Ferman Fermanian.
D. History
(17.) “Edmund Campion” by Evelyn Waugh. This was a wonderful book. Evelyn Waugh is one of my favorite writers. Graham Greene is another. Edmund Campion is an English saint, a Jesuit.
(18.) “Everybody Was So Young,” by Amanda Vaill. This was a great book. About the American millionaire artist couple who Dick and Nicole Diver in Fitzgerald’s “Tender is the Night” are based on. They were sophisticated, complicated people. Was he gay. Doesn’t matter. They loved each other. They lived. I’m listening to “Mad About You” by Belinda Carlisle on headphones. Over and over.
Partake with me. I invite you in a spirit of camaraderie.
(19.) “The Hero With a Thousand Faces” by Joseph Campbell. Read it because saw it on some Jung-inspired website. Useful for instilling healthy myths into Luliboo’s psyche. Post-Christian, though. So useful only as background. I mean like Christianity assessed as just another myth in the pantheon, and that won’t do now, that won’t do. The one thing I’m certain of in this world.
Mad about you. Mad about you. Lost in your eyes. Mad about love. You and I.
Libary closing. To be continued.
Know that wherever I am I will be singing.
Mental note to remove photo of Pope John Paul from the site. Installed there in a spirit of, “You wouldn’t hit a guy with glasses, would you?” Well, they would and they do, and you’d need a lot more of the photo of the Pope to stop them and…
Massachusetts, baby.
Virginia.
New Jersey.
You know what I’m talking about, boy. So you can get your posse and your army brigade because I am not afraid. Cuz I’m the type of nigga that’ll shake my shit and all that. Ah, the bards of my youth.
(Incidentally, the best line in that song is probably the one that comes right before “So you can get your posse and your army brigade because I am not afraid.” It goes as follows:
Housing motherfuckers like a real estate agent.)
If I had been asked to give an oration at one of these elections, or anywhere by anyone really, I would have recited some of Yertle the Tertle, by the immortal Dr. Seuss.
Virginia, New Jersey, Massachusetts. Coincidence, I suppose, that they’re all part of the 13 original colonies.
Then Yertle the Turtle was perched up so high,
He could see forty miles from his throne in the sky!
“Hooray!” shouted Yertle. “I’m the king of the trees!
I’m king of the birds! And I’m king of the bees!
I’m king of the butterflies! King of the air!
Ah, me! What a throne! What a wonderful chair!
I’m Yertle the Turtle! Oh, marvelous me!
For I am the ruler of all that I see!”
Then again, from below, in the great heavy stack,
Came a groan from that plain little turtle named Mack.
“Your Majesty, please… I don’t like to complain,
But down here below, we are feeling great pain.
I know, up on top you are seeing great sights,
But down here at the bottom we, too, should have rights.
We turtles can’t stand it. Our shells will all crack!
Besides, we need food. We are starving!” groaned Mack.
“You hush up your mouth!” howled the mighty King Yertle.
“You’ve no right to talk to the world’s highest turtle.
I rule from the clouds! Over land! Over sea!
There’s nothing, no, NOTHING, that’s higher than me!”
But, while he was shouting, he saw with surprise
That the moon of the evening was starting to rise
Up over his head in the darkening skies.
“What’s THAT?” snorted Yertle. “Say, what IS that thing
That dares to be higher than Yertle the King?
I shall not allow it! I’ll go higher still!
I’ll build my throne higher! I can and I will!
I’ll call some more turtles. I’ll stack ‘em to heaven!
I need ’bout five thousand, six hundred and seven!”
But, as Yertle, the Turtle King, lifted his hand
And started to order and give the command,
That plain little turtle below in the stack,
That plain little turtle whose name was just Mack,
Decided he’d taken enough. And he had.
And that plain little lad got a bit mad.
And that plain little Mack did a plain little thing.
He burped!
And his burp shook the throne of the king!
This is how the story ends:
And today the great Yertle, that Marvelous he,
Is King of the Mud. That is all he can see.
And the turtles, of course… all the turtles are free
As turtles and, maybe, all creatures should be.
So evident doesn’t need to be said but there. The minute he exposed ACORN he was on their radar, they were tailing him, they knew he was in Louisiana, he was being followed.
She’s almost 3! My baby. Home with my mother as I write. I don’t wear a wedding ring: I’m not entitled to, for one. I was so disappointed when my mother told me that the custom is not to wear a wedding ring when you’re divorced. It seemed to me that it should be like a diploma: if you have the balls, guts, heart to stand for it, it should be yours forever.
RAH-HAW-HAW-HAW-HAW-HAW!!!!!!
I’m just wondering, before Obama’s turn is out, what other kind of different approaches we’re going to get from public officials responding to Obama’s LIES resulting from incompetence and/or utter disregard for the truth.
So far we’ve got Joe Wilson shouting, “You lie!” Now we’ve got Alito mouthing, “Not true.”
Alito was right, by the way.
So, I wonder what new protests the future will bring. Public officials in the background shaking their heads, drawing their fingers across their throats, emphatically waving their hands? Quickly scrawling on notepaper and holding up hand-made signs? I suppose the more Chavez-like Obama becomes the more subdued the gestures of protest will become. In future State of the Union addresses we won’t even be watching Obama, we’ll be watching the audience- Is there something in Sen. Scott Brown’s eye or was he trying to signal to us that no, not to believe the projected health care reform costs that the president is giving us? Does Rep. Michele Bachmann just have a really bad cough or was that- did you hear the word “liar” in there?
Hostage to a madman we are.
Loaded cross-country skis into car, little itty bitty skis for Lulu, second-hand, very cheap. It is nine degrees out. Nine degrees. So instead got McDonald’s take-out. I tried to impress the cashier at the supermarket: Nine degrees! I said, and when she showed no response, I said it again, Nine degrees. Nothing. I see people walking around with, like, jean jackets on. Lulu has eight layers on and can barely walk.
Ate in Mickey D parking lot. Car window frozen shut, had to open car door to get food. Fingers frozen, reason why I keep dropping my pronouns, too cold to bother to articulate them.
There isn’t enough baking chocolate in the world.
The only two places you can get really really warm in the winter: hot bath and sitting in your heated car. I gave Lulu the top bun from my chicken sandwich and told her it was a chicken sandwich. While I ate I listened to Rush.
I stopped listening to Beck because he freaks me out. Mouth pressed against microphone, voice hoarse with emotion, invoking his own demise constantly. Dude, nobody’s getting shot in the streets yet. Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it.
Some guy with a clipboard is talking with the librarians about some “education” program about recycling. He’s like, “It’s very current.” And he’s like, “Unlike a lot of school programs, it’s not theoretical, it’s very hands-on.”
Yeah, there’s a big problem with kids learning all this “theoretical” stuff in school. All those abstract concepts. What’s up with that?
So I was sitting in my car eating McDonald’s and listening to Rush Limbaugh, i.e. I was happy, and I heard this clip from Obama- I don’t know whether it was his State of the Union address or a special event featuring him tearing into Republicans or what. But, uh….
Who the fuck does he think he is.
He’s seriously, dangerously out of touch.
What I was listening to was him tearing into the Republicans today. First, he’s like, Job losses in December 2008, I suppose you’re going to blame that on me? Job losses in January 2009- when I took office- I suppose you’re going to blame that on me too?
Dude, you’d get bounced from a job working in the mailroom with that kind of attitude. (I worked in the mailroom of McKinsey & Co., temping, in the late 90s. Actually, there was this one guy they were trying to fire because he never showed up but they were afraid to fire him because he was, um, a member of a historically disadvantaged group who deserves everybody’s money now.)
So not only has Obama got zero idea of how adults operate in The World, no one around him has got the sense God gave a turnip- a rutabaga- enough to be like, Dude, Ix-nay on the “It’s not my fault, I just got handed a big disaster, and it’s my bad luck that I was elected president- and it’s not fair!”
“Oh, I suppose it’s my fault there were job losses in the month I took office?”
Meow.
I’ve got about three minutes before library closes. There’s a raging blizzard outside. I carried Lulu in my arms here because I’ve had a glass of wine, so no driving for me. If I have one two-second thing to say to the lovable couple people I talk to- hello, love you. It is: Massachusetts is very big deal. Very big deal.
Also: this of note:
Also: Massachusetts: Fucking Love You:
Wiggy-wiggy wack. Wiggy-wiggy wack-wack. McDonald’s coffee is the best coffee. Cheapest too.
Spent the morning reading “End the Fed.” Interesting article in the Journal ’bout how Everybody Hates Rahm Emanuel. The sequel to Everybody Hates Obama. I’ve chilled out on hating Obama now that he’s universally reviled.
“Fucking retarded,” the Journal quotes Emanuel’s cogent criticism of some liberal plan. I think that about sums up the Emanuel vibe right there: foul-mouthed nasty tween girl. Elliot Spitzer had that same vibe.
Remember when he called Bruno an “old, senile piece of shit”? Same spoiled nasty little girl vibe. What’s up with the Democrats? They’re not a manly set. Schumer hissing cattily at the stewardess’s back, “Bitch,” after she advised him to turn off his cell phone so the plane he was on wouldn’t crash.
But I guess catty bitchiness is the way of all flesh at this point as from what I understand we’re having this crisis of masculinity. The New York Times, whom I won’t deign to link- I ended that abusive relationship a while ago, this dog not returning to that particular pile of vomit- had some article a few days ago on how women are “marrying down,” marrying men who make less money than they do, and isn’t this a big stride forward for female domination? That is not the real story. The real story is that the private sector is wiped out, Dudes. The real story is that all the feminine butt-wiping jobs (health, education) are the only ones still in existence.
I read an inane Maggie Gallagher editorial on the subject recently (“The irony of men is that they cannot defend themselves or organize around their own systemic, gendered problems. Putting their own gender in the position of “the weaker sex” unmans them — and also makes them deeply unattractive to women.”).
Much much better on the subject is John Derbyshire in his book “We Are Doomed,” which I read quoted in a review by Jack Trotter in Chronicles (which is great, I just got a subscription). He says that in a “postindustrial society, men just don’t do very well.” Trotter, the reviewer, writing about Derbyshire’s position and quoting Derbyshire, says:
In short, the postindustrial economy simply doesn’t require traditionally masculine virtues or capacities such as ‘physical courage, danger-seeking, the honor principle, belligerence, chivalry, endurance [and] small-group loyalty.” Women’s superior communication and social (i.e., “networking”) skills are perfectly suited to the hive-like postindustrial economy and its emergence on “soft” management styles. Derbyshire, who spent a number of years in the corporate world, opines that men ’seem rather out of place in the “tubes and cubes” of the modern office,’ where traditional masculine traits are not only increasingly useless but even counterproductive. In their place we find the ‘mildness of manners, the endless tiny courtesies, the yielding and compromising, the cheery assertions of delivery-room stoicism . . . that are necessary to get this kind of work done.
Part of this is peacetime. I remember watching coverage of Katrina, there was this really young guy, not much more than a teenager, who’d “commandeered” a van, taking along his girlfriend, and then picking up a groups of utter strangers on his way out of the wreckage. He was black, and some of the people he stopped and picked up were white. I remember one middle-aged white man, a trapped tourist, American, putting his arm around the kid’s neck, and proclaiming in a booming voice (he looked like he was still in shock), “He saved us! Him! He saved us!” And I remember wondering whether the same qualities the young man posessed: bravery, quick-thinking, agility, lawlessness, generosity, would evince themselves as positively in a hum-drum context.
There is an Amish woman in the library. There was an Amish woman in the library yesterday too. This would be a good opportunity to network. Livestock, and all that.
I bought the “In Touch” with Sarah and Bristol on the cover. Natch. [Over-use of "natch." -Ed.]
Signing on today, the library computer wouldn’t let me on to wordpress. Ah-hah, I thought. The meddling librarians, foiling my plans. Paranoia, the dark side of narcissism. [The lighter side of narcissism being? -Ed. Oh, the discreet charm of the bourgeoisie. -Rosita] I harbored similar suspicions when I couldn’t sign on to E-harmony one day too. I suspected the librarians of conspiring to prevent me from further procreation. Hah. If the health teacher didn’t do it, nothing will.
I bought “In Touch” simply cuz Palin was on the cover. My blind adoration of Palin phase is over. I have kind of a problem in that sometimes I am a violently knee-jerk contrarian. Like with Bush. I was really uneasy with Bush’s, uh, “foreign policy,” the whole invading various hell-holes under no clear rationale while literally holding hands with the leader of the country where most of the 9/11 terrorists came from. That whole thing.
On the other hand, the hatred of Bush was tribal: He was an evil white male, a frat boy, a dumb goy, a dry drunk, a religious fundamentalist, worst of all a Christian. Tribalism summons tribalism, and the hatred made my hackles rise. My tactic with the rabid Bush haters was usually to smirk or shrug, because it drove them crazy.
The hatred of Palin is tribal too, something’s up there. Mark Steyn was on for Rush today. Oh, he’s funny. Kind of gorgeous too, right? I like the beard. Mark Steyn referenced this hilarious column by some dumb bimbo (obviously smarter than me because she’s getting paid- maybe, but still) on Real Clear Politics who says she’s sorry she voted for Obama, she was “blinded by charisma.” Mark Steyn said it sounded like she should have her picture on the cover of a bodice-ripper with Obama the naughty squire, off to pleasure other wenches. He also said that, while he wasn’t suggesting that women shouldn’t have the right to vote…
If you’re having voter’s remorse, I feel bad for you, son. I got 99 problems, but having voted for Obama is not one.
Yeah, so this “blinded by charisma” Obama chick (whom I rather suspect “no longer has the excuse of youth,” as Charles Krauthammer said about Chris Matthews after his thrill running up his leg comment) hates Palin. Natch. She says she voted for Obama because she got “caught up in the hoopla”:
Obama was so convincing that I stopped caring about what he knew and started getting caught up in the euphoria. Imagine having a president who came from a broken home, who had money troubles, who did grass-roots community service? A young father. The first black president.
“Broken home”? Gee, I’m trying to imagine a president coming from what the author quaintly refers to as a “broken home.” Bill Clinton springs to mind.
Author’s Note: I had done the above last night when Lulu and I were kicked off the internet by two 12 year-olds. It was a sobering moment. I came this close to getting internet at home. But, you know, I love not having the vortex in my home.
What I was going to say about the In Touch interview was, one, it kind of rubs me the wrong way, a female politician getting all into her reproductive life. Can you see Margaret Thatcher being like, Well, then I had these series of miscarriages and… Two, that’s very lovely and life-affirming that Palin and her daughter decided to give birth to their babies under some challenging circumstances, but then holding up the babies and being like, “Look what we did everybody! I was so tempted to get rid of it- but I didn’t! Check this out!” kind of defeats the purpose, eh? (We’re rather near the Canadian border, here.) I’m typing fast because the junior high wolves are at my heels, but you see my point, right? In the article Bristol is like, “I wouldn’t wish this fate on anyone.” Adoption is also a beautiful, beautiful option, by the way. Then Sarah is saying that when she found out Trig had Down Syndrome she was very worried, but her husband was quite positive and supportive. Uh, that’s no small thing right there. No small thing. I just found it a rather Pharasaical pose, and also I find that being like, yeah, having this baby sucks, but just look at me and my through-gritted-teeth virtue.
I need to drop the “Sarah, my Sarah” pose. Truth is I ceased to think of her as a viable politician when she resigned the governorship. Kyle Smith put it like this:
Ditching Alaska proved that she was what her enemies (Democrats, the press, the McCain staff) said she was: a flake. Getting outwitted by that intellectual grandmaster Katie Couric was embarrassing, but it wasn’t unforgivable. Taking an incomplete on your first major office in politics is unforgivable. It’s like walking away from the Vietnam War because you got a boo-boo on your forearm and got yourself a Purple Heart for it.
Palin couldn’t handle the Democratic Party machine attacks, the hostile press and the gotcha industry of Alaska? Assuming she intends to run for president in three years (and I do — otherwise why is there a SarahPAC ad on the conservative sites?), it’s as if she quit the Wiffle Ball circuit and started dropping hints she was ready to play for the Yankees.
The junior high kids are here.
Bless me, Father for I have- I buy anything with the unraveling of Brangelina on the cover. For example.
The older I get, and that seems to be the only constant, that I get older- thank God- the more and more the idées reçues get turned on their heads- like who would have thought that the nation’s salvation would have come from Massachusetts?
I admit that I harbor negative unfair prejudices against that portion of the world’s population who is not Winston Churchill, among them the residents of Massachusetts. Boston? It seems only notable to me for feeling utterly provincial while being a pretty sizeable city. What? Matt Damon and Ben Affleck? Ben Affleck the John Kerry-lover, always doth have his mouth open. Matt Damon at least has a work ethic, but like most actors when he’s off-script, it’s murder. And the Red Sox. I hate the Yankees, but I hate the Red Sox worse. Red Sox fans to me symbolize Boston: obsessive about mediocrity.
But, you know, something happened last Tuesday. In Who-ville they say that the residents of Massachusetts, that their hearts grew three sizes that day.
Thank you, Massachusetts. Thanks. Go Red Sox.
And someone saved my life tonight sugar bear
You almost had your hooks in me didn’t you dear
You nearly had me roped and tied
Altar-bound, hypnotized
Sweet freedom whispered in my ear
You’re a butterfly
And butterflies are free to fly
Fly away, high away, bye bye
“Americanization” [is] an unjust label used by people without an intimate knowledge of the United States. What they mean is practicality, materialism, superficiality, an anti-historical attitude, and some sort of pseudo-individualistic gregariousness.”
Eric von Keuhnelt-Leddhin, The Intelligent American’s Guide to Europe
Of all the anti-American sentiments I’ve borne the brunt of, probably the most unexpected was having Sacco and Vanzetti thrown in my face.
It was the boyfriend of a girl I shared an apartment with in Barcelona. He was Italian, naturally enough. She was a gorgeous healthy specimen of mindlessly committed Marxism embodied in sturdy, ruddy-cheeked, young female form. Her boyfriend was significantly less good-looking, rather smaller than her (“Ren and Stimpy,” my ex-high school sweetheart used to call those sorts of couples), and manipulative. But she loved him. She was the brawn, he was the brains. I was taken aback at the Sacco and Vanzetti comment, it was out of the blue. I wasn’t even talking to him, I was passing through the living room, if I recall correctly, and he was sitting with some others. A skinny mournful-looking girl, I remember, who elaborated on the Sacco and Vanzetti theme. I recalled something about it from 9th grade Social Studies, and I muttered an apology, as I was rather ambushed. They were creepy.
But I did acquit myself admirably on other occasions. One of my favorites: I was visiting an English couple- English, mind you. And the woman, who wrote for a newspaper, was telling me that when she and her husband took their young sons to Disneyworld in Florida, that she had seen groups of Americans there, adult Americans not accompanied by children, on an outing to Disneyworld, wearing the mouse hats and all that.
The suggestion being: what yahoos your countrymen are.
And this from an English person, mind you.
Most known for going abroad and running amok: drinking themselves blind, fighting, and generally being disgusting: head-butting, eye-gouging, with blood, vomit, and piss (apologies to Churchill) running mixed in the streets. And those are just the women. Seriously.
“Maybe they were on drugs,” I suggested to her brightly.
About ten years ago I was sitting on a bench outside my hostel, in Stockholm of all places, when I was abruptly verbally accosted by an old Chinese man, of all people. I was eating a Snickers bar. That was my dinner. The old Chinese man approached me while I was thus happily engaged to inform me that his culture was superior to mine. That was the general message. He ended with, “Is that your dinner?” “Yes,” I said. (You can see why I was just a sitting duck for such experiences, right?) “Typical American,” the old Chinese man sneered, and walked away unbelievably gratified.
It’s rare that you’re able to so easily satisfy somebody’s deep-seated need like that. I still feel good about it.
A Snickers bar, incidentally, makes a wonderful dinner. So delicious, so cheap. I had an urge to call after him with that: “So delicious, so cheap!” Or something far ruder. Something like “Sorry it’s not, like, dog a la paint thinner, you old coot! And everybody knows your economic growth is highly exaggerated!”
And once I was waiting in line outside a restaurant in Paris with a girlfriend, and a Frenchman-after we had rebuffed his advances and declined to eat with him, mind you (mind you)- told us that the United States was only something you thought was such a great thing when you were like fourteen years-old, and then you grew up and realized it was shite. Funny. That happened to me with socialism.
Oh. I had this English class of handsome young businessmen in Madrid. Their English was excellent too, so I could do things like force them to transcribe the lyrics to Sinead O’Connor songs.
“But she is crazy,” Antonio protested, his eyes wide.
My idyll was interrupted, however, one day with the arrival of a new student who was young, female, and pretty. She was kind of fun, actually. I remember her one day commenting, with a dismissive wave of her hand, that if she got pregnant she and her boyfriend would get married, she didn’t know why, it was just like that. I love the Spanish. Anyway, one day I forget what we were talking about, but she came out with how terrible the health care system is in the United States.
Piqued, I stooped to sarcasm.
“Yes, it’s like India,” I said. “People are dying in the streets.” The businessmen thought that was very funny. Or maybe they thought that us fighting was very funny.
Uh, that’s great that unemployment is at about 22% in this country, and we’re granting amnesty to 200,000 Haitian illegal immigrants.
Spotted this week’s Newsweek: “Why Haiti Matters” by Barack Obama. Why Barack Obama Matters, by Barack Obama. I wonder if Bill Ayers wrote the Newsweek article too. How about this? How about “Why American Lives Matter” by Barack Obama. How about “Why American Prosperity Matters” by Barack Obama. Newsweek is but a nest of socialists, and I find myself here again fighting with monsters and boring myself.
Oh, I have to go. I have to change my daughter’s diaper.
I have just sat down at the computer. The library is blessedly empty but for several seemingly kind librarians whom I have come to believe are not out to get me. I have just unbundled Lulu, and she is playing with trains. Most unfortunately, there seems to be a very suspect smell emanating towards me which suggests that my darling’s elimination processes are in working order. I do not care. Sometimes you have to be hard. Countdown 3, 2, 1: Pretty soon one of the kind librarian may bring it up with me kind of embarrassedly that my daughter smells like shit. Though not in those words. Until then, I am free. When one of the kind librarians addresses the fact that someone in this public institution has shit in their pants and that person is in fact my charge, I will fake embarrassment. I will fake being a harried young mother who’s got the decency to be embarrassed by routine bodily functions. Then I will pretend that there is something vital I must finish on the internet before spiriting Lulu away. Oh Lulu, please stay away from the librarians. Oh dear, a librarian is spraying air freshener.
I have totally been here when other toddlers have pooped and their parents have played it stupid.
Oh dear, this is turning into a terrible post. This isn’t what this post was supposed to be about at all. It was supposed to be about anti-Americanism.
Well, I can’t find my memory stick, so that’s out. Too bad, I had a great quote from Kuehnelt-Leddhin. It is a bit one of those days.
The Founding Fathers Were Free-Riders. Relying on the Assumption of a Christian Society.
Hey, I’ve kind of hit sort of a sweet spot here at the library, where the computer next to me is unoccupied, so I can park Luliboo there and she can soak up some Wubbzy, shaken not stirred, just the way she likes it.
The obvious has been hitting me lately. Western civilization (“civilization” if you’re nasty), i.e. “Christendom,” depends utterly on Christianity.
The Founding Fathers were actually not that religious. Jefferson and his Bible with what Wikipedia calls the “supernatural aspects” of Jesus expunged. Franklin, immensely practical, attended a variety of churches when he did attend services.
I kind of think they were free-riders. The previous centuries of Christendom’s free-thinkers, they were free-riders. Free-riders because they were relying on the assumption of a Christian society. The English and the Americans have been very oriented towards function, De Toqueville observed this. Very pragmatic, adaptable- focused on the functional. To wit, the English insult “useless.” To insult a person, call him “useless”: useless git, useless wanker, useless twat, useless sod. It seems to me that Protestants stripped Christianity of a lot of things they deemed “useless,” but Christianity doesn’t work like an engine. Neither do men. Men need soul and mystery.
Jefferson, we need the miracles. We need the wedding at Cana, we need the multiplication of loaves and fishes, we need lepers healed, and children woken from the dead.
When I was working in Brooklyn, I would pass a Unitarian church on my way to work. It was supposed to have very beautiful windows, but it was always closed, and sometimes I would peruse the bulletin board. One day in April I was shocked to see that this CHURCH, this ostensibly Christian church, was planning a Maypole dance for the first of May! That’s what they were getting together to do! And they had photos from I guess their last year’s Maypole dance- a bunch of self-consciously beaming, elderly Baby Boomers standing around a flower-bedecked Maypole, hanging on to ribbons. I suppose they’ll sacrifice a ram or something (free-range, natch) after their ceremony and divine its entrails. Or bay at the moon. Or read each other’s palms. Or imbibe free-trade coffee. Or make fun of uptight Christians whose idea of worship includes, like, Jesus, and stuff.
The point I am attempting to get at, in my usual circuitous and scathing-for-the-sake-of-it-because-I-don’t-know-how-to-be-any-other-way-and-I-can-only-be-me fashion, is that “free thinkers” like the Founding Fathers were relying on the premise of a Christian society as their framework in which to think free. I think they were kind of counting on others being more devout than themselves in order to keep the engine oiled and in working order. (Just said it wasn’t like an engine, now I’m going back and saying it’s like an engine.)
Our society is basically pagan. I wonder how Jefferson and Franklin, those cool, practical Christians, would react. I wonder whether it would be possible to prove to them that this is an implication of stripping Christianity of its miracles.
Free-riding isn’t an option anywhere because Godlessness has become the default. Or, rather, Godlessness but not godlessness, because, as Simone Weil puts it:
One has only the choice between God and idolatry. If one denies God … one is worshiping some things of this world in the belief that one sees them only as such, but in fact, though unknown to oneself imagining the attributes of Divinity in them.
“Diversity” for example is one of our new gods. And she is a jealous god who exacts tribute.
The GOP can thus run this fall as the only effective force left in Washington that can block the Democrats’ drive for power. The GOP problem arises when the presidential season begins in spring 2011.
For what Republican ran last time for cutting back George Bush’s big government? Who ran against expansion of NATO into Ukraine and Georgia? Who opposed war in Iraq? Who stood up and said no to No Child Left Behind or Medicare coverage of prescription drugs?
Who in the Republican Party today is calling for a Barry Goldwater-like rollback of federal power and federal programs? Except Ron Paul.
Kennedy is dead. Long Live Kennedy.
Mr. Kennedy said he would propose laws to end all current wars, audit the federal reserve operations, seek repayment of all federal bailout money and roll back a 43 percent increase in spending during the Bush years. He also said Homeland Security Secretary Janet Napolitano should be fired in light of her handling of the Christmas Day attempted bombing of an international flight to Detroit.
I’m sorry I was not writing. First I took off on a hush-hush secret mission, and then my sweetness tripped headlong into a table in the library and hurt her nose.
Nationalizing, i.e. socializing, the student loan industry effectively means students need government permission to pursue their course of studies. Welcome to the Unified Socialist State of America.
I’m happy about the Brown win, natch. Well, I’m a little fucking delirious over the Democrats losing their super-majority in the Senate. This is the hand of God.
Maradona notwithstanding.
A propos, thank God I will be unemployed for the World Cup.
Did I surprise myself with a sudden half-sob in relief at the news that Rush Limbaugh is ok and will be back on Wednesday? I did. Interesting he got the chest pains on vacation. He’s a workaholic, that’s why he’s been married 3 times. And he’s great, and I was praying for his recovery and for him to be all a-okay.
We need him.
You know, what can I tell you? Health care, it needs to be repealed.
I mean 90% of Congress, ok maybe 85%, needs to be taken out and hided. What can I tell you?
These are the breaks. (Break it up, break it up, break down.)
The money in this country has moved from private sector to “public” sector. A bad thing. See, e.g., The Wall Street Journal, December 28, 2009, “After the Bailouts, Washington’s the Boss.”
What can I say.
Mark Steyn today- Anglophile that I am, I love his accent- was harping on the Amish. Yeah, I’ve definitely considered the Amish angle.
This is my angle: Fuck this shit. Nah, nah, nah, na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na. Hey Jude.
(John Lennon, so undoubtedly head and shoulders my favorite Beatle. Meprisable, womanish Paul McCartney.)
It’s gonna take some massive bitch of a re-education program to bring 53% of the population under your Nancy Pelosi/Barney Frankian monster thumb.
Moreover, I’m thinking about yo mama to a funky beat.
You know what will be awesome, will be receiving hate from rabid Paul McCartney fans.
Yeah, I’m actually taking a plane in a few days, on a top secret mission, natch, very hush-hush and on the D… L…
Please know, should anything occur, that I went down fighting. Boy, I hate flying.
I would like to point out that, should I have to seize upon the flimsy plastic knife that came with my entree and battle for my life,-
A bit like, what Hermia, I think it was, in A Midsummer Night’s Dream: though she be but little, she is fierce.
I would like to point out, the one thing to take from this, that I’m Christian, and- should I have the bad luck to find myself in such a situation but the good luck to have a fighting chance, I would like to point out that, before setting upon the enemy I will be asking forgiveness, not for reward, but for forgiveness for attacking my foe.
And that makes all the difference.
