Monthly Archives: April 2011

Interesting, but irrelevant

There are a number of videos floating around YouTube purporting that Obama’s recently released long form birth certificate is a clumsily produced fake.  The one above seems reasonable due to its brevity and lack of breathless prose from the author that this is proof positive of a Manchurian President secretly doing the bidding of George Soros, or the Tri-Lateral Commissions, or the McDonald’s Corporation or something. In the best tradition of the interwebs he just throws it out there along with a bit of his particular expertise and lets the viewer decide what they are seeing. Of course most of the viewers know nothing of graphic design so it might just as easily be complete bull shit. People will believe what they want to believe.

I’m going to go out on a limb here and state the following. Anyone with the ambition necessary to achieve the Presidency of the most powerful nation in history most likely has a team of people around him with a very refined sense of strategic thinking, and resources at their disposal that us peons can only faintly imagine. If this administration put forward a document so easily proved a forgery, it has a reason for doing so. I have a hard time believing that if it indeed is a forgery, they would have delegated its manufacture to someone unable to hide their tracks in Illustrator.  Barack Obama is a lot of things but he is no Dan Rather.

Two choices folks.  We continue egging “The Donald” on as he shoots spit-wads at the President from the back row while the democrats and media portray conservatives as pathetic Captain Queeg like characters obsessed with minutia,   or we focus on more serious things as 2012 approaches like finding a candidate who can actually give Obama a run for his money.

H/T to Gerard’s Rightnetwork for the video.

Alternating Branches

I remember my dad’s family photo album. It was nearly six inches think with glossy sepia images of part Irish part Choctaw dust bowl Okie’s going about their lives on flat black pages. The men wore pistols tucked into their belts and cast a mistrustful eye to the lens. The women were smiling and open, although the lack of anything remotely luxurious in the backgrounds of the photos told you that these were dirt poor people. As a boy, dad and I would sit and flip the pages. He’d tell me their names and and how we were related, who had died of fever or the whooping cough or who had been to prison. He told me proudly but not too boastfully that there was barely a high school graduate among them, much less a college one till he came along. He had taken the path of service to his country and the GI bill to change the course of his family history. When his eldest son, that would be me, elected not to pursue higher learning after twelve years of public education he stoically wished me well and sent me out to face the world.

Like his father who quit school and went to work after completing the eighth grade, I am a big, fun loving, easy going guy and inherited his devil may care attitude regarding the future. When weighing the difference between having a good time and doing what was expected of me, more often than not the former has prevailed. There have been times in my life when I haven’t had much and my prospects for getting it were slim, but truth be told I’ve done fine. I have been very lucky. And my luck in no uncertain terms was to have been born into this era of security and easy living and not that of my grandfathers, in which betting on luck to get you through life was a fools wager. Though dad hid it well, I don’t think he ever forgave me for not building on the foundation that he had laid, and turning my back on the sacrifices made in his traveling ahead in time to smooth the road he intended me to follow. I instead traveled my own road and relied on chance, and…luckily… she has been kind to me.

To my father, the only luck that had ever cast its envious gaze on the branches of our family tree had been of the bad sort, and might be thought of as a covetous man appearing at random with a sharp axe. He didn’t mean any harm, he just needed something to burn and this looked like as good a place to get it as any. My father alone of all in his family had succeeded through toughness and drive in convincing the axeman to look elsewhere for his firewood, and could now stand back and watch our tree thrive. If our pampered lives of the previous half century come to an end, I hope that my two boys will inherit the toughness and drive of their grandfather, my father, rather than the easy  temperament of myself and of my grandfathers. If times get hard, luck will likely not be enough to pull them through and they in their own time may have to convince the axeman to move on.

The Aristocrats

If I see one more fawning “interest piece” on the upcoming nuptials of  those useless royal fops Harry and what’s her name, I’m going to throw one of my dogs at the teevee screen. I was breathlessly informed this morning that His Royal Highness is personally preparing a 6:00 AM breakfast for a select group of attendees prior to the ceremony. Cooking, all by himself…and for others. It is an age of miracle and wonder. I wonder what they’ll be having?  Some combination of kippers and toast with squab and the pateed livers of former colonial subjects I imagine.

We here in America have an ample supply of parochially inbred idiots as a brief review of shows such as  “Swamp People” will testify to. They at least make their own way and have historically swum in the shallow end of the gene pool out of necessity due to their residing in small isolated towns, unlike the European royal families who deliberately breed morons in the interests of maintaining “proper” blood lines. To idolize these ticks on the rump of the British body politic simply because they possess a bit of stolen money and whatever glamor we peasants ascribe to them is beyond me.

What are you lookin’ at? It’s full of wholesome hops and barley.

Is it proper to have a hangover on Easter Sunday? I’d better round up the baskets and divvy them up.

Happy Easter everybody. May you find joy and peace in your lives on this day of renewal.

Slap that troll!

Best bitch slap I’ve seen today, from the comment section at Little Miss Atilla.

ponce April 18, 2011 at 10:51 pm

Wingnuts always try to join Social Security and Medicare together because their Wall Street masters want to get their hands on Social Security so badly.

It’s like saying me and Bill Gates together are worth billions of dollars.

Reply

Darrell April 18, 2011 at 11:13 pm

You and Gates together have a combined IQ of 200.

One Trick Pony

I’ve been all  doom and gloom lately so let’s look on the bright side of things this morning. Given the state of the job market for young people, I’m thinking that this vital part of Obama’s base won’t be quite as enthusiastic in supporting “The Lightworker” this time around.

A life of illusion

Ah for fuck sakes.  We’re so very screwed.

Video via Michelle Obama’s Mirror.

What’s makes you so special?

Over at the Haven, Daphne dropped the following little gem attributed to her husband at the end of a comment thread regarding the dawning realization on all of us that our modern lifestyles, increasingly dependent on government largess, have become unaffordable.

“Without any justification at all or the necessary financial means, too many ordinary people expect to live extraordinary lives.

Growing up in the 1960’s and 1970’s, I and most of my friends were raised in modest homes by modest people. Employed in construction, manufacturing, factory work, even the few like my father who had managed to obtain a college degree through the GI bill or by working days and going to school at night tended to gravitate toward more “practical” professions such as engineering, and were but a single generation removed from less genteel work. They viewed themselves as nothing special. Just regular guys and gals putting in forty hour weeks who saw the American dream as going to work and raising a family in a simple home, paying off that home in thirty years, and after hopefully saving and making a few wise investments over those years they settled into a comfortable if not particularly luxurious retirement. They were living the American dream. It was a modest dream, but in comparison to their parents and extended families who had struggled through the Great Depression, a good dream.

Fast forward a generation to the entitled children of those modest households and we see quite a different picture. They know deep down that like their parents they are nothing special, but rather than embrace this with a sense of pride they wear it as a badge of shame. Things once deemed unnecessary suddenly become vital. That brand new leased Euro-SUV is a must have.  A used mini-van would probably be fine but there is no down and the monthly payment is low.  Damn…I’d look good in that thing too. Lack of a college degree for the single boutique child is as equally out of the question as a mini-van. Doesn’t matter that perhaps they are showing no aptitude or interest in scholarly work past the high school level and are maybe better suited for more specific technical schooling or work in the trades. Sure we’ll have to hock the house to pay the tuition and in this economy our graduate will be lucky to score a part time job at Target, but if you want to be special you go to college. End of story. Houses become not homes so much as speculative objects. Commodities to be traded up, the old one abandoned with little regard to the continuity or comfort that they provide their own children, who like all kids view their rooms as…theirs. Instead of working to pay off the bank and participating in that quaint, anachronistic custom of a mortgage burning celebration as you were winding down your working years and looking forward to retirement, re-leveraging became the new norm. Refinancing every few years to drop that interest rate and pull a bit of equity forward to use for that trip to Europe that a previous generation might have deferred until the kids were on their own, and the bill could be paid from their own savings. Just think of the stories we can regale our friends with. Won’t they be impressed. Now fifty or sixty years old with the equity in their homes exhausted and looking at another twenty years of work to service their bloated mortgages, they look to the government for a bailout. Because they are special, and have a right to maintain the extraordinary lives that they haven’t earned.

When this kind of thinking finally implodes the economy and we are forced to scale back our standard of living, will it really be that bad? The home I grew up in was considered classically middle class at the time but would be looked at today as borderline destitution. 1,600 sq.ft. 3 bedrooms, one and a half baths. A single black and white television. One dial-up phone on the kitchen wall. Kids had to walk to school. My father looked upon this lifestyle as his great success.

What makes me so special?

Vertical marathon

When I was a young teen, I read a book about the challenges faced by climbers when ascending the north face of  Switzerland’s “The Eiger”, historically recognized as the most dangerous ascent on the planet. Teams of men roped together would routinely fall thousands of feet to their deaths when one lost his footing, dragging all over the precipice. All the while, the well to do guests of the hotel at the base of the wall would observe through the high powered telescopes thoughtfully provided by management. Another common occurrence in the two or three days it took to reach the summit was for them to be frozen to the wall while bivouacked overnight when storms unexpectedly blew in from the Mediterranean, forever entombing them in ice as a permanent part of the mountain, to be negotiated around by future climbers. Casting about for a hobby to replace skateboarding which I was quickly outgrowing, the book convinced me at the time that I would rather become the he-bitch of a fat fingered Texas penitentiary guard than take up rock climbing. I ultimately adopted boating as a happy compromise.

It appears that the climbers have gotten better since then. Or at least faster.

Sure my side’s stupid, but…

What’s a guy to do when his choices boil down to Romney, Huckabee, Trump, or people who actively encourage the sort of lunacy seen above.

Turns out “fat, drunk and stupid” may actually be the way to go through life.

It’s never too late I guess.

From those zany Powerline guys via Gerard.