Synonym for Leftist

Clueless Elitist.

I saw this, and had to respond directly.

My answer:

One Melody, One Rhythm, One Agenda

     It’s Ukraine all day, these days. You can hardly go to the corner store for milk without hearing some talking head blustering about Ukraine. Congress is feverishly debating how to help the Ukrainians resist the Russian invaders. Elected officials of both parties bloviate endlessly about Ukrainian sovereignty and the evil of Vladimir Putin. And of course Ukrainian flag images litter social media.

     So…Ukraine. What can we do? No: not about helping the valiant Ukrainian people to resist Vlad the Conqueror. What can we do to put a stop to the unceasing Ukraine-flogging around us? It’s threatening to give me a massive Ukraine migraine.

     Of course, the most significant aspect of this is what the drums aren’t pounding out: all the little bits of political sleight-of-hand going on as we speak, while our attention is on Ukraine. Keeping our attention on Ukraine – say, hasn’t it been the pinnacle of military wisdom for about five centuries to stay out of land wars in Asia? — allows the Usurper Regime a free hand to destroy what remains of our economy, our institutions, and our rights as individuals. And brother, they are busily at work at all three.

     As usual, the more telling the development, the less likely it is to get media attention. Consider this item from a couple of days ago:

     Democratic West Virginia Sen. Joe Manchin will oppose President Joe Biden’s nomination of Sarah Bloom Raskin to the Federal Reserve Board of Governors, ending a standoff over the Obama Treasury Department official’s status.

     Bloom Raskin, the wife of Democratic Maryland Rep. Jamie Raskin, is an advocate for using the Federal Reserve to promote green energy policy, which would mark a dramatic departure from the central banking system’s dual mandate of maintaining maximum employment and keeping inflation in check. The Biden administration promoted Bloom Raskin’s nomination as contributing to “bring long overdue diversity” at the Federal Reserve. She has also served as a Duke University law professor and on the board of a major financial services provider. [Emphasis added by FWP.]

     Why on earth would a supposed financial expert make “green energy policy” the center of her agenda for the Federal Reserve Board? It makes no sense whatsoever…but there it is. As of this morning, Raskin has withdrawn her candidacy, but the significance of her nomination remains huge…and essentially undiscussed.

     There have been other straws in the wind: The Atlantic mumbling about what effect a “small” nuclear war would have on “climate change;” our armed forces’ insane emphasis on “diversity” and “gender identity” while they continue to persecute soldiers who refuse The Jab; the Usurper-in-Chief’s repeated insistence that high fuel prices are the doing of Vladimir Putin; Congress’s stealthy grab of a huge pay increase in the most recent appropriations bill; the sealing-off of the District of Columbia against private citizens; and so forth. In aggregate, what could they mean other than that our high officials don’t want us to know what they’re really doing?

     “Don’t look there; look over here!” is the prestidigitator’s meat and drink. It’s a tough trick to beat for several reasons. In politics, the press is supposed to provide a countermeasure. It hasn’t done so for quite a few years now. That might be the most frightening aspect of this whole sorry mess.

***

     A couple of Gentle Readers have noticed that my pieces here have been trending shorter. I’ve noticed, too. There’s just as much to rant and rave about as ever, but my ability to fulminate at length about any of it is declining. I’ve been having regular attacks of what’s the use? It’s a malady my Primary Care Provider can’t prescribe a pill for.

     It doesn’t help that I’ve barely been able to sleep lately. But that might yet pass.

     If you haven’t yet started stockpiling against an economic crash, you’d better get to it. If you haven’t yet armed yourself adequately to defend your property, your loved ones, and yourself, the time is now. And if you haven’t yet acted to protect at least a part of your savings against the torrent of inflation the Usurpers have inflicted on us, all I can say is that I warned you. Opportunities to do any of those things under favorable terms are dwindling. Meanwhile, as the COVID hysteria fades, the Usurpers are sharpening their “emergency” and “national security” tools for the reimposition of de facto martial law, this time with the war in Ukraine as their rationale.

     Apologies, Gentle Reader. I never meant to be a Debbie Downer. Perhaps I’ll be in a better frame of mind tomorrow. Keep the faith.

The circus freaks who run the U.S. government

In August 2020, the Washington Post published an opinion piece, “What Americans should learn from Belarus” as part of a flurry of articles setting the narrative that Trump was doomed to lose the election and that he would attempt to seize power by authoritarian means when he did. It directly drew parallels between the BLM protests and Belorussian protests and correctly identified them as the same phenomenon. Left unsaid was that neither movement was organic but in fact were manifestations of elite-sponsored terrorism against democratic norms of orderly political and civil processes.

A month later, investigative journalist Darren Beattie published an investigation warning that the same constellation of NGOs and Washington apparatchiks that coordinated color revolutions abroad were actively plotting one right here at home. Election Night came and it happened: The infamous halt of the vote count; the coordinated declaration by the media that Biden had been elected president before the vote count was complete. Then . . . .

* * * *

The successful overthrow of the Trump presidency . . . .[1]

RTWT.

Notes
[1] “The Architects of Our Present Disaster. American foreign policy is buckling under its own contradictions. We no longer have the luxury of decadence.” By Benjamin Braddock, American Greatness, 3/14/22.

For Services Rendered

     [A short story for you today. There are days when I languish in the Slough of Despond over my personal insignificance. I have no idea how widespread this malady is, though I suspect that many people suffer it from time to time. And in a sense, it’s a problem all of us humans share, for what do our personal accomplishments really matter? What man, be he titan or bum, will be remembered for eternity? Whose doings will amount to more than a brief ripple in the currents of time?

     But the perspective of eternity, though important, is not the one that matters to the evaluation of a human life. We will not be judged on how deeply our deeds reverberate through time. We are merely expected to do our best with what we have…as co-protagonist Allan does in the story below.

     This story is dedicated to Gerard Van der Leun…and, as always, to the greater glory of God. — FWP]

***

     Before she embarked on her trip to America, Amelie’s supervisor had told her that Americans are different. She’d been warned that she would encounter behavior a good distance from what any European would exhibit, that the strangeness would come from both men and women. She’d been advised to brace herself for anything, to cultivate an impersonal demeanor and a smile that would stay glued on her face regardless of what she might encounter.
     She’d tried very hard, practicing her English several hours per day, studying Americans’ modes of dress and their public conventions, familiarizing herself with their most popular celebrities and forms of entertainment, and generally steeling herself for eccentricities beyond her imagination. In her twenty-seven years she’d not previously exerted herself so single-mindedly, but it was only what L’eclat expected from its American representatives.
     On the morning of her first day as Albrecht’s L’eclat saleswoman, she donned the prescribed form-fitting black scoop-neck top and short pencil skirt, ornamented it with a single gold chain, added a pair of black patent leather high heels, and went to her post with a confidence and aplomb that her efforts had surely justified. Yet with the very first customer that approached her counter, her resolve failed her completely.
     He appeared ordinary: age perhaps forty, about 175 centimeters in height, brown eyes, brown hair just starting to thin, a pleasant, smooth-shaven face, and a slender build. His clothes revealed nothing of wealth or status, but that, too, she’d been told to expect. Americans of both sexes, it seemed, all wore loose-fitting sweatshirts and faded jeans whenever they weren’t going to a wedding or a formal ball.
     “Oui, Monsieur?” She smiled just as she’d practiced it. “How might L’eclat and I help you today?”
     He mirrored her smile, albeit with a hint of weariness.
     “I’m on a quest,” he said. “A gift for a woman about my age.” His voice was a pleasant baritone.
     She nodded. “A special gift for a special woman on a special occasion?”
     “Yes to all three,” he said. “Tomorrow is her birthday. She treats her husband with contempt, and I’m trying to seduce her away from him.”
     With that, Amelie’s smile, her breath, and all of her preparation for American strangeness fled from her.
     He looks normal enough. Why would he say such a thing to a complete stranger? And why would he want a married woman who abuses her husband? Is he trying to spare the husband out of friendship? Does he think he can reform her? Or is he…what do they call it?…a masochist?
     “Monsieur, I…don’t know if I can help you.”
     The customer smiled crookedly at her astonishment. “I imagine that wasn’t anything like what you expected to hear,” he said. “But you haven’t heard the punch line yet.”
     Punch line? He intends to punch her? No, wait: that’s an idiom. It means the last line of a joke.
     “What…what is the rest of the story?” she forced out.
     The customer’s smile was unchanged. “I’m her husband.”
     She began to laugh crazily, and found that she could not stop.

#

     Amelie returned to consciousness several minutes later. The mysterious customer was crouched over her, chafing her hands and stroking her forehead while murmuring entreaties. Two older store employees looked on with expressions that blended concern with embarrassment.
     As she opened her eyes, his smile returned with added warmth. He looked over his shoulder at the Albrecht personnel.
     “All is well, ladies,” he said. “This was my fault. I think it was my statement of needs that made your young colleague faint. But she appears to be with us again, so you can relax.”
     Both women looked somewhat dubious. Amelie forced herself to sit up, smile, and nod at them. They retreated with evident reluctance.
     “Are you all right?” he said. He hadn’t released her hands. “I didn’t mean to shock you.”
     “Yes…yes.” She shook her head briefly. “I was told that…to expect surprises, but—”
     He chuckled softly. “You’re European, aren’t you?”
     Amelie nodded again. “French.”
     “Americans can be a difficult lot,” he said. “Quirky. Given to spontaneous silliness. We act as if all the world’s a stage, and we’re all auditioning for better parts.”
     It brought a fresh smile to her face.
     He has an endearing manner.
     “Is that what you were doing?” she said. “Auditioning?”
     His own smile faded. “I’m afraid not. I meant what I said. My wife treats me with contempt. I don’t know why.”
     “Yet you still want to…to please her.”
     “It’s more than that, dear,” he said. “I want the woman I married back. But she doesn’t seem to want the man she married any longer. I was hoping that a really special gift might open her eyes, make her see me instead of whoever it is she despises.” He frowned. “Are you married?”
     “No, Monsieur.”
     “Do you think you might marry someday?”
     “Someday,” she said, “if God should smile upon me, I will marry.”
     “Well,” he said, “I pray you never have so sad a story to tell about your husband.”
     But not that he might tell one about me?
     “Monsieur—”
     “Please call me Allan.”
     “Allan, I don’t know if anything L’eclat sells has the power you require, but…” She wrestled with her timidity. “I would like to hear more. I will have an hour to myself starting at one. Would you care to stop by then? We could meet at the store cafe for lunch, or perhaps just have coffee.”
     Something subtle but unmistakable flowed into his expression. It lifted the corners of his eyes and mouth ever so slightly.
     “I would like that, too,” he said. “What’s your name?”
     “I am Amelie du Nord.”
     “I’m Allan Parterre.” He helped her to stand. “I’ll see you at one, Amelie.”
     He squeezed her hand gently and departed.
#

     “It developed over time,” Allan said. He cast a quick glance around him, apparently concerned that someone might be listening, but the cafe’s two other patrons were at the extreme opposite end of the seating area. “Our first couple of years were good ones, but after that she gradually lost interest in…well, everything. Our home. Our mutual friends. The things we once did together. These days, she doesn’t even speak to me, at least when she can avoid it.” He sipped at his coffee. “At this point we’re just two people who live under the same roof.”
     “Do you still sleep in the same bed?” Amelie said.
     He nodded. “Not that anything ever comes of it.”
     “How long has it been?”
     “About eight years now. We’ve been married for thirteen.”
     I can’t imagine it.
     “How do you cope?”
     His half-grin was replete with sadness and longing. “I try not to think about it.”
     Except today.
     “Allan,” she said, “is it possible that she might have someone else?”
     The spasm that crossed his features made it unnecessary for him to answer, but he did anyway. “That’s something else I try not to think about.” He looked down at the table.
     But if it’s so…
     She was seized by a realization. She laid a hand on his. It brought his eyes up to meet hers.
     “You have wondered,” she said in a measured cadence, “whether this is your fault. Whether her coldness is something you’ve earned. Isn’t that so?”
     His eyes widened. He nodded.
     “But you’ve tried to treat her as you always did before, as the woman you loved enough to marry, haven’t you?”
     “As best I can,” he murmured. “It’s hard.”
     She thought about it briefly, reached an unpleasant conclusion, and summoned her forces for the revelation.
     “Allan…” She paused to gather her forces. “I know something that you need to know,” she said. “It’s a secret among women, something we try not to let men learn, but I will tell you if you’ll promise never to let another woman know that you know it. Will you do that for me?”
     Intensity flowed into his expression. He gazed at her as if he were a biologist studying an entirely new species. Presently he nodded.
     “You have my word.”
     She looked briefly away.
     Though I know I must do this, it will cost me.
     “Your wife is a woman, yes?” He nodded. “Then she shares the traits that all women share, including this one. We are whores. Every one of us, wherever we may be, at every moment of our lives.”
     His mouth dropped open. “What do you mean?”
     “Have you ever patronized a whore, Allan? The admitted sort?”
     He shook his head.
     “A whore does what she does for payment,” she said. “And she will insist that she be paid before she provides her services. But imagine for a moment what would happen were you to pay, and then turn your back on her for a minute or two.”
     It took him only a moment. “She would slip away.”
     She nodded. “Of course. She would take your payment and leave without giving you what you had paid for. No whore wants to provide her service. The money is all that matters. If she can get that without having to…to…”
     He held up a hand. “I get it, Amelie. But how does that bear upon the frost between a husband and a wife?”
     “No matter what she has told you,” she said, “your wife did not marry you out of love, but because she wanted a husband, and you seemed suitable. Eight years ago she ceased to be a wife, while you have continued to be a husband. She is in the position of the whore who has contrived to slip away with the payment…in your case, a payment she continues to receive.” She spread her hands. “Why provide the service if she will be paid even if she withholds it?”
     He stared at her, unspeaking.
     “I know it’s hard to believe,” she said. “Women are supposed to be the romantics, the ones always reading and talking and thinking about love. Perhaps it was once so, but it hasn’t been that way for many years. Men are the romantics today. Men are the ones who think of love, who imagine it and strive for it and sometimes give their lives for it. My own mother told me so as part of my instruction. She told me that the only relationship I should ever have with a man is one of a whore with a paying client.”
     “And you believed her,” he whispered.
     “I didn’t take it on faith,” she said. “She told me not to. She told me to look at the world through unclouded eyes and decide for myself. So I did. I put my assumptions aside and looked, and I saw. And what I saw confirmed her words beyond any possibility of error.”
     She smirked at the recollection. “Mother was honest with me. She told me to look at her and my father as I would look at a pair of strangers, and I did. And I saw. For thirty years he has paid with loyalty, affection, and a comfortable home. She has provided him what he paid her to provide, but no more.”
     “And you,” he said.
     She nodded. “Yes, children too. Two of us. That was part of the bargain. But Allan, had she ever refused him the services he expected, he would have ceased to pay. He has told me so.”
     “Does he have a mistress?” he asked.
     She shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps. If he does, I would bet that she is married, too. We French are more realistic than you Americans. You give of your strength, your money, your concern, even your lives. You give without limit or condition, you ask nothing in return, and you expect to be loved for it. Why do you think the people you help consider you fools and hold you in contempt?”
     There was a long silence.
     Presently he said “Amelie, you may have healed me, and you may have ruined me. Right now I can’t decide. But either way, I am grateful…and if it’s all right with you, I would like to continue this conversation. Could we meet for lunch here tomorrow?” She nodded. “But before we part for the day, tell me, please: do you think of yourself as a whore?”
     She’d known the question would come. It had been part of her reluctance to speak at all. Still, she faced it with a gentle smile and all the stoicism she could muster.
     “I don’t think of myself at all, Allan. I decide what I want, look for it around me, and think about how I might get it.” She glanced at the wall clock and rose. “I must return to my station.”
     He nodded and looked away.
#

     Amelie presented herself at the cafe at one the next afternoon, as promised. Allan was already there. He saw her enter, smiled, stood, and beckoned her to his table. A waiter arrived as she seated herself, took their orders, and moved smoothly away.
     “Thank you for coming,” he said.
     “De rien,” she said, then put a hand to her lips. “Excuse me, please. I meant to say ‘think nothing of it.’”
     “But I do think something of it,” he said. “You could be spending your lunch hour in some other, more pleasant way. Perhaps with a friend or colleague. I’m just a sad sack of an American you deigned to help.”
     “What is ‘deigned?’” she said.
     “Oh. Forgive me.” He smiled. “It’s an old word for ‘agreed.’ No special connotations involved. At any rate, I’m happy to have your company.”
     She felt warmth blossom in her bosom.
     He is a charmer.
     Why would a woman mistreat a man such as this?
     Perhaps he is not what he seems?

     “I am happy to have yours, Allan,” she said. She produced what she hoped was an appropriately mysterious smile. “But I must admit I had hoped for some compensation.”
     It brought his eyebrows up. “All right, lunch is on me, but—”
     “Not that,” she said. “I sell L’eclat jewelry. I draw a commission for my sales. When you approached me yesterday, I was hoping to sell you some, but we never got to…that part of our relationship.”
     He laughed. “Right. We can fix that, but…after lunch, okay?”
     She nodded, and they proceeded to talk of other things.
#

     When Amelie was back at her jewelry counter with him standing before her, she clasped her hands at her middle and intoned in her best saleswoman’s voice, “Does Monsieur see anything he might like to bestow upon the object of his affections?”
     Allan chuckled. “A few pieces, but they’re not for me. Perhaps Mademoiselle would favor me with the use of her taste and judgment?”
     “Certainly, Monsieur. This one is only too pleased to be of assistance.” She cast her gaze along the rows of top-tier items. A lovely gold chain of Cuban links sat at the left end of the display. She unlocked the display, fished it out, and laid it fetchingly on a mat of black velvet for his inspection.
     “This is twenty-two carat gold, about forty grains. The design is simple yet elegant, made to be worn with any ensemble and on a wide variety of occasions. Does Monsieur think his intended will find it attractive?”
     He nodded. “I’m certain she will. However, I’d like to accessorize it in a fashion that would allow her to dress it up, or not, according to her fancy. Perhaps a removable pendant, and of course matching earrings. What would you suggest?”
     “Ah! Monsieur thinks flexibly. I believe I have just what he has imagined.” She turned, retrieved a one-carat water-white diamond pendant in a gold teardrop setting, added a pair of matching earrings from the display case behind her, and set them in the appropriate positions alongside the chain. “Does Monsieur think his intended would approve?”
     He smiled brightly. “I have no doubt of it. Consider it a sale.” He reached for his wallet. “What is the total, please?”
     She punched at her calculator. “For all of these together, ninety-five hundred dollars and no cents, before the set discount of fifteen percent. With it…” she punched again, “…eight thousand seventy-five dollars and no cents. Before the state sales tax, of course.”
     “Of course.” He pulled out his wallet and passed her a gold credit card. She ran it through her reader, nodded at the acceptance, and handed it back.
     “Your total is exactly eight thousand, four hundred thirty-eight dollars and thirty-eight cents, Monsieur. I assume you would like these gift-wrapped?”
     “Oh, no need for that at all.” He picked up the chain, slid the pendant onto it, and before she could react was standing behind her.
     “Monsieur, this is not—”
     “Hush, Mademoiselle. This will take only a moment.” He looped the chain around Amelie’s throat and clasped it. The diamond hung just above the start of her cleavage. He circled the counter once more and beamed at her in evident satisfaction.
     “I’m afraid I’m no good with earrings,” he said. “Would you please put them on for me?”
     Hardly daring to speak, she took the earrings from the velvet mat and applied them to her ears. He smiled and nodded.
     “Just as I thought. They suit my intended to perfection. Are you happy with them, Mademoiselle?”
     “Allan,” she breathed, “this is not—”
     “Please,” he said. “Just look in the mirror and tell me.”
     She did.
     It was adornment of a height to which she’d never aspired, far beyond her means. Yet it did suit her. The brilliance of the diamonds and the warm golden shine of the chain lent radiance to her features. They glorified her, made her seem a creature of stature and substance rather than a mere saleswoman at a department store jewelry counter.
     “Do you truly mean to do this?” she murmured.
     “I do,” he said. “You are a jewel in your own right, and you deserve jewels with which to announce it to the world. But it’s time for you to compensate me.
     “What do you seek from me?” she whispered.
     “Only the answer to a single, simple question.”
     “What question?”
     His eyes bored into hers.
     “Do you really think yourself a whore, Amelie?”
     Her heart leaped in her chest. She gazed once more into the mirror.
     The woman whose image I see is pampered, cherished, exalted…and loved. A creature whose lover has raised her above the common earth. She need sell herself to no one. She is no one’s whore and never will be.
     She is Amelie du Nord. Me.

     “No,” she whispered.
     He smiled and nodded. “Neither does Monsieur. Remember it.”
     He pocketed his wallet, turned, and left the store.

==<O>==

Copyright © 2018 Francis W. Porretto. All Rights Reserved Worldwide.

     “I shall pass this way but once; any good, therefore, that I can do or any kindness that I can show to any human being, let me do it now. Let me not defer nor neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again.” – Author unknown

Fundamental atrophy.

While the war [in Ukraine] is of huge importance geopolitically, it would, however, be misleading to overstate its economic effects, given all the other enormous economic challenges already in place. For example, the Financial Times claims that the war has ‘shattered hopes of a strong global economic recovery from coronavirus’. But this implies that a strong recovery was already on the cards. There has long been a prevalent complacency that ignores the fundamental atrophy afflicting most advanced industrialised countries. War or no war, the high debt and weak investment common to many Western economies are likely to mean a continuation of the sluggish growth of the past decade.[1]

High debt, weak investment, and weak growth are only part of the problem we face but the author’s views are helpful nonetheless. Anything and everything that calls attention to some aspect of the neurtered, crippled, not-so-aimless, globalist, statist rush to elite rule and denigration of Western civilization is all good.

But atrophy we have in spades and all the best and the brightest have engineered for us is anarchy, thugs in the street, a joke electoral system, and a slick jettisoning of the rule of law and our Constitution. A functional, resilient, adaptive economic order is not part of their agenda, at least if you accept that people intend the natural consequence of their acts.

Notes
[1] “The End of the Age of Globalisation. How Russia’s invasion of Ukraine could hasten the demise of the US-led economic order.” By Phil Mullan, LewRockwell.com, 3/15/22.

How to Reform Education

As a retired teacher, who experienced a variety of working situations, from very good to unbelievably bad, I developed some ideas about how to both reform the delivered product to American citizens, and how to reduce that cost.

Let’s start with the level that is perhaps the most debased from what any sane person would choose to fund through their taxes. The university or college level (including 2-year, 4-year, and graduate/professional levels).

If a student is not capable of functioning at a college level in basic introductory courses, that student must be referred to a tech/community college (generally 2-year, few frills), for evaluation and remediation. The cost of any coursework would be paid by the district that gave that student a diploma without requiring that student to be actually ready for college. That student would qualify for another whack at the ACT upon satisfactory completion of those remedial classes. Presumably, they would score higher on that try.

Assuming that the student qualifies for normal freshman placement in classes, EVERY student must take the same core coursework in English, Math, and Science. Electives will be left up to the individual student. Failure to pass the core classes will result in reduction of money received from the government, whether grants or loans. Students may attend a summer school session to make up for any deficiencies (yes, they will need to pass exams to move to the next round of school without penalty). They can either pay for the summer school themselves, or scrounge for a scholarship (this would be a great place for those NGOs that want everyone to go to college to put some money where their mouth is).

Financial aid would be based on monetary return. If you choose a field that’s filled with opportunities for employment, you get more money. Higher grades? You get more money. Use CLEP to reduce the time in school? More money. Work-study? More money.

In other words, we (the taxpayer) help those that help themselves.

That aid, for tuition, is based on actual costs – up to a point. If students go to schools that are pricier, they can only get an amount up to 2-3 times the cost of the average public university in that state. Any addition to their loans/grants will by on a 1:1 ratio of money provided by the public to money provided by private sources, including scholarships, grants, and loans. Colleges will be expected to pay at least 1/2 that money from their endowments, up to a total of 10% of the total endowed funds. Will that reduce the endowment? I certainly hope so. Many of them could easily fund ALL students attending without cutting into their principal.

Money provided by the government for housing will be the same throughout the state, equal to the average cost of rental housing in that city for a 1-bedroom apartment.

The above means that colleges with lavish amenities will have to pay for them, without expecting the students to kick in the cost.

Would that kill the private university? No, but it would definitely lead them to stop their building frenzy, and stop treating students like entitled lords of the manor.

As for classes:

  • All syllabuses are public.
  • All materials used in class must be posted – not only texts, but readings, videos, and guest speakers.
  • No credit given for partisan activity by the students.
  • Political affiliations and political donations must not reach a lopsided level. If a department is overly on one side or another, that is prima facie evidence that hiring and selection decisions have become politicized. Department budgets will be cut 10% each year, until the balance approaches a level more in line with the state average.

That won’t stop the problems, but it will help keep the citizens from financing the damage.

Any other suggestions? Put them in the comments.

Fun As A Sociopolitical Weapon (UPDATED)

     Good morning, and Happy Pi Day, to all my Gentle Readers. It comes but once a year, so make the best of it. Do something round. Do something irrational. Perhaps – if you can work it out – do something Eulerian:

e + 1 = 0

     And do it loud!

     Now, on to the day’s chosen subject. I wrote some time ago that the Left hates fun for a critically important reason: it’s inherently apolitical:

     We play – i.e., we engage in activities that have no deliberate gain in view – specifically because it’s fun. It comes naturally to us to do so, especially when in the company of those we love. One of the great quantitative differences between America and other nations is the fraction of our resources we have available for play. It could justly be said that Americans are the world’s foremost players – no pejorative intended.

     Americans are so fun-oriented that we devote whole industries to it, most emphatically including the video gaming industry. We even seek to make our work lives fun, to the extent that might be possible. My favorite source of business advice, Robert C. Townsend, put it this way:

     If you don’t do it excellently, don’t do it at all. Because if it’s not excellent it won’t be profitable or fun, and if you’re not in business for fun or profit, what the hell are you doing here?

     (Granted that not much can be done for coal mining or grave digging. But note how such jobs are the ones most swiftly put to automated techniques.)

     George Orwell, that hugely important voice to our time, came at it a bit differently:

     “When you make love you’re using up energy; and afterwards you feel happy and don’t give a damn for anything. They can’t bear you to feel like that. They want you to be bursting with energy all the time. All this marching up and down and cheering and waving flags is simply sex gone sour. If you’re happy inside yourself, why should you get excited about Big Brother and the Three-Year Plans and the Two Minutes Hate and all the rest of their bloody rot?”

     Fun is at the core of the contemporary sociopolitical struggle. One side is massively, scathingly, bellowingly against it. The other – that’s our side, Gentle Reader – is mostly puzzled about “what’s crawled up their asses and died?” The matter is not trivial, and must not be treated as such.

     This is on my mind for several reasons, not the least of which is the way the anti-Funnists behave on social media. I had an example of it thrown my way just this morning. Someone on Gab.com, noting how certain persons were straining to divert all attention to the invasion of Ukraine, asked her interlocutor, “Are you going to blame Putin for everything from now on?”

     I, being in a jocular mood, remembered something someone else had said during the Obama years, when the Obama-led Left was trying to blame George W. Bush for everything. So I resurrected and “adjusted” it:

     The traffic outside my front windows is horrible at 3 PM on school days. Damn that Putin! 😉

     My effrontery drew a response I should have predicted:

     At least your children and family aren’t being murdered by putin for the last two weeks, right? Would it be as funny if putin was making your family dead?…You compare school traffic to children dying and cry that your morals are being questioned? Your mom did a bad job. Really bad.

     Yes, Gentle Reader: they’re even on Gab, that hotbed of conservative sentiment. So I backhanded him:

     Oh! I see your problem! You lack a sense of humor, or at least the ability to detect sarcasm. Perhaps you should see a professional. Your malady is definitely outside my skill set.

     Because the one thing the anti-Funnists cannot abide is having their sense of humor lampooned. It reveals their essential emptiness, which they struggle to fill with Causes and moral indignation.

     This sort of thing rams home how important it is to have fun, to poke fun at what’s inherently ludicrous, and to laugh like donkeys at the anti-Funnists. They hate it; it’s “the unanswerable weapon.” Not only does it express disdain for their monomania; it also makes them look ridiculous: an invaluable twofer in these days when the Left seeks to politicize all of human life. Remember “The personal is political” — ? They mean it – and they mean to inflict it on you.

     And what better motto to proclaim and implement on Pi Day?

Have Fun!

     I’ll be doing so with the rest of my day. Go thou and do likewise. Maybe with pizza. Or ice cream. Or both! On a roller-coaster! With fireworks and Beach Boys tunes!!

     Whew! Apologies, Gentle Reader. It got away from me for a moment. But do have a nice, fun day.

     (Sorry, Pascal: No interesting graphic today. I’m having too much fun.)

UPDATE: EVEN DOGS are smarter than anti-Funnists! — and Newfs are very smart dogs!

No Title Could Possibly Serve

     There are days I wonder if it’s even possible for a human being, however vigilant, to keep track of all the truly significant events and precursors that flood past us each day. I read several dozen news sites and aggregators, and I still miss developments that make me kick myself when I finally do notice them.

***

     Way back in the Eighties, when Americans were still Americans…well, mostly, anyway…a certain Ronald Reagan said:

     “The nine scariest words in the English language are ‘I’m from the government and I’m here to help.’”

     Well, if we hold the limit at nine words, President Reagan was correct. But if I may add a few carefully chosen ones to his saying, I think i can amplify the scare factor:

     “I’m from the government and I’m here to help, and these companies will help, too.”

     There is never a good reason for private companies, however focused, to get into bed with the Omnipotent State. “Public-private partnerships” have done at least as much damage to Americans’ rights as the federal government alone. Yet in these latter days of the Republic, such “partnerships” arise with terrifying frequency.

     Courtesy of IOTWReport, I learned only a few minutes ago about this obscenity:

     This is the only report of its type to assess market opportunities for infrastructure support of the social credit market. The report evaluates market drivers, use cases, and consequential impacts/implications (anticipated and likely unanticipated) for social credit market implementation and operation.

     The report also evaluates some of the leading companies that are anticipated to drive social credit market evolution. This report includes detailed quantitative analysis driven by market needs with forecasting for all major infrastructure elements from 2021 to 2026.

     There follows a long list of companies, most of which my Gentle Readers will recognize, that will involve themselves in the “social credit market.” And to what effect?

    

  • The COVID-19 pandemic has facilitated substantial interest in citizen monitoring solutions
  • Infrastructure to support social credit systems represents a $16.1B global opportunity by 2026
  • Cameras and other optical equipment for social credit systems will reach $723M globally by 2026
  • Advanced computing will be used in conjunction with AI to provide nearly flawless identification and tracking
  • Various forms of biometrics will be used for identity verification as well as verifying the presence/location of people
  • Starting as tangential to public safety and homeland security, the social credit market becomes mainstream by 2026

     Social credit systems represent the ability to identify (mostly people but also some “things”) and track activities for purposes of grading behaviors and applying “social credit” scoring. A given grading/scoring methodology depends largely on social credit system objectives and metrics.

     However, most systems will have socially acceptable behaviour at their core. This presents both a challenge and an opportunity as a combination of government, companies, and society as a whole must determine “good”, “bad”, and “marginal” behavior within the social credit market.

     Beginning as a trend largely orthogonal to public safety and homeland security concerns, the market for social credit system infrastructure will ultimately become a mainstream component of both business and public policy.

     This means that systems will ultimately be used for a variety of commerce and lifestyle-related issues ranging from risk assessment (access to credit, financing fees, insurance, etc.) to accessibility within public places such as concerts, sporting events, and other assemblies. High social scoring individuals within the social credit market will be granted preferred access to both real and digital assets.

     That report is dated December 23, 2021: almost three months behind us, and I had no knowledge of it until this morning.

     Did you, Gentle Reader? And now that we do know about all these megacorporations banding together with the State to determine who can do what, and where and when, and with whom, and under what terms, what on Earth can we do about it?

     The largest three thousand corporations control the majority of productive and commercial activities on this sorry ball of rock. Now, in the pursuit of still further profits, they’re proposing to team up with Leviathan worldwide. They seek to run our lives more minutely than any girls’ dormitory matron. I was ignorant of this development until today. Now that I know about it, I haven’t got the faintest idea how to thwart, oppose, or escape it.

     One brief piece of advice: If you’ve purchased a television since the Clinton Administration, unplug it when you’re not watching anything. Apart from that, have a few words from Stephen King:

     “Once upon a time there was an experiment in which twelve people participated,” Quincey said. “About six years ago. Do you remember that?”
     “I remember it,” Andy said grimly.
     “There aren’t many of those twelve people left. There were four, the last I heard. And two of them married each other.”
     “Yes,” Andy said, but inside he felt growing horror. Only four left? What was Quincey talking about?
     “I understand one of them can bend keys and shut doors without even touching them.” Quincey’s voice, thin, coming across two thousand miles of telephone cable, coming through switching stations, through open-relay points, through junction boxes in Nevada, Idaho, Colorado, Iowa. A million places to tap into Quincey’s voice.
     “Yes?” he said, straining to keep his voice level. And he thought of Vicky, who could sometimes turn on the radio or turn off the TV without going anywhere near it-and Vicky was apparently not even aware she was doing those things.
     “Oh yes, he’s for real,” Quincey was saying. “He’s—what would you say?-a documented case. It hurts his head if he does those things too often, but he can do them. They keep him in a little room with a door he can’t open and a lock he can’t bend. They do tests on him. He bends keys. He shuts doors. And I understand he’s nearly crazy.”
     “Oh … my … God,” Andy said faintly.
     “He’s part of the peace effort, so it’s all right if he goes crazy,” Quincey went on. “He’s going crazy so two hundred and twenty million Americans can stay safe and free. Do you understand?”
     “Yes,” Andy had whispered.
     “What about the two people who got married? Nothing. So far as they know. They live quietly, in some quiet middle-American state like Ohio. There’s maybe a yearly check on them. Just to see if they’re doing anything like bending keys or closing doors without touching them or doing funny little mentalist routines at the local Backyard Carnival for Muscular Dystrophy. Good thing those people can’t do anything like that, isn’t it, Andy?”
     Andy closed his eyes and smelled burned cloth. Sometimes Charlie would pull open the fridge door, look in, and then crawl off again. And if Vicky was ironing, she would glance at the fridge door and it would swing shut again—all without her being aware that she was doing anything strange. That was sometimes. At other times it didn’t seem to work, and she would leave her ironing and close the refrigerator door herself (or turn off the radio, or turn on the TV). Vicky couldn’t bend keys or read thoughts or fly or start fires or predict the future. She could sometimes shut a door from across the room and that was about the extent of it. Sometimes, after she had done several of these things, Andy had noticed that she would complain of a headache or an upset stomach, and whether that was a physical reaction or some sort of muttered warning from her subconscious, Andy didn’t know. Her ability to do these things got maybe a little stronger around the time of her period. Such small things, and so infrequently, that Andy had come to think of them as normal. As for himself…well he could push people. There was no real name for it; perhaps autohypnosis came closest. And he couldn’t do it often, because it gave him headaches. Most days he could forget completely that he wasn’t utterly normal and never really had been since that day in Room 70 of Jason Geameigh.
     He closed his eyes and on the dark field inside his eyelids he saw that comma-shaped bloodstain and the nonwords COR OSUM.
     “Yes, it’s a good thing,” Quincey went on, as if Andy had agreed. “Or they might put them in two little rooms where they could work full-time to keep two hundred and twenty million Americans safe and free.”
     “A good thing,” Andy agreed.
     “Those twelve people,” Quincey said, “maybe they gave those twelve people a drug they didn’t fully understand. It might have been that someone—a certain Mad Doctor—might have deliberately misled them. Or maybe he thought he was misleading them and they were deliberately leading him on. It doesn’t matter.”
     “No.”
     “So this drug was given to them and maybe it changed their chromosomes a little bit. Or a lot. Or who knows. And maybe two of them got married and decided to have a baby and maybe the baby got something more than her eyes and his mouth. Wouldn’t they be interested in that child?”
     “I bet they would,” Andy said, now so frightened he was having trouble talking at all. He had already decided that he would not tell Vicky about calling Quincey.
     “It’s like you got lemon, and that’s nice, and you got meringue, and that’s nice, too, but when you put them together, you’ve got…a whole new taste treat. I bet they’d want to see just what that child could do. They might just want to take it and put it in a little room and see if it could help make the world safe for democracy. And I think that’s all I want to say, old buddy, except…keep your head down.”

Painful Remedial Lessons

     If you’ve seen Tucker Carlson’s show of last night — I catch it on YouTube – I hope you paid close attention to his exposition on inflation. The Usurper Regime and their media handmaidens are doing their damnedest to persuade Americans that the cause of today’s inflation, which we experience as price increases in the things we buy, is anything but government policy. All of it is lies. Tucker’s few words on the subject are the absolute and irrefutable truth. Take it from someone who’s studied money and currency for thirty years.

     We’ve been here before. The years from the end of the Ford Administration through the whole of the Carter Administration should have taught us what we need to know today. But that was forty years and more ago, wasn’t it? Who remembers much about those years? Why, you’d need to be as old as I am!

     So we’re getting a refresher course. It’s already hurting. It will hurt still worse, especially if the Usurpers embroil us in a land war in Eurasia. That didn’t go well for Napoleon. It didn’t go well for Hitler. It won’t go well for us.

     I’ve written about this subject more than once. I’m not going to do so again this morning. I’m weary of it. But I’ll ask you to pay attention to Tucker, Peter Schiff, and the other honest commentators on this subject. Satisfy yourself whether they make sense. Ignore the self-serving bilge emanating from the Usurpers, their media mouthpieces, and their talking heads.

     Have a few suggestions for further reading:

     Note that all those books are free downloads. You needn’t spend a penny for any of them – and under current conditions, let us all rejoice that the prices of some things aren’t shooting through the clouds. (Of course, if you’re feeling flush, you can also spring for some Milton Friedman, but you might prefer to save a few pence for lunch.)

     For a palate cleanser, read this exposition on Gresham’s Law. Reflect on why, whenever governments start to meddle with the money supply, people start hoarding gold and silver – gold above all else. Ponder the common practice in India of paying for expensive items with one or more thin gold bracelets, a number of which affluent women will wear when they shop. And think about the Weimar Republic, the 1926 hyperinflation of the mark, and why the Nazis found it so easy to take power.

     And put gold and silver on your shopping list.

Love, Duty, And Adventure

     Politics? Bah! Economics? Please! Current events? Enough already!

     Perhaps my Esteemed Co-Conspirators will provide some such material a bit later in the day. Just now I have storytelling in mind.

***

     Some years ago, when I was finding my stride as a fictioneer, I had something of an epiphany about plotting. Crafting a satisfying plot is quite difficult. Not many writers can pull it off, at least if we judge by the overwhelming display of trite, unoriginal stories being vended today. Quite a lot of writers rely on a formula of some sort to guide them in plot construction. However, plotting by formula usually produces unoriginal fiction and an unsatisfying reading experience.

     Yet beneath all fiction lie important truths, including (in the majority of cases) the answer to the question “Why does this piece of tripe bore me out of my skull?” The late John Brunner captured the answer to that question and many others in his Two Laws:

  1. The raw material of fiction is people.
  2. The essence of story is change.

     The insight a writer can derive from contemplating those simple dicta is too huge to capture in words. If you’re not writing about people changing, you’re not writing a story. But why do people change? What are the drivers of change in the human psyche?

     There are reductionist analyses of the genesis of human change, some of them rather famous. They pertain to the things that address and activate deep motivations that virtually everyone shares. Yet if I may judge from the torrents of essentially indistinguishable tales being pumped out today, those things tend to bounce off many a writer. This might be a consequence of inadequate life experience, though even the widely traveled, widely experienced man can fail to understand it.

     So as a public service to writers who can’t quite understand why they keep producing crap, I offer – girls, hold onto your boyfriends – a “formula” of my own. It marries the development of characters with the construction of plot. As with most of my bilge, it’s worth what it costs. Operators are standing by. Past returns are no guarantee of future performance. There are no warranties, express or implied. Sorry, no CODs.

***

     First, love – the desire to love and be loved – is a fundamental motivator. The writers of conventional romances lean on it heavily, some of them exclusively. It’s a valuable, reliable element in plot construction. But you can’t simply contrive two characters and throw them at one another. There are questions you must ask yourself first: Why are these persons currently without love? What developments in their lives would give rise to romantic possibility? Can I make them different enough to make their attraction to one another fresh and intriguing?

     If in answering those questions you can come up with motifs and character elements that are fresh, or at least not yet so overexploited that all the bolts are falling out, you can produce a satisfyingly original romance. It helps if the setting is averse to romantic entanglement, too – we all need a challenge to surmount – but that’s a sidelight rather than the “main event.”

     You’d be well advised to avoid the overused paths so heavily trodden by contemporary romance writers: billionaires, special-forces soldiers, vampires, and so forth. Once upon a time, those were fresh motifs; today they’re cliches that have been worn flat. Try something else. Also, there’s romance and “advanced” romance: the combination of love with other motivators and modifiers. But that’s a subject for another day.

***

     Second, duty drives a huge share of human actions. To get through life without incurring any duties is an aspiration of some. Incredible as it sounds, a few persons actually achieve it. But it’s not much of a life. Moreover, those who manage it tend to be uninteresting, mere tourists through life regardless of what they may have seen or done. For a character to command readers’ attention, duties of some sort are essential.

     In plotting, introducing your protagonist character to a new duty – one he can’t walk away from without doing critical damage to his self-regard – is a fine way of getting the action going. The obstacles he must face in the performance of the duty are meat for the tale. Don’t make them too easily overcome; the harder he must work, the more gripping his story will be.

     You can ramify this by including important persons in the protagonist’s life who are averse to his new duty. What if his new love feels the duty to be her enemy in winning his heart? She might become determined to impede him from carrying it out. What if she’s morally or aesthetically repelled by his new duty? How does he slice through that knot?

***

     When the action starts to flag, bring on a man with a gun. – Mystery writers’ maxim

     Third, a truly riveting tale will usually include some sort of adventure: a challenge presented to the protagonist(s) by other people or environmental conditions. If there’s danger involved, all the better. Danger “wakes up” the reader and forces him to pay close attention – if, that is, you’ve managed to make him care about your protagonist. This is especially effective when the danger arrives suddenly, without any warning, and threatens more than just the protagonist’s personal well-being.

     It’s long been observable that the television shows that most reliably command viewer loyalty are those that involve systematic danger. Usually the danger is built into the characters’ occupations:

  • Cop shows;
  • “Secret agent” shows;
  • Doctor / hospital shows;
  • Lawyers and courtroom dramas.

     Now, unless you’re writing for television, you probably can’t use any of those patterns “off the shelf.” Nevertheless, the lesson they offer is valuable. Also, there are ways to vary these ideas. Consider Lee Child’s “Jack Reacher” novels, for example. The nomadic Reacher is unusual and interesting all by himself, but add to his choice of modus vivendi that he’s always finding danger: if not for himself, for others. A retired military policeman, his tropism for danger and bringing justice drives everything he involves himself in. The effectiveness and longevity of Child’s formula seems well explained.

***

     A random thought along these lines: Most fiction is “single-threaded.” The story advances along a single timeline, as a single set of protagonists, antagonists, and Supporting Cast involve themselves in a single skein of events. There’s nothing wrong with that sort of construction – quite a lot of famous fiction follows that path – but an alternative approach can increase the complexity, mystery, and conflict of a tale. This is usually called a “braided” plot.

     Braided plots usually have either two or three separate lines of action and development. The construction of such a plot is several times as difficult as that of a single-threaded plot, because the separate lines of action must be kept relevant to one another. Moreover, the plot skeins must be tied off in a single knot at the end of the book. So this is not a course a writer should adopt lightly.

     A question occurred to me as I’ve been writing this piece: can one produce a braided plot with only a single protagonist? Is there a way to separate a single protagonist’s love, duty, and adventure motifs into three distinct plot threads? Or would that be merely a single-threaded plot whose developments alternate among three driving motivators?

***

     I don’t consciously plot according to this “formula.” But in reviewing my own novels, I found the love / duty / adventure trio of drivers in virtually all of them. That suggests that there’s something fundamental about the combination. For readers: What about the tales that have most pleased you? Can you find the trio in most or all of them? For writers: What uses have your stories made of the trio? Were they conscious, or did they “just happen?”

     Food for thought.

If You’ve Been Puzzled By The War on Cash…

     …have a brief video from a British subject that will chill your blood:

     Could it be any simpler?

Today’s biology lesson.

Here we take a closer look at the rare Siberian fox, Russia’s answer to Bronx Tina or Marjorie Taylor Green:

It’s just an image not the usual video link. Click here to go to the South Front page where I found this gem.

Sometimes SF pages are unreachable for some strange reason but this link worked for me this morning.

Satire to the rescue.

Deranged, loose-cannon Putin:

I’m referring, of course, to Putin’s inexplicable and totally unprovoked invasion of Ukraine, a totally peaceful, Nazi-free country which was just sitting there minding its non-Nazi business, singing Kumbaya, and so on, and not in any way collaborating with or being cynically used by GloboCap to menace and eventually destabilize Russia so that the GloboCap boys can get back in there and resume the Caligulan orgy of “privatization” they enjoyed throughout the 1990’s.

No, clearly, Putin has just lost his mind, and has no strategic objective whatsoever (other than the total extermination of humanity), and is just running around the Kremlin shouting “DROP THE BOMBS! EXTERMINATE THE BRUTES!” all crazy-eyed and with his face painted green like Colonel Kurtz in Apocalypse Now … because what other explanation is there?

Hopkins: Revenge Of The Putin-Nazis!” By C.J. Hopkins, ZeroHedge, 3/9/22 (emphasis removed).

News of the Weird-o

Me.

My strange ways of interacting with fellow humanoids caused me no end of torture in childhood. Strange men and boys are tolerated – a little – because of the reputation of scientists of being able to invent something massively profitable (a reputation almost completely undeserved, BTW).

But, Nerdy Girls? Nerdy Women?

Please!

It makes us an outlier among the female humanoids, and, therefore, a justifiable target for their ridicule. Little did I know that regular life, as an adult, would be a breeze, by comparison. At least in regular life, if you don’t like the people that surround you, you can leave! And, find people who function like you.

I’m slowly building my friendship circle here. Re-activating old friendships, beginning to recognize acquaintances from daily activities, finding new doctors (my first visit is today). And, I’ve recently acquired the best gadget available for getting to know people.

A dog!

My daughter is switching orders near the end of the month (from one Franciscan order to another), and will move out of her current living quarters to the new. Last month, she was informed that she would not be able to take her dog with her. So, I told her, if you can’t find someone else to take him, I will.

Me and my big mouth! I had to travel to Chicago this last weekend and pick him up. I also got some quality time with my daughter, and helped her with sorting out the stuff in her house. The picture below is him after his appointment at the groomer’s (maybe 3-4 times a year). They also trim the nails and deal with the teeth, so it’s a bargain to have them handle it all.

Traveling to and around Chicago was, as expected, horrific and heart-stopping awful – and, with snow! I was looking for an alternative to driving through the center of the city on my way out, and Shannon showed me a very nice route, that avoids the worst of it. It was a breeze to drive.

Capoochino

He’s 13, but still in very good shape. He’s a mix of Bichon Friese and Poodle, hence, Bichipoo (or, if he annoys me, Bitchipoo). Don’t know much about the Bichon side of him, but he’s a good doggo, playful but calm, and very affectionate. Apparently, he can get an attitude with other males, but otherwise behaves beautifully.

His training is OK. Admittedly, my standards are high. My best friend in high school even taught her dog to do back flips. And, my favorite childhood friend had parents who schooled their dogs to perform with military precision. I’m talking Kennel Club show dog standards. I may not have that much energy to put into improving him. Most importantly, he doesn’t tug at the leash, important for my mobility issues (I’m using a cane for outside walking and stairs), and a recently injured shoulder.

Best of all, he is forcing me to get out of the house for exercise. Fortunately, the weather has been very mild this week. I’m hoping by the time we get monsoons this spring, I’ll be more fit.

This weekend will be busy. On Sunday morning, I’ll be attending one of the first in-person radio hamfests in this area for the last few years. All meetings during Covid were virtual – you can’t completely blame them for caution, as the average age for active hams is Old. I am so looking forward to meeting local members of the clubs. If you know a radio operator in the Northern Ohio area, here is the link.

The Anti-Reproduction Movement

     There are things we’re “not supposed to say.” Quite a number of those things are tied up with sexual variations. The reason we’re not supposed to say them is that a small community of activists has deemed them “offensive.” And of course, we wouldn’t want to be “offensive,” we confrontation-averse Americans of the Twenty-First Century, so we don’t say them.

     But we must say them. Those activists, knowingly or otherwise, are creating a powerful and evil set of disincentives. Specifically, they’re creating incentives not to have children.

     And so I, Francis W. Porretto, Catholic, novelist, commentator, and Curmudgeon Emeritus to the World Wide Web, will say those things we’re not supposed to say, and let the chips fall where they may.

***

     First, allow me to draw your attention to an essay I wrote some eighteen years ago. It concerns the consequences of male homosexuality. Those consequences have been established objectively over the course of several decades.

     Yet there was a consequence of homosexuality – and this applies to lesbian couples as well as male homosexuals – that I did not include in that essay. Homosexual couples cannot reproduce. They need the cooperation and collaboration of a third party even to attempt it…and most don’t. Therefore any encouragement of homosexuality is inherently a discouragement of human reproduction.

     Some homosexual couples adopt. While it is laudable that children without loving homes should be given a chance for one, it is unknown what attitudes toward heterosex and heterosexual reproduction such an adoptee will absorb from homosexual adoptive parents. Whether such kids, once grown, will enter into normal heterosexual unions at a frequency comparable to the children of ordinary married couples has not been studied. It behooves us to ponder why.

***

     Second, there is the current absorption with transgenderism. Now, I am not an absolute opponent of that practice. I’ve written two sympathetic transwomen into my most recent novels. One of my “alpha readers” is a transwoman, whose intellect and opinions I respect. But transgenders are about as likely to reproduce as homosexuals.

     Transgender evangelism, therefore, is also inherently a force opposed to reproduction. The motives of the evangelist don’t matter. The attempt to persuade children that they can change their genders at will is a suggestion that the consequences be treated lightly. But the consequences of committing to a life without progeny are not small.

     To whatever extent the promoters of transgenderism succeed, to that extent will future generations diminish.

***

     The general exaltation of sexual pleasure above all else must be addressed next. Sex is wonderful, doubt it not. It confers a huge array of pleasures, satisfactions, and reinforcements upon those who “do it right.” But “doing it right” involves more than getting your rocks off.

     Sex is the most powerful of all bonding activities. He has to earn access to her body; she has to decide, consciously, to let him past her defenses. Time was, the event was considered committal. Few couples that had “gone all the way” would not be serious enough about it to be contemplating permanence – marriage, a single household, and children.

     Now, there are reasons for the declining birth rate in advanced countries that I need not discuss at this time. They pertain primarily to economic considerations. Moreover, I’m not going to condemn sex between unmarried persons, as long as neither of the participants is promised to someone else. But the “tickle in the pickle” is not a sufficient reason for getting out of bed in the morning, going to one’s daily labors, and putting in an honest effort. You don’t have to be much past thirty to realize that.

     Why labor? Why strive for excellence rather than mere subsistence? Why put in forty or fifty years establishing yourself, gaining recognition and status, and improving your material situation if you have no one to whom to leave it? Do you really think anyone will care, fifty years after your demise, about the terrific game you invented, or the nifty new marketing plan you invented for the widget maker that pays you?

***

     Homosexual and transgender activists are demanding that schoolchildren as young as kindergarteners be introduced to their variations and be told that “there’s nothing wrong with that.” For reasons beyond the scope of this tirade, “educators’ unions” are in favor of this. The evangelists for these sexual variations, and those who argue for sexual pleasure as an end in itself, are earnest and persuasive. Whether or not they’re aware of it, they’re creating disincentives toward the production of children. I regard the foregoing observations as sufficiently conclusive – and remember that I said whether or not they’re aware of it.

     Mark Steyn has said that “The future belongs to those who show up for it.” No truer statement has ever been made. Add to this that normal, heterosexual couples considering whether to have kids must face the prospect of having those children harangued – in classroom situations, by persons they’ve been told to respect as “authorities” — about the mutability of “gender,” the delights of homosexual play, and the pleasures of “childfree” living. What do you think that does to the normal and laudable desire of ordinary people to marry and produce children to love and raise?

     Whatever children result – and it won’t be as many as it would have been before all these pernicious influences were set loose – some percentage of those kids will be seduced into non-reproductive lifestyles and arrangements. Live births will fall further, as will life expectancies. Does anyone think this bodes well for America or the West in general?

***

     What triggered this, you ask? Quite simply, the massive campaign of slander against the bill, now awaiting the signature of Florida Governor Ron DeSantis, that bans the “teaching” of homosexual and transgender concepts to children in kindergarten through third grade. The bill’s opponents are straining to denounce it as a “hate law.” It’s nothing of the sort. But if you’ve been reading up to this point, you’ll have your own opinions.

     I’ve written before about the death cults: those forces organized to encourage Mankind toward extinction. They are several, tightly focused on their objective, and more active than you might imagine. The anti-natalists are of the same mind, though their methods differ. Consider these arguments. How does their author view the human future?

     The rest is left as an exercise for my Gentle Readers.

“Of their own will they are barren: I did not know till now that the usages of Sulva were so common among you.” [From That Hideous Strength.]

The reckless malevolence of the political class.

People intend the natural consequences of their acts.

The burgeoning trade deficits are not the result of bad trade deals or ineffective tariff policies. They are the result of a deteriorating U.S. economy which is no longer one of production, but of consumption and debt. A growing economy creates trade surpluses not deficits; it produces more than it consumes.

Because of decades of anti-capitalistic economic legislation – confiscatory taxation, regulatory burdens, inflationary monetary policy, “crowding out” budget deficits, unemployment subsidies, minimum wage laws, and an overemphasis by the establishment on higher education – the U.S. is no longer an industrial power and not a conducive environment for economic growth.[1]

Not to mention the catastrophe of off-shoring to chase subsistence wages, lax environmental laws, and artificially reduced exchange rates.

Notes
[1] “Who Cares About The (Record) Trade Deficit? We All Should…” By Schiff Gold, 3/9/22 (emphasis removed).

Fidelity To “The Narrative”

     A reposted Jack Cashill article (the original American Thinker posting is apparently inaccessible) on the George Zimmerman / Trayvon Martin episode illuminates exactly where the media stands on “facts” and “truth.” Cashill was offended by the appearance of a deceitful Trayvon Martin canonization piece, on February 26 of this year, the ten-year anniversary of the episode, in the Washington Post. He emailed a complete, meticulously researched account of the encounter that resulted in Martin’s death to the paper…and has heard nothing and has seen no changes to the paper’s mendacity:

     Four days after sending this email, I have not heard a word in reply, not even a “Thank you. We are looking into your concerns.” Blow and his colleagues were right about one thing. The Trayvon Martin case did launch a new phase in the civil rights movement. They even got Obama to lend his imprimatur, the former president calling the furor over [Zimmerman’s] acquittal, “a galvanizing force in helping to create a broader based movement now known as Black Lives Matter.”

     For the Post editors to “correct” this story would be to undermine their own credibility, the legitimacy of Black Lives Matter, and Barack Obama’s place in history. I almost pity them. In their world, they have no choice but to dishonor their profession and let democracy die in darkness.

     “The Narrative” is a jealous god. A bit like Islam, it seems: once your outlet enlists in it, the exit is barred to you. Why a paper that aspires to be taken as a faithful reporter and recorder of events would subordinate those goals to “The Narrative” is worthy of study, but that’s a side issue for the moment. What’s truly significant here are the considerations that prevent the Washington Post —which is not alone among major papers – from correcting its coverage.

***

     It’s a staple of Public Choice theory that small, tightly focused groups – i.e., groups that have a very narrow agenda, no more than one or two items long – are more effective at shaping the policies of large institutions than the reverse. The members of such groups tend to be passionate. They devote large amounts of their time and their personal resources to their Cause. This gives them the appearance of potency beyond what they actually possess – and when it comes to the media, that appearance is more important than the actuality behind it.

     Add to this that some such groups are militant. Their activism doesn’t stop at protests or writing angry letters. They assault their “enemies” physically, sometimes with deaths as a consequence. The Jyllands-Posten and Charlie Hebdo incidents have been much on the minds of managing editors ever since they first occurred.

     In this country at this time, Negroes are permitted to riot without legal consequences. Gentle Readers who’ve paid attention to the “Black Lives Matter” riots that destroyed two dozen American cities will already be aware of this. Those riots are incited and partly directed by Leftist agitators. Therefore we must conclude that those agitators expect to gain from Negro riots and widespread destruction.

     Nothing would prevent those agitators turning their attention to the Washington Post. The Post’s editorial cadre is surely aware of this.

     So the Post has a survival interest in remaining faithful to “The Narrative” about Trayvon Martin, George Floyd, Michael Brown, and the other Negro thugs whose deaths have become cause celebre for Negro rioters. Add its pecuniary interest – a paper that butchers an important public issue as completely as the Post did the Trayvon Martin incident can’t afford to admit to that level of deceit and / or incompetence – and the odds of a corrected version appearing in the Post’s pages dwindle toward zero.

     Finally though not insignificantly, today there are forces deeply entrenched in America’s governments that actively desire the perpetuation of the “whites privileged / blacks oppressed” evil fairy tale. It’s a rod with which the State can flail white Americans, who pay the overwhelmingly greater share of Americans’ tax burden, into coughing up still more valuta for “programs,” “equity,” and (of course) “reparations.” Virtually none of the money will ever reach anyone who genuinely needs and deserves help; government is like that and always has been. The political operators will find ways to glom the greater part of it…but only if they can keep the “racist white oppressors” lie alive. They have ways to ensure that the media are kept “on-side.”

     Not much of a mystery after all, is it?

***

     Those who have an interest in the incident and the coverage should read the whole of Cashill’s piece. It’s a sturdy lesson in how little credibility the media deserve today. Studying the parallels between the treatment of the Trayvon Martin incident and the coverage of the other black thugs elevated to political sainthood would be equally worth your time. Anyone who feels himself beginning to trust in the emissions of the New York Times, the Washington Post, or any other major media organ could use the reminder.

Assumptions

     Assumptions, premises, postulates, stipulations…call them what you will. There’s no getting away from them. We all have them, because we must have them. There is no system of rationality that obviates the need for a set of assumptions beneath its reasoning.

     Sometimes, in attempting to understand some strange aspect of reality, we leap to conclusions that are absurd, specifically because the assumptions from which we started were wrong. That’s so often the case in analyzing the statements and behavior of political personalities that it’s a national tragedy. Yet we seldom realize our errors in that regard in time to correct course.

     An old saying – actually, I don’t know how old; it could be quite recent – runs thus:

Never attribute to malice
That which can be adequately explained
By stupidity.

     This is sometimes called “Hanlon’s Razor.” Many people who affect an air of wisdom will cite it in support of their convictions, especially when they need to exculpate some politician or regime they favor. But in fact, the notion expresses an assumption: i.e., that stupidity is far more often “at work” than malice. Moreover, it omits to consider the special properties of the political context.

     Have a recent emission from Dinesh D’Souza:

     I have a high regard for D’Souza, though we don’t always agree. But his statement above deserves close scrutiny. From what assumptions does it proceed? They would appear to omit the possibility of malice from consideration as the motive force behind the Usurper Regime’s “energy policy.”

     How likely is it that a national policy that explicitly strangles America’s domestic suppliers of fossil fuels in the name of “climate change,” while seeking to pay tyrants and despots for imported oil to replace what we would have produced for ourselves, is not founded on malice? There’s no need to trouble ourselves over the Regime’s “justifications,” as there’s no sense whatsoever to them. Imported oil and gas are just as “polluting” as the domestic product, if not more so.

     The unwillingness to entertain the possibility of malice leaves only stupidity and / or insanity as explanations. The “Hanlon’s-Razor assumption” short-circuits the analysis.

     As politics is the pursuit of power over others – at some times for personal profit; at others, for power or the love of it itself – malice, broadly understood, is an explanation far more consistent with the evidence than stupidity. This is especially so as regards the Usurper Regime, whose figurehead is plainly a victim of advanced ingressive senility. No one who’s been watching developments these past three years can plausibly attribute any aspect of Regime policy to the “mind” of Joe Biden. His consciousness teeters at the edge of extinction. He’s barely capable of walking across the White House lawn.

     On the other hand, the redirection of America’s energy supply to overseas suppliers has immense political advantages. The foremost of them is this: The Regime can decide upon the suppliers and set the terms of acquisition. You and I aren’t able to call up Vladimir Putin or Nicholas Maduro to dicker delivery schedules and prices. Neither could we contrive a “gratuity” or an “expediter’s fee” for the service. That we must pay elevated prices for these alternative supplies is of no moment to the Regime. It’s not their money they’re spending, after all.

     So why not malice? Why not the rapacity of a Regime composed of persons devoid of consciences, who seek an inescapable grip over every aspect of American life, commerce, and society? That Regime has already half-crippled our children with its insane masks-in-school policy. It’s compelled millions of American adults to accept an experimental, highly dubious drug for the privilege of continuing to earn a living. It’s practically closed down our seaports with its demands that dockworkers and truckers be injected with the aforementioned drug. Its armed agents have arrested dozens of Americans for the heinous crime of standing outside the Capitol Building, and continues to hold them without trial, and in some cases incommunicado.

     Why not malice? Must we assume stupidity? Is it a moral imperative?

     Yes, Our Lord said that we should “Judge not, that ye be not judged.” [Matthew 7:1] But that was about assessing the state of others’ souls. It doesn’t preclude judging behavior or the motives that propel it. Especially when the persons involved have extensive records for deceit and demonstrated malice. Ask Clarence Thomas and Brett Kavanaugh about their confirmation proceedings.

     I could be wrong. But then, all the air could collect in one corner of the room, asphyxiating me. “You pays your money,” et cetera.

Conversations

FWP: [pouring his third cup of the morning] Thank You, God for coffee, the chemical without which modern life would be impossible….You know, that’s one of the great mysteries of human history.
CSO: Hm? What do you mean?

FWP: Well, the coffee plant is native to South America, right?
CSO: Yeah…

FWP: And Europeans didn’t have it until they came to the New World, right?
CSO: Yeah…

FWP: So how did we go from the caves to the Industrial Revolution without coffee?
CSO: Oh, the Euros had other things to chew on.

FWP: Chew on?
CSO: [shrugs] Coca leaves, maybe?

FWP: Nope, those are South American too.
CSO: Oh.

FWP: So the mystery persists!
CSO: Wait, didn’t Viking explorers come to the West before Columbus?

FWP: Yeah, eleventh and twelfth century…why?
CSO: Some of them might have brought coffee back to Europe!

FWP: I suppose it’s possible.
CSO: So without South America, we might still be living in caves!
FWP: [sips] Hm.

     Yes, that conversation actually took place a few minutes ago. What do you discuss with your spouse at 4:30 AM?

UPDATE: Two persons — longtime reader Fred and our own beloved Linda Fox — have informed me that coffee is not native to South America, but was brought there from Africa!

Sheesh! Once again, Kin Hubbard’s aphorism has been demonstrated to be correct:

It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.

Well, anyway.

The Romper Room Narrative.

Since the start of the Thursday Feb.24 invasion [of Ukraine], the prevailing narrative concerning Russia’s motives has been largely limited to an ultra-simplistic hollywoodwesque story that goes something like this: one day a big bully and monster named Putin decided he wanted to invade and kill people in a neighboring country, and that he further wants to “resurrect the old Soviet Union”.

A Surprising Explanation Of Russia’s Invasion From A Former Top-Level CIA Official.” By Tyler Durden, ZeroHedge, 3/7/22.

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