Monthly Archives: September 2010

And this is why he’s called the Great One.

I heard this on my way to Piper’s house to indulge in a little Jersey Shore. Earlier in the afternoon, I’d caught a rerun of Hugh Hewitt’s interview with Gloria Allred, and though Hugh had his fun with her, Mark destroyed her. Levin didn’t even break a sweat. I was yet again reminded of how incredibly awesome Mark Levin is, and what a spectacular attorney he must be. He had her spluttering and speechless, completely off balance. It was a fantastic experience.

I’m so glad that Mark Levin is one of the good guys.

Optimism abates, but cynicism is forever.

I’ve had a lot of time to think lately, on account of the limited access to free time. What have I been thinking about? I am so glad you asked, because I’ve been dying to tell someone.

I’ve been thinking about the tea parties, and the excitement that seems to be setting conservatives across the country alight. I suppose you could describe it as infectious. That’s great and all, but I’m wondering what will happen when there are no more educated, conservative grown-ups to attend tea party rallies. Is there a viable conservative generation waiting in the wings? Or are we about to reap the fruit of our ill-considered and wholesale surrender of the culture war?

Perhaps I’m just being an incurable cynic, but when a majority of Americans under 40 think that the Daily Show is news and Sarah Palin–not Tina Fey–actually said, “I can see Russia from my house,” we’re all doomed. Seriously, people.

Doomed.

Calling Mr. Holmes…

Boo-hoo. Israel is exercising its rights as a sovereign nation and the current administration is all bent out of shape about it.

I still have no idea why so many seemingly sane Americans suspect Obama’s got some latent Muslim sympathies. A mystery, really.

Boom.

Last Friday, a pipe bomb exploded near a school in a part of San Diego called Rancho San Diego. A daycare worker in her 50′s was apparently the target, and she may lose her legs. The bomb itself was fairly sophisticated, at least more so than the average pipe bomb found near schools on an all-to-frequent basis. It was wired into her ignition, and it threw her from the vehicle and moved her truck several feet. A parent I know who is familiar with the area told me that it is an extremely busy area during school hours. The streets are usually filled with parents waiting to pick up or drop off their kids, and kids walking to or from school. The perfect place for a powerful pipe bomb to wreak havoc and destruction. This isn’t the first improvised explosive found in the area, but it is the first to seriously injure someone, if I’m not mistaken.

The authorities are dismissing terrorism as motive, but I know some parents that are pretty terrified. Which I suppose is the point. Americans can “absorb” a lot when it comes to stuff like this, but when you start threatening our kids, we tend to get a bit tetchy. Even Californians get scary when their kids are involved. Hopefully, this poor woman survives and doesn’t lose her legs.

Selective.

I see that levees are failing in Wisconsin and can’t help but wonder if Bush and Cheney have come out of retirement for a little levee blasting. Because isn’t that what they do? Unless the neighborhood in Wisconsin is predominantly white, which would mean that the Bush/Cheney war machine had nothing to do with it.

It sounds crazy, right? That’s because it is. It’s amazing how selective conspiracy theorists can be.

It is obscene

the amount of pleasure I experience when sitting on the floor at the base of my bookshelves. I love books. I love old books, to put a finer point on it. I love the musty smell of books that have been read, touched, loved and cherished for decades. Books that have history, have traveled from one part of the world to the other and somehow ended up at some dusty secondhand shop in the desert. I have a copy of Come Ninevah, Come Tyre that most certainly has been read by several nameless Americans, its yellowed cover hanging by a corner, tattered, its pages edged with yellow and orange. I can barely bring myself to read it, it is so beautiful. I’ve got a copy of Anaïs Nin’s Cities of the Interior that is literally duct-taped together. I bought it for ten cents at the library I used to work at after I placed an order for hundreds of new copies of our old, battered books.

Where have these books been? What have they seen? Who has handled them, loved them, tossed them, despised them? I was surprised to realize one day that I am incredibly superstitious about throwing books in the trash. It seems wrong, sacrilegious to do so.

Weird.

Having said that, however, I must admit that I have thrown more than a couple books in the garbage, deeming them unsuitable for consumption. Not because they were shocking or obscene, mind you, but because they were so poorly written. I mean, honestly. That really is a sin against nature, like romance novels. Or Oprah’s pick of the month.

That is all.

I like to listen to showtunes while I wash the dishes, just in case you were wondering. Cole Porter, if possible, thank you.

Your inability to affect even a contrite facade is apology enough.

Was it worth it, General? Was it worth foisting this jackass upon your fellow Americans because it made you feel good, or because you felt like you had to, or because he “offered ‘generational change’” —  whatever the hell that is? (It sure looks like the same old bullshit to me.)

Thanks. Your inability to affect even a contrite facade is apology enough.

Speaking of apologies–What the hell, Rovey? Karl Rove has broken my heart by revealing himself to be the GOP elitist we’d all secretly hoped he wasn’t. The GOP was fine with the tea partiers when they assumed that their energy and dissatisfaction with the status quo would sweep in another couple years of the same old stodgy Republican old guard to muck things up again before the Dems retook the Senate to screw things up more. Now that the tea partiers are demanding actual change from all parties involved, the GOP is freaking out. It’s not about party affiliation, genuises, (although the Republicans are historically more classically liberal than the Left, which aligns with their smaller government vision), it’s about fixing sh*t, getting this country back on course so that we don’t end up another failing social democracy in grand European style. It’s not about power plays and all that DC bullcrap.

The libs/socialists/baby commies are wrong, and I want to keep them out of office and well away from any important decisions. Let’s keep them in the once-smoky coffeehouses reciting bad freeverse on open mic night where they belong. If the chick to take us closer to the classical liberal ideal is a reformed teen goth with masturbation issues, more power to her. I’m not concerned about her financial history or her fashion choices. I just want to know if she’s got the courage of her convictions and will vote the right way while representing the people that fought for her. (I’m looking at you McCain. Stop taking such perverse pleasure in screwing Arizona conservatives over.)

Now, I am being summoned to the front room to do something for someone that is so terribly urgent that it absolutely cannot wait. I will return when the tiny tyrant allows me to take my leave.

Jittery.

I wish I was born into money. I don’t begrudge my upbringing, I just despair my lack of a trust fund. If anyone was born for a lavish, trust fund lifestyle, it’s me. It’s so gauche, talking about money, but if there’s one thing I’d like, it would be the ability to travel at will and on a whim. I love traveling; I love to experience new things and the thrill of being out of one’s element. If I could just hop on a plane and go anywhere, I’d travel to Iceland, Denmark and Sweden to get it out of my system. Iceland is especially enticing, and I’d love to learn the language. It seems very difficult, but I like that. I’d like to hear it from native speakers.

None of this has anything to do with anything of importance, I’m just dreaming a bit. I’ve been feeling a bit restless lately, which means I may need to travel to the desert soon. That usually calms me.

The lesser of two evils, I suppose.

Given [Obama's] highly selective enthusiasms, you can hardly blame a third of Americans for figuring their president must be Muslim. In a way, that’s the least pathetic explanation: The alternative is that he’s just a craven squish. Which is an odd considering he is, supposedly, the most powerful man in the world.

My recently deployed CrossFit buddy used to half-joke about our first Muslim president. At least, I’m half-certain he was joking, but I wouldn’t blame him if he wasn’t. A secret Muslim president would be easier to bear than a “craven squish.” The latter terrifies me more than the former, for he’d at least be principled if he had the conviction of an Islamist. I’m not convinced so far.

Well, it’s nice to have a little Steyn content to start the day, but now I’ve got to get back to work. Or at least pretend I’m doing something constructive.

Later, I will get to that Sarah Palin hit piece in one of the women’s magazines to which I no longer subscribe. It’s maddening, and I need some time to organize my thoughts into a coherent diatribe of disdain and limitless scorn.

Aw crap.

I love the Hellboy series. I asked Mr. HG why he thought I liked the series so much, (because I’ve got little energy for self-reflection, so I’ve decided to outsource that labor-intensive bit of fun). He said, “That’s easy. Hellboy is all about pre-destination and free will. And redemption.”

My wait for a bit more in the way of exposition was not rewarded. I waited. And waited. And then asked, “And . . .?”

“I already know it. You figure it out.”

But it’s so much work. I hate work.

Excuses, excuses.

I am so tired, but I wanted to stop by to remind you all that I’m still here. Hoping to get some time to sit and write tomorrow, because I have some things to say. I’m all bottled up with no place to vent! Not a pretty place to be, especially when wrestling with the assembly of the impossible desk from Ikea all evening. I swear a vein in my forehead was about to rupture.

Finished Yrsa Sigurðardòttir. Good but not great, although it was her first book. I recommend her, for her Thóra is so likable. She’s just funny. I’m taking a break and reading Sebastian Faulks’ Charlotte Gray next. I’ve been inspired by a series of reports I’ve read in the Daily Mail about a real-life Charlotte Gray who recently passed away unheralded until the community realized how she’d risked her life for her country in WWII. Fascinating.

You may wonder how I have time to read about two books a week and yet I have no time to write a couple measly paragraphs once in that time period. Well, the short answer is that ebooks have changed my life completely in that I actually get to finish books again, as I can read three sentences while standing in line at Ikea waiting to purchase homeschool supplies. (Like desks and chairs and chalkboards.) Also, writing takes a lot out of me, and I hate to do a shoddy job of it. I want to devote my entire attention to the snarky feminist bullshit hit piece on Sarah Palin that appeared in one of the major women’s magazines recently. Material like that doesn’t deserve a couple of glib sentences and a throwaway line to close it out. That deserves some well thought out and articulate indignation.

I’ve also got a little secret with which to tantalize you all: I’m actually feeling — gasp! — more optimistic and less cynical about the state of the country and the tea party movement. The momentum is picking up, if anything, and even if I have little faith in my generation and our successors, the folks that are making a difference are still around and inspiring some freethinkers. The O’Donnell win this Tuesday actually gave me hope. Seriously. I feel less like checking out of politics completely.

I will bow out gracefully at this point, however, as I’ve got an early morning approaching rapidly.

Nighty-night, kidlets.

Ignore her.

Have I just become the most boring blogger in the blogosphere? I think so. I rarely post and when I do it is of no consequence. This homeschooling thing is intense, kids. This kid is freakin’ brilliant and never ceases her quest to get away with murder. I’m exhausted at the end of the day. All I want to do is curl up with my Scandinavian police procedurals and read until I fall asleep.

Speaking of, I recently picked up Yrsa Sigurdardottir’s first novel and Idriðason’s Arctic Chill. I’m excited. I also have some samples on my Kindle and Nook from Leif GW Persson’s first novel and Helen Tursten. I’m all in with the Scandinavian procedurals, kids. Each region has a different flavor, though I’ve yet to find a Finnish or Danish procedural. Here’s hoping.

Anyway, I’m sorry I suck so much, but I have been reading a lot, which is good for me. I mean, just last night I finished Martin Millar’s sequel to Lonely Werewolf Girl–a fun read in that quirky Millar way. He’s fantastic.

I promise to do something substantive soon, and I’m still planning an exciting field trip for tHG, I just haven’t had the mental capacity to plan anything. I’m also not entirely convinced that, in the grand scheme of things, anything I do or say here really matters. But that’s just my inner pessimist speaking.

We mostly ignore her.

A day late . . .

I haven’t had a chance to write much this weekend, with my parents visiting for Mila’s birthday and my CrossFit buddy leaving on deployment. We had a weekend dedicated to him, much to his dismay, and I’m really going to miss him. He keeps me intellectually honest on all things conservative and Christian. Six months seems like a long time.

9/11 passed relatively quietly, though I did see that a man was arrested in Denmark for attempting to blow sh*t up. Steyn’s over there right now–coincidence? Hmmm . . .

9/11. It’s been almost a decade since that morning we all switched on the television and witnessed the impossible. Buildings burning in lower Manhattan, thousands of Americans dying at the office, unaware that we were at war with a primitive zealots more than willing to die for their twisted cause. I can still see those images; I don’t need to see them on tv, though that would be nice, at least once a year. You know, to feel like someone remembered.

Everything changed for me that day, though I did not suffer a personal loss like many did. I lost my ability to drift blithely through life, barely conscious of the larger world and the complexities of global politics. I lost my ability to look away from the unpleasant things in life. I lost my ability to be stupid in that particularly American way. We are prosperous enough to be spectacularly ignorant, though we can ill afford it. I shed that as the towers fell. I was–and still am–exceedingly angry at those who are responsible.

There is a particular strain of hatred that I feel is acceptable in this age. It is wrong to hate based on superficialities like race, gender or religion, but hating those who hate freedom and prosperity is fine by me. Perhaps “hate” is the wrong word, as hatred gives power to the hated, when no power should ever be conferred to cowards. I loathe the coward who kills children and civilians, who uses subterfuge and deception because he cannot win in pitched battle. I loathe the bastards who would silence those who speak the truth while they benefit from the our Hellenistic reverence of debate and free expression. I also despise the cowards who capitulate, the worms who hedge their bets and side with bullies and thugs, hoping to be the last to the ovens. These are the worst of the enemies we face, for they work from within and are nothing but self-serving wretches who care nothing for their fellow man.

Maybe “hatred” is the right word. What I feel seems close to that. This is my land and my way of life that is continually under attack, and I have leaders who either don’t believe in the threat or do not care.

We need to stand firm in the face of oppression, and not let it dictate the actions we take to oppose it.