Monthly Archives: November 2009

In my opinion

It is not whether the climate is changing, but why. I’m not convinced that humans are throwing a complex fluid system into disarray. I think that the changes we see are naturally occurring fluctuations and I am even more convinced of this when I am informed that leading UN scientists had to doctor the data to support their anthropogenic global warming claims. Life and the planet are unpredictable. Stop using this unpredictability as a means to further your failed commie aims.

Seriously, it’s over, Al. If the climate changes, it’s out of our hands. We’ll have to adapt or die. I’m prepared to adapt.

Seriously awesome.

Hello Steyn fans! I see by my hit meter that someone has linked my Kiyo’s review of Gingerbread and Eggnog. Thank you, sir. You are too kind.

I hope everyone is buying the cd. It is a whole lot of fun and very well-produced. For all of us who’ve tuned into Steyn’s guest hosting stints on Rush’s program, we’ve heard him sing, but I was unfamiliar with Jessica Martin until “A marshmallow world.” That woman has an amazing voice! Clear and powerful. Effortless. It’s a joy to listen to the both of them, and Ms. Martin is the reason my daughter announced she would like to sing onstage. My kid and I are having so much fun with this cd.

Feels like I’m made out of gingerbread.

When I was but a wee lass, (okay, more like a surly teenager but whatever), my mother bombarded my sister and I with Christmas music from late October well into early January. The result was the unholy joining of the Carpenters and Christmas in my mind, so that whenever I hear the Carpenters out of context with Christmas, I feel vaguely disoriented and a little frightened. I love the Carpenters and I love the kitsch factor of that particular band being my go-to Christmas music. I believe that my daughter’s Christmas nostalgia music will be Mark Steyn and Jessica Martin, which is a bit cooler than the Carpenters, but I’ve already mentioned that my kid is a lot cooler than I have ever been.

In Bath and Body Works this afternoon, (my sole indulgence on this horrid Black Friday–I hate people jostling me while I shop; it is a spiritual experience not to be sullied by theĀ  impatient, greedy auras of the unbelievers), my daughter kept singing “Sweet Gingerbread Man” as she shopped the rubber ducks. (She’s a bit of a collector.) When we got back into the car, she asked for the Christmas music again, and nothing else would satisfy her.

I am really enjoying the cd, but I am enjoying watching my daughter’s funky little personality even more. She’s such a rockin’ kid–much, much hipper than I ever was at 5, (although I was a fan of the Dorothy Hammill crop at this age). The fact that she likes Steyn too is just confirmation that she is my mini-me, even if she does favor her father in appearance and coloring. Perhaps it’s just general narcissism behind my fascination with her developing personality, but whatever it is, she’s freakin’ awesome.

She also told me this afternoon that she’d like to sing on Broadway, please. Well, I wanted to be Annie, so the apple is not falling too far from the tree.

Against my better judgment.

I shouldn’t, but I may go window shopping this afternoon. Either that, or I’ll go for a run. Avoiding temptation is the best bet for me, as I have poor impulse control.

Superherolike even.

After the CRU story broke, I mentioned to the husband that there have been a dearth of good, solid hacks in the last several years. There have been malicious hacks, hacks done for financial gain, politically motivated hacks, but there haven’t been many hacks for the public good. The CRU hack is a sweet one, opening a door into the insular, agenda-driven world of paleoclimatology, a field whose data are the justification for the shifting of trillions of dollars of the world’s richest nations. (Not to mention the massive guilt visited upon the unscientific middle classes of said nations.)

Once upon a time, I paid much more attention to this sort of thing. Now I’ve become a passive PC consumer, which makes me a bit sad.

Oh, look at that–I’m already over it. I’m just glad somebody’s doing some good out there.

Happy Thanksgiving!


Last year, “A Marshmallow World” was pretty much the only song in my head for the entire Christmas season. This year it will have some company, as I have just received the Mark Steyn/Jessica Martin Christmas cd, Gingerbread and Eggnog. My daughter and I listened to it in the car on the way to the gym, and she became an instant fan. She loved “Marshmallow World”, and now she is all about the Gingerbread. After the gym, she begged me for some more of that “fun Christmas cd.”

If you don’t think that an endorsement from a 5 year old carries much weight, understand that this kid has loved Sinatra since she was born, sings along with Billie and Ella, and has much better taste in music than I do. My sister laughs that Kiyo “sings like an old lady,” but the joke’s on her, since the kid has a three octave range and fantastic control. Needless to say, I trust Kiyo’s judgment, and honestly, you should too.

And then there’s the kicky fun of being able to listen to your favorite Columnist to the World singing holiday music. I mean, it’s not like Jonah Goldberg’s got anything out there. Holiday cds are the new, chic thing for columnists. I’m expecting one from Krauthammer soon.

PS–If you want a direct quote, she said: “I love this cd. He looks like Santa Claus.” (She was examining the cd cover. I explained that he was not, in fact, Santa. Looking at me like I was mentally challenged, she replied, “He has a beard.”)


Honestly, I don’t care who claims to have created it. I’m almost positive that God gave the Israelites manna in the desert so they had something to dip in their hummus. All I know is that of all the hummus I’ve eaten (and I fancy myself a bit of a connoisseur) Israel produces the best. Smooth and dense with a tangy sweetness–perfection.

Sorry Lebanon, Israel is the best.

Speechless. (Relatively speaking.)

I’ve been looking at this story about the SEALs all day, and I’m still speechless. I am without speech. These guys are our best, the ones who do things in the dark and hardly ever receive credit for it. They don’t even necessarily want credit for it. They’ve saved our collective ass more times than you can imagine, and this is how we repay them? Who cares if some fucking dirtbag murderer got a busted lip? He probably did it to himself.

I’ve got to come back to this; I am utterly incapable of expressing myself in anything resembling coherent speech. Most of the words that have been going through my head regarding this story are inappropriate for public consumption. Believe me, there are worse words than the big Eff, especially when phrased properly.

If this is how we’re going to treat our best warriors, we deserve what we get.

The price of leadership.

Welcome to reality, Mr. Obama. You’ve had a year in office, and whether you like it or not, this is now your war. Win or lose, it’s all you. Fair or not, you’re going to get blamed for the problems of UK politicians, and you’re going to have to decide that this sort of thing just doesn’t matter.

This is what happens in the real world, the world where grown-ups must do uncomfortable, unlovely things for the good of the country in the long run. This is the world in which global popularity contests emphasized by faded, ineffectual former world powers matter not when one realizes the magnitude of the threat within and just outside our borders.

It is now your mess, and all of the whining about “inheriting” this problem from Bush only serves to make you look weaker than you already appear. (The waffling and dithering on the issue hasn’t helped you one bit either.)

Man up, Barack. For once.


If I had had a theme song today, it would have been “Barracuda” by Heart. I’m rather proud of my CrossFit performance today. “Barracuda” also reminds me of the muscle car, and we all know how I feel about muscle cars. My enthusiasm for Heart was tempered when the Wilson sisters felt the need to throw a tantrum when Sarah Barracuda used the song during the ’08 campaign. I doubt that the RNC used copyrighted material without permission, since we’re the party of your grandparents. We do everything by the book. Nope, the Wilson sisters just wanted EVERYONE to know how much they hated that scary, evil, stupid chillbilly bitch, Sarah Palin.

Okay, now I’ve talked myself out of having “Barracuda” be my theme song for a kick ass CrossFit day. I’ve got to think of another one. Something by Pat Benatar.

Imagine that.

What I want to know is, who’s gonna apologize to Joe Wilson? Turns out that Barack Obama was lying. Surprise! Are you all as shocked as I am? Perhaps we should have listened to the guy who had actually read the bill.

It happens.

I am currently in the throes of one of my “I hate everything because all is unjust” attitudes toward the world at large and humanity in general. I’m just letting you all know. I did begin Anatole France’s Revolt of the Angels and Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil by John Berendt simultaneously, which may improve my mood immensely. The former is quite engaging and clever, while the latter oddly dovetails with Steyn’s monthlong tribute to Johnny Mercer over at SteynOnline, which came as a bit of a surprise.

Anyway, with this–and make no mistake, I sincerely get Israel’s side of this madness–and the climate change scandal–didn’t the great prophet Crichton warn us about this awhile ago?–I’m just not feeling all that chipper. I want Gilad to come home, but at what cost? And will any of the CRU data make a difference to the idiots who’ve bought into that pile of horseflop anyway? Will it trickle down to the average consumer who has been coerced into buying crappy “efficient” lightbulbs that make their lives dmmer and more complicated?

Perhaps I’ve just been spending too much time at this site.


Mother is the word for God on the hearts and lips of all little children

–William Makepeace Thackeray

I think that the saddest part of this article is the picture of Geeta’s grief-stricken family: her mother, her eyes raw from weeping, Geeta’s sister, obviously sleep-deprived, and her father, slumped in his chair, heart broken, clutching a photo of his beautiful Geeta.

Horrible things happen everyday and when we put a human face to them, they become very hard to bear. It is necessary, however, to remember that each life has intrinsic value, and that there is someone mourning the lost. Without exploiting the grieving, of course.

My heart goes out to her family, especially her boys. They are too small to understand, and they have lost the most important person in their lives. I hope the monster responsible are brought to justice.