More Dope on the Dopes...
A few mental notes I've made on KerryEdwards (that's their new name, by the way) in the past few days;
1. John Kerry is actually a cadaver. He's been dug up, put in a suit and if you look very closely you might be able to see the marionette strings they use to make him move around. Edwards is a nice choice for VP because he at least can pretend to be excited by the prospect of ultimate defeat.
2. Edwards has a dazzling, almost distracting smile. It distracts your eyes from his own,which are vacuous and devoid of anything describable as intelligence. The last time we had someone in the White House with a dazzling smile with nothing behind it, his name was James Earl Carter.
3. The news clips showing a John Kerry seemingly energized by the youthful, puppy-like exuberance of John Edwards is still a dick, only now he at least looks like a rich white guy who's trying to be "one of the guys" and "get into it". Fish out of water is an understatement.
4. Ter-RAY-za Heinz-Kerry should be instructed by the political folks that when she talks, she must remember that even a train eventually comes to a stop. The woman sucks up all the oxygen in any room she enters.
5. Edwards is still an empty suit. He's an automaton, wound up and given his lines to recite. It becomes painfully obvious every time I see him. An original thought and a cold drink of water might actually kill him.
Thursday, July 15, 2004
Great Moments in Bureaucratic Stupidity...
I had two major thoughts (imagine that, two in the same week!) about the nature of bureaucracies again this past week. One concerned itself with a personal item and the second with something I saw on the news.
We'll start with the second item. In Utah, a 12 year old boy was found chained, beaten, half-starved, stabbed with a fork and otherwise abused, at the hands of his parents. His five siblings (fortunately) were unhurt (that we know of, at this point). The State of Utah has removed the abused boy and arrested his parents, as it should have. While this ghastly story was being discussed on Dayside with Linda Vester, two representatives of the State of Utah were brought in to describe just what action the state might take.
The first gentlemen was Paul Parker, the district attorney for the jurisdiction in question. When asked, point blank, are the other five siblings being placed in foster care or otherwise being taken from their parents, his answer, with a straight face, was: No. Why not? Well, he explained, he had no authority to take children from their parents, even if there was evidence of abuse in the home. It was not his turf. In a case where he might have reason to do so, he would require evidence that individual children were being abused, and that the allegation of abuse against one child, did not automatically mean that ALL the children were being abused. As a matter of logic, this is impeccable. As a matter of common sense, this is ridiculous. As a matter of STATE LAW this is a TRAVESTY. I don't know just whatthe law is in Utah, but if it were up to me, any parents that abused one child would almost certainly abuse their other children should be taken away without consideration for the niceties of black-letter law. This is a crack through which some other child will definitely slip one day, tragically.
The next gentleman was Adam Trupp, a spokesman for the Division of Child and Family Services. According to his version of events, this family was being monitored by his division, which sent councilors and offered a variety of programs to the parents, but did absolutely nothing of substance. This, again, was all according to state law, and apparently is intended to give social workers a job without them actually having to do anything. Again, his explanation for doing nothing vis-a-vis getting those kids out of that house was that the prescribed process for evaluating the danger to the children was being followed (apparently for a long time) and no one had made a determination as to whether the children were safe or if the parents were abusive. This, despite the fact that the family was known to his bureau for quite some time. All that mattered was that the rules were being followed and the proper papers being filed.
My personal brush with bureaucracy this week came when I had to deal with Duke Power. Due to a misunderstanding (and I'll admit, it was my fault) my electric services were not registered under my name when I moved here. This past Saturday, I received a disconnect notice that would take effect Monday. So, I called Duke and asked what was happening. I made the necessary arrangements to fix this error before Monday, and was assured that power would not be cut off so long as I paid a deposit. The power was cut off anyway. SO, I went to where the customer rep told me to go to make the payment -- this payment center doesn't take deposits for new customers, you'll have to go somewhere else. I went somewhere else. I paid the money. My power stayed off for two days because the 21st century hasn't reached below the Mason-Dixon yet. Apparently electronic funds transfer is something totally unknown in this region of the United States.
So, I spent two nights in a hotel, calling twice a day, to make sure the payment was received. It finally was. This afternoon. Three days to electronically post a payment, if you can believe it. So, did Duke come to restore my power? No, of course not. When I called again to complain, I was told to do it myself -- find the breaker switches and turn them on.
Complain about any of these things; abused children, abusive parents, brain dead social workers, ignorant and lazy customer service reps, etc, and you'll always get the same story: not my job. Not my department. The rules don't let me do that. I don't make the rules, I just work here.
God forbid anyone should use common sense and a little initiative. However, I can guarantee you that should another child be abused, or should I electrocute myself while playing with a 220 volt breaker box, the bureaucracies in question would shake loose of their coma of inertia --- to defend themselves vigorously against lawsuits, pointing to their engraved-in-stone policies which make sense only to someone trained or raised in the bureaucracy in question. It always seems, though, that it takes a serious injury or even a death to make a corporation or a government agency responsive. Especially when the corporation or government entity in question is supposed to be SERVING the public to begin with.
I had two major thoughts (imagine that, two in the same week!) about the nature of bureaucracies again this past week. One concerned itself with a personal item and the second with something I saw on the news.
We'll start with the second item. In Utah, a 12 year old boy was found chained, beaten, half-starved, stabbed with a fork and otherwise abused, at the hands of his parents. His five siblings (fortunately) were unhurt (that we know of, at this point). The State of Utah has removed the abused boy and arrested his parents, as it should have. While this ghastly story was being discussed on Dayside with Linda Vester, two representatives of the State of Utah were brought in to describe just what action the state might take.
The first gentlemen was Paul Parker, the district attorney for the jurisdiction in question. When asked, point blank, are the other five siblings being placed in foster care or otherwise being taken from their parents, his answer, with a straight face, was: No. Why not? Well, he explained, he had no authority to take children from their parents, even if there was evidence of abuse in the home. It was not his turf. In a case where he might have reason to do so, he would require evidence that individual children were being abused, and that the allegation of abuse against one child, did not automatically mean that ALL the children were being abused. As a matter of logic, this is impeccable. As a matter of common sense, this is ridiculous. As a matter of STATE LAW this is a TRAVESTY. I don't know just whatthe law is in Utah, but if it were up to me, any parents that abused one child would almost certainly abuse their other children should be taken away without consideration for the niceties of black-letter law. This is a crack through which some other child will definitely slip one day, tragically.
The next gentleman was Adam Trupp, a spokesman for the Division of Child and Family Services. According to his version of events, this family was being monitored by his division, which sent councilors and offered a variety of programs to the parents, but did absolutely nothing of substance. This, again, was all according to state law, and apparently is intended to give social workers a job without them actually having to do anything. Again, his explanation for doing nothing vis-a-vis getting those kids out of that house was that the prescribed process for evaluating the danger to the children was being followed (apparently for a long time) and no one had made a determination as to whether the children were safe or if the parents were abusive. This, despite the fact that the family was known to his bureau for quite some time. All that mattered was that the rules were being followed and the proper papers being filed.
My personal brush with bureaucracy this week came when I had to deal with Duke Power. Due to a misunderstanding (and I'll admit, it was my fault) my electric services were not registered under my name when I moved here. This past Saturday, I received a disconnect notice that would take effect Monday. So, I called Duke and asked what was happening. I made the necessary arrangements to fix this error before Monday, and was assured that power would not be cut off so long as I paid a deposit. The power was cut off anyway. SO, I went to where the customer rep told me to go to make the payment -- this payment center doesn't take deposits for new customers, you'll have to go somewhere else. I went somewhere else. I paid the money. My power stayed off for two days because the 21st century hasn't reached below the Mason-Dixon yet. Apparently electronic funds transfer is something totally unknown in this region of the United States.
So, I spent two nights in a hotel, calling twice a day, to make sure the payment was received. It finally was. This afternoon. Three days to electronically post a payment, if you can believe it. So, did Duke come to restore my power? No, of course not. When I called again to complain, I was told to do it myself -- find the breaker switches and turn them on.
Complain about any of these things; abused children, abusive parents, brain dead social workers, ignorant and lazy customer service reps, etc, and you'll always get the same story: not my job. Not my department. The rules don't let me do that. I don't make the rules, I just work here.
God forbid anyone should use common sense and a little initiative. However, I can guarantee you that should another child be abused, or should I electrocute myself while playing with a 220 volt breaker box, the bureaucracies in question would shake loose of their coma of inertia --- to defend themselves vigorously against lawsuits, pointing to their engraved-in-stone policies which make sense only to someone trained or raised in the bureaucracy in question. It always seems, though, that it takes a serious injury or even a death to make a corporation or a government agency responsive. Especially when the corporation or government entity in question is supposed to be SERVING the public to begin with.
Sunday, July 11, 2004
WTF???
On Sept. 11, 2001, America suffered the deadliest attack ever by a foreign enemy on its own soil. Fanatical Muslim terrorists hijacked four commercial airplanes, crashing two of them into the World Trade center and a third into the Pentagon. The trade center was destroyed, the Pentagon badly damaged. A fourth plane, which might have been bound for the Capitol, crashed in a field in rural Pennsylvania after passengers overpowered the hijackers. Some 3,000 people perished that day, and America has been at war ever since.
Nearly three years later, a presidential campaign is under way. One of the wonders of American democracy is that elections have always gone on as usual during wartime--even in 1864 during the Civil War and 1944 during World War II. The president has to defend his record to the voters even as he is fighting the country's enemies--and so it should be.
So, what is John Kerry's argument for turning President Bush and Vice President Cheney out of office and replacing them with Kerry and John Edwards? Here is what he had to say yesterday: "We've got better vision, better ideas, real plans. We've got a better sense of what's happening to America--and we've got better hair."
And here we thought Kerry was a Democrat, not a Whig. As reader Bill Bruer asks (in response to Peggy Noonan's column), "Has Bush-Cheney vs. Kerry-Edwards been reduced to a race between the tortoise and the 'hair'? We know who won that contest."
On the other hand, at least it's nice to know at last what Kerry and Edwards plan to 'do about terrorism.
In January the New York Times described this great moment in personal-injury law:
In 1985, a 31-year-old North Carolina lawyer named John Edwards stood before a jury and channeled the words of an unborn baby girl.
Referring to an hour-by-hour record of a fetal heartbeat monitor, Mr. Edwards told the jury: "She said at 3, 'I'm fine.' She said at 4, 'I'm having a little trouble, but I'm doing O.K.' Five, she said, 'I'm having problems.' At 5:30, she said, 'I need out.' "
But the obstetrician, he argued in an artful blend of science and passion, failed to heed the call. By waiting 90 more minutes to perform a breech delivery, rather than immediately performing a Caesarean section, Mr. Edwards said, the doctor permanently damaged the girl's brain.
At the vice-presidential debate this fall, someone should ask Sen. Edwards to demonstrate this technique by channeling the words of an unborn baby about to undergo a partial-birth abortion.
Both items courtesy of the Wall Street Journal.
On Sept. 11, 2001, America suffered the deadliest attack ever by a foreign enemy on its own soil. Fanatical Muslim terrorists hijacked four commercial airplanes, crashing two of them into the World Trade center and a third into the Pentagon. The trade center was destroyed, the Pentagon badly damaged. A fourth plane, which might have been bound for the Capitol, crashed in a field in rural Pennsylvania after passengers overpowered the hijackers. Some 3,000 people perished that day, and America has been at war ever since.
Nearly three years later, a presidential campaign is under way. One of the wonders of American democracy is that elections have always gone on as usual during wartime--even in 1864 during the Civil War and 1944 during World War II. The president has to defend his record to the voters even as he is fighting the country's enemies--and so it should be.
So, what is John Kerry's argument for turning President Bush and Vice President Cheney out of office and replacing them with Kerry and John Edwards? Here is what he had to say yesterday: "We've got better vision, better ideas, real plans. We've got a better sense of what's happening to America--and we've got better hair."
And here we thought Kerry was a Democrat, not a Whig. As reader Bill Bruer asks (in response to Peggy Noonan's column), "Has Bush-Cheney vs. Kerry-Edwards been reduced to a race between the tortoise and the 'hair'? We know who won that contest."
On the other hand, at least it's nice to know at last what Kerry and Edwards plan to 'do about terrorism.
In January the New York Times described this great moment in personal-injury law:
In 1985, a 31-year-old North Carolina lawyer named John Edwards stood before a jury and channeled the words of an unborn baby girl.
Referring to an hour-by-hour record of a fetal heartbeat monitor, Mr. Edwards told the jury: "She said at 3, 'I'm fine.' She said at 4, 'I'm having a little trouble, but I'm doing O.K.' Five, she said, 'I'm having problems.' At 5:30, she said, 'I need out.' "
But the obstetrician, he argued in an artful blend of science and passion, failed to heed the call. By waiting 90 more minutes to perform a breech delivery, rather than immediately performing a Caesarean section, Mr. Edwards said, the doctor permanently damaged the girl's brain.
At the vice-presidential debate this fall, someone should ask Sen. Edwards to demonstrate this technique by channeling the words of an unborn baby about to undergo a partial-birth abortion.
Both items courtesy of the Wall Street Journal.
Initial Impressions, Part III...
Last night, I had the distinct pleasure of hanging out in my first redneck bar, a fascinating experience, I can tell you.
Just what, you ask, is a redneck bar? Exactly what it says --
a place where rednecks can get falling-down down drunk in their native habitat. This habitat has all the charm of an American Legion Hall where the possibility exists that the military might have conducted germ-warfare experiments in the 1960's. If you doubt me, check out the men's room. The place is dominated by a central bar, around which is clustered a brace of pool tables, dart boards and the ubiquitous karaoke apparatus. Rednecks, it seems, love karaoke.
Now, despite the fact that the place looked like a bomb hit it, one must be a "member" or a "guest of a member". Memebership to a cesspool is a rather novel concept, I admit, but dammit, they are serious about it. Upon entering this inner sanctum of the inbreds, I was subjected to everything short of a strip search: Why are you here? Which member are you a guest of? You ain't the Po-lice, are ya? These questions were being asked by a bouncer who looked like he definintely served time, probably for molesting a farm animal, although I must say, he was polite about it and even waited for me to order my first drink so that I would have change for the $2 cover charge.
The atmosphere was thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of beer. You know --- that cheesy smell of sour beer that permeates every possible surface that it's ever been spilled on, or regurgitated into. The background noise consisted of the constant clacking of billiard balls, the muffled roar of engines from the race on TV (there is ALWAYS a race somewhere to be watched), the hillbilly wailing of the 300 pound blond belting out Country torch songs with such feeling that you have the impression that she's had this monologue with herself every night since junior high. And the subject of the monologue is some reprobate, presently serving time or "keeping company" with another 300 pound woman who might be just as dumb as the one belting out an out-of-tune cacophany of vicarious emotion.
License plates litter the walls. The question I had about them; how many of them legitimatly fell off and how many of them were actually stolen? Budweiser posters (Bud -- the redneck version of ambosia)hung everywhere, most with race cars, famous country singers or half-naked women on them.
The exposed workings of what passes for the air conditioning system, loose electrical wires and ancient plumbing are visible, if you know where to look for them, which is usually up. Most of the people in the place became so rapidly intoxicated that it would be a genuine effort to raise a head above shoulder-level, so I guess that's why no one ever took the trouble to hide the infrastructure.
And what an intersting mix of people one finds in such a place. There was the lady palm-reader. Women with unusual powers of prognostication or some other talent (I've heard of a woman who can TALK a wart off any part of your body -- just how did she realize she had this power?), are a staple in these places. Any man with an unusual talent like this can be reliably imagined to tell you they found their "power" after they were abducted and anal-probed on a remote country road by the little grey men. The number of barflies is legion, although they are much easier to detect here in the south --- look for the woman that appears to have been "ridden hard and hung out wet", as they like to say here. This type is usually the first to start slurring their words. Anyway, the palm-reader, who was at first "frightened" to read my palm (she claimed to have gotten a "bad vbe" from me, and I swear I did shower before I went), eventually gave in after a short protest -- she doesn't like to use this power of hers, you understand, but buy her a beer and she'll tell you everything you want to know. I did it solely for the entertainment purpose, I promise you.
Half the women in the room would have been fairly nice to look at if they hadn't plastered enough make up on their faces to resurface a battleship. The ones that were attractive without much makeup tended to be overweight and have a streak of nasty a mile wide. The other half wore their hair in multi-tiered masses of curls that could only be held together with joint compound. The men are prime examples of how some people should be forced at gunpoint to use birth control, although I must admit that there were a few who fell into the category of "normal" or "nice chap".
The playing of eight-ball is a religious experience. Karaoke is the national pasttime of the perpetually drunk or the constantly put-upon. The men seem to gravitate towards singing Elvis tunes, and the women all choose country tunes about unrequited love, a cheating man, or ones which have obvious sexual overtones that would be attractive in a normal female, but which seem more like a pathetic cry for attention. Any kind of attention.
There was a tremendous and obvious lack of hygiene present, an oppressive air of sweat, dirt and grease everywhere, undercut with the beer and tobacco smell. Drinks are served in disposable plastic cups because apparently it's difficult to actually wash glases. You can have any beer you want, provided it's Bud or BudLight. Ask for a vodka and tonic and they ask what the hell IS tonic?
What struck me as insanely funny, was that everyone at some point took the opportunity to tell you that this was a "a nice place". If one went solely by appearances, one might be able to successfully debate that you had stepped across the threshold to redneck hell, but dammit, it was a far sight better than most other places. Now what made this mess a nice place? The friendship. People treated each other with friendship and respect in here. They all knew one another, mostly they grew up together, and there was love here. An unspoken love that floated into every nook and cranny of the joint. These people were all here to have a good time, amongst friends, and it didn't matter that they were sitting in a building that should be condemned or that the plumbing arrangements were reminiscent of the 19th century. They came for each other, to be with each other. That made it "nice".
You know, we Yankees often consider ourselves to be so sophisticated and worldly that a scene like I've just described would be a heck of a knee-slapper on the Upper West Side. Sometimes, I think we're deadly wrong, and if we would just stop looking down our noses we just might be able to see what's in front of our faces. Simplicity in style and manner is the hallmark of the redneck and they can always surprise you unexpectedly with it's hidden wisdom --- don't judge the book by it's cover, read the damn thing first. How I forgot that is beyond me, but I relearned the lesson in a freidnly sewer full of drunks. Life is funny that way sometimes.
Last night, I had the distinct pleasure of hanging out in my first redneck bar, a fascinating experience, I can tell you.
Just what, you ask, is a redneck bar? Exactly what it says --
a place where rednecks can get falling-down down drunk in their native habitat. This habitat has all the charm of an American Legion Hall where the possibility exists that the military might have conducted germ-warfare experiments in the 1960's. If you doubt me, check out the men's room. The place is dominated by a central bar, around which is clustered a brace of pool tables, dart boards and the ubiquitous karaoke apparatus. Rednecks, it seems, love karaoke.
Now, despite the fact that the place looked like a bomb hit it, one must be a "member" or a "guest of a member". Memebership to a cesspool is a rather novel concept, I admit, but dammit, they are serious about it. Upon entering this inner sanctum of the inbreds, I was subjected to everything short of a strip search: Why are you here? Which member are you a guest of? You ain't the Po-lice, are ya? These questions were being asked by a bouncer who looked like he definintely served time, probably for molesting a farm animal, although I must say, he was polite about it and even waited for me to order my first drink so that I would have change for the $2 cover charge.
The atmosphere was thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of beer. You know --- that cheesy smell of sour beer that permeates every possible surface that it's ever been spilled on, or regurgitated into. The background noise consisted of the constant clacking of billiard balls, the muffled roar of engines from the race on TV (there is ALWAYS a race somewhere to be watched), the hillbilly wailing of the 300 pound blond belting out Country torch songs with such feeling that you have the impression that she's had this monologue with herself every night since junior high. And the subject of the monologue is some reprobate, presently serving time or "keeping company" with another 300 pound woman who might be just as dumb as the one belting out an out-of-tune cacophany of vicarious emotion.
License plates litter the walls. The question I had about them; how many of them legitimatly fell off and how many of them were actually stolen? Budweiser posters (Bud -- the redneck version of ambosia)hung everywhere, most with race cars, famous country singers or half-naked women on them.
The exposed workings of what passes for the air conditioning system, loose electrical wires and ancient plumbing are visible, if you know where to look for them, which is usually up. Most of the people in the place became so rapidly intoxicated that it would be a genuine effort to raise a head above shoulder-level, so I guess that's why no one ever took the trouble to hide the infrastructure.
And what an intersting mix of people one finds in such a place. There was the lady palm-reader. Women with unusual powers of prognostication or some other talent (I've heard of a woman who can TALK a wart off any part of your body -- just how did she realize she had this power?), are a staple in these places. Any man with an unusual talent like this can be reliably imagined to tell you they found their "power" after they were abducted and anal-probed on a remote country road by the little grey men. The number of barflies is legion, although they are much easier to detect here in the south --- look for the woman that appears to have been "ridden hard and hung out wet", as they like to say here. This type is usually the first to start slurring their words. Anyway, the palm-reader, who was at first "frightened" to read my palm (she claimed to have gotten a "bad vbe" from me, and I swear I did shower before I went), eventually gave in after a short protest -- she doesn't like to use this power of hers, you understand, but buy her a beer and she'll tell you everything you want to know. I did it solely for the entertainment purpose, I promise you.
Half the women in the room would have been fairly nice to look at if they hadn't plastered enough make up on their faces to resurface a battleship. The ones that were attractive without much makeup tended to be overweight and have a streak of nasty a mile wide. The other half wore their hair in multi-tiered masses of curls that could only be held together with joint compound. The men are prime examples of how some people should be forced at gunpoint to use birth control, although I must admit that there were a few who fell into the category of "normal" or "nice chap".
The playing of eight-ball is a religious experience. Karaoke is the national pasttime of the perpetually drunk or the constantly put-upon. The men seem to gravitate towards singing Elvis tunes, and the women all choose country tunes about unrequited love, a cheating man, or ones which have obvious sexual overtones that would be attractive in a normal female, but which seem more like a pathetic cry for attention. Any kind of attention.
There was a tremendous and obvious lack of hygiene present, an oppressive air of sweat, dirt and grease everywhere, undercut with the beer and tobacco smell. Drinks are served in disposable plastic cups because apparently it's difficult to actually wash glases. You can have any beer you want, provided it's Bud or BudLight. Ask for a vodka and tonic and they ask what the hell IS tonic?
What struck me as insanely funny, was that everyone at some point took the opportunity to tell you that this was a "a nice place". If one went solely by appearances, one might be able to successfully debate that you had stepped across the threshold to redneck hell, but dammit, it was a far sight better than most other places. Now what made this mess a nice place? The friendship. People treated each other with friendship and respect in here. They all knew one another, mostly they grew up together, and there was love here. An unspoken love that floated into every nook and cranny of the joint. These people were all here to have a good time, amongst friends, and it didn't matter that they were sitting in a building that should be condemned or that the plumbing arrangements were reminiscent of the 19th century. They came for each other, to be with each other. That made it "nice".
You know, we Yankees often consider ourselves to be so sophisticated and worldly that a scene like I've just described would be a heck of a knee-slapper on the Upper West Side. Sometimes, I think we're deadly wrong, and if we would just stop looking down our noses we just might be able to see what's in front of our faces. Simplicity in style and manner is the hallmark of the redneck and they can always surprise you unexpectedly with it's hidden wisdom --- don't judge the book by it's cover, read the damn thing first. How I forgot that is beyond me, but I relearned the lesson in a freidnly sewer full of drunks. Life is funny that way sometimes.
Wednesday, July 07, 2004
Don't believe anything I say...I don't...
Here are some more reasons not to vote for Kerry, as if the man himself wasn't reason enough not to:
John Kerry on abortion:
"I oppose abortion, personally. I don't like abortion. I believe life does begin at conception. But I can't take my Catholic belief, my article of faith, and legislate it on a Protestant or a Jew or an atheist . . . who doesn't share it. We have separation of church and state in the United States of America."--- Telegraph Herald, Dubuqe, Iowa interview
As I said 18 years ago in my maiden speech in the U.S. Senate: "the right to choose is a fundamental right . . . neither the Government nor any person has the right to infringe on that freedom." If I get to share a stage with this President and debate him . . . one of the first things I'll tell him is: "There's a defining issue between us. I trust women to make their own decisions. You don't. And that's the difference." So it's time we said to this President: "we're not going to let you turn back the clock." --- Speech to NARAL, Jan. 2003.
A blogger, Edwin Morrissey, responds:
If life begins at conception, why then does . . . Kerry not only agree to allow abortion, but campaigns on its behalf? Does he care so little for human life and the souls of the unborn that he cheerfully sells them out for political gain? . . .
Unlike those who define life differently, and who therefore have a consistent philosophical argument to support abortion, Kerry's actions do not equate with these professed beliefs. Either Kerry has trotted out a new lie in order to shore up his Catholic support, or he has opened the window into his heartless, calculating political soul.
Kerry on the vote to go to War in Iraq:
The vote is the vote. I voted to authorize. It was the right vote, and the reason I mentioned the threat is that we gave the--we had to give life to the threat. If there wasn't a legitimate threat, Saddam Hussein was not going to allow inspectors in. Now, let me make two points if I may. Ed [Gordon] questioned my answer. The reason I can't tell you to a certainty whether the president misled us is because I don't have any clue what he really knew about it, or whether he was just reading what was put in front of him. And I have no knowledge whether or not this president was in depth--I just don't know that. And that's an honest answer, and there are serious suspicions about the level to which this president really was involved in asking the questions that he should've.
With respect to the question of, you know, the vote--let's remember where we were. If there hadn't been a vote, we would never have had inspectors. And if we hadn't voted the way we voted, we would not have been able to have a chance of going to the United Nations and stopping the president, in effect, who already had the votes, and who was obviously asking serious questions about whether or not the Congress was going to be there to enforce the effort to create a threat. So I think we did the right thing. I'm convinced we did.
There you have it --- Orwell's doublethink in action. The man can hold contradictory, mutually exclusive positions on everything and then pick the one he needs, depending on who he's talking to. I was searching for John Edward's positions and quotable tidbits on these issues, but I would feel terrible if I filled my blog with "ummmm....duhhhh....I don't know".
Kerry calls it "nuance". Democrats call it "flexibility", I call it opportunistic bullshyte. I don't want nuance ina President; I want him to tell me exactly what he intends to do. I don't require flexibility in policy because retaining the ability to chane horses in mid-stream is not exactly conducive to good government. Nor is it a sign of someone who has an open mind: it's a sign of someone that can't make up his mind. What's even worse is someone who makes up his mind 12 times day on the same subject.
(Thank you to the Wall Street Journal for the quotes).
Here are some more reasons not to vote for Kerry, as if the man himself wasn't reason enough not to:
John Kerry on abortion:
"I oppose abortion, personally. I don't like abortion. I believe life does begin at conception. But I can't take my Catholic belief, my article of faith, and legislate it on a Protestant or a Jew or an atheist . . . who doesn't share it. We have separation of church and state in the United States of America."--- Telegraph Herald, Dubuqe, Iowa interview
As I said 18 years ago in my maiden speech in the U.S. Senate: "the right to choose is a fundamental right . . . neither the Government nor any person has the right to infringe on that freedom." If I get to share a stage with this President and debate him . . . one of the first things I'll tell him is: "There's a defining issue between us. I trust women to make their own decisions. You don't. And that's the difference." So it's time we said to this President: "we're not going to let you turn back the clock." --- Speech to NARAL, Jan. 2003.
A blogger, Edwin Morrissey, responds:
If life begins at conception, why then does . . . Kerry not only agree to allow abortion, but campaigns on its behalf? Does he care so little for human life and the souls of the unborn that he cheerfully sells them out for political gain? . . .
Unlike those who define life differently, and who therefore have a consistent philosophical argument to support abortion, Kerry's actions do not equate with these professed beliefs. Either Kerry has trotted out a new lie in order to shore up his Catholic support, or he has opened the window into his heartless, calculating political soul.
Kerry on the vote to go to War in Iraq:
The vote is the vote. I voted to authorize. It was the right vote, and the reason I mentioned the threat is that we gave the--we had to give life to the threat. If there wasn't a legitimate threat, Saddam Hussein was not going to allow inspectors in. Now, let me make two points if I may. Ed [Gordon] questioned my answer. The reason I can't tell you to a certainty whether the president misled us is because I don't have any clue what he really knew about it, or whether he was just reading what was put in front of him. And I have no knowledge whether or not this president was in depth--I just don't know that. And that's an honest answer, and there are serious suspicions about the level to which this president really was involved in asking the questions that he should've.
With respect to the question of, you know, the vote--let's remember where we were. If there hadn't been a vote, we would never have had inspectors. And if we hadn't voted the way we voted, we would not have been able to have a chance of going to the United Nations and stopping the president, in effect, who already had the votes, and who was obviously asking serious questions about whether or not the Congress was going to be there to enforce the effort to create a threat. So I think we did the right thing. I'm convinced we did.
There you have it --- Orwell's doublethink in action. The man can hold contradictory, mutually exclusive positions on everything and then pick the one he needs, depending on who he's talking to. I was searching for John Edward's positions and quotable tidbits on these issues, but I would feel terrible if I filled my blog with "ummmm....duhhhh....I don't know".
Kerry calls it "nuance". Democrats call it "flexibility", I call it opportunistic bullshyte. I don't want nuance ina President; I want him to tell me exactly what he intends to do. I don't require flexibility in policy because retaining the ability to chane horses in mid-stream is not exactly conducive to good government. Nor is it a sign of someone who has an open mind: it's a sign of someone that can't make up his mind. What's even worse is someone who makes up his mind 12 times day on the same subject.
(Thank you to the Wall Street Journal for the quotes).
The Second String...
So, John Kerry has finally decided to choose someone to share the pain of defeat with him in the the person of John Edwards.
This would be laughable if the demotwits weren't actually serious about this ticket.
We can yack all day long about what the pointy heads on TV have to say about it, but none of it really matters to anybody except the political junkies. What should matter to PEOPLE is what this sort of alliance actually represents.
John Kerry is the quintessential child of the 1960's in that he fought "the establishment" until he became "the establishment" himself, but continues to pretend otherwise. That's okay as far as most folks of his generation are concerned because their morals, ethics and ideas, are all situational. What is right today can be wrong tomorrow, depending on how you feel or what your priorities are. As an example, this kind of mindset will cry incessantly about the plight of the homeless, but will cringe when you decide to build a homeless shelter in their backyard. The crowd that marched for civil rights is perfectly content to move to the suburbs so that they don't have to bother with blacks, until there's some real cheap ghetto neighborhoods that need gentrifying, causing the Diversity to seek residence anyplace else except gated communities. Those that will tell you that America has a load of collective sins to atone for with welfare, affrimative action, et. al, will be the first to miss the irony of their argument: a hand out is every bit as insulting as second-class status. Kerry encompasses all of these contradictions in one, bite-sized morsel.
As for Edwards, he's as fake as a Wal-Mart Faberge egg. You can forget the aw-shucks, Southern farmboy charm and the rakish good looks. He's an empty suit. He's the democrat's answer to Dan Quayle. This is a man that made a living as a parasite -- trial attorneys are just about all parasites -- yet can claim with a straight face that he fought for "the people". If you believe that, I have a bridge I'd like to sell you. No lawyer ever does anything for altruistic reasons (and the one's who do have their idealism pounded out of them right quick)-- they exist in the same way and for the same reason catfish do: there's a good living to be made in shit.
In fact, in order to be a good lawyer, must be able to juggle a routine that is part acting, part mental gymnastics, part dishonest manipulation of the rules to achieved a desired end, and the ability to fling horseshit at light speed. I dated a lawyer and she even told me: the vast majority are anal-retentive simpletons that just happen to have a talent for semantics.
This sums up the ticket nicely: a self-centered, immoral patrician with more positions at his disposal than a $1,000 a night call girl, and with the ability to pick and choose which one he will believe today, as he needs it. The second part is a dimwit with an accent that reminds folks of Andy Griffith, but who has somehow managed to suck enough life force from the host body-politic and legal system to keep himself in $2,000 suits. He couldn't muster up enough intellectual firepower to pull a greasy piece of string from a whore's ass, but his job is to just sit there and look good.
This synergy of mediocrity is supposed to make people excited about voting democrat this November. The platform runs something like this:
1. We're NOT Bush
2. America can only be strong when we surrender to France.
3. Did we tell you we're not Bush?
4. Tax cuts are evil things -- we belive in progressive taxation which means shifting the tax burden onto anyone but ourselves.
5. Jesse Jackson and his sycophantic legions are still somehow relevant.
6. Dammit, we're NOT BUSH!
7. I served in Vietnam and then became a traitor to my country, accusing my fellow veterans of war crimes and insisting there be trials for them, except, of course, the war crimes which I myself committed.
8. Vote for Kerry before he gets uglier.
9. The two of them will simultaneously claim to be "just like JFK" which will cause all democrats to have aneurysms due to the multiple orgasms they'll all have. Nostalgia for bad presidents runs rampant in demo-knucklehead circles.
10. Just as an aside, we're not Bush, okay?
We're witnessing something unheralded in American politics: human sacrifice. This is the best cannon fodder the democrats can come up with because it is a party devoid of anything to say, or anyone to say it. I rest easy tonight contemplating 4 more years of Bush to be followed by 8 years of Condoleeza Rice.
So, John Kerry has finally decided to choose someone to share the pain of defeat with him in the the person of John Edwards.
This would be laughable if the demotwits weren't actually serious about this ticket.
We can yack all day long about what the pointy heads on TV have to say about it, but none of it really matters to anybody except the political junkies. What should matter to PEOPLE is what this sort of alliance actually represents.
John Kerry is the quintessential child of the 1960's in that he fought "the establishment" until he became "the establishment" himself, but continues to pretend otherwise. That's okay as far as most folks of his generation are concerned because their morals, ethics and ideas, are all situational. What is right today can be wrong tomorrow, depending on how you feel or what your priorities are. As an example, this kind of mindset will cry incessantly about the plight of the homeless, but will cringe when you decide to build a homeless shelter in their backyard. The crowd that marched for civil rights is perfectly content to move to the suburbs so that they don't have to bother with blacks, until there's some real cheap ghetto neighborhoods that need gentrifying, causing the Diversity to seek residence anyplace else except gated communities. Those that will tell you that America has a load of collective sins to atone for with welfare, affrimative action, et. al, will be the first to miss the irony of their argument: a hand out is every bit as insulting as second-class status. Kerry encompasses all of these contradictions in one, bite-sized morsel.
As for Edwards, he's as fake as a Wal-Mart Faberge egg. You can forget the aw-shucks, Southern farmboy charm and the rakish good looks. He's an empty suit. He's the democrat's answer to Dan Quayle. This is a man that made a living as a parasite -- trial attorneys are just about all parasites -- yet can claim with a straight face that he fought for "the people". If you believe that, I have a bridge I'd like to sell you. No lawyer ever does anything for altruistic reasons (and the one's who do have their idealism pounded out of them right quick)-- they exist in the same way and for the same reason catfish do: there's a good living to be made in shit.
In fact, in order to be a good lawyer, must be able to juggle a routine that is part acting, part mental gymnastics, part dishonest manipulation of the rules to achieved a desired end, and the ability to fling horseshit at light speed. I dated a lawyer and she even told me: the vast majority are anal-retentive simpletons that just happen to have a talent for semantics.
This sums up the ticket nicely: a self-centered, immoral patrician with more positions at his disposal than a $1,000 a night call girl, and with the ability to pick and choose which one he will believe today, as he needs it. The second part is a dimwit with an accent that reminds folks of Andy Griffith, but who has somehow managed to suck enough life force from the host body-politic and legal system to keep himself in $2,000 suits. He couldn't muster up enough intellectual firepower to pull a greasy piece of string from a whore's ass, but his job is to just sit there and look good.
This synergy of mediocrity is supposed to make people excited about voting democrat this November. The platform runs something like this:
1. We're NOT Bush
2. America can only be strong when we surrender to France.
3. Did we tell you we're not Bush?
4. Tax cuts are evil things -- we belive in progressive taxation which means shifting the tax burden onto anyone but ourselves.
5. Jesse Jackson and his sycophantic legions are still somehow relevant.
6. Dammit, we're NOT BUSH!
7. I served in Vietnam and then became a traitor to my country, accusing my fellow veterans of war crimes and insisting there be trials for them, except, of course, the war crimes which I myself committed.
8. Vote for Kerry before he gets uglier.
9. The two of them will simultaneously claim to be "just like JFK" which will cause all democrats to have aneurysms due to the multiple orgasms they'll all have. Nostalgia for bad presidents runs rampant in demo-knucklehead circles.
10. Just as an aside, we're not Bush, okay?
We're witnessing something unheralded in American politics: human sacrifice. This is the best cannon fodder the democrats can come up with because it is a party devoid of anything to say, or anyone to say it. I rest easy tonight contemplating 4 more years of Bush to be followed by 8 years of Condoleeza Rice.
Friday, July 02, 2004
Initial Impressions, Part Deux...
The second installment of my new feature, which relates the trials and tribulations of a confused Yankee in the land of Tara. I'm finding that I'm spending entirely too much time on this stuff, and not enough on finding my way around, but you take the good with the bad.
Observations of the South:
1. Tobacco juice - the expulsion of tobacco juice is perhaps the most disgusting act that can be committed by human being. That having been said, I have not passed a single day in the last month where someone had not expectorated tobacco juice in my vicinity. What makes this habit so digusting (and I admit, I smoke, for Christ's sake!) is both the sight and the sound. Imagine, if you will, a sickly-brown stream of mixed saliva and tobacco being expelled at high speed. It remains, alternately, in either a liquid stream or a semi-solid, stringy mass, seemingly defying gravity before it careens into the ground with a sickening "splush" sound. To add horror to this scene, try to imagine the sound made prior to the actual expulsion, as said fluid is forced between front teeth (or since a good many Southerners lack adequate dental care) swished around the mouth before it's squeezed out between pursed lips. Individually, this is nauseating. I've seen it done in concert as seveal men at a time engage in the communal act of spitting tobacco juice in a choreographed ballet. I have almost lost my breakfast on more than one occasion.
2. Black Women - Southern black women, seem to me as a white male, somewhat more attractive than their Northern counterparts. I have not figured out, yet, if this is due to any actual differences in relative beauty or merely just a relaxation of the attitude. All in all, I would say that southern black females are, at least, definately more approachable than northern ones. This is a bonus for a single male, not only because more women are potentially available, but also in terms of variety, which we all know, is the spice of life.
3. Southern white females - come in two varieties. They are either drop dead gorgeous or a frumpy, dour, downtrodden lot, that has been beaten down by life (or more often, the men in her life). The first kind seem to come from a higher socio-economic class, and break down into either the "Good marriage material" sort or the "Madonna/Whore" category. The second variety appear to take every opportunity they can get to either become slovenly drunk or to work themselves up to full rut. I cannot claim any true scientific research in this area, but I will continue my work in this regard and let you know. What I can say for sure, is that I have been told several times that "Yankee" men are prized commodities -- we at least know how to treat a lady. Even when she ain't one (wink, wink).
4. The Urban Patois - not expecting too much difference here, I cannot say I was not suprised to find virtually none at all. Very often being the only white man on a bus, gives one the opportunity afforded by ostracism to clearly listen to what is going on. The major differences seem to be in pronunciation: "Mutha-fucker" becomes "muth-fucker", "Nigga" becomes "Nigrah" (although I have heard "nigga" used as well), "bitch" becomes "bi-atch". Not only has the language remained constant, but also the subject matter: petty squabbles over men, petty squabbles over "props", guns, Malt liquor, rap music, racism (real and perceived). All of it is delivered in a muffled/machine-gun stacatto which requires an interpreter to figure out, and the above-mentioned curses used as any part of speech, and often, as punctuation. Since most of this banter comes from those wearing fast-food service uniforms, perhaps I'm not hanging out in the right circles. More on this as I risk life and limb to discover more.
5. Southern Men - I have to admit having limited experience in this area (I haven't met too many southern men yet), and can claim no scietific representation of the population. However, there are three varieties that I have seen so far: redneck, gentleman and asshole. A redneck is just what he says he is; he's country, and damn proud of it. He's a simple sort, which fits perfectly with his limited world-view, which revolves around NASCAR, hunting dogs, beer and BBQ. His overiding virtue is his ability to tell you what's on his mind, whether you are interested or not, whether or not it even makes sense, or even, if he completes an actual sentence.
The Southern Gentleman is just that, and typically comes from a higher socio-economic stratum. Most of the professionals I have met thus far fall into this category, and there is no distinction based on race, either. His exalted virtue is that you can dress him up and take him out without danger of having tobacco juice sprayed at you. The final variety, the asshole, can usually be found in the same way one finds trouble: don't go looking for it, it will find you. He's often proud of the fact that he's served time and can be found in redneck bars (where he's top dog) or gas stations, provided there are no other true minorites to take his job. His overriding virtue is his ability to lose his temper at the drop of a hat. One can usually evoke this display by saying something to him that he doesn't understand, i.e., using words with more than four letters and possibly two syllables. He differs from his northern counterpart i that he typically has a rebel flag, gun rack and deer antlers on his truck.
6. Religion - to date I have spotted two, count 'em, Catholic churches in Charlotte. I have also seen exactly one synagoge.
From what I have been able to infer, this makes Charlotte extraordinarily cosmopolitan in realtion to most locales south of Vriginia. The vast majority of the houses of worship are baptist, methodist, presbyterian and other Christian denominations which probably handle snakes and faith heal for donations. However, I have found Charlotteans to be a very devout group of people, which probably explains their courtesy and forebearance. An interesting aside, it is not uncommon to find police at major intersections on Sunday mornings, directing traffic in, out and around places of worship.
7. Politics - I still cannot get one person to explain to me how city government works here, probably because the people I'm asking have not clue one. As for issues, most southerners will take great pride in telling you they are for "this" or against "that" without any attempt at explanation as to how they formed their opinion. Asking why very often results in the subject's head spinning at high revolutions just before it falls off his/her neck. I haven't met one, solitary soul (face to face) that can adequately describe their politics to me -- it's a mixed and matched set of often contradictory concepts: socially conservative, economically liberal. There is, however, a well-developed sense of outright hatred for big business and crusading zeal for the rights of the workig man/woman. This is often based on logic and religious belief, and it's refreshing to hear, rather than the recylced commie propaganda I'm used to. If you really want to know the state of political thought here, just remember that John Edwards is a Senator for this state, and he's the perfect dipstick for measuring the depth of the surface. If you can understand THAT sentence without stopping to think, you know what I mean.
Still, my quality of life has tremendously increased, and I haven't yet found a reason to regret my move.
The second installment of my new feature, which relates the trials and tribulations of a confused Yankee in the land of Tara. I'm finding that I'm spending entirely too much time on this stuff, and not enough on finding my way around, but you take the good with the bad.
Observations of the South:
1. Tobacco juice - the expulsion of tobacco juice is perhaps the most disgusting act that can be committed by human being. That having been said, I have not passed a single day in the last month where someone had not expectorated tobacco juice in my vicinity. What makes this habit so digusting (and I admit, I smoke, for Christ's sake!) is both the sight and the sound. Imagine, if you will, a sickly-brown stream of mixed saliva and tobacco being expelled at high speed. It remains, alternately, in either a liquid stream or a semi-solid, stringy mass, seemingly defying gravity before it careens into the ground with a sickening "splush" sound. To add horror to this scene, try to imagine the sound made prior to the actual expulsion, as said fluid is forced between front teeth (or since a good many Southerners lack adequate dental care) swished around the mouth before it's squeezed out between pursed lips. Individually, this is nauseating. I've seen it done in concert as seveal men at a time engage in the communal act of spitting tobacco juice in a choreographed ballet. I have almost lost my breakfast on more than one occasion.
2. Black Women - Southern black women, seem to me as a white male, somewhat more attractive than their Northern counterparts. I have not figured out, yet, if this is due to any actual differences in relative beauty or merely just a relaxation of the attitude. All in all, I would say that southern black females are, at least, definately more approachable than northern ones. This is a bonus for a single male, not only because more women are potentially available, but also in terms of variety, which we all know, is the spice of life.
3. Southern white females - come in two varieties. They are either drop dead gorgeous or a frumpy, dour, downtrodden lot, that has been beaten down by life (or more often, the men in her life). The first kind seem to come from a higher socio-economic class, and break down into either the "Good marriage material" sort or the "Madonna/Whore" category. The second variety appear to take every opportunity they can get to either become slovenly drunk or to work themselves up to full rut. I cannot claim any true scientific research in this area, but I will continue my work in this regard and let you know. What I can say for sure, is that I have been told several times that "Yankee" men are prized commodities -- we at least know how to treat a lady. Even when she ain't one (wink, wink).
4. The Urban Patois - not expecting too much difference here, I cannot say I was not suprised to find virtually none at all. Very often being the only white man on a bus, gives one the opportunity afforded by ostracism to clearly listen to what is going on. The major differences seem to be in pronunciation: "Mutha-fucker" becomes "muth-fucker", "Nigga" becomes "Nigrah" (although I have heard "nigga" used as well), "bitch" becomes "bi-atch". Not only has the language remained constant, but also the subject matter: petty squabbles over men, petty squabbles over "props", guns, Malt liquor, rap music, racism (real and perceived). All of it is delivered in a muffled/machine-gun stacatto which requires an interpreter to figure out, and the above-mentioned curses used as any part of speech, and often, as punctuation. Since most of this banter comes from those wearing fast-food service uniforms, perhaps I'm not hanging out in the right circles. More on this as I risk life and limb to discover more.
5. Southern Men - I have to admit having limited experience in this area (I haven't met too many southern men yet), and can claim no scietific representation of the population. However, there are three varieties that I have seen so far: redneck, gentleman and asshole. A redneck is just what he says he is; he's country, and damn proud of it. He's a simple sort, which fits perfectly with his limited world-view, which revolves around NASCAR, hunting dogs, beer and BBQ. His overiding virtue is his ability to tell you what's on his mind, whether you are interested or not, whether or not it even makes sense, or even, if he completes an actual sentence.
The Southern Gentleman is just that, and typically comes from a higher socio-economic stratum. Most of the professionals I have met thus far fall into this category, and there is no distinction based on race, either. His exalted virtue is that you can dress him up and take him out without danger of having tobacco juice sprayed at you. The final variety, the asshole, can usually be found in the same way one finds trouble: don't go looking for it, it will find you. He's often proud of the fact that he's served time and can be found in redneck bars (where he's top dog) or gas stations, provided there are no other true minorites to take his job. His overriding virtue is his ability to lose his temper at the drop of a hat. One can usually evoke this display by saying something to him that he doesn't understand, i.e., using words with more than four letters and possibly two syllables. He differs from his northern counterpart i that he typically has a rebel flag, gun rack and deer antlers on his truck.
6. Religion - to date I have spotted two, count 'em, Catholic churches in Charlotte. I have also seen exactly one synagoge.
From what I have been able to infer, this makes Charlotte extraordinarily cosmopolitan in realtion to most locales south of Vriginia. The vast majority of the houses of worship are baptist, methodist, presbyterian and other Christian denominations which probably handle snakes and faith heal for donations. However, I have found Charlotteans to be a very devout group of people, which probably explains their courtesy and forebearance. An interesting aside, it is not uncommon to find police at major intersections on Sunday mornings, directing traffic in, out and around places of worship.
7. Politics - I still cannot get one person to explain to me how city government works here, probably because the people I'm asking have not clue one. As for issues, most southerners will take great pride in telling you they are for "this" or against "that" without any attempt at explanation as to how they formed their opinion. Asking why very often results in the subject's head spinning at high revolutions just before it falls off his/her neck. I haven't met one, solitary soul (face to face) that can adequately describe their politics to me -- it's a mixed and matched set of often contradictory concepts: socially conservative, economically liberal. There is, however, a well-developed sense of outright hatred for big business and crusading zeal for the rights of the workig man/woman. This is often based on logic and religious belief, and it's refreshing to hear, rather than the recylced commie propaganda I'm used to. If you really want to know the state of political thought here, just remember that John Edwards is a Senator for this state, and he's the perfect dipstick for measuring the depth of the surface. If you can understand THAT sentence without stopping to think, you know what I mean.
Still, my quality of life has tremendously increased, and I haven't yet found a reason to regret my move.
Tuesday, June 29, 2004
The IS that AIN'T...
An interesting conversation came up recently. I was speaking with one of my former cronies back in New York, a gentleman I used to work with, and the subject of racism came up. The man in question was (once again) railing about the unfairness of corporate life, as he was passed over for promotion (again). He associated this slight to the color of his skin.
Now, I have known the man for near on 10 years, and in fact, he used to work for me. I can tell you this: if he got passed over yet again, it had nothing to do with his skin color. I wrote this man's performance reviews for many years and I can assure you that his lack of upward mobility had nothing to do with his melanin quotient. I can almost quote, word for word, the things I used to put in his reviews. Phrases such as "excessive lateness", "often fails to follow up", "does not submit required progress reports", "lacks initiative" could almost be used as punctuation marks. In fact, he had some reviews that were so bad, that I'm surprised that no one told me to fire him (I wouldn't -- for all his faults he was a good guy, and does try when you light a fire under his behind...until next time). In fact, he was specifically NOT fired because of the color of his skin (the company had been wracked with discrimination suits and was reluctant to create more).
In fact, this man very often agreed with everything I wrote on these reviews, very often just signed them without wanting to discuss anything on there. He accepted what was written as true and just acquiesced. Not once did I hear him complain about a damn thing. So, if my initial hunch is correct, and he's been passed over because he's a borderline worker, where did this racism thing come from?
I have an idea, not very scientific, but it sorta-kinda makes sense.
We're talking about a person that was raised in the late 60's and early 70's and who was fed a steady diet of grievance. The black man in America, despite a Civil War, constitutional amendments, 8 tons of legislation and 150 years of progress, was still treated by the white power structure (i.e. DA MAN) the way he was in 1800. The only difference is that we became much more patronizing and solicitous. Therefore, people have been trained to see racism even when it's not there, and in fact, very often consider the abscense of overt racism, as a sign that racism is omnipresent, but just not expressed. People now "sense" racism by telepathy, even when it's non-existant. The antennae are tuned to something that ain't there. Sort of like NASA making galactic phone calls and hoping the next block of static they receive might be E.T. trying to order a pizza.
The conditioning is complete. Hear the "N" word? React like you've just been stabbed. Don't hear the "N" word? No problem, someone is bound to say it...someday...maybe soon...maybe not...Possibly tomorrow...Hell, they're THINKING it anyway! The expectation that the dreaded epithet will be hurled leaves one waiting for the other shoe to drop constantly. That's one reason we seem to have grown an entire crop of people who just LIVE to be offended by even the most innocuous of comments or situations. That extreme type of person can take anything out of context, pass it through the torture chamber that passes for his/her brain, and when it comes back out, mangled, folded, spindled and mutilated, somehow equates "Wow, this is really good coffee!" with "Go pick me a bale of cotton, boy!" The Ubuiquitous lawsuit soon follows, complete with the words "hostile enviornment", "extreme emotional duress", etc. They've been conditioned to be insulted and offended, and so they invent things to be insulted and offended about.
Even when the person is not an extremist (like the man in question) the conditioning is still evident. "I didn't get this, even though I KNOW I have shortcomings, but I should have had it DESPITE those shortcomings, because whitey owes me. The fact that I don't must be because of racism." In other words, you should have had something for nothing and you're pissed that you didn't receive it? And because you didn't get whatever it was, it's because the "system" is against you? Even when you KNOW you don't deserve it?
I found that concept seriously distrubing. My friend found it funny..He giggled...People do that when they've been caught red-handed in intellectual dishonesty.
An interesting conversation came up recently. I was speaking with one of my former cronies back in New York, a gentleman I used to work with, and the subject of racism came up. The man in question was (once again) railing about the unfairness of corporate life, as he was passed over for promotion (again). He associated this slight to the color of his skin.
Now, I have known the man for near on 10 years, and in fact, he used to work for me. I can tell you this: if he got passed over yet again, it had nothing to do with his skin color. I wrote this man's performance reviews for many years and I can assure you that his lack of upward mobility had nothing to do with his melanin quotient. I can almost quote, word for word, the things I used to put in his reviews. Phrases such as "excessive lateness", "often fails to follow up", "does not submit required progress reports", "lacks initiative" could almost be used as punctuation marks. In fact, he had some reviews that were so bad, that I'm surprised that no one told me to fire him (I wouldn't -- for all his faults he was a good guy, and does try when you light a fire under his behind...until next time). In fact, he was specifically NOT fired because of the color of his skin (the company had been wracked with discrimination suits and was reluctant to create more).
In fact, this man very often agreed with everything I wrote on these reviews, very often just signed them without wanting to discuss anything on there. He accepted what was written as true and just acquiesced. Not once did I hear him complain about a damn thing. So, if my initial hunch is correct, and he's been passed over because he's a borderline worker, where did this racism thing come from?
I have an idea, not very scientific, but it sorta-kinda makes sense.
We're talking about a person that was raised in the late 60's and early 70's and who was fed a steady diet of grievance. The black man in America, despite a Civil War, constitutional amendments, 8 tons of legislation and 150 years of progress, was still treated by the white power structure (i.e. DA MAN) the way he was in 1800. The only difference is that we became much more patronizing and solicitous. Therefore, people have been trained to see racism even when it's not there, and in fact, very often consider the abscense of overt racism, as a sign that racism is omnipresent, but just not expressed. People now "sense" racism by telepathy, even when it's non-existant. The antennae are tuned to something that ain't there. Sort of like NASA making galactic phone calls and hoping the next block of static they receive might be E.T. trying to order a pizza.
The conditioning is complete. Hear the "N" word? React like you've just been stabbed. Don't hear the "N" word? No problem, someone is bound to say it...someday...maybe soon...maybe not...Possibly tomorrow...Hell, they're THINKING it anyway! The expectation that the dreaded epithet will be hurled leaves one waiting for the other shoe to drop constantly. That's one reason we seem to have grown an entire crop of people who just LIVE to be offended by even the most innocuous of comments or situations. That extreme type of person can take anything out of context, pass it through the torture chamber that passes for his/her brain, and when it comes back out, mangled, folded, spindled and mutilated, somehow equates "Wow, this is really good coffee!" with "Go pick me a bale of cotton, boy!" The Ubuiquitous lawsuit soon follows, complete with the words "hostile enviornment", "extreme emotional duress", etc. They've been conditioned to be insulted and offended, and so they invent things to be insulted and offended about.
Even when the person is not an extremist (like the man in question) the conditioning is still evident. "I didn't get this, even though I KNOW I have shortcomings, but I should have had it DESPITE those shortcomings, because whitey owes me. The fact that I don't must be because of racism." In other words, you should have had something for nothing and you're pissed that you didn't receive it? And because you didn't get whatever it was, it's because the "system" is against you? Even when you KNOW you don't deserve it?
I found that concept seriously distrubing. My friend found it funny..He giggled...People do that when they've been caught red-handed in intellectual dishonesty.
Monday, June 28, 2004
The Internet Revolution...
I did mean to write about this sooner, but circumstances beyond my control prevented me from doing so. I will make amends as best as I can.
Almost 10 years ago, with the emergence of the internet as a seemingly viable consumer service, we were harangued,
ad-nasuem , that this was a technology that would literally revolutionize life as we knew it. No longer would people have to stand in lines at the bank or local department store: the internet would let us bank and shop from home. We would no longer need a Post Office; the internet would give us e-mail. Education would be revoutionized; people would be able to learn a home and have access to all the great libraries and universities of the world.
In practice, none of this has, thus far, come to pass. The internet has not made life a great deal easier, nor more convenient. One only has to enter a local store to see this.
The commercial implications of the internet have still to be worked out: security, return policies and proceedures, etc.
The internet has not brought the world to anyone's doorstep, instead, it has brought us a terrifying, and often comic, new view of humanity.
I was thinking about this while I was waiting for my computer to be delivered with the rest of my household goods when I moved. I remember thinking about how isolated I felt without my computer, even though I'm perfectly capable of leaving the house and have a telephone and television. The "need" to chat online was quite literally real, almost as if I was hooked on heroin, without the nasty side effects.
I began to consider seriously why this was,and I came t the conclusion that it's because the internet brings humanity to your door, warts and all.
Since I've been online, I have seen many varieties of the human animal; morons, sexual deviants, online-lesbians, religious fanatics, the love lorn, the lonely, the timid, the crass, the boring, the illiterate. I've seen people carry on conversations that would have seen them ejected from civil society and perhaps arrested. I've been solicited for sex and received more porn than any human being could possibly hope for in even his most depraved moments. What the internet has brought me, personally, is a view of humanity that would be quite disgusting if it weren't so damn funny.
Where else could you learn the intimate details of anonymous individual's lives, except in a chat room (besides a confessional)? Can you think of another circumstance under which people will take advantage of anonymity to do and say things that they normally wouldn't have the guts for in real life? I can't think of anyplace else one can go, 24/7/365, and find people of all stripes, yakking about nonsense and the little odds and ends of their daily lives openly, and often crudely.
I have a few favorite species of humanity that I like to watch online. There is the "Internet beggar"; this individual is always earnestly seeking something that willmake his/her life complete. It usually revolves around sex or money. There is the "online lesbian"; a typically straight-laced woman that feels compelled to act like a deviant behind the aegis of a computer and modem. There is the "Internet crusader"; usually a male, this sort of person will get online and tell you exactly what is wrong with the world while he has a captive audience. In real life, he's probably brow-beaten by his boss, wife and children and close to a nervous breakdown.
The "attention getters" abound: these are folks that will say anything solely for shock value and the response they get. Suicide threats, sexual innuendo, foul language, scattalogical humor, et. al., are this person's stock in trade. The more outrageous, the bigger the response and the greater the temptation to be ever more outrageous. Finally, we have the "internet racist", a person who takes the opportunity to hide behind the screen to hurl all sorts of vicious invective, knowing full well that no one will ever find him. His rants are not solely limited to race or creed, either. Homosexuals, the disabled, etc., are all fair game.
Now, everyone has the right to free speech and association, and there is no law against telling a woman online that you are the next best thing to Brad Pitt when you really couldn't even be Brad Armpit. The internet gives people a freedom that normally they wouldn't have -- there is no responsibility attached to online life. Any fantasy, any illusion, you wish to spin and disseminate, is right there in your imagination, ready to be transformed into a pseudo-reality by your keyboard and a chat room. The ugly become monstrously gorgeous. The frightened become extraordinarily brave. The quiet get their chance to roar.
So, what did I miss really? I missed being a part of it. For while the internet may ultimately be nothing more than a silly way to kill time, it certainly does have it's interesting parts. Humanity is on display here and it entails everything that we enjoy: comedy, horror, information, drama, confrontation, competition and a host of other things, in a ready-to-use, user friendly format. Maybe one day we will be able to sit on our exalted behinds and have groceries delivered via internet, but in the meantime, one has to occupy one's time the best one can.
I did mean to write about this sooner, but circumstances beyond my control prevented me from doing so. I will make amends as best as I can.
Almost 10 years ago, with the emergence of the internet as a seemingly viable consumer service, we were harangued,
ad-nasuem , that this was a technology that would literally revolutionize life as we knew it. No longer would people have to stand in lines at the bank or local department store: the internet would let us bank and shop from home. We would no longer need a Post Office; the internet would give us e-mail. Education would be revoutionized; people would be able to learn a home and have access to all the great libraries and universities of the world.
In practice, none of this has, thus far, come to pass. The internet has not made life a great deal easier, nor more convenient. One only has to enter a local store to see this.
The commercial implications of the internet have still to be worked out: security, return policies and proceedures, etc.
The internet has not brought the world to anyone's doorstep, instead, it has brought us a terrifying, and often comic, new view of humanity.
I was thinking about this while I was waiting for my computer to be delivered with the rest of my household goods when I moved. I remember thinking about how isolated I felt without my computer, even though I'm perfectly capable of leaving the house and have a telephone and television. The "need" to chat online was quite literally real, almost as if I was hooked on heroin, without the nasty side effects.
I began to consider seriously why this was,and I came t the conclusion that it's because the internet brings humanity to your door, warts and all.
Since I've been online, I have seen many varieties of the human animal; morons, sexual deviants, online-lesbians, religious fanatics, the love lorn, the lonely, the timid, the crass, the boring, the illiterate. I've seen people carry on conversations that would have seen them ejected from civil society and perhaps arrested. I've been solicited for sex and received more porn than any human being could possibly hope for in even his most depraved moments. What the internet has brought me, personally, is a view of humanity that would be quite disgusting if it weren't so damn funny.
Where else could you learn the intimate details of anonymous individual's lives, except in a chat room (besides a confessional)? Can you think of another circumstance under which people will take advantage of anonymity to do and say things that they normally wouldn't have the guts for in real life? I can't think of anyplace else one can go, 24/7/365, and find people of all stripes, yakking about nonsense and the little odds and ends of their daily lives openly, and often crudely.
I have a few favorite species of humanity that I like to watch online. There is the "Internet beggar"; this individual is always earnestly seeking something that willmake his/her life complete. It usually revolves around sex or money. There is the "online lesbian"; a typically straight-laced woman that feels compelled to act like a deviant behind the aegis of a computer and modem. There is the "Internet crusader"; usually a male, this sort of person will get online and tell you exactly what is wrong with the world while he has a captive audience. In real life, he's probably brow-beaten by his boss, wife and children and close to a nervous breakdown.
The "attention getters" abound: these are folks that will say anything solely for shock value and the response they get. Suicide threats, sexual innuendo, foul language, scattalogical humor, et. al., are this person's stock in trade. The more outrageous, the bigger the response and the greater the temptation to be ever more outrageous. Finally, we have the "internet racist", a person who takes the opportunity to hide behind the screen to hurl all sorts of vicious invective, knowing full well that no one will ever find him. His rants are not solely limited to race or creed, either. Homosexuals, the disabled, etc., are all fair game.
Now, everyone has the right to free speech and association, and there is no law against telling a woman online that you are the next best thing to Brad Pitt when you really couldn't even be Brad Armpit. The internet gives people a freedom that normally they wouldn't have -- there is no responsibility attached to online life. Any fantasy, any illusion, you wish to spin and disseminate, is right there in your imagination, ready to be transformed into a pseudo-reality by your keyboard and a chat room. The ugly become monstrously gorgeous. The frightened become extraordinarily brave. The quiet get their chance to roar.
So, what did I miss really? I missed being a part of it. For while the internet may ultimately be nothing more than a silly way to kill time, it certainly does have it's interesting parts. Humanity is on display here and it entails everything that we enjoy: comedy, horror, information, drama, confrontation, competition and a host of other things, in a ready-to-use, user friendly format. Maybe one day we will be able to sit on our exalted behinds and have groceries delivered via internet, but in the meantime, one has to occupy one's time the best one can.
The Politics of the "F" word...
A recent tempest in a teacup has arisen as of late over Dick Cheney's use of the "F" word. Cheney, it seems, did something that was long overdue, and told Sen. Patrick Leahy (Communist-France) to shut the fuck up. Leahy, being little more than an old lady in a man's suit, took offense, and is carrying on like a welfare receipient who's been told to get a job.
Such vile language! How hypocritical of an administration that said it would "change the tone" in Washington! How crude these Philistine Republicans can be, with their filthy language and their tax cuts!
I remind you of a few things:
1. Leahy is an giant ass amongst a sea of asses. I've watched the man talk out of both sides of his mouth AND his rectum at the same time for many years. He's crucified everyone from Bob Packwood to Clarence Thomas and beyond, and pretends he does so from principle rather than politics. He's a petty little rabble-rouser and anal retentive, to boot. He hides behind the label of "independant" because to tell the truth and call himself a communist would get him lynched.If anyone ever wants to see how the democratic party really operates, I suggest you watch Leahy, Ted Kennedy and Chuck Schumer smear and tag team a judicial nominee on C-Span. Not only did Leahy deserve to get cursed at, Cheney should have bitch-slapped him for good measure.
2. John Kerry causually throws out curses whenever it suits his needs. He can say "G.W. Bush fucked up the war on terror" in Rolling Stone, or call a Secret Service agent that made him look foolinsh on the slopes a son-of-a-bitch. And instead of being called rude and crass, Kerry's defenders will tell you that his language is merely a side-effect of the man's "passion". In fact, if it wasn't for the fact that Kerry can occasionally curse, I doubt most people could find anything resembling another human quality about him.
3. Bill Clinton, at this moment, is hawking a book who's main selling point is the "F" word. If it weren't for the fact that anyone who is actually reading this book really wants to read about Monica Lewinsky, it would sit in remainder bins and trash heaps all across the country. Everyone wants the salacious details of how he fucked Monica with a cigar. The rest of the book is filler, and probably not even suitable for wrapping fish.
Dick Cheney using the "F" word was long overdue. When the bush administration "changed the tone in Washington" what that really amounted to was democrats become even more shrill, even more petty and everyone of them hopping around on one foot like a schoolboy bursting for a pee, ready to point fingers at the slightest provocation. Not only should Leahy and his ilk shut the fuck up, perhaps they should start making an attempt to do their jobs -- maybe then they would have a reason to be insulted when the opposition belittles them. You could at least have sympathy for them if they were making an honest effort.
A recent tempest in a teacup has arisen as of late over Dick Cheney's use of the "F" word. Cheney, it seems, did something that was long overdue, and told Sen. Patrick Leahy (Communist-France) to shut the fuck up. Leahy, being little more than an old lady in a man's suit, took offense, and is carrying on like a welfare receipient who's been told to get a job.
Such vile language! How hypocritical of an administration that said it would "change the tone" in Washington! How crude these Philistine Republicans can be, with their filthy language and their tax cuts!
I remind you of a few things:
1. Leahy is an giant ass amongst a sea of asses. I've watched the man talk out of both sides of his mouth AND his rectum at the same time for many years. He's crucified everyone from Bob Packwood to Clarence Thomas and beyond, and pretends he does so from principle rather than politics. He's a petty little rabble-rouser and anal retentive, to boot. He hides behind the label of "independant" because to tell the truth and call himself a communist would get him lynched.If anyone ever wants to see how the democratic party really operates, I suggest you watch Leahy, Ted Kennedy and Chuck Schumer smear and tag team a judicial nominee on C-Span. Not only did Leahy deserve to get cursed at, Cheney should have bitch-slapped him for good measure.
2. John Kerry causually throws out curses whenever it suits his needs. He can say "G.W. Bush fucked up the war on terror" in Rolling Stone, or call a Secret Service agent that made him look foolinsh on the slopes a son-of-a-bitch. And instead of being called rude and crass, Kerry's defenders will tell you that his language is merely a side-effect of the man's "passion". In fact, if it wasn't for the fact that Kerry can occasionally curse, I doubt most people could find anything resembling another human quality about him.
3. Bill Clinton, at this moment, is hawking a book who's main selling point is the "F" word. If it weren't for the fact that anyone who is actually reading this book really wants to read about Monica Lewinsky, it would sit in remainder bins and trash heaps all across the country. Everyone wants the salacious details of how he fucked Monica with a cigar. The rest of the book is filler, and probably not even suitable for wrapping fish.
Dick Cheney using the "F" word was long overdue. When the bush administration "changed the tone in Washington" what that really amounted to was democrats become even more shrill, even more petty and everyone of them hopping around on one foot like a schoolboy bursting for a pee, ready to point fingers at the slightest provocation. Not only should Leahy and his ilk shut the fuck up, perhaps they should start making an attempt to do their jobs -- maybe then they would have a reason to be insulted when the opposition belittles them. You could at least have sympathy for them if they were making an honest effort.
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