Infinite Monkeys
"...a sparkly blog..." - James Lileks"Read them only with extreme caution."- Hugh Hewitt
Infinite MonkeysSo I just got finished watching Ken Jennings lose on "Jeopardy!" I found the whole thing curious. It seemed to me that he lost on purpose. I knew the Final Jeopardy answer was H&R Block. if I knew it.... come on!
Anyhow for you west coasters, look at his face when he reveals the wrong answer. He has this look of... I know how to describe it, but it was a look of a man who was awfully relieved not to have to look at Alec Trebeck's face ever again.
Look at his face and tell me that's not the face of a man who was defeated as much a man who'd had enough. Look, just look. It's like Ali's phantom punch against Liston. ALI DID NOT CONNECT! IT WAS A MOB CONSPIRACY!!! I DON'T GIVE A DAMN WHAT BEN SAYS!!! IT WAS A SETUP!!! A SET UP!!! SUPERMAN WHERE ARE YOU!!!! SUUUUPERMAAAAAAN!!!!!!!!!!!
Sorry. I just get worked up sometimes. It's this damn war and... and LBJ!
FUCKING PRESDIENT JOHNSON!!! GODDAMN HIM FOR GETTING US INTO THIS VIETNAM DEBACLE!!! AND I CAN'T BELIEVE FRANK SINATRA WON A GRAMMY FOR "STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT!" THAT'S THE MOST ATROCIOUS SINATRA SONG EVER CREATED-- WELL AFTER THESE BOOTS ARE MADE FOR WALKIN'!!! ATROTIOUS I TELLS YA! AND I STILL CAN'T BELIEVE PROUD CLARION WON THE KENTUCKY DERBY!!!! KHAN! KHAN!!! KHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!!!!
Sorry. I get worked up sometimes and my mind travels back in time. It's just I'm under so much pressure and this war y'know and goddamn PRESIDIENT WILSON!!!! WARS TO END ALL WARS MY ASS!!!!!!! ARGGGGRAHHHH ARGGGGHHHH!!!!!!!!
Must... control... emotions... Must... not... lose... control... of... blog... entry... must.. think... happy... thoughts... happy... happy.... happy.... happy... happy... I'm so happy... yes... mind becoming clearer... blog entry again under my control...
Sorry about that. Anyhow, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, Ken Jennings. Jeopardy. The war. Conspiracies. Time travel. Sinatra. Strangers in the Night. Terrible Song.
Monkeystein out.
I am a lover of fiction, and I can say I have re-read several books on many occasions. The books I've re-read are books from my teens or early 20s that touched me profoundly and as I've gotten along in life, the books tend to be more revealing than the last. Anyhow, the short list of books of I re-read:
* The Narnia Chronicles by C.S. Lewis.
* The Color Purple by Alice Walker
* The World According to Garp, A Prayer for Owen Meany, and The Hotel New Hampshire, by John Irving.
* His Dark Materials by Phillup Pullman
* Jonathan Livingston Seagull, and Illusions by Richard Bach
* The Legend of Bagger Vance and Gates of Fire by Steven Pressfield
* Anything by Herodotus
* Black Boy by Richard Wright
* The People's History of the United States by Howard Zinn
* Lizard Music by Daniel Pinkwater
* The Science of Mind by Ernest Holmes
* Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak
* Any Doonesbury collection, by Gary Trudeau
* Any Pogo collection by Walt Kelly
* Immediate Family and At Twelve by Sally Mann
* Tulsa by Larry Clark
* X-Men: The Dark Phoenix Saga by Chris Claremont
* The Watchmen and V for Vendetta by Alan Moore
* On Photography by Susan Sontag
* Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert M. Pirsig
* The Autobiography of Malcolm X and Roots by Alex Haley
Ah, the election is finally over, and many of you who are still visiting our humble blog have discovered the answer to the question, "Do simians hibernate?"
But I have been briefly awakened from my slumber by the siren call of a "list" - Hugh Hewitt has asked bloggers to write about modern novels that they have read more than once. It's all in the interest of good Christmas gift-giving. For me, this is a surprisingly difficult question to answer.
First, he implicitly disqualifies novels by any of the Inklings - C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien in particular. His implied reason, that these novels are obvious modern classics that don't need to be called out as re-readable, is sensible but it keeps me from including the magnificent "That Hideous Strength" on my list. This is without question my favorite Lewis novel, and it's one that many folks haven't heard of. But it's disqualified, so I won't bring it up again...
The second difficulty, for me, is that I don't particularly like fiction, and as a result find it difficult to re-read ANY novel, even one I thoroughly enjoyed. For example, I've read and enjoyed several of Michael Crichton's novels, but would be unlikely to re-read even my favorites ("Eaters of the Dead", "The Great Train Robbery", and the much more recent "Timeline").
With the above restrictions, and after a thorough scouring of my bookshelves, I am somewhat ashamed to say that I have only found a single qualifying novel: Robert Heinlein's "Starship Troopers". It's a delightful piece of sci-fi bubblegum, and perfect for a cross-country airplane trip (which was the context of both of my readings). It's got some fun controversial politics (of the right-of-center variety) and several exciting battles involving very clever weapons. If you've seen Paul Verhoeven's film of the same name, you really haven't experienced the novel properly - the movie is fun, but in an extremely campy way. The book is not too self-serious, but it is not silly either. Best of all: it's short, like a good Beatles song.
Now that I've exhausted my qualifying entries, I will go back to sleep - but I may attempt to post some of my favorite non-fiction later this week.
Tavis: Good evening, this is Tavis Monkeystein, and welcome to “The Tavis Monkeystein Show.” My guest this evening is a distinguished blogger who has written such scathing blog entries as “Sharecropper 2000” and “Charcoal City.” He was a script consultant on the film “Get on the Bus,” and has given many of us a most enriching insight into the urban black experience-- Mr. JamesPh.
[CUT to James sitting in the next chair and smiling.]
Tavis: Welcome, soul brother JamesPh.. I have never met you, but I’m a big fan of your work.
JamesPh.: Thank you very much. I’m happy to be here Tavis.
Tavis: Uh, James, if I may call you that, uh, your writing suggests a lineage, a background steeped in the traditions of the sharecroppers of the 1930s who ultimately migrated to the large cities. Uh, where were you raised as a little boy?
JamesPh.: Well, as a matter of fact, Tavis, I was raised in California, to be exact.
Tavis: Ah, I suppose, then, that, uh, growing up in California's ghettos gave you this animal alertness, this, uh, this street sense that seems to permeate the core of your work.
JamesPh.: Not exactly, Tavis. I grew up in the suburbs, not far from the studio here. But I do feel that the conscience of my writing has been strongly influenced by the plight of my brothers and sisters in the ghetto areas you speak of. The most important relationship to this, I think, is that, uh, if you are one of us, you can speak and feel for all of us, no matter where you come from.
Tavis: Right on. Um, James, uh, I’m sure that you and I agree on this, but for the sake of our viewers, I’m going to ask you anyway. Which do you prefer: “black,” “African-American,” “Negro”...
JamesPh.: [hold up palms] I prefer simply, “jungle bunny.”
[James and Tavis both laugh heartily.]
JamesPh.: Uh, “black” is fine, Tavis, “black” is fine.
Tavis: [laughing] Any, uh, suggestions for young black writers like myself?
JamesPh.: [intensely] Write what you know.
Tavis: Mm-hm.
JamesPh.: Write what you feel. Write the truth.
Tavis: Uh, I am holding here, I’m holding here a copy of your newest book, a collection of blog entries called “Shadows.” And there is no denying that, in person, you look nothing at all like your picture.
[Tavis turns the book around to show a big black man on the back cover.]
Tavis: I, I, I’m sure that you must hear this a lot.
JamesPh.: Yes, I do, quite frequently. But I must be honest: I don’t photograph well at all. [laughs]
Tavis: Well, thank you, JamesPh., for being with us here on “The Tavis Monkeysein Show.” [to camera] Be with us next week, when our guest will be Maya Angelou. Until then, be cool and stay in school.
[Fade to “The Tavis Monkeysein Show” logo and theme music.]
Every Thanksgiving the newspaper I work at provides T-day dinner for the people working. I'm the late guy in my department, so all that was left was greasy slabs of cold ham, ziti, mixed vegetables, a few bisquits, and corn.
Anyhow the whole point of this post is? Cold-greasy ham is some mighty fine eatin'. And bisquits and ham grease? Damn fine eatin'. And cold ziti and corn mixed together? Damn good.
What? I'm a bachelor, I don't know know better. Food is food to me. Anyhow, I'm off, I working on a concoction of ham grease and mixed veggies and cranberry sauce.
I just doubled the number of songs I've purchased from the iTunes Music Store. I couldn't resist - I just HAD to have the new "digital box set" from U2. It had all of the great early vinyl-only tracks that I have had stacked on my shelf since I was back in high school. Every embarrassing one of them: The four-track demo of "Twilight" where Bono's voice sounded like it was literally changing in the recording studio, the delightfully silly "Boy/Girl", the early demos like "The Fool". I couldn't find a single obscure track that was missing (more obsessive completists, please correct me in the comments section).
When the set was announced a month or two ago, I figured they would never let some of these "turds of love" out of the vault. I mean, if they hadn't released "A Celebration" on CD at this point, why would they now? But I was wrong, and I couldn't be more pleased about it. So pleased, in fact, that I may have to listen to a couple of tracks off "Zooropa" to bring me back down off my cloud.
Last night we were watching TV, and flipped on the CBS Evening News. My wife said "Rather is still on the air?"
Yes, but soon, not. At least not as anchor of the Evening News. Or, as Variety so wonderfully put it: "Rather ankles as Eye anchor; No successor named for vet journo."
At the race packet pick-up for El Tour de Tucson there was a bike product expo including one clothing dealer offering cycling jerseys featuring the familiar designs of a crash test dummy. My friends and I joked about getting one. Little did I know...
Fifty-one miles into the 66.7 mile race, I learned firsthand why the books, magazines, and veteran riders warn so adamantly against letting your front wheel come into contact with the rear wheel of the rider ahead of you. I had begun to tire and had begun to slip off the group of three to five riders I had been pacing with for about the last 40 miles. We got separated as we passed one of the ride's aid stations from which riders who had started from different distances at different times were ingressing or egressing. Digging deep, it was a hard push over about a half mile to close the gap and get back with the group. I knew that if I could cling to the back of the group, benefitting from the draft, their wind shadow, it would be only slightly harder than to struggle on alone at a much slower pace. But right as I caught up, something caused at least one in the group to brake more than just a tad, without a verbal or visual warning. Despite my best effort in that split second, I saw our wheels touch.
Ground, Monkey Brad. Monkey Brad, ground. (It's fitting that this year's Tour poster features a cowboy getting "bucked" by his bike.)
It wasn't one of those moments when time slows down. It was really fast. WHAM! Wham, slide. I kept my hands on the bars and just went down straight on my right side. For part of it my eyes were open, as I saw the cloud of dust come up around me. I also saw the part when my shoulder hit and then whipped my head onto the ground. Thank you Bell helmets. Providentially, the spot where I went down, like so many roads in Tucson, had no curb and no sidewalk, so I landed on dirt and gravel rather than pavement. I can still hear the sound in my head, but haven't a clue how to describe it. Despite time not slowing, there was a quick thought of, well, it's happening, my first real crash. I wonder how serious this is going to be... Weird how you can think so much in such a short span of time.
When the dust settled, I found myself under my bike, my left foot was clipped out, my right foot, the one underneath, was still clipped into the pedal, which made it hard to move. The handle bars and front wheel looked all askew, my one full-size water bottle that had anything left in it had flown ahead of me, and was emptying onto the ground. Several voices were zipping past me, "Are you okay?" whoosh "You alright?" whoosh "Need help?" whoosh
All I could say was, "I don't know," as I struggled to unclip my right foot from the pedal and get the bike off myself so I could begin my self inventory.
"What happened?" an approaching voice asked. "I just saw him go down," said a voice right next to me. A tough-looking, bearded, veteran rider had stopped to help me. Once I got out from underneath my bike, I asked him to hold it for me. He asked me the usual questions as I looked at the underside of my right arm, just below the elbow. It was swollen. No, it was swelling. Like a cartoon. It had only been a matter of seconds, yet it already looked as though there was a pecan, whole in its shell, under my scraped and bleeding skin. My shorts were covered in dirt and looked distressed but not torn. My shoulder number was half torn off and crumbled, and I could see some holes torn in the shoulder of my jersey. My right leg was bleeding from two spots. But other than that, I was surprised at how my arms seemed to work, my hands could move, my fingers could open and close, my collarbone seemed to be intact, and my ribs seemed alright.
I knew that the cyclist who had stopped to help me was losing time in whichever race he was riding, so I thanked him and encouraged him to get back on the road. He paused but then agreed when he saw that a truck driven by a race official had shown up across the street. The official checked me out and did a great job ensuring that I hadn't broken anything or rung my bell too hard to continue. He brought me my bottle with the little bit of fancy electrolyte replacement drink left in it, and helped me check out my bike. He also unzipped my jersey and looked in at my shoulder, then looked at my swollen forearm. By now it looked as though someone had taken a plan-T-pack of Wrigley's gum and slipped it under my skin. It was like a cartoon lump growing before our eyes.
He said, "That's probably just a hematoma. Looks bad, but it won't be."
Front wheel – wouldn't spin. I figured that was it. Day over. So much for my big lead over Matt and Chris. It looked like my front rim was bent. But the race official opened the quick release lever on the front brakes and after two pushes on the brake assembly, freed the wheel up to spin. Hey, relatively true! I was able to do the same to the rear wheel. I looked around me and saw that the contents of my rear jersey pockets had emptied upon impact and my bike's taillight was in pieces – dissembled but not broken. My half-eaten food bar was a waste laying among the empty gel packets and two small store-bought bottles of water. The official told me not to worry about my litter, as he would take care of it.
I scooped up the light parts and was about ready to start back out when I figured, hey, if I've already lost this much time, I may as well organize myself a bit. I took one of the little water bottles and emptied it into the bottle that fit into my bike frame's bottle cage for easy access on the rest of the ride. I was a little freaked out when I saw the blood all over the bottle as I slid it back into the cage. The cut on my arm had bled down my arm and onto my hand, so I was getting blood on most everything I touched. As I had been doing the pouring, the race official was holding my bike for me. When I took the bike from his hands, I unthinkingly handed him the empty bottle. Immediately, I found myself muttering, "I really shouldn't have handed you something with blood on it. Don't worry. I'm clean. I'm married. I don't fool around. I've never done drugs. I..."
"It's okay. It's okay," he said reassuringly. I think he could tell that the adrenaline of the crash was setting in. He helped me gather myself and get safely out to the middle of the road through breaks in the riders zipping past, where I could safely get back up to speed. I wish I could have thanked him better.
The El Tour races were well attended and there were spectators along almost all but the most desolate miles. I noticed that a few times the cheering folks' countenance changed when they saw my appearance over those last 15 miles. One young boy simply exclaimed, "Hey, look at tha-... whoa..." Despite being a timed event, there were a few times that police working the intersections in town had to stop groups of cyclists for red lights. At one such stop, a guy on a tandem bike next to me looked at my arm and said, "Ouch. You're gonna have fun with the wire brush gettin' that gravel out."
"Don't even say that," I recoiled.
"Yeah," he motioned to his wife on the back of the tandem, "she likes to take care of stuff like that. She could handle it for ya."
Luckily the light turned green and the cop motioned us clear so I didn't have to come up with a polite response to Mr. Tandem's disturbing "invitation."
Finished the last 15 miles without anyone to ride with. Riders around me were either folks I had passed several miles earlier, or strong riders blowing by at such a differential speed that there was no longer any way I could latch on to their back. My derailleur was bent in the crash and wouldn't let me stay in either of the two middle gears of my rear cassette. So, I had to choose between riding slower or harder than I wanted to. I did fall in with a mob of riders in the last two miles, but not the sort that set up any kind of beneficial paceline. We turned onto the last stretch near the civic center and heard the crowd cheer. I saw the banner and the balloon arches go over my head, and had a rather stoic reaction rather than the elation or relief that my friends later described. So, this was El Tour de Tucson. I've made it 66.7 miles. Hmm. It was a rather existential finish.
I had pushed it really hard, especially before the crash. I was spent. So spent, in fact, that I was nauseous after I got off the bike. In my cleated shoes, I clip clopped across pavement, gravel, and mud to get to the post race free food area. There was a guy tossing bottles of water to the finished racers. Toss. Toss. Then he met my eye. Apparently he could see that I was not really ready to catch, so he just held out the bottle until I was close enough for him to place it in my hand.
Fruit? Banana? No. Okay, a pear. Ack, not ripe. Must lie down. Concrete? Sure. Fine. Ants? Eh, not many. S'okay.
That's when I began to worry that perhaps I was feeling the effects of hitting my head. By the time I made it to the medical tent I felt confident, and the nurses assured me, that I did not have a concussion. Good. I was just exhausted. It turned out that in my crash, I had lost not just the empty nutritional food gel packets that I had repacked in my pockets, but also the remaining full gel. I had done the math and figured out that I needed at least what I had eaten, plus the rest of that Zone bar, and that last gel to fuel me through the three and a half hour race. Given that I rode even harder than planned, I may have even needed a bit more fuel. The course map and elevation profile of the last 15 miles didn't look too hard on paper (we hadn't driven that part of the course the afternoon before). But later I found out that nearly everyone found them pretty tough.
All in all, I came in 91st out of 996 riders in the 66.7 mile race, with a time of 03:33:40. Average speed was 18.7 mph. That's from the posted unofficial results. What that factors in is a weird river bed crossing. I knew that it had been tradition for El Tour routes to include creek crossings at which the riders would dismount and carry their bikes across on foot (it's Arizona, folks, so creek beds are usually dry). But I figured the one crossing on our route would be about the width of a four lane road, or perhaps a small parking lot. But it went on FOREVER! It was something like a quarter mile! About seven miles into the race, rocks, sand, dirt, turned to silt, then wet silt, then bumpy, lumpy rocks, and I wouldn't have been surprised to run into lions, tigers and bears. (Oh my!) Oh, and it also includes all of the time spent waiting at the seven or so stops that the traffic cops made my group wait through. It's frustrating because not everyone ran into the same number or length of traffic stops, which throws off the whole timing thing.
My bike's computer calculates ride time excluding time spent staying still. It still factors in the time spent slowing down for and taking off from those unscheduled stops. My ride time (obviously, excluding most of the river crossing) was 03:20:59 with an average of 20.2 mph over a total distance of 67.5 miles.
In the middle of drafting this post, I ran errands including dropping off my bike at the shop and a swing by the pharmacy for more non-stick bandage pads, and first aid tape. Nothing is too bad. Nothing permanent. (I don't think. Prayers for the interior of my right shoulder wouldn't be a bad idea.) I did my best to clean the bike up before dropping it off, but once in the shop I still found more damage to the seat, and some more fingerprints of dried blood here... and there. And there. And there.
In the week before the race, I had been trying to get the guys to go along with a prank on one of our group's more competitive personalities. I wanted us to all remind him to bring his razor and lots of shaving cream. We were to keep straight faces about the idea that we would all be shaving for the race to try to freak Chuck out, make him struggle with the concept of us having an aerodynamic edge over him, or get him to shave at home before we left for Tucson. Chuck wound up not being able to attend the race so the prank never really materialized. Though there had been much lighthearted talk of shaving, none of us ever gave it any serious consideration. As we were leaving the finish area, Chris pointed out the irony of how much I would be wishing over the next few days that I had shaved before the race.
What I feel particularly blessed by not having skipped was going to the Tucson Supergo store's 24-hour El Tour sale the night before the race. My helmet was old. I didn't really know how old, but I guessed six or seven years. I learned recently that the materials that bike helmets are made of are only designed to last three to five years. After that, it must be assumed that the materials have degraded. So, we took the trouble of going to the store after dinner and seeking out a decent helmet at a sale price. Praise God that that Bell helmet saved my noggin less than 18 hours later. My new helmet was cracked clean through in two places by my crash, just like it was supposed to. Later I found the little sticker inside my old helmet that showed when it had been manufactured. It was over nine years old. Several folks who I've discussed it with have agreed that the old helmet would likely have disintegrated on impact.
Considering the helmet purchase, the fact that my crash took no one else down, that I wasn't run over, and that I landed relatively safely, I feel like the day was Providentially blessed.
Katherine Jean Lopez at National Review Online links to several organizations that we can give to to help our troops through the holidays.
HOW TO HELP [KJL]
I asked someone who would know earlier today how to send stuff to troops. This is what was recommended--a few options:
1. http://www.uso.org/pubs/93_325_1391.cfm
2. Just looking around on the USO site see that they need $$ for phone cards. In most forward areas there are phone centers for the soldiers and Marines to call back to the US but they need phone cards (which they typically pay for at the PX). The PX is always out of phone cards though for some reason. Anyway the USO has come up with 'Operation Phone Home' to get phone cards to these guys so they can...phone home.
3. www.soldiersangels.com is a good one if people want to 'adopt' an individual soldier/Marine/sailor. The only thing is, packages need to be sent by this Saturday to make it to either Iraq or Afghanistan by Christmas.
4. www.operationgratitude.com is another good one- just send $$, they send packages. Their holiday drive is already completed but it doesn't mean the guys in the field don't still need stuff.
5. www.ustroopcarepackage.com also sends packages to the wounded soldiers at Walter Reed, and in Germany and Kuwait. The guys especially need underwear, socks and sweats.
Spirit of America is running a blog competition to raise money for the people of Iraq.
Leading bloggers are competing to raise funds to benefit the people of Iraq. 100% of all donations go to needs selected by these bloggers. Many of our projects support requests made by Americans serving in Iraq (Marines, Army, SeaBees) for goods that help the Iraqi people. Other projects directly support Iraqis who are on the front lines of building a better future for Iraq.
The drunken frat boys at Fraters Libertas are looking for help for their Northern Alliance teram. I think it's funny how they place themselves in the "leading bloggers" category, but that's a discussion for another day.
Go here. Donate. It's really a good cause.
Over on Captain's Quarters, Captain Ed is waging a one-man-war on the child custody establishment in Minnesota as a result of Minnesota Judge Jospeh T. Carter granting permanent custody of three little girls to a known registered sex offender, one of the three wasn't even related to him.
As one would expect from the start of such a story, the scumbag raped his girlfriend's daughter, the unrelated girl. Apparently, the Mother "approved" of his being given custody of her three daughters. Why the "approval" of a Mother who abandons her children to a registered sex offender should matter is beyond me.
Remarkably, the judge did this without appointing anyone to represent the interests of the child!
This tragedy brought to mind a lawsuit against the California Department of Corrections a few years ago. The case was brought by the wives of three convicted child molesters who were suing to be allowed conjugal visits with their child molster husbands.
One of the three cases was particularly tragic. The father had started molesting his daughter when she was about 4 years old. When she got to be 8 years old he and his wife (yes, the same one suing) would take the daughter around to friends so they could molest her. By the time "dad" was being sentenced, their daughter was 15 years old and a prostitute and drug addict.
And Mom was claiming that her civil rights were being violated because she could not boink this scumbag. It's all out there folks, that's why Captain Ed's crusade is so important.
.. and our drunken political and philosophical conversations...
ME: (slurringly) America is a mob!
BEN: (slurringly) No! America is an eternal thought in the mind of God!
ME: (slurringly)I'd no idea you'd grown so... religious.
BEN: (laughs) It doesn't matter. If there were no gods at all I'd still revere them. If there were no America, I'd dream of her.
ME: Do you eat oysters?
BEN: When I have them.
ME: Have you ever eaten snails-- y'know that escargot stuff?
BEN: Never.
ME: Do you consider the eating of oysters to be moral and the eating of snails to be immoral?
BEN: No.
ME: Of course not. It is all a matter of taste, isn't it?
BEN: I guess so.
ME: And taste is not the same as appetite, and therefore not a question of morals.
BEN: It could be argued so, Doctor.
ME: My taste includes both snails and oysters.
BEN: (burps) I'm hungry, lets get some tacos.
Wow. i watching the Pistons-Pacers and like the entire team went into the stands and got into a fight with Detroit fans. it was like watching a scene scene from "slapshot." That was friggin' cool! But the greatest fan and team brawl has be when the entire Boston Bruin team went into the stands to fight N.Y. Ranger fans and then Rangers joined in to o-- that is the fight the fans. Now that was a brawl my friends.... that was a brawl.
1. Put at least 65& of my savings in a Euro-based savings account.
2. Sell 75% of my American-based investment fund-- and invest in European and Asian funds.
3. Get a handgun and plenty of ammunition.
4. Stock up on canned goods.
5. Keep my expenses to the bare necessities.
6. Buy 100 cartons of cheap cigarettes, bottles of cheap booze, cheap batteries and giant bags of dried beans for bartering.
6. Learn everything I can about Argentina and its financial collapse. Study what ventures still made money during the country's collapse and invest accordingly.
7. Laugh secretly at all the stupid motherfuckers who don't know that with the dollar falling, record deficits, a failing war in Iraq-- a financial shitstorm is coming and they're not prepared, and I shall advantage of their unpreparedness.
8. Get a girlfriend.
I'm back from our Disney World vacation. One thing I learned: The Hall of Presidents isn't in Epcot's American Pavilion – it's in the Magic Kingdom park. I learned that on our last morning there... in Epcot. If you haven't been to Disney World, that may not sound like much of an impediment. But if you've been there, you understand. So, no HoP report. But I can tell you that the film/animatronic presentation, The American Experience, has improved since I last witnessed it six or eight years ago. But it's still not back to the quality of content that it had ten years ago. I'm relieved to see it moving back in the right direction. (No time for details now.)
During the trip, I was in a virtual media blackout. I come back to find out that apparently somebody released footage of a Target CEO stealing a Power Line contributor's logo and the furor that arose was all too much for Arafat's pallbearers to handle. That and Monkey Ben has... well [quivering sniffle] ... I just can't talk about it (sort of like Charlene Darling on the old Andy Griffith show).
In my post election decompression (no, the vacation wasn't enough) I have been keeping myself occupied by poking all around this site.
As I type, I'm minutes away from being picked up to head down to Tucson for a bike race. Two friends and I are going to take part in what is one of the premiere races in the country, the Tour de Tucson, attracting nearly 7,000 riders and many international racers. We're not doing the full 109 mile ride though. We could finish it, but it wouldn't be competitive – just survival. But the 66-miler, now that one we can actually race.
My previous races have been triathlons and an untimed 63 mile "ride," so this will be our first official timed race. Based on last year's times, we stand a chance to place in the top 40 of the 66 mile race. But the hills and the weather may undo all of our number crunching. Say a prayer for us and wish us luck! I look forward to giving a report here when I get back.
20 years ago on a fall day like this, my mother died in a car accident. I can still remember everything about that day. I often wondered what my mother would of have thought of me as a man. I'm sure she wouldn't approve of the tattoos, especially the one on my left arm that's dedicated to the act of performing oral sex on women (I'm joking either, I really do have a tattoo dedicated to that).
And I'm sure she wouldn't approve me changing my name. Actually, she might-- she didn't know I was gonna be a rock and roll fashion photographer, and I needed a rock and roll name. She'd be cool with it. She was a hip lady, she understand that its not just about the name as much as how the name makes me feel.
I think she'd be pretty pleased with my career choice. And I know she'd be very happy that my weight problem is under control. And she'd like my cat, I'm sure of that.
I think she'd be a little worried that I haven't had a woman in my life for such a long time. And she'd wonder why I didn't hook up with that girl Diana when I had the chance-- especially when it was so obvious that we loved each other.
And I know she'd worry about my smoking. And I know she' be pretty disappointed in me for doing so much drugs and booze-- and my overall morally relaxed New York party boy attitude. And she'd understand that every once in while I gotta blow off some steam.
I think she'd be pleased to see generally on a path of self-awareness and self-improvement. Though I'm sure she'd worry that I'm going to burn in Hell because I'm a Religious Scientist. Though I'm sure she'd be less worried once Religious Science to her.
But overall, I'm pretty sure she'd happy that I'm happy.
For you will always have Dr. Monkeystein. Hahahahahahahahahahahahah! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH ** cough** I think I swallowed a bug.
This is my last post for Infinite Monkeys. A week ago, I left my job of nearly six years at the Claremont Institute, where I had the honor and pleasure of working on what is fast becoming the most important conservative journal in America. Tomorrow, I start a new job writing editorials for a large and growing newspaper in the Inland Empire. I'm looking forward to it. But among the trade-offs of leaving the think-tank world for a big-time newspaper gig is a little something called a "newsroom outside employment policy." The gist of it is that even though I don't get paid a penny for splaying my banal thoughts on this little-read weblog for all of the Internet to see, it's still considered freelance work and could be viewed as a conflict of interest. So unless I can persuade my new bosses that this self-indulgent little exercise is anything but a competitive threat, I'm afraid my monkey days are over.
Thanks to my old friend David, who invited me to join his crew in a fit of late-night drunken exuberance in the Spring of '03. We were so innocent back then. I hope I haven't let you down. Thanks, too, to my new friends Brad, Robb, and James. You've added great joy to my life. Really. And you've taught me a thing or two. As for Monkeystein... well, let's just say I'm sure he'll get what he deserves. And then some.
Finally, to the readers—the half-dozen or so of you who check in once or twice a month—I would like to extend a heartfelt apology: Sorry I didn't take the time to write more. Sorry I didn't follow through with the summer of rum. (In a sense, though, I followed through a little too enthusiastically.)
But I'm especially sorry that my departure will almost certainly mean a precipitous drop in the quality of this weblog. I hope you can forgive me.
So, uh, am I the only guy in the blogosphere that wasn't all fired up about Halo 2 coming out?
I haven't played a first-person shooter video game since Doom 2. Sigh.
I gonna tell you another secret-- the powerful country in the world isn't even a country. But this area can write laws to in effect become global standards. The people who live there don't even know how powerful they are. They are a sleeping giant.
I'm talking of course, of Californians. California can write laws for standards for automobiles that in affect become national standards. So if the residents of California decided to raise the minimun for miles-per-gallon standars on new cars in their state, it would become a national standard. That's the power of California.
There are other issues that Ca. could take on, and literally take power away from Washington D.C. and force a national agenda. And honestly, I'd be all for it. I mean why not? Wake California! WAKE UP!!!!
Stock options. Tie it in to the elections. Every Iraqi citizen who votes gets shares in the New Iraqi Oil Corporation. If you don't vote you don't get shares.
Hey, Monkey Brad! You recently attended Monkey David's wedding in beautiful La Jolla. What are you gonna do now? I'm going to Disney World! Yep, while David and his new betrothed are kickin' it in French Polynesia, my Mrs. Monkey and I are headed off to Florida.
Last year my wife entered the Health & Wealth Raffle on a lark at the last minute. It's a worthy cause, after all. Boom, she wins a
trip for four to Disney World: air fare, hotel, park tickets, the works. Of course, she's already bought another ticket for this year's raffle. We feel somewhat obligated now.
And we're not taking the kids! (No, we don't feel guilty. They've been to Disneyland. One day they'll be old enough for the Kissimmee experience, but not yet.) We're taking some friends instead. How often does one get a chance to do something like that? Praise the Lord and pass the Mickey ears!
Days' worth of lesson plans, worksheets and quizzes have been prepared for my subs, the cat sitter is arranged, we've got a full contingent of Finite Monkeys online, and you can expect some epic pieces from Monkey Ben any day now. I'll see you next week with after-action reports on the current state of The American Experience at Epcot and excerpts from interviews I've been able to line up that promise some great moments with several former presidents.
Ladies and gentlemen, I'll be brief. The issue here is not whether Arafat broke a few rules, or took a few liberties with our Israeli friends -- he did. But you can't hold a whole scoiety responsible for the behavior of a few, sick and twisted individuals.
For if you do, then shouldn't we blame the whole Middle East? And if the whole Middle East is guilty, then isn't this an indictment of Arab society in general? I put it to you, my fellow Monkeys -- isn't this an indictment of our entire global community?
Well, JamesPh. you can do whatever you want to Arafat's corpse, put his head on pike if you must! But I'm not going to sit here and listen to you badmouth the United Arab Emirates! Gentlemen!
Lost in the post-election news cycle was one of the most momentous events of this era: the fall of the Berlin Wall. On November 9, 1989, the border between East and West Berlin was opened. This almost miraculous event came about as a result of the will and perseverance of Ronald Reagan, who, on June 12, 1987, at the Brandenburg Gate, said
"Come here to this gate! Mr. Gorbachev, open this gate! Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!"
(words and music, so to speak, by Peter Robinson, author of the wonderful "How Ronald Reagan Changed My Life.")
November 9: the fall of the Wall
November 10: the Marines Corps Birthday
November 11: Veteran's Day
My favorite time of the year!
Ronald Reagan's "Tear Down This Wall" Speech
Remarks at the Brandenburg Gate
West Berlin, Germany, June 12, 1987
Thank you very much.
Chancellor Kohl, Governing Mayor Diepgen, ladies and gentlemen: Twenty-four years ago, President John F. Kennedy visited Berlin, speaking to the people of this city and the world at the City Hall. Well, since then two other presidents have come, each in his turn, to Berlin. And today I, myself, make my second visit to your city.
We come to Berlin, we American presidents, because it's our duty to speak, in this place, of freedom. But I must confess, we're drawn here by other things as well: by the feeling of history in this city, more than 500 years older than our own nation; by the beauty of the Grunewald and the Tiergarten; most of all, by your courage and determination. Perhaps the composer Paul Lincke understood something about American presidents. You see, like so many presidents before me, I come here today because wherever I go, whatever I do: Ich hab noch einen Koffer in Berlin. [I still have a suitcase in Berlin.]
Our gathering today is being broadcast throughout Western Europe and North America. I understand that it is being seen and heard as well in the East. To those listening throughout Eastern Europe, a special word: Although I cannot be with you, I address my remarks to you just as surely as to those standing here before me. For I join you, as I join your fellow countrymen in the West, in this firm, this unalterable belief: Es gibt nur ein Berlin. [There is only one Berlin.]
Behind me stands a wall that encircles the free sectors of this city, part of a vast system of barriers that divides the entire continent of Europe. From the Baltic, south, those barriers cut across Germany in a gash of barbed wire, concrete, dog runs, and guard towers. Farther south, there may be no visible, no obvious wall. But there remain armed guards and checkpoints all the same--still a restriction on the right to travel, still an instrument to impose upon ordinary men and women the will of a totalitarian state. Yet it is here in Berlin where the wall emerges most clearly; here, cutting across your city, where the news photo and the television screen have imprinted this brutal division of a continent upon the mind of the world. Standing before the Brandenburg Gate, every man is a German, separated from his fellow men. Every man is a Berliner, forced to look upon a scar.
President von Weizsacker has said, "The German question is open as long as the Brandenburg Gate is closed." Today I say: As long as the gate is closed, as long as this scar of a wall is permitted to stand, it is not the German question alone that remains open, but the question of freedom for all mankind. Yet I do not come here to lament. For I find in Berlin a message of hope, even in the shadow of this wall, a message of triumph.
In this season of spring in 1945, the people of Berlin emerged from their air-raid shelters to find devastation. Thousands of miles away, the people of the United States reached out to help. And in 1947 Secretary of State--as you've been told--George Marshall announced the creation of what would become known as the Marshall Plan. Speaking precisely 40 years ago this month, he said: "Our policy is directed not against any country or doctrine, but against hunger, poverty, desperation, and chaos."
In the Reichstag a few moments ago, I saw a display commemorating this 40th anniversary of the Marshall Plan. I was struck by the sign on a burnt-out, gutted structure that was being rebuilt. I understand that Berliners of my own generation can remember seeing signs like it dotted throughout the western sectors of the city. The sign read simply: "The Marshall Plan is helping here to strengthen the free world." A strong, free world in the West, that dream became real. Japan rose from ruin to become an economic giant. Italy, France, Belgium--virtually every nation in Western Europe saw political and economic rebirth; the European Community was founded.
In West Germany and here in Berlin, there took place an economic miracle, the Wirtschaftswunder. Adenauer, Erhard, Reuter, and other leaders understood the practical importance of liberty--that just as truth can flourish only when the journalist is given freedom of speech, so prosperity can come about only when the farmer and businessman enjoy economic freedom. The German leaders reduced tariffs, expanded free trade, lowered taxes. From 1950 to 1960 alone, the standard of living in West Germany and Berlin doubled.
Where four decades ago there was rubble, today in West Berlin there is the greatest industrial output of any city in Germany--busy office blocks, fine homes and apartments, proud avenues, and the spreading lawns of parkland. Where a city's culture seemed to have been destroyed, today there are two great universities, orchestras and an opera, countless theaters, and museums. Where there was want, today there's abundance--food, clothing, automobiles--the wonderful goods of the Ku'damm. From devastation, from utter ruin, you Berliners have, in freedom, rebuilt a city that once again ranks as one of the greatest on earth. The Soviets may have had other plans. But my friends, there were a few things the Soviets didn't count on--Berliner Herz, Berliner Humor, ja, und Berliner Schnauze. [Berliner heart, Berliner humor, yes, and a Berliner Schnauze.]
In the 1950s, Khrushchev predicted: "We will bury you." But in the West today, we see a free world that has achieved a level of prosperity and well-being unprecedented in all human history. In the Communist world, we see failure, technological backwardness, declining standards of health, even want of the most basic kind--too little food. Even today, the Soviet Union still cannot feed itself. After these four decades, then, there stands before the entire world one great and inescapable conclusion: Freedom leads to prosperity. Freedom replaces the ancient hatreds among the nations with comity and peace. Freedom is the victor.
And now the Soviets themselves may, in a limited way, be coming to understand the importance of freedom. We hear much from Moscow about a new policy of reform and openness. Some political prisoners have been released. Certain foreign news broadcasts are no longer being jammed. Some economic enterprises have been permitted to operate with greater freedom from state control.
Are these the beginnings of profound changes in the Soviet state? Or are they token gestures, intended to raise false hopes in the West, or to strengthen the Soviet system without changing it? We welcome change and openness; for we believe that freedom and security go together, that the advance of human liberty can only strengthen the cause of world peace. There is one sign the Soviets can make that would be unmistakable, that would advance dramatically the cause of freedom and peace.
General Secretary Gorbachev, if you seek peace, if you seek prosperity for the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, if you seek liberalization: Come here to this gate! Mr. Gorbachev, open this gate! Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!
I understand the fear of war and the pain of division that afflict this continent-- and I pledge to you my country's efforts to help overcome these burdens. To be sure, we in the West must resist Soviet expansion. So we must maintain defenses of unassailable strength. Yet we seek peace; so we must strive to reduce arms on both sides.
Beginning 10 years ago, the Soviets challenged the Western alliance with a grave new threat, hundreds of new and more deadly SS-20 nuclear missiles, capable of striking every capital in Europe. The Western alliance responded by committing itself to a counter-deployment unless the Soviets agreed to negotiate a better solution; namely, the elimination of such weapons on both sides. For many months, the Soviets refused to bargain in earnestness. As the alliance, in turn, prepared to go forward with its counter-deployment, there were difficult days--days of protests like those during my 1982 visit to this city--and the Soviets later walked away from the table.
But through it all, the alliance held firm. And I invite those who protested then-- I invite those who protest today--to mark this fact: Because we remained strong, the Soviets came back to the table. And because we remained strong, today we have within reach the possibility, not merely of limiting the growth of arms, but of eliminating, for the first time, an entire class of nuclear weapons from the face of the earth.
As I speak, NATO ministers are meeting in Iceland to review the progress of our proposals for eliminating these weapons. At the talks in Geneva, we have also proposed deep cuts in strategic offensive weapons. And the Western allies have likewise made far-reaching proposals to reduce the danger of conventional war and to place a total ban on chemical weapons.
While we pursue these arms reductions, I pledge to you that we will maintain the capacity to deter Soviet aggression at any level at which it might occur. And in cooperation with many of our allies, the United States is pursuing the Strategic Defense Initiative--research to base deterrence not on the threat of offensive retaliation, but on defenses that truly defend; on systems, in short, that will not target populations, but shield them. By these means we seek to increase the safety of Europe and all the world. But we must remember a crucial fact: East and West do not mistrust each other because we are armed; we are armed because we mistrust each other. And our differences are not about weapons but about liberty. When President Kennedy spoke at the City Hall those 24 years ago, freedom was encircled, Berlin was under siege. And today, despite all the pressures upon this city, Berlin stands secure in its liberty. And freedom itself is transforming the globe.
In the Philippines, in South and Central America, democracy has been given a rebirth. Throughout the Pacific, free markets are working miracle after miracle of economic growth. In the industrialized nations, a technological revolution is taking place--a revolution marked by rapid, dramatic advances in computers and telecommunications.
In Europe, only one nation and those it controls refuse to join the community of freedom. Yet in this age of redoubled economic growth, of information and innovation, the Soviet Union faces a choice: It must make fundamental changes, or it will become obsolete.
Today thus represents a moment of hope. We in the West stand ready to cooperate with the East to promote true openness, to break down barriers that separate people, to create a safe, freer world. And surely there is no better place than Berlin, the meeting place of East and West, to make a start. Free people of Berlin: Today, as in the past, the United States stands for the strict observance and full implementation of all parts of the Four Power Agreement of 1971. Let us use this occasion, the 750th anniversary of this city, to usher in a new era, to seek a still fuller, richer life for the Berlin of the future. Together, let us maintain and develop the ties between the Federal Republic and the Western sectors of Berlin, which is permitted by the 1971 agreement.
And I invite Mr. Gorbachev: Let us work to bring the Eastern and Western parts of the city closer together, so that all the inhabitants of all Berlin can enjoy the benefits that come with life in one of the great cities of the world.
To open Berlin still further to all Europe, East and West, let us expand the vital air access to this city, finding ways of making commercial air service to Berlin more convenient, more comfortable, and more economical. We look to the day when West Berlin can become one of the chief aviation hubs in all central Europe.
With our French and British partners, the United States is prepared to help bring international meetings to Berlin. It would be only fitting for Berlin to serve as the site of United Nations meetings, or world conferences on human rights and arms control or other issues that call for international cooperation.
There is no better way to establish hope for the future than to enlighten young minds, and we would be honored to sponsor summer youth exchanges, cultural events, and other programs for young Berliners from the East. Our French and British friends, I'm certain, will do the same. And it's my hope that an authority can be found in East Berlin to sponsor visits from young people of the Western sectors.
One final proposal, one close to my heart: Sport represents a source of enjoyment and ennoblement, and you may have noted that the Republic of Korea--South Korea--has offered to permit certain events of the 1988 Olympics to take place in the North. International sports competitions of all kinds could take place in both parts of this city. And what better way to demonstrate to the world the openness of this city than to offer in some future year to hold the Olympic games here in Berlin, East and West? In these four decades, as I have said, you Berliners have built a great city. You've done so in spite of threats--the Soviet attempts to impose the East-mark, the blockade. Today the city thrives in spite of the challenges implicit in the very presence of this wall. What keeps you here? Certainly there's a great deal to be said for your fortitude, for your defiant courage. But I believe there's something deeper, something that involves Berlin's whole look and feel and way of life--not mere sentiment. No one could live long in Berlin without being completely disabused of illusions. Something instead, that has seen the difficulties of life in Berlin but chose to accept them, that continues to build this good and proud city in contrast to a surrounding totalitarian presence that refuses to release human energies or aspirations. Something that speaks with a powerful voice of affirmation, that says yes to this city, yes to the future, yes to freedom. In a word, I would submit that what keeps you in Berlin is love--love both profound and abiding.
Perhaps this gets to the root of the matter, to the most fundamental distinction of all between East and West. The totalitarian world produces backwardness because it does such violence to the spirit, thwarting the human impulse to create, to enjoy, to worship. The totalitarian world finds even symbols of love and of worship an affront. Years ago, before the East Germans began rebuilding their churches, they erected a secular structure: the television tower at Alexander Platz. Virtually ever since, the authorities have been working to correct what they view as the tower's one major flaw, treating the glass sphere at the top with paints and chemicals of every kind. Yet even today when the sun strikes that sphere--that sphere that towers over all Berlin--the light makes the sign of the cross. There in Berlin, like the city itself, symbols of love, symbols of worship, cannot be suppressed.
As I looked out a moment ago from the Reichstag, that embodiment of German unity, I noticed words crudely spray-painted upon the wall, perhaps by a young Berliner: "This wall will fall. Beliefs become reality." Yes, across Europe, this wall will fall. For it cannot withstand faith; it cannot withstand truth. The wall cannot withstand freedom.
And I would like, before I close, to say one word. I have read, and I have been questioned since I've been here about certain demonstrations against my coming. And I would like to say just one thing, and to those who demonstrate so. I wonder if they have ever asked themselves that if they should have the kind of government they apparently seek, no one would ever be able to do what they're doing again.
Thank you and God bless you all.
So why is it that the people that believe they truly are in the vanguard of "free speech" must be so goddamn nasty and intolerant about it.
I am in Galena, Illinois, walking down Main Street, and there is a t-shirt shop/poster/art gallery resplendent with "free speech" stickers, prints, etc.
Featured prominently in the window is a shirt "ARMY: Be All You're Told To Be."
Why is that sentiment necessary? Why do they feel so good about themselves in insulting 18-20 year olds who join the military?
Oh, tomorrow is Veteran's Day. I guess the message to Veterans from this shop in Galena is FUCK YOU.
Nice.
"We've been eating your shit for years, saying, 'Delicious, Mmm! What a cook!' - no more!" --Phil Hartman, 'Greedy'
See, I know what he's doing, because I would do it too: I trick all my friends into thinking I'm dying; I check myself into a hospital; I announce that I'm near death door, as a test to see who still loyal to me. Yeah. And then I'd have a miraculous recovery, like Kirk Douglas in that movie "Greedy", making people dance to my tune, all the while laughing at them behind thier backs. You watch you'll see.
I've mentioned before that I've recently become addicted to cycling. Little did I know that a company called Primal Wear has come out with an unofficial Infinite Monkeys cycling jersey. And though it's a bit late for our most recent election season, Performance Bike now has an unofficial Hugh Hewitt jersey.
A Palestinian enters a Paris Hospital.
Palestinian: Hello, I wish to register a complaint.
(The doctor does not respond.)
P: 'Ello, Miss?
Dr.: What do you mean "miss"?
P: I'm sorry, I have a cold. I wish to make a complaint!
Dr.: We're closin' for lunch.
P: Never mind that, my lad. I wish to complain about this Terrorist what I picked up not half an hour ago from this very hospital.
Dr.: Oh yes, the, uh, the Yasser Arafat ... What's,uh...What's wrong with it?
P: I'll tell you what's wrong with it, my lad. 'E's dead, that's what's wrong with it!
Dr: No, no, 'e's uh,...he's resting.
P: Look, matey, I know a dead terrorist when I see one, and I'm looking at one right now.
Dr.: No no he's not dead, he's, he's restin'! Remarkable terrorist, the Yasser Arafat, idn'it, ay? Beautiful plumage!
P: The plumage don't enter into it. It's stone dead.
Dr. Nononono, no, no! 'E's resting!
P: All right then, if he's restin', I'll wake him up!
(shouting at the gurney)
'Ello, Mister Yasser Arafat Terrorist!! I've got a lovely fresh virgin for you if you show...(Doctor hits the gurney)
Dr: There, he moved!
P: No, he didn't, that was you hitting the gurney!
Dr.: I never!!
P: Yes, you did!
Dr.: I never, never did anything...
P: (yelling and hitting the gurney repeatedly) 'ELLO YASSER!!!!!
Testing! Testing! Testing! Testing! This is your nine o'clock alarm call!
(Takes Terrorist off the gurney and thumps its head on the counter. Throws it up in the air and watches it plummet to the floor.)
P: Now that's what I call a dead terrorist.
Dr.: No, no.....No, 'e's stunned!
P: STUNNED?!?
Dr.: Yeah! You stunned him, just as he was wakin' up! Yasser Arafat's stun easily, major.
P: Um...now look...now look, mate, I've definitely 'ad enough of this. That Terrorist is definitely deceased, and when I picked him up not 'alf an hour ago, you assured me that its total lack of movement was due to it bein' tired and shagged out following a prolonged terror spree.
Dr: Well, he's...he's, ah...probably pining for the West Bank.
P: PININ' for the WEST BANK?!?!?!? What kind of talk is that?, look, why did he fall flat on his back the moment I got 'im home?
Dr.: The Yasser Arafat prefers kippin' on it's back! Remarkable terrorist, id'nit, squire? Lovely plumage!
P: Look, I took the liberty of examining that terrorist when I got it home, and I discovered the only reason that it had been sitting on its wheelchair in the first place was that it had been NAILED there.
(pause)
Dr.: Well, o'course it was nailed there! If I hadn't nailed that terrorist down, it would have nuzzled up to those windows, opened them, and VOOM! Feeweeweewee!
P: "VOOM"?!? Mate, this terrorist wouldn't "voom" if you put four million volts through it! 'E's bleedin' demised!
Dr.: No no! 'E's pining!
P: 'E's not pinin'! 'E's passed on! This terrorist is no more! He has ceased to be! 'E's expired and gone to meet 'is maker!
'E's a stiff! Bereft of life, 'e rests in peace! If you hadn't nailed 'im to the wheelchair e'd be pushing up the daisies!
'Is metabolic processes are now 'istory! 'E's off the twig!
'E's kicked the bucket, 'e's shuffled off 'is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisibile!!
THIS IS AN EX-TERRORIST!!
(pause)
Dr.: Well, I'd better replace it, then.
(he takes a quick peek behind the counter)
Dr.: Sorry squire, I've had a look 'round the back of the shop, and uh, we're right out of terrorists.
P: I see. I see, I get the picture.
Dr.: I got a slug.
(pause)
P: (sweet as sugar) Pray, does it kill and murder?
Dr: Nnnnot really.
P: WELL IT'S HARDLY A BLOODY REPLACEMENT, IS IT?!!???!!?
(with apologies to Monty Python)
Barbara Streinsand recently posted a quote by Thomas Jefferson to her "blog" that has been making the circles around the lefty blogs:
"A little patience, and we shall see the reign of witches pass over, their spells dissolve, and the people, recovering their true sight, restore their government to its true principles. It is true that in the meantime we are suffering deeply in spirit, and incurring the horrors of a war and long oppressions of enormous public debt......If the game runs sometimes against us at home we must have patience till luck turns, and then we shall have an opportunity of winning back the principles we have lost, for this is a game where principles are at stake."
"I had rather keep our New England associates for that purpose than to see our bickerings transferred to others. They are circumscribed within such narrow limits, & their population so full, that their numbers will ever be the minority, and they are marked, like the Jews, with such a peculiarity of character as to constitute from that circumstance the natural division of our parties."
Better keep together as we are, hawl off from Europe as soon as we can, & from all attachments to any portions of it. And if we feel their power just sufficiently to hoop us together, it will be the happiest situation in which we can exist."
For more on this see Reporterette's comments on the matter.
Al Michaels, closet Republican?
Earlier this season, during a Monday Night Football game in Massachusetts, John Madden used the phrase "flop-flop." Without missing a beat, Al said, "well, we're in the right State for it.
Tonight he made a crack about his predictions being as accurate as a Zogby poll.
Just makes me like the "Do you believe in miracles" call from 1980 even more.
[INT. The Black House-- 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. President Monkeystein and his cabinet meet in the Oval Office to celebrate his landslide victory for a second term against his bitter rival, Senator Phillip Michaels of www.teevee.org.
PRESIDENT MONKEYSTEIN: Gentlemen! We ran a good, hard campaign-- there was never any doubt in my mind we would destroy Sen. Michaels politically, personally, and spiritually! And the fact that he blew his brains out with a shotgun just a day after the election says everything about what a great job you fellas did! And accusing the Senator of being a pedaphile -- classic Monkeystein politics!
MONKEY BEN: Thank you Mr. President.
PRESIDENT MONKEYSTEIN: Unfortunatley Ben, I'm going to have to let you go...
MONKEY BEN: Excuse me sir?
PRESIDENT MONKEYSTEIN: For goddsakes Ben, you falsely accused a man of being a pedaphile! He blew his brains out on national TV! I have to distance myself from you!
MONKEY BEN: But I was acting under direct orders from you Mr. President!
[Cut to scene of President Monkeystein at a strategy session during early part of the campaign.]
PRESIDENT MONKEYSTEIN: (screaming) I want something EMBARRASSING on Senator Michaels! Something sexual! Little boys, midgets, that sort of thing! Cows! I don't give a goddamn! You hear me Ben!!!!
MONKEY BEN: "...Cows! I don't give a goddamn! You hear me Ben!!!" That's what you said sir.
PRESIDENT MONKEYSTEIN: You have to understand Ben, I was drunk, and I was down ten points in the polls. I was liable to say anything at that moment. But that doesn't change the fact that a man is dead, and someone in this administration has fall on his sword for me. And Chief of Staff David and I have decided that man is you.
[Chief of Staff David nods knowingly.]
MONKEY BEN: This sucks man! Why can't JamesPh. fall on his sword for you?
PRESIDENT MONKEYSTEIN: (chuckling) No one would believe that JamesPh. could come up with something as fiendishly evil as accusing a man of having sex with children for political gain.
MONKEY BEN: (chuckling) That's true sir...
PRESIDENT MONKEYSTEIN: I mean if you think about it, asking you to resign is the highest form of flattery. Wouldn't you say so David?
CHIEF OF STAFF DAVID: Oh, most definately sir. I'd venture to say that a political operative who was able to make an opponent commit suicide has a bright future in this town and in this party. Anyhow Ben, I'm going to need to take your ID.
MONKEY BEN: Here you go...
CHIEF OF STAFF DAVID: And don't worry about the stuff in your desk, RobbL. will be shipping that to you-- that and your last paycheck.
[Two security guards enter the Oval Office to escort Monkey Ben off the White House premises.]
PRESIDENT MONKEYSTEIN: Good luck son!
[Monkey Ben leaves.]
PRESIDENT MONKEYSTEIN: Well that was a bad bit of business.
CHIEF OF STAFF DAVID: It was sir.
PRESIDENT MONKEYSTEIN: He looked a little crushed there didn't he?
CHIEF OF STAFF DAVID: I don't think I've ever seen a man looked so crushed in my life sir.
PRESIDENT MONKEYSTEIN: Do you think he bought that whole spiel about him having a bright future?
CHIEF OF STAFF DAVID: I think so sir.
PRESIDENT MONKEYSTEIN: He's a social pariah. I mean, he killed a man for political gain! He'll never work in this town again!
CHIEF OF STAFF DAVID: Yes sir.
PRESIDENT MONKEYSTEIN: So did Senator Michaels' wife get that fruit basket I sent her?
CHIEF OF STAFF DAVID: Yes sir.
PRESIDENT MONKEYSTEIN: What did she say?
CHIEF OF STAFF DAVID: Uh, something to the effect of-- and I'm paraphrasing here sir-- she hopes you rot in hell. Yeah.
PRESIDENT MONKEYSTEIN: Ah, this fucking town. This fucking, fucking town. You try to extend an olive branch to the people on the other side of the aisle and this is how they fucking treat you. It wasn't my fault Senator Michaels couldn't handle the pressure of a national campaign! For Godsakes, this a man who refused to go negative! "I want this to be a campaign of hope, not hate!" What's he trying to prove?! Anybody who knows me, knows I'm gonna release the attack dogs! Right David?
CHIEF OF STAFF DAVID: Yessir.
PRESIDENT MONKEYSTEIN: Unquenchable bloodlust for power. Dirty tricks. Lies and innuendo. Going negative and for the jugular as soon as possible. That's the way of the Monkeystein! Right David?
CHIEF OF STAFF DAVID: Senator Michaels didn't want it bad enough, if you ask me sir....
PRESIDENT MONKEYSTEIN: Well... take Senator Michaels' wife off the Christmas card list. And have the fellas down at Justice wiretap her phones. And have Bob over at Treasury go over her income taxes for the past ten years and look for any impropriety-- no matter how small.
CHIEF OF STAFF DAVID: Yessir.
PRESIDENT MONKEYSTEIN: And I want you leak it to James Taranto at the Wall Street Journal that she's being investigated, and shade it with a sort of thing of maybe, just maybe she had something to do with her husband's death. Don't actually say she killed he Senator, just let it float out there.
CHIEF OF STAFF DAVID: Just hint at it.
PRESIDENT MONKEYSTEIN: Hint. That's it. Hint. Yeah.
CHIEF OF STAFF DAVID: Who do you want to put on this sir?
PRESIDENT MONKEYSTEIN: God, this would be such a perfect Ben thing.
CHIEF OF STAFF DAVID: It would be sir.
PRESIDENT MONKEYSTEIN: (sighs) I miss Ben.
CHIEF OF STAFF DAVID: Would you like to rehire him sir?
PRESIDENT MONKEYSTEIN: Yeah...
CHIEF OF STAFF DAVID: Well sir, someone still has to fall on their sword for you.
PRESIDENT MONKEYSTEIN: Ah, fire Brad.
CHIEF OF STAFF DAVID: Yessir.
I started to compose a comment to Brad's post, but it got so long (and off-topic) I figured I'd just lay it out in a real post:
The secession talk is everywhere. And I'm glad to see it. I've decided it's an unintended consequence of the way the real reasons for the Civil War have been squelched by our politicians and educators. You see, by convincing everyone that the Civil War was pretty much just about slavery, people don't realize that Lincoln was actually trying to militarily crush the right of secession. Since nobody remembers that part (or they choose to deny it), the idea of secession for "a good reason" is now back on the table.
By the way, it's not just lefties who think the country is more divided now than they were during the Civil War. Right-wingers have been babbling about the "culture war" for decades now. But more specifically, I was just listening to Dennis Prager on Thursday or Friday and he spent some time repeating the axiom that the Red and Blue states now have less in common and are more culturally divided than the North and South were prior to the War Between the States. And Prager also used "civil war" to describe the current situation.
This is not simply sour grapes by the left, as much as some would like it to seem so. If you look at county-by-county election return maps, we are not a country that is simply divided in our neighborhoods. On the contrary, the left is geographically concentrated, as is the right. Perhaps moreso than ever. I have seen at least 5 different variations on the post-secession "map" of North America. While most of them are tongue-in-cheek, they reflect a sentiment of division that is felt throughout the country. Before the war, people pretty much ignored that division - as Robert Kaplan pointed out in "An Empire Wilderness," people carried on with their regional relationships and for the most part ignored the central government as irrelevant to their lives. Both the WTC attacks and the subsequent war changed that perception of irrelevance, but it has also accentuated the differences between our "Red" and "Blue" populations.
Tony Blankley did make a passing comment/joke about the potential for secession as long as there's "a Lincoln in the White House." McLaughlin.com doesn't have a transcript of Friday's show up yet, but I will post a link as soon as I notice that it's available.
Apparently, Moby is now composing the talking points for the Democrats. It became clear during the opening statements of the opening segment of the first episode of The McLaughlin Group since the election. I was hoping to see Lawrence O'Donnell and Big John McL himself eat crow regarding their predictions last week. Well, they didn't mention how off base they were, but that didn't stop them from pointing out how out of touch they are.
Lawrence O'Donnell opened his comments by saying (with a straight face) that "secession is going to be a serious discussion for the next twenty years." Serious discussion? [Puh-lease...] No, those italics are not my added emphasis. I had already typed half of this up when I heard this Laura Ingraham replay the clip of O'Donnell's Friday night freak out this morning. It was he who plainly accentuated the word "serious."
McLaughlin kept beating the point about the division of the red states and the blue states, calling for the map to be put back up on-screen repeatedly. It was weird enough for O'Donnell to be talking of the legitimacy of secession talk, but "Johnny Reb" McLaughlin kept bringing up how the current division among the states paralleled the division that was just as much a factor is bringing about the Civil War as slavery was (that's a paraphrase of his point). Yes, he kept using the words civil war.
The other noteworthy statement of the show was Pat Buchanan explaining that he voted for Bush. Lunch break's almost over so I've no time left to properly word a joke about Paleo-Cons listing their PB books on Amazon Used, claiming, "he was never really one of us."
Dammit, will the murdering terrorist bastard just die already?
Anyone who wants to guess as to when he finally goes, feel free. No prizes for the winner. Maybe some recognition.
Senator Arlen Specter.
Where to begin. Senator Specter has never been a favorite of the grass roots GOP. John Miller of National Review characterized him as the worst Senator.
He was only supported by the GOP establishment through a (misguided) sense of loyalty and a mistaken belief that he could help Bush win Pennsylvania (gotta love those Kerry-Specter signs, huh?). And that Pat Toomey could not win. Granted, I usually understand and support the need to back the horse that can win rather than the one that will absolutely lose. Dying on principal gets you nothing.
But that was not the case in the Specter-Toomey race. Toomey could have won the general election. He had strong support from the base, and certainly would not have hurt Bush who did not win PA anyway. Yet the GOP establishment ignored their base. And now Specter, "grateful" for the support of the President, is going to make them pay.
The Elder at Fraters gets right to the point. Captain Ed, however, takes a rather circuitous route to get to the same conclusion: Spector has to go.
The Elder is right to admire High Hewitt for his loyalty and good work, and by extension, it is also right to admire George Bush for his loyalty. But it was a mistake to support Specter in the primary, and maybe it only further compounds that mistake to continue to do so now.
(And, of course, Arlen Specter is about to become a media darling. We all know what happens to Republicans when that happens.)
All that being said, the GOP and President Bush made this mess themselves by supporting Specter when they did not have to. To expect him to change his stripes during what will in all likelihood be his last term is naive. It is also probably not the best idea to start eating your own right after a big election victory. Of course the GOP does have an uncanny ability to grasp defeat from the jaws of victory, so maybe they will engage in a Senatorial bloodletting and end up alienating the GOP moderates in the Senate (Chafee and the Maine Girls, as Steyn calls them) AND their majority.
I think I am with Hugh Hewitt on this one, but for slightly different reasons. The GOP is stuck with Arlen. Deal with it.
An update from Hugh.
And, for equal time, two "say no" to Specter sites:
Not Spector.
Signs seen in the windows at the Episcopal Student Center at University of Minnesota:
"Keep Abortion Safe & Legal"
and
"Kerry Swallows"