Well, that didn't work out quite like our government planned. I guess Guantanamera doesn't sound cool in rap time. As well, Cuba is just too damned hot for break dancing.
The CIA needs to get together with USAID and rethink, to seek a rilly rilly creative idea .
... Hey! I know! Let's put some itching powder in Fidel's wet suit.
Showing posts with label Be-Bop Obama. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Be-Bop Obama. Show all posts
Dec 11, 2014
Sep 9, 2014
Shades of Checkpoint Charlie
Flash bang and smoke as Putin shows that wimp Obama that Russian leaders have the bigger balls.
We are getting used to that kind of neo-tsarist theatre, but I'm especially unhappy with his latest Speedo pose because it is upsetting folks in one of my favorite countries-I've-never-visited.
...according to several Estonian accounts, smoke grenades detonated at an Estonian customs post, and all radio and telephone signals were jammed as armed Russian men suddenly materialized and dragged away ... Eston Kohver.
Kohver is identified as a counter-intelligence official, but his main job seems to have been keeping an eye out for smugglers at the Luhamaa crossing to Russia. It could therefore look like one of those small-potatoes border squabbles dreamed up by bored local poobahs, more to relieve bureaucratic tedium than anything else.
Probably, though, it is more geopolitically significant. Or at least a credible plot line for whomever is doing Eric Ambler's work nowadays.
...Kohver's fate has now become entangled in a much bigger issue: the question of just how far Vladimir Putin's Russia is prepared to go to goad the Nato allies on its doorstep.
That is, Putin and his capos are getting their kicks humiliating the West in general and our president in particular by proving they can be utter nuisances -- and dangerous to boot, sometimes -- all the way from the Ukraine, where everyone is watching, to the Baltic, where hardly anyone is*.
As the Guardian has it:
The capture has been seen as particularly provocative because it came two days after the US president, Barack Obama, visited Estonia, a trip aimed at reassuring the Baltic states of the US commitment to the security of its Nato allies in the face of Russia's role in the Ukraine crisis. It followed the announcement of the creation of a "spearhead force" – a Nato unit of 4,000 soldiers to be tasked with defending Baltic countries including Estonia.
Putin had to grin when he heard that. Four thousand NATOians to defend Latvia, Estonia and Lithuania? "I mean, Hell, Barack, I purge more soldiers than that every couple of weeks or so. Wanna arm wrestle?"
---
*Except of course for the Estonians, including a smart and pretty lady named Kristin who keeps her Face book friends updated and rates a hat tip for this report.
We are getting used to that kind of neo-tsarist theatre, but I'm especially unhappy with his latest Speedo pose because it is upsetting folks in one of my favorite countries-I've-never-visited.
...according to several Estonian accounts, smoke grenades detonated at an Estonian customs post, and all radio and telephone signals were jammed as armed Russian men suddenly materialized and dragged away ... Eston Kohver.
Kohver is identified as a counter-intelligence official, but his main job seems to have been keeping an eye out for smugglers at the Luhamaa crossing to Russia. It could therefore look like one of those small-potatoes border squabbles dreamed up by bored local poobahs, more to relieve bureaucratic tedium than anything else.
Probably, though, it is more geopolitically significant. Or at least a credible plot line for whomever is doing Eric Ambler's work nowadays.
...Kohver's fate has now become entangled in a much bigger issue: the question of just how far Vladimir Putin's Russia is prepared to go to goad the Nato allies on its doorstep.
That is, Putin and his capos are getting their kicks humiliating the West in general and our president in particular by proving they can be utter nuisances -- and dangerous to boot, sometimes -- all the way from the Ukraine, where everyone is watching, to the Baltic, where hardly anyone is*.
As the Guardian has it:
The capture has been seen as particularly provocative because it came two days after the US president, Barack Obama, visited Estonia, a trip aimed at reassuring the Baltic states of the US commitment to the security of its Nato allies in the face of Russia's role in the Ukraine crisis. It followed the announcement of the creation of a "spearhead force" – a Nato unit of 4,000 soldiers to be tasked with defending Baltic countries including Estonia.
Putin had to grin when he heard that. Four thousand NATOians to defend Latvia, Estonia and Lithuania? "I mean, Hell, Barack, I purge more soldiers than that every couple of weeks or so. Wanna arm wrestle?"
---
*Except of course for the Estonians, including a smart and pretty lady named Kristin who keeps her Face book friends updated and rates a hat tip for this report.
Aug 8, 2014
Circle the wagons
The Indians are coming!
Senator Pocahontas has scouts in Iowa, you know, the place where we decide who you can vote for. They're beating her tom-tom at the state fair despite -- we'll use her white-eye name here -- Liz Warren's solemn statement that she is not running for president.
Her Massachusetts dog soldiers aren't buying that. Maybe we, also, should be leery of her solemn statements because she once solemnly avowed Cherokee ancestry. She billed herself as a native American on the Harvard faculty list. That allowed Harvard to pimp itself out as a diversity bastion.
When it became obvious in her 2012 campaign that she is about as Injun as Martin Luther, she skedaddled back and forth and sideways until she finally came up with a dandy Kumbayah evasion:
Warren said she listed herself as a minority because she wanted to connect with “people for whom native American is part of their heritage and part of their hearts.”
And she did it for at least 10 years.
About the only question regarding her forked tongue is: "Poky, did you lie about it at first -- when you applied to Harvard -- in order to score heap big affirmative-action hiring points?"
She said no. Ted Kennedy said he "dived repeatedly" in a heroic effort to rescue Mary Jo.
---
A small political datum lies here. Someone is willing to bet a little time and money that Hillary won't run. Hillary will, according to all present signs, but if she doesn't >big war whoop<.
Senator Pocahontas has scouts in Iowa, you know, the place where we decide who you can vote for. They're beating her tom-tom at the state fair despite -- we'll use her white-eye name here -- Liz Warren's solemn statement that she is not running for president.
Her Massachusetts dog soldiers aren't buying that. Maybe we, also, should be leery of her solemn statements because she once solemnly avowed Cherokee ancestry. She billed herself as a native American on the Harvard faculty list. That allowed Harvard to pimp itself out as a diversity bastion.
When it became obvious in her 2012 campaign that she is about as Injun as Martin Luther, she skedaddled back and forth and sideways until she finally came up with a dandy Kumbayah evasion:
Warren said she listed herself as a minority because she wanted to connect with “people for whom native American is part of their heritage and part of their hearts.”
And she did it for at least 10 years.
About the only question regarding her forked tongue is: "Poky, did you lie about it at first -- when you applied to Harvard -- in order to score heap big affirmative-action hiring points?"
She said no. Ted Kennedy said he "dived repeatedly" in a heroic effort to rescue Mary Jo.
---
A small political datum lies here. Someone is willing to bet a little time and money that Hillary won't run. Hillary will, according to all present signs, but if she doesn't >big war whoop<.
Jul 31, 2014
Oh that funny, funny White House
Background: The feds are covering their asses for, shall we say, a medieval approach to CIA police work when the shit hit the fan after 9/11.
Say what you like about Barack Obama, but hit-and-run writers looking for a gag line will miss that man. As in this Associated Press scoop about CIA brutality after the 911 debacle.
"...the document, which was circulating this week among White House officials and which the White House accidentally emailed to an Associated Press reporter... "
No one -- not Mark Twain, nor Will Rogers, nor P.J. O'Rourke -- could improve on that, so I'll be damned if I'll try.
Say what you like about Barack Obama, but hit-and-run writers looking for a gag line will miss that man. As in this Associated Press scoop about CIA brutality after the 911 debacle.
"...the document, which was circulating this week among White House officials and which the White House accidentally emailed to an Associated Press reporter... "
No one -- not Mark Twain, nor Will Rogers, nor P.J. O'Rourke -- could improve on that, so I'll be damned if I'll try.
Jul 25, 2014
Klem Kadiddlehopper gets a new car.
And he doesn't even have to drive it when he's takin' Alice out to see the submarine races in her frilly blue gown.
My native state is pretty well known for over-reaching, but historically that has been mostly by Klem and his fellow agrarians over-reaching for green government checks.*
Lately we have expanded our ambition and decided to lead the world in high-tech endeavor, and Johnson County wants to be in the forefront. It is Iowa City, the University of Iowa, the place that gave one Barack Obama his start back in '08 and turned out 67 per cent for him in 2012.
I mean, that is one progressive cow-pasture, so in a way I endorse its lust to be home to the driverless car. Any populace that loony should be relieved of all possible adult-like responsibility.
The cheerleaders, however, overstate their case. Here's a guy named Nolte:
“We as humans overestimate our competency for safety behind the wheel,” according to Nolte. “When you compare us to these (driver-free) systems — we are going to have 360 degree vision, they’ll never get tired, they’ll never get distracted, they’ll be able to communicate with other vehicles with the infrastructure — they are vastly superior from a safety standpoint than humans ever will be.”
Okay, maybe it is more like hyperventilation than simple overstatement.
And I wonder if Johnson County will invite General Motors to plunk its miracle cars down on campus streets. If it does, I wonder if it will be before or after GM learns how to build an ignition switch that doesn't kill you.
Just, y'know, to sort of demonstrate that the company is really getting the hang of this electrical computer thing.
---
*I'm going to try it myself. The horseradish out back is flourishing. So I'm gonna go see the county extension agent to see how much the gummint will pay me to grow less next year. It he says no I'll have to settle for you guys paying for my horseradish crop insurance.
My native state is pretty well known for over-reaching, but historically that has been mostly by Klem and his fellow agrarians over-reaching for green government checks.*
Lately we have expanded our ambition and decided to lead the world in high-tech endeavor, and Johnson County wants to be in the forefront. It is Iowa City, the University of Iowa, the place that gave one Barack Obama his start back in '08 and turned out 67 per cent for him in 2012.
I mean, that is one progressive cow-pasture, so in a way I endorse its lust to be home to the driverless car. Any populace that loony should be relieved of all possible adult-like responsibility.
The cheerleaders, however, overstate their case. Here's a guy named Nolte:
“We as humans overestimate our competency for safety behind the wheel,” according to Nolte. “When you compare us to these (driver-free) systems — we are going to have 360 degree vision, they’ll never get tired, they’ll never get distracted, they’ll be able to communicate with other vehicles with the infrastructure — they are vastly superior from a safety standpoint than humans ever will be.”
Okay, maybe it is more like hyperventilation than simple overstatement.
And I wonder if Johnson County will invite General Motors to plunk its miracle cars down on campus streets. If it does, I wonder if it will be before or after GM learns how to build an ignition switch that doesn't kill you.
Just, y'know, to sort of demonstrate that the company is really getting the hang of this electrical computer thing.
---
*I'm going to try it myself. The horseradish out back is flourishing. So I'm gonna go see the county extension agent to see how much the gummint will pay me to grow less next year. It he says no I'll have to settle for you guys paying for my horseradish crop insurance.
Jul 23, 2014
Sky blue; grass a shining green; birds melodic; mood sad
The morning is too beautiful to waste with worry, but it's too late for me, and I invite you to share my misery.
During coffee cup #2 I was wandering through the bizarre world of political journalism, sort of getting ready to plan my contribution to the art with periodic reports on the state of Iowa's caucus circus. That's where we tell you the names of acceptable presidential nominees.
The brute demographic ugliness engenders the worry.
The resulting practical advice is this: Keep buying .22s, even at $50 a brick. Don't be afraid of stressing out your Visa account, even to the point of using plastic to buy plastic, Glockenpoppers, LCPs, SR9s in recall-often calibers.
Because she's the Queen Apparent. Hillary, of course, the pants suit who promises to take things away from everyone except successful Arkansas cattle-futures traders for the common good. I personally believe that to be the only political promise of the century which she will strive mightily to fulfill.
In a walk Hillary Rodham Clinton beats every Democratic name the pollsters can fish out of the slimy rain barrel. Nominated, she beats one Republican after another, though by an apparent fluke Rand Paul betters her by a point in one poll.
So tell me it's too early to make judgments like that. You say that in politics, anything can happen? Thank you. I didn't know.
However, let's add one more sad molecule to the festering mix. At this moment, more than four out of every ten polled Americans believe that another Chicago ("You didn't build that!") pol is doing a great job of administering American affairs.
Could be you could go to $75 a brick and still find relative future happiness, 2017 through 2025.
During coffee cup #2 I was wandering through the bizarre world of political journalism, sort of getting ready to plan my contribution to the art with periodic reports on the state of Iowa's caucus circus. That's where we tell you the names of acceptable presidential nominees.
The brute demographic ugliness engenders the worry.
The resulting practical advice is this: Keep buying .22s, even at $50 a brick. Don't be afraid of stressing out your Visa account, even to the point of using plastic to buy plastic, Glockenpoppers, LCPs, SR9s in recall-often calibers.
Because she's the Queen Apparent. Hillary, of course, the pants suit who promises to take things away from everyone except successful Arkansas cattle-futures traders for the common good. I personally believe that to be the only political promise of the century which she will strive mightily to fulfill.
In a walk Hillary Rodham Clinton beats every Democratic name the pollsters can fish out of the slimy rain barrel. Nominated, she beats one Republican after another, though by an apparent fluke Rand Paul betters her by a point in one poll.
So tell me it's too early to make judgments like that. You say that in politics, anything can happen? Thank you. I didn't know.
However, let's add one more sad molecule to the festering mix. At this moment, more than four out of every ten polled Americans believe that another Chicago ("You didn't build that!") pol is doing a great job of administering American affairs.
Could be you could go to $75 a brick and still find relative future happiness, 2017 through 2025.
Jul 18, 2014
Taking a selfie? Put your pants on.
Ed Snowden has told the Guardian that your Officer Friendlies in the NSA just love your private parts and spreading them.
All day they whiz through your emails and PMs and Facebook offerings. Mostly boring stuff like your bank account, potitical contributions, stock investments, family troubles and so forth. Sometimes, though, they find something risible.
Snowden: During the course of their work, (NSA employees) stumble across something that is completely unrelated to their work in any sort of necessary sense, for example, an intimate nude photo of someone in a sexually compromising situation. But they’re extremely attractive.
So what do they do? They turn around in their chair and show a coworker who says, ‘Hey that’s great. Send that to Bill down the way.’ Then Bill sends it to George, who sends it to Tom, and sooner or later this persons whole life has been seen by all of these other people.
The NSA denies such a thing is possible because all their thousands of snoopers are Eagle Scouts who sing in the church choir,
All day they whiz through your emails and PMs and Facebook offerings. Mostly boring stuff like your bank account, potitical contributions, stock investments, family troubles and so forth. Sometimes, though, they find something risible.
Snowden: During the course of their work, (NSA employees) stumble across something that is completely unrelated to their work in any sort of necessary sense, for example, an intimate nude photo of someone in a sexually compromising situation. But they’re extremely attractive.
So what do they do? They turn around in their chair and show a coworker who says, ‘Hey that’s great. Send that to Bill down the way.’ Then Bill sends it to George, who sends it to Tom, and sooner or later this persons whole life has been seen by all of these other people.
The NSA denies such a thing is possible because all their thousands of snoopers are Eagle Scouts who sing in the church choir,
Jun 29, 2014
The New Caliphate
A tragic thing. Over all these years of desert war, none of us has ever thought to remind our American government that spending young blood and vast treasure in the Middle East was merely another stupid attempt to police religious wars and tribal spats of 1,500 years standing.
Perhaps our leaders in Washington might re-deliver their inspirational Arab Spring speeches of a couple years back. Just, you know, to make certain we don't lose confidence in their wisdom and foresight.
Perhaps our leaders in Washington might re-deliver their inspirational Arab Spring speeches of a couple years back. Just, you know, to make certain we don't lose confidence in their wisdom and foresight.
Jun 16, 2014
Do I need glasses or is truth really getting even fuzzier?
Three days ago our Commander-in-Chief stood on the White House lawn and told America: No combat troops to Iraq. That was pleasant to hear given that American warriors are relatively untrained in adjudicating disputes between rival religious sects.
This afternoon we learn that he has told congress he's sending "up to" 275 special forces troops to Iraq.
If I know government flackery correctly, the Ministry of Truth is warp-speed keyboarding the logical explanation that these forces are not "combat" troops. While "equipped for direct fighting," they're really some other kind of troops. Therefore the White House/State Department complex is not nearly as schizoid as any intelligent observer would first believe.
If so -- if they are other than active warriors -- then WTF are we directing them to do? Organize block parties? Hold knitting bees? Help the Jihad reduce its carbon foot print?
When we learn to our amazement that none of this works, we can surge in some more people. Why not? It is certainly a vital national interest to promote a reasoned dialog about who gets first crack at the afterlife virgins, not to mention the lion's share of oil loot; well worth all the young American blood it takes.
This afternoon we learn that he has told congress he's sending "up to" 275 special forces troops to Iraq.
If I know government flackery correctly, the Ministry of Truth is warp-speed keyboarding the logical explanation that these forces are not "combat" troops. While "equipped for direct fighting," they're really some other kind of troops. Therefore the White House/State Department complex is not nearly as schizoid as any intelligent observer would first believe.
If so -- if they are other than active warriors -- then WTF are we directing them to do? Organize block parties? Hold knitting bees? Help the Jihad reduce its carbon foot print?
When we learn to our amazement that none of this works, we can surge in some more people. Why not? It is certainly a vital national interest to promote a reasoned dialog about who gets first crack at the afterlife virgins, not to mention the lion's share of oil loot; well worth all the young American blood it takes.
Storms, then and now and leggy
I fell asleep reading about one storm, 160,000 years ago, and woke up in time to experience another one, still going on.
As my body succumbed to the fatigue of more work (actual work; moving matter) than I'm accustomed to lately, Donald Goldsmith* was telling me about Supernova 1987A. It actually happened sometime around the era when homo sapiens was killing off, and perhaps eating, competing bi-pedals, but it was far away. So far that the radiation didn't knock on our door until February 23, 1987.
And, rude Earthlings that we are, we turned out the lights, drew the drapes, and pretended not to be home. The neutrinos were left to their wanderings.
Of course, everyone these days knows something about neutrinos, a product of exploding stars. They are notable for being almost non-existent in a material sense. No gravitas. But they are blessed with a blind and driving energy, and if you want to explain this to your kids by an analogy involving Barack Obama, it's okay with me.
A few days later the rest of the rays and particles from the explosion started calling. This time we were paying attention. The most noticeable result? Hundreds of ambitious astronomers and physicists rushing about and tripping over one another in a mad dash for research grants.
That part of Space Storm 1987A is calming down, as is the great Camp Jiggleview Deluge of June 16, 2014. The most noticeable result of this one will be the Commandant's activities tomorrow. Moving matter, downed burr oak branches and assorted small debris blown around here and there.
There's no real damage, just a certain annoyance that my recovery day will be delayed. I'll entertain myself by photographing the foot of so of water standing in the shallow ditch in front of the private Camp Jiggleview Forest. It's happened before, a great big puddle that goes way in a day or two. Of course when I'm telling my Green Party friends about it I use the term "rain garden."
All that done, I'll start getting ready to replace some blown roofing on the shop-office-guest room building. So (sigh) If I seem a little surly for the next few days, please be understanding and kind.
---
I'd have preferred this one, but not even exalted Commandants get everything they want.
---
*In "The Astronomers" 1991, ISBN 0-312-05380-0. (It's a little dated, of course, but still a rather useful explanation of cosmology for lay folk, especially when read with Bryson's "A Short History of Nearly Everything." If I'd read it before Hawking's two popular books I might have understood more of what he said in fewer than three readings.)
As my body succumbed to the fatigue of more work (actual work; moving matter) than I'm accustomed to lately, Donald Goldsmith* was telling me about Supernova 1987A. It actually happened sometime around the era when homo sapiens was killing off, and perhaps eating, competing bi-pedals, but it was far away. So far that the radiation didn't knock on our door until February 23, 1987.
And, rude Earthlings that we are, we turned out the lights, drew the drapes, and pretended not to be home. The neutrinos were left to their wanderings.
Of course, everyone these days knows something about neutrinos, a product of exploding stars. They are notable for being almost non-existent in a material sense. No gravitas. But they are blessed with a blind and driving energy, and if you want to explain this to your kids by an analogy involving Barack Obama, it's okay with me.
A few days later the rest of the rays and particles from the explosion started calling. This time we were paying attention. The most noticeable result? Hundreds of ambitious astronomers and physicists rushing about and tripping over one another in a mad dash for research grants.
That part of Space Storm 1987A is calming down, as is the great Camp Jiggleview Deluge of June 16, 2014. The most noticeable result of this one will be the Commandant's activities tomorrow. Moving matter, downed burr oak branches and assorted small debris blown around here and there.
There's no real damage, just a certain annoyance that my recovery day will be delayed. I'll entertain myself by photographing the foot of so of water standing in the shallow ditch in front of the private Camp Jiggleview Forest. It's happened before, a great big puddle that goes way in a day or two. Of course when I'm telling my Green Party friends about it I use the term "rain garden."
All that done, I'll start getting ready to replace some blown roofing on the shop-office-guest room building. So (sigh) If I seem a little surly for the next few days, please be understanding and kind.
---
I'd have preferred this one, but not even exalted Commandants get everything they want.
---
*In "The Astronomers" 1991, ISBN 0-312-05380-0. (It's a little dated, of course, but still a rather useful explanation of cosmology for lay folk, especially when read with Bryson's "A Short History of Nearly Everything." If I'd read it before Hawking's two popular books I might have understood more of what he said in fewer than three readings.)
Jun 6, 2014
The Longest Wind
Good Lord. Can it be that long since President Obama first showed his arse to the world in a D-Day speech?
He's still fumbling for his Commander-in-Chief britches, but in all fairness he has improved since the rhetorical embarrassment he uttered five years ago today when he proclaimed that the Normandy invasion was launched by generals who planned to fail.
Today's 2014 edition is less laughable, pretty good, in fact for His Ineptness. If you want to think he ordered his speech writers to study up on Peggy Noonan's the boys of Pointe du Hoc gem I won't argue with you.
On the other hand, he forgot to remind his staff that maybe they might want to think about consulting someone who is at least casually acquainted with the summer of '44.
By the end of that longest day, this beach had been fought, lost, refought and won -- a piece of Europe once again liberated and free. Hitler's Wall was breached, letting loose Patton's Army to pour into France.
All I can figure is that his pollster told him Patton is a supremely recognizable name while Omar Bradley is by now a whoduhhellizzat? I mean, George even had a movie made about him, and it is still getting decent numbers on teevee reruns.
On D-Day, Patton was giving speeches in England and commanding a ghost army of rubber tanks and plywood trucks to fool Nazis into believing in a main attack later across the Dover Straits. He was quietly training his real army -- the Third -- which went operational more than a month later, long after the first Normandy beach breakouts.
The point isn't Patton. It is a president who commands resources vast enough to inform him -- assuming he gives a damn -- that, among the Americans, Bradley and his First Army carried the load for weeks beyond "The Longest Day." It's basic stuff.
But maybe it is important only to old cranks who cling bitterly to the notion that when presidents speak their stuff gets written down in books and, therefore, the lower the nonsense quotient the better.
---
And then he read off his Teleprompter:
To the East, the British tore through the coast, fueled by the fury of five years of bombs over London, and a solemn vow to "fight them on the beaches."
Just for the record, the quote is from Churchill in 1940 and had nothing to do with Overlord. Winston was rallying the home army -- and the home folks with shotguns and cricket bats -- to hold fast on the beaches of Britain.
Oh well. What difference does it make, anyway?
He's still fumbling for his Commander-in-Chief britches, but in all fairness he has improved since the rhetorical embarrassment he uttered five years ago today when he proclaimed that the Normandy invasion was launched by generals who planned to fail.
Today's 2014 edition is less laughable, pretty good, in fact for His Ineptness. If you want to think he ordered his speech writers to study up on Peggy Noonan's the boys of Pointe du Hoc gem I won't argue with you.
On the other hand, he forgot to remind his staff that maybe they might want to think about consulting someone who is at least casually acquainted with the summer of '44.
By the end of that longest day, this beach had been fought, lost, refought and won -- a piece of Europe once again liberated and free. Hitler's Wall was breached, letting loose Patton's Army to pour into France.
All I can figure is that his pollster told him Patton is a supremely recognizable name while Omar Bradley is by now a whoduhhellizzat? I mean, George even had a movie made about him, and it is still getting decent numbers on teevee reruns.
On D-Day, Patton was giving speeches in England and commanding a ghost army of rubber tanks and plywood trucks to fool Nazis into believing in a main attack later across the Dover Straits. He was quietly training his real army -- the Third -- which went operational more than a month later, long after the first Normandy beach breakouts.
The point isn't Patton. It is a president who commands resources vast enough to inform him -- assuming he gives a damn -- that, among the Americans, Bradley and his First Army carried the load for weeks beyond "The Longest Day." It's basic stuff.
But maybe it is important only to old cranks who cling bitterly to the notion that when presidents speak their stuff gets written down in books and, therefore, the lower the nonsense quotient the better.
---
And then he read off his Teleprompter:
To the East, the British tore through the coast, fueled by the fury of five years of bombs over London, and a solemn vow to "fight them on the beaches."
Just for the record, the quote is from Churchill in 1940 and had nothing to do with Overlord. Winston was rallying the home army -- and the home folks with shotguns and cricket bats -- to hold fast on the beaches of Britain.
Oh well. What difference does it make, anyway?
Jun 5, 2014
The unmasking of a president
In The Unmaking of a Mayor, William F. Buckley, knowing full well he would lose his race, reflected:
I am running to advance certain ideas. It makes no difference to me who implements these ideas so long as he is a good administrator. (Paraphrase)
Barack Obama's nervous jitterbugging on the five-for-one swap with Taliban terrorists illustrates the value of Buckley's words.
Obama says he told congress; then he apologizes for not telling congress; then he remembers that he really did tell congress but it was three years ago; and, besides, Bergdahl is a hero, or if not a hero at least another deserving American boy. Or. Maybe. I said. I meant. He's glad the hometown would celebrate the return. He understands why they canceled the party.
Proving that this guy is to the presidency as Barney Fife is to police work. Praying folks should petition their gods that the coming 31 months bring the nation no crisis requiring clear thought and administrative competence.
I am running to advance certain ideas. It makes no difference to me who implements these ideas so long as he is a good administrator. (Paraphrase)
Barack Obama's nervous jitterbugging on the five-for-one swap with Taliban terrorists illustrates the value of Buckley's words.
Obama says he told congress; then he apologizes for not telling congress; then he remembers that he really did tell congress but it was three years ago; and, besides, Bergdahl is a hero, or if not a hero at least another deserving American boy. Or. Maybe. I said. I meant. He's glad the hometown would celebrate the return. He understands why they canceled the party.
Proving that this guy is to the presidency as Barney Fife is to police work. Praying folks should petition their gods that the coming 31 months bring the nation no crisis requiring clear thought and administrative competence.
May 9, 2014
Mother's Milk; The Sour Tit
By virtue of of having been an operative for national Republicans, I remain, many years later, on the special sucker lists. If they categorize it finely, I'm in the Venn overlap as one of the superannuated has-beens who is on record as having given a little money or service to The Stupid Party since leaving Washington.
It generally doesn't bother me because my delete button works well. It is the chore of only a few seconds to whoosh off to never-never land 24 hours worth of come-ons from Viagra peddlers, conspiracy nuts, commercial sex freaks, and the fund raising arm of the party.
It is only when I bother to read the stuff that I get disgusted enough to react, usually thusly:
"Look, you guys, if I want my intelligence insulted, I have dozens of local friends, relatives, and acquaintances I can turn to."
The feeling can be generated by a mere partial reading of the gimme letters, such as today's under the subject line: "Today is Election Day:" -- a patent piece of nonsense followed by, "From this day forward, every day is election day." Spare me.
Then come a few paragraphs of GOP virtues (vastly overstated) and Democrat vices (mostly true, or approximately so). Then the kicker, and you're undoubtedly way ahead of me here:
But the truth is we can’t win without your contribution today. Contribute $14 today to secure historic victories in 2014.
They want fourteen bucks for A.D. twenty-fourteen.
"Get it? Huh? Doyah get it?"
"Oh yeah. I see. That's a rilly cool way to write it. At least as clever as Obama's demand for a $10.10 federal minimum wage because 'It's easy to remember'."
---
After substantial salaries and bonuses to the GOP functionaries, particularly those in the fundraising arm, the proceeds will be used to tune up the no'bortion trumpets, fire grape shot from the parapets at lavender-themed weddings; maybe even restore the draft to liberate Sevastopol and bring the sweet light of reason to Nigerian Boko Harams -- you know, the ones stealing and peddling virgins at twelve bucks per because America doesn't care enough to send them money.
In other words, to buy dull votes for guys like Rick Santorum who are the flip sides of, for instance, Nancy Pelosi and Justice Wisina Latina.
Never mind the problems that could, and may well, kill us.
--Let's start with the unannounced domestic assault on every dime you've managed to save -- the planned c. 2 per cent annual devaluation.
--Also the notion that it's completely our fault that Islamist thugs kidnap school girls and decapitate reporters and other undesirables.
--And that a federal SWAT team is a perfectly reasonable reaction to some screwball rancher who won't pay his grazing fees. And so on.
Send me a hustle note addressing things like that and I will, without fail, send you your fourteen bucks, probably more.
---
Ancient loyalties and current observations compel me to note that the Democrats are worse. Meanwhile, I entertain myself with the probably futile dream that libertarians may one day get at least a "C-" in Politics 101.
It generally doesn't bother me because my delete button works well. It is the chore of only a few seconds to whoosh off to never-never land 24 hours worth of come-ons from Viagra peddlers, conspiracy nuts, commercial sex freaks, and the fund raising arm of the party.
It is only when I bother to read the stuff that I get disgusted enough to react, usually thusly:
"Look, you guys, if I want my intelligence insulted, I have dozens of local friends, relatives, and acquaintances I can turn to."
The feeling can be generated by a mere partial reading of the gimme letters, such as today's under the subject line: "Today is Election Day:" -- a patent piece of nonsense followed by, "From this day forward, every day is election day." Spare me.
Then come a few paragraphs of GOP virtues (vastly overstated) and Democrat vices (mostly true, or approximately so). Then the kicker, and you're undoubtedly way ahead of me here:
But the truth is we can’t win without your contribution today. Contribute $14 today to secure historic victories in 2014.
They want fourteen bucks for A.D. twenty-fourteen.
"Get it? Huh? Doyah get it?"
"Oh yeah. I see. That's a rilly cool way to write it. At least as clever as Obama's demand for a $10.10 federal minimum wage because 'It's easy to remember'."
---
After substantial salaries and bonuses to the GOP functionaries, particularly those in the fundraising arm, the proceeds will be used to tune up the no'bortion trumpets, fire grape shot from the parapets at lavender-themed weddings; maybe even restore the draft to liberate Sevastopol and bring the sweet light of reason to Nigerian Boko Harams -- you know, the ones stealing and peddling virgins at twelve bucks per because America doesn't care enough to send them money.
In other words, to buy dull votes for guys like Rick Santorum who are the flip sides of, for instance, Nancy Pelosi and Justice Wisina Latina.
Never mind the problems that could, and may well, kill us.
--Let's start with the unannounced domestic assault on every dime you've managed to save -- the planned c. 2 per cent annual devaluation.
--Also the notion that it's completely our fault that Islamist thugs kidnap school girls and decapitate reporters and other undesirables.
--And that a federal SWAT team is a perfectly reasonable reaction to some screwball rancher who won't pay his grazing fees. And so on.
Send me a hustle note addressing things like that and I will, without fail, send you your fourteen bucks, probably more.
---
Ancient loyalties and current observations compel me to note that the Democrats are worse. Meanwhile, I entertain myself with the probably futile dream that libertarians may one day get at least a "C-" in Politics 101.
May 7, 2014
Global weirding
It's all my fault, of course.
Until yesterday morning I considered my carbon foot print acceptable, but a whim led to catastrophe. You see, that ten-inch willow at the edge of my miniforest was hanging precariously over the lane, so I thoughtlessly transformed it from a graceful Gore carbon sequesterer and oxygen factory into firewood.
(The intent was good, based on humanitarian concerns. Who knows when it might have come crashing down on a van load of my usual visitors -- nuns, orphans, girl pole vaulters in uniform. Alas, my judgement about The Greater Good has never been adequate, so the slaying of the willow was just another paver on the road to Hell.)
Not 24 hours later my teevee weather advisers report the results -- an unseasonable spot of 90-degree global warming a hundred miles west-southwest of that poor, murdered willow and a massive winter storm in nearby cowboy country, a mere day's drive straight west.
As soon at this confession hits the wires I will strip, flagellate myself with a cat-o-nine, roll in the nettles, and otherwise make manifest my shame.
---
I am doubly at fault because of the immediate social and political environment. My Great Leader just yesterday, just as I was slinging the Stihl, took time to again explain to me the error of my ways*; my selfish insistance on a warm home, a couple-three thousand calories daily, enough scurrying electrons to power my computer for purposes of anti-government agitation, and even the occasional few dozen carbonized miles in a fossil-powered vehicle.
I suppose I could make a down payment on redemption by planting a new tree. The trouble with that is the deer, who would eat it. We have a rule that Bambi belongs to the people as a whole,even though the environmental havoc he wrecks is the personal and inviolable concern of the private citizen. This last point once confused me, so I asked the leaders of our Department of Natural Resources about it. They responded with a crystal clear statement: "Shut up and do what we say."
---
*He's not too hot at moral persuasion of Putin, but by God he's Hell on wheels when it becomes time to make callous arseholes like you and me feel guilty.
Until yesterday morning I considered my carbon foot print acceptable, but a whim led to catastrophe. You see, that ten-inch willow at the edge of my miniforest was hanging precariously over the lane, so I thoughtlessly transformed it from a graceful Gore carbon sequesterer and oxygen factory into firewood.
(The intent was good, based on humanitarian concerns. Who knows when it might have come crashing down on a van load of my usual visitors -- nuns, orphans, girl pole vaulters in uniform. Alas, my judgement about The Greater Good has never been adequate, so the slaying of the willow was just another paver on the road to Hell.)
Not 24 hours later my teevee weather advisers report the results -- an unseasonable spot of 90-degree global warming a hundred miles west-southwest of that poor, murdered willow and a massive winter storm in nearby cowboy country, a mere day's drive straight west.
As soon at this confession hits the wires I will strip, flagellate myself with a cat-o-nine, roll in the nettles, and otherwise make manifest my shame.
---
I am doubly at fault because of the immediate social and political environment. My Great Leader just yesterday, just as I was slinging the Stihl, took time to again explain to me the error of my ways*; my selfish insistance on a warm home, a couple-three thousand calories daily, enough scurrying electrons to power my computer for purposes of anti-government agitation, and even the occasional few dozen carbonized miles in a fossil-powered vehicle.
I suppose I could make a down payment on redemption by planting a new tree. The trouble with that is the deer, who would eat it. We have a rule that Bambi belongs to the people as a whole,even though the environmental havoc he wrecks is the personal and inviolable concern of the private citizen. This last point once confused me, so I asked the leaders of our Department of Natural Resources about it. They responded with a crystal clear statement: "Shut up and do what we say."
---
*He's not too hot at moral persuasion of Putin, but by God he's Hell on wheels when it becomes time to make callous arseholes like you and me feel guilty.
Mar 21, 2014
Obama in a Vacuum
This is one result of a general desktop clearing, a real desk top with dust, odd pieces of paper, bent paper clips, and a somewhat dry sandwich segment.
"No matter what congress does, I am the President the United States and they expect me to do something about it."
It is an accurate quotation because I wrote it carefully in script which is readable even after weeks or months. Unfortunately, I can't recall the issue. Therefore I don't know exactly what the president was talking about. Of course, he probably didn't either so I don't feel too bad.
It does make me wonder what he taught about the Constitution when he was a Professor of Constitutional Law to supplement his income from organizing street corners in Chicago.
Feb 10, 2014
World Leaders -- Armed and Ready
You read Churchill's epic -- all six volumes -- twice, once for a quick overview of how this guy and his country operated 1935-1945. Okay, a slow overview. Much later in life you read it again to flesh out your information from other sources.
Finally, you keep it handy on your shelf for who-knows-what reason, maybe a time-passer when it is 25 below zero* and you couldn't be pried from your fireside chair with a crow bar. Just sort of leaf through looking for little nuggets among the old blowhard's Germanic thoroughness of detail, from the important to the trivial.
And speaking of guns, I found one.
Winston had just been made first lord of the Admiralty. He knew the Nazis wouldn't like that and that there were supposedly some 20,000 of them lurking about the Sceptred Isle. He would really rawther not get shot.
"I had no official protection and I did not wish to ask for any; but I thought myself sufficiently prominent to take precautions. I had enough information to convince me Hitler recognized me as a foe. My former Scotland Yard detective, Inspector Thompson, was in retirement. I told him to come long and bring his pistol with him. I got out my own weapons, which were good. While one slept, the other watched. Thus nobody would have had a walkover."**
He doesn't tell us about his guns at Chartwell, and that is too bad. If we knew we could have a lively internet debate about whether he was tactical enough. Nevertheless, there's plenty of evidence that Churchill was at least passingly familiar with small, lethal weapons.
Lucky England. And lucky us who, here in the colonies, some three generations later, also enjoy courageous personal leadership.
xxxxx
(Sotto voice) Psssst. Mr. President.: Rule 3 violation, but nothing Photo-Shop can't fix. Alert Jay.
---
*And it was; coldest of the season, but things are looking up now.
**Churchill, The Gathering Storm, Houghten-Mifflin BCE, 1948, p. 401
Feb 7, 2014
The most wonderful Wednesday ever
Four days and a wakeup.
Then it's the Wednesday of the Three Blessings. Two of them are sure things, as sure as any temporal thing can be, anyway. The other is a well-hedged promise.
1. On that day, because I continue to be such a dedicated and competent retiree, President Obama will deliver my monthly stipend which he financed by extorting money from you. Sorry about that, Chief.
2. Simultaneously, my thimble full of that little leveraged-bond ETF I keep mentioning goes "x," adding one more piece of pittance to the money I'm trying to put aside for my old age. (I hope, even in that distant future, to be prepared to whip out cash for a clean GI issue 1911 some guy is tired of. Never mind that I might need to hire a kid to rack the slide when I want to shoot it.)
3. Some time on that day of Woden the air temperature here at Camp Jiggleview, of which I am commandant, will at last exceed 20 degrees above zero. This is another Obama pledge. Of course it is channeled through his National Weather Service, but we know where the buck stops, don't we?
(Subsequently, His Ineptness promises no, repeat no, temperatures seriously below zero for weeks on end. Hope you're right, Buck-O.)
---
Returning to the present, the 12-below present, I awoke to a too-cool room, moving me to switch on the propane for about about 10 minutes. (Damn, another $138.22 shot to the devil.)
The fireplace embers were glowing nicely, and plenty of firewood lay near the burner, but only the normally preferable big oak rounds, close to a foot in diameter and therefore not too good for quickly broiling my frostbitten backside. So I dressed (before coffee {!}) and trudged to the outer pile for a load of squaw wood, small and soft, which is now blazing. The aforementioned backside is acquiring a nice sear, and I am content.
Feb 6, 2014
I'm going home to Mother and I am taking the teevee!
Sanborn is an inoffensive little country town about 45 miles down the road. Folks get along. The economy is pretty good. Hardly enough crime to shake a stick at, and the wives have pretty much stopped bringing shredded carrots in lime Jello to the church-basement potlucks.
It's just the kind of target bigger government looks for. We'll teach those Neanderthal bastards!
Sanborn has a three-member public utilities board. All three were men. One's term expired, and a woman applied. So did the incumbent. The town council re-appointed him, making her mad and generating a complaint to Higher.
Iowa has a law vaguely requiring "gender balance" on city boards and commissions. Who ever got the Sanborn beef lateraled it to our state ombudswoman.
Apparently a few reams of correspondence ensued, ending with her sheaf of "recommendations for corrective actions." The council promised to keep them on file and maybe get back to her. It seems the legislators (a) passed the law in order to mollify gender-balance voters and (b) failed to prescribe any punishment for violations in order to comfort male chauvinist pigs.
And this made her stomp her official ombudsfoot:
"According to a letter Ombudsman (sic) Ruth Cooperrider sent to the Sanborn mayor and city council members this week, the town did not take any of her suggested corrective actions. She expressed frustration, but said this would be her final communication."
---
Please stop throwing china at me. Gender balance is a good idea. And foot-stomping is not solely a female trait; see a rerun of any Obama press conference after congress declined to give him exactly what he wanted.
It doesn't make a Hell of a lot of difference whether an official chair is warmed by bureaucratic butt sheathed in silken step-ins or a hairy one sporting camo boxers. If the job is administrative all that's required is a competent administrator. If it is policy-making, it needs only a human with a sense of sane policy-making.
For instance, I fear nothing from Janet Yellen that I wouldn't have feared from Larry Summers. Toilet seat up or toilet seat down makes no never mind to the actual issue of how much funny money to print up so His Ineptness and the congress can keep right on buying your vote.
It's just the kind of target bigger government looks for. We'll teach those Neanderthal bastards!
Sanborn has a three-member public utilities board. All three were men. One's term expired, and a woman applied. So did the incumbent. The town council re-appointed him, making her mad and generating a complaint to Higher.
Iowa has a law vaguely requiring "gender balance" on city boards and commissions. Who ever got the Sanborn beef lateraled it to our state ombudswoman.
Apparently a few reams of correspondence ensued, ending with her sheaf of "recommendations for corrective actions." The council promised to keep them on file and maybe get back to her. It seems the legislators (a) passed the law in order to mollify gender-balance voters and (b) failed to prescribe any punishment for violations in order to comfort male chauvinist pigs.
And this made her stomp her official ombudsfoot:
"According to a letter Ombudsman (sic) Ruth Cooperrider sent to the Sanborn mayor and city council members this week, the town did not take any of her suggested corrective actions. She expressed frustration, but said this would be her final communication."
---
Please stop throwing china at me. Gender balance is a good idea. And foot-stomping is not solely a female trait; see a rerun of any Obama press conference after congress declined to give him exactly what he wanted.
It doesn't make a Hell of a lot of difference whether an official chair is warmed by bureaucratic butt sheathed in silken step-ins or a hairy one sporting camo boxers. If the job is administrative all that's required is a competent administrator. If it is policy-making, it needs only a human with a sense of sane policy-making.
For instance, I fear nothing from Janet Yellen that I wouldn't have feared from Larry Summers. Toilet seat up or toilet seat down makes no never mind to the actual issue of how much funny money to print up so His Ineptness and the congress can keep right on buying your vote.
Jan 28, 2014
Gabby and Gun
Dumping on Gabby Giffords is not a pleasant thing to do. So let's not.
But why should we cut breaks for political ghouls using this mentally-diminished woman to gut America by disarming all citizens who did not wound her and kill six other people?
She will be on your teevee tonight, in paid commercials sandwiching Obama's annual paean to Obama. Her handlers would probably just as soon ignore Ms. Giffords one-time delight in center-massing a a nice-looking boy's image with her assault rifle.
Sure, he's pointing his own weapon at her, but maybe he meant merely to shoot the M16 (AR15?) out of her hands. So she chould have just shot him in the leg.
But why should we cut breaks for political ghouls using this mentally-diminished woman to gut America by disarming all citizens who did not wound her and kill six other people?
She will be on your teevee tonight, in paid commercials sandwiching Obama's annual paean to Obama. Her handlers would probably just as soon ignore Ms. Giffords one-time delight in center-massing a a nice-looking boy's image with her assault rifle.
Sure, he's pointing his own weapon at her, but maybe he meant merely to shoot the M16 (AR15?) out of her hands. So she chould have just shot him in the leg.
Jan 14, 2014
Out Out, Damned Nips
Nothing good can come of this. Our brothers of the Rising Sun buying Jim Beam? If I know those guys, and I think I do, they won't even sugar coat this barbaric act of imperialism with a decent geisha house in Clermont, Kentucky.
Please don't think me racist, at least not in this case. After all, I did not protest the Jap purchase of Pebble Beach 24 years ago. What's a goddam golf course between allies, anyway? (I was, however, vaguely pleased when Clint Eastwood bought it back for us.)
But Jim Beam Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey -- American since 1795 -- under the thumb of the guys who make Suntory whiskey, a liquid some people actually drink but which achieves its highest and best purpose as a surface cleaner and disinfectant? Sacrilege. Un-American. Yet another reason to rise up in revolt against the Obama foreign trade policy. Gives me a pain in the sakirilliac.
We can't overpraise Jim Beam, here. It's a justifiable few cents a shot cheaper than Jack and Turkey and Makers but still a pleasant-enough flavoring for Coke, RC, and Dr. Pepper. And it's American. Middle American. Blue collar tattoo Levis and Harley American. To arms! God knows what will happen to it when Osaka gets around to experimenting with additives of rice squeezings.
We must stop selling them scrap metal and embargo all shipments of...
Oh Hell. Shut up, Jim. You're too late. The deal is done. It all Akadamac now.
Please don't think me racist, at least not in this case. After all, I did not protest the Jap purchase of Pebble Beach 24 years ago. What's a goddam golf course between allies, anyway? (I was, however, vaguely pleased when Clint Eastwood bought it back for us.)
But Jim Beam Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey -- American since 1795 -- under the thumb of the guys who make Suntory whiskey, a liquid some people actually drink but which achieves its highest and best purpose as a surface cleaner and disinfectant? Sacrilege. Un-American. Yet another reason to rise up in revolt against the Obama foreign trade policy. Gives me a pain in the sakirilliac.
We can't overpraise Jim Beam, here. It's a justifiable few cents a shot cheaper than Jack and Turkey and Makers but still a pleasant-enough flavoring for Coke, RC, and Dr. Pepper. And it's American. Middle American. Blue collar tattoo Levis and Harley American. To arms! God knows what will happen to it when Osaka gets around to experimenting with additives of rice squeezings.
We must stop selling them scrap metal and embargo all shipments of...
Oh Hell. Shut up, Jim. You're too late. The deal is done. It all Akadamac now.
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