You are not the only one.
I had a great Thanksgiving, by the way. The food was wonderful, and I am fortunate enough to have friends and family that never try to kill me. (Here comes an Assault Knife Ban...)
Saturday, November 27, 2004
The Right TV
Catherine Seipp recently weighed in on one of the best television shows ever, The Simpsons:
The cartoon family became the longest-running primetime series in TV history with its 300th episode last year, surpassing even Bonanza and Ozzie & Harriet. It continues to add to the pop-culture lexicon, especially on the right, although I'm sure that was not the intention of its lefty creator, Matt Groening. The show's description of the appeasing French as "cheese-eating surrender monkeys" was quickly picked up by war-hawk bloggers. And Ben Stein once told me, when I asked him about conservatives in Hollywood, that The Simpsons was a breakthrough statement against leftist pieties — because it "was the first show that said if you're a loser, it's your own fault."
But it is her opening remarks that ring most truly, because as much control as Republicans have in Washington, the Democrats hold a massive share of power elsewhere...
One of the election lessons for Democrats is that while the Left doesn't understand the Right, the Right can't help but understand the Left, because the Left is in charge of pop culture. Urban blue staters can go their entire lives happily innocent of the world of church socials and duck hunting and Boy Scout meetings, but small-town red staters are exposed to big-city blue-state values every time they turn on the TV.
The cartoon family became the longest-running primetime series in TV history with its 300th episode last year, surpassing even Bonanza and Ozzie & Harriet. It continues to add to the pop-culture lexicon, especially on the right, although I'm sure that was not the intention of its lefty creator, Matt Groening. The show's description of the appeasing French as "cheese-eating surrender monkeys" was quickly picked up by war-hawk bloggers. And Ben Stein once told me, when I asked him about conservatives in Hollywood, that The Simpsons was a breakthrough statement against leftist pieties — because it "was the first show that said if you're a loser, it's your own fault."
But it is her opening remarks that ring most truly, because as much control as Republicans have in Washington, the Democrats hold a massive share of power elsewhere...
One of the election lessons for Democrats is that while the Left doesn't understand the Right, the Right can't help but understand the Left, because the Left is in charge of pop culture. Urban blue staters can go their entire lives happily innocent of the world of church socials and duck hunting and Boy Scout meetings, but small-town red staters are exposed to big-city blue-state values every time they turn on the TV.
Thursday, November 25, 2004
Happy Thanksgiving, America!
I am going to enjoy dinner...
Beverages
Crystal Lite
Diet Coke
Dr. Pepper
Hot Tea
Appetizers
Spinach Dip & Crackers
Raw Veggie Plate
Salads
Fruited Jello Surprise
Main Course
Ham & Turkey
Dressing & Gravy
Jellied Cranberry Sauce
Sweet Potatoes
Rice Casserole
Cabbage
Peas
Bread & Butter
Dessert
Pumpkin Cake
Butter Pecan Ice Cream
Beverages
Crystal Lite
Diet Coke
Dr. Pepper
Hot Tea
Appetizers
Spinach Dip & Crackers
Raw Veggie Plate
Salads
Fruited Jello Surprise
Main Course
Ham & Turkey
Dressing & Gravy
Jellied Cranberry Sauce
Sweet Potatoes
Rice Casserole
Cabbage
Peas
Bread & Butter
Dessert
Pumpkin Cake
Butter Pecan Ice Cream
Neal Stephenson Vs. William Gibson
Neal Stephenson finally answers the question, "In a fight between you and William Gibson, who would win?"
You don't have to settle for mere idle speculation. Let me tell you how it came out on the three occasions when we did fight.
The first time was a year or two after SNOW CRASH came out. I was doing a reading/signing at White Dwarf Books in Vancouver. Gibson stopped by to say hello and extended his hand as if to shake. But I remembered something Bruce Sterling had told me. For, at the time, Sterling and I had formed a pact to fight Gibson. Gibson had been regrown in a vat from scraps of DNA after Sterling had crashed an LNG tanker into Gibson's Stealth pleasure barge in the Straits of Juan de Fuca. During the regeneration process, telescoping Carbonite stilettos had been incorporated into Gibson's arms. Remembering this in the nick of time, I grabbed the signing table and flipped it up between us. Of course the Carbonite stilettos pierced it as if it were cork board, but this spoiled his aim long enough for me to whip my wakizashi out from between my shoulder blades and swing at his head. He deflected the blow with a force blast that sprained my wrist. The falling table knocked over a space heater and set fire to the store. Everyone else fled. Gibson and I dueled among blazing stacks of books for a while. Slowly I gained the upper hand, for, on defense, his Praying Mantis style was no match for my Flying Cloud technique. But I lost him behind a cloud of smoke. Then I had to get out of the place. The streets were crowded with his black-suited minions and I had to turn into a swarm of locusts and fly back to Seattle.
The second time was a few years later when Gibson came through Seattle on his IDORU tour. Between doing some drive-by signings at local bookstores, he came and devastated my quarter of the city. I had been in a trance for seven days and seven nights and was unaware of these goings-on, but he came to me in a vision and taunted me, and left a message on my cellphone. That evening he was doing a reading at Kane Hall on the University of Washington campus. Swathed in black, I climbed to the top of the hall, mesmerized his snipers, sliced a hole in the roof using a plasma cutter, let myself into the catwalks above the stage, and then leapt down upon him from forty feet above. But I had forgotten that he had once studied in the same monastery as I, and knew all of my techniques. He rolled away at the last moment. I struck only the lectern, smashing it to kindling. Snatching up one jagged shard of oak I adopted the Mountain Tiger position just as you would expect. He pulled off his wireless mike and began to whirl it around his head. From there, the fight proceeded along predictable lines. As a stalemate developed we began to resort more and more to the use of pure energy, modulated by Red Lotus incantations of the third Sung group, which eventually to the collapse of the building's roof and the loss of eight hundred lives. But as they were only peasants, we did not care.
Our third fight occurred at the Peace Arch on the U.S./Canadian border between Seattle and Vancouver. Gibson wished to retire from that sort of lifestyle that required ceaseless training in the martial arts and sleeping outdoors under the rain. He only wished to sit in his garden brushing out novels on rice paper. But honor dictated that he must fight me for a third time first. Of course the Peace Arch did not remain standing for long. Before long my sword arm hung useless at my side. One of my psi blasts kicked up a large divot of earth and rubble, uncovering a silver metallic object, hitherto buried, that seemed to have been crafted by an industrial designer. It was a nitro-veridian device that had been buried there by Sterling. We were able to fly clear before it detonated. The blast caused a seismic rupture that split off a sizable part of Canada and created what we now know as Vancouver Island. This was the last fight between me and Gibson. For both of us, by studying certain ancient prophecies, had independently arrived at the same conclusion, namely that Sterling's professed interest in industrial design was a mere cover for work in superweapons. Gibson and I formed a pact to fight Sterling. So far we have made little headway in seeking out his lair of brushed steel and white LEDs, because I had a dentist appointment and Gibson had to attend a writers' conference, but keep an eye on Slashdot for any further developments.
You don't have to settle for mere idle speculation. Let me tell you how it came out on the three occasions when we did fight.
The first time was a year or two after SNOW CRASH came out. I was doing a reading/signing at White Dwarf Books in Vancouver. Gibson stopped by to say hello and extended his hand as if to shake. But I remembered something Bruce Sterling had told me. For, at the time, Sterling and I had formed a pact to fight Gibson. Gibson had been regrown in a vat from scraps of DNA after Sterling had crashed an LNG tanker into Gibson's Stealth pleasure barge in the Straits of Juan de Fuca. During the regeneration process, telescoping Carbonite stilettos had been incorporated into Gibson's arms. Remembering this in the nick of time, I grabbed the signing table and flipped it up between us. Of course the Carbonite stilettos pierced it as if it were cork board, but this spoiled his aim long enough for me to whip my wakizashi out from between my shoulder blades and swing at his head. He deflected the blow with a force blast that sprained my wrist. The falling table knocked over a space heater and set fire to the store. Everyone else fled. Gibson and I dueled among blazing stacks of books for a while. Slowly I gained the upper hand, for, on defense, his Praying Mantis style was no match for my Flying Cloud technique. But I lost him behind a cloud of smoke. Then I had to get out of the place. The streets were crowded with his black-suited minions and I had to turn into a swarm of locusts and fly back to Seattle.
The second time was a few years later when Gibson came through Seattle on his IDORU tour. Between doing some drive-by signings at local bookstores, he came and devastated my quarter of the city. I had been in a trance for seven days and seven nights and was unaware of these goings-on, but he came to me in a vision and taunted me, and left a message on my cellphone. That evening he was doing a reading at Kane Hall on the University of Washington campus. Swathed in black, I climbed to the top of the hall, mesmerized his snipers, sliced a hole in the roof using a plasma cutter, let myself into the catwalks above the stage, and then leapt down upon him from forty feet above. But I had forgotten that he had once studied in the same monastery as I, and knew all of my techniques. He rolled away at the last moment. I struck only the lectern, smashing it to kindling. Snatching up one jagged shard of oak I adopted the Mountain Tiger position just as you would expect. He pulled off his wireless mike and began to whirl it around his head. From there, the fight proceeded along predictable lines. As a stalemate developed we began to resort more and more to the use of pure energy, modulated by Red Lotus incantations of the third Sung group, which eventually to the collapse of the building's roof and the loss of eight hundred lives. But as they were only peasants, we did not care.
Our third fight occurred at the Peace Arch on the U.S./Canadian border between Seattle and Vancouver. Gibson wished to retire from that sort of lifestyle that required ceaseless training in the martial arts and sleeping outdoors under the rain. He only wished to sit in his garden brushing out novels on rice paper. But honor dictated that he must fight me for a third time first. Of course the Peace Arch did not remain standing for long. Before long my sword arm hung useless at my side. One of my psi blasts kicked up a large divot of earth and rubble, uncovering a silver metallic object, hitherto buried, that seemed to have been crafted by an industrial designer. It was a nitro-veridian device that had been buried there by Sterling. We were able to fly clear before it detonated. The blast caused a seismic rupture that split off a sizable part of Canada and created what we now know as Vancouver Island. This was the last fight between me and Gibson. For both of us, by studying certain ancient prophecies, had independently arrived at the same conclusion, namely that Sterling's professed interest in industrial design was a mere cover for work in superweapons. Gibson and I formed a pact to fight Sterling. So far we have made little headway in seeking out his lair of brushed steel and white LEDs, because I had a dentist appointment and Gibson had to attend a writers' conference, but keep an eye on Slashdot for any further developments.
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
British Hooligans
The Agence France-Presse reports something I did not know about the typical Briton...
The typical Briton is polite, witty and phlegmatic, but lacks a certain style and has a dental hygiene issue while having an occasional drinking problem
Tim Blair hosts some fun comments in response.
The typical Briton is polite, witty and phlegmatic, but lacks a certain style and has a dental hygiene issue while having an occasional drinking problem
Tim Blair hosts some fun comments in response.
Thursday, November 18, 2004
France Loves America
Want to know what makes me feel all warm inside? French nationals probably should concentrate on their own business, but they just cannot stop writing about (and profiting from) the ever-fascinating Americans. Jean-Francois Revel does it from the opposite angle.
My own thought is that neither form of attention is necessary. One popular complaint about Americans is that we are too inward-looking; making exceptions for omphalopsychites and black holes, a gaze far enough inward often casts your gaze outward, like how cutting a tomato in half slides the knife's blade toward the center and then away from it. America became the sole "superpower" not by aiming to be the greatest nation in the world, but by aiming to be the greatest nation it can be in its own right. The former superpowers lost their statures largely because they did rely on being the world's greatest nations. There are benefits to seeing out by looking in. So, yes, French nationals probably should concentrate on their own business.
Update: Hi. Are you nuts?
Update II: Is that a maybe?
Update III: Hey, No Blood for Cocoa!
Update IV: More on the French Patriot Act.
My own thought is that neither form of attention is necessary. One popular complaint about Americans is that we are too inward-looking; making exceptions for omphalopsychites and black holes, a gaze far enough inward often casts your gaze outward, like how cutting a tomato in half slides the knife's blade toward the center and then away from it. America became the sole "superpower" not by aiming to be the greatest nation in the world, but by aiming to be the greatest nation it can be in its own right. The former superpowers lost their statures largely because they did rely on being the world's greatest nations. There are benefits to seeing out by looking in. So, yes, French nationals probably should concentrate on their own business.
Update: Hi. Are you nuts?
Update II: Is that a maybe?
Update III: Hey, No Blood for Cocoa!
Update IV: More on the French Patriot Act.
Thursday's Quote
Neal Stephenson: Weirdly, the ones who adopted the sternest and most terrible Old Testament moral tone were the Modern Language Association types who believed that everything was relative and that, for example, polygamy was as valid as monogamy. The friendliest and most sincere welcome he'd gotten was from Scott, a chemistry professor, and Laura, a pediatrician, who, after knowing Randy and Charlene for many years, had one day divulged to Randy, in strict confidence, that, unbeknownst to the academic community at large they had been spiriting their three children off to church every Sunday morning, and had even had them baptized...
Randy hadn't the faintest idea what these people thought of him and what he had done, but he could sense right away that, essentially, that was not the issue, because even if they thought he had done something evil, they at least had a framework, a sort of procedure manual, for dealing with transgressions. To translate it into UNIX system administration terms (Randy's fundamental metaphor for just about everything), the post-modern, politically correct atheists were like people who had suddenly found themselves in charge of a big and unfathomably complex computer system (viz. society) with no documentation or instructions of any kind, and so whose only way to keep the thing running was to invent and enforce certain rules with a kind of neo-Puritanical rigor, because they were at a loss to deal with any deviations from what they saw as the norm. Whereas people who were wired into a church were like UNIX system administrators who, while they might not understand everything, at least had some documentation, some FAQs and How-tos and README files, providing some guidance on what to do when things got out of whack. They were, in other words, capable of displaying adaptability. (Via Instapundit)
Randy hadn't the faintest idea what these people thought of him and what he had done, but he could sense right away that, essentially, that was not the issue, because even if they thought he had done something evil, they at least had a framework, a sort of procedure manual, for dealing with transgressions. To translate it into UNIX system administration terms (Randy's fundamental metaphor for just about everything), the post-modern, politically correct atheists were like people who had suddenly found themselves in charge of a big and unfathomably complex computer system (viz. society) with no documentation or instructions of any kind, and so whose only way to keep the thing running was to invent and enforce certain rules with a kind of neo-Puritanical rigor, because they were at a loss to deal with any deviations from what they saw as the norm. Whereas people who were wired into a church were like UNIX system administrators who, while they might not understand everything, at least had some documentation, some FAQs and How-tos and README files, providing some guidance on what to do when things got out of whack. They were, in other words, capable of displaying adaptability. (Via Instapundit)
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
Around The World In 80 Days
For those interested, my review of the Trevor Jones soundtrack is now online at Film Music on the Web.
Saturday, November 13, 2004
Friday, November 12, 2004
Thursday, November 11, 2004
Goodbye (And Good Riddance)
Everything seems settled now, but when I heard the early response to Arafat's tardy but nevertheless appreciated demise, well, it sounded vaguely familiar...
(An Israeli enters Gaza, and addresses a Palestinian.)
Mr. Sharon: 'Ello, I wish to register a compliment.
(The Palestinian does not respond.)
Mr. Sharon: 'Ello, Miss?
Palestinian: What do you mean "miss"?
Mr. Sharon: I'm sorry, I have a cold. I wish to offer a compliment!
Palestinian: We're closin' for lunch.
Mr. Sharon: Never mind that, my lad. I wish to compliment on this Arafat what I quarantined not half a decade ago during this very occupation!
Palestinian: Oh, yes, the, uh, the Palestinian Authority's leader... What's, uh, what's right with him?
Mr. Sharon: I'll tell you what's right with him, my lad. 'E's dead, that's what's right with him!
Palestinian: No, no, 'e's uh... he's resting.
Mr. Sharon: Look, matey, I know a dead Arafat when I see one, and I'm looking at one right now.
Palestinian: No, no, he's not dead. He's restin'! Remarkable dictator, my leader, idn'it, ay? Beautiful eyelashes!
Mr. Sharon: The eyelashes don't enter into it. He's stone dead.
Palestinian: No, no, no, no, no, no! 'E's resting!
Mr. Sharon: All right then, if he's restin', I'll wake him up! (shouting at casket) 'Ello, Mister Jackasser Arafathead! I've got a lovely fresh Jewish boy for you if you show...
(Palestinian hits the casket.)
Palestinian: There, he moved!
Mr. Sharon: No, he didn't, that was you hitting the casket!
Palestinian: I never!
Mr. Sharon: Yes, you did!
Palestinian: I never, never did anything...
Mr. Sharon (shouting and repeatedly hitting the casket): 'ELLO YASSER!!! Testing! Testing! Testing! Testing! This is your nine o'clock alarm call!
(Sharon takes Arafat out of the casket and thumps his head on a bombmaker's counter, throws him up in the air, and watches him fall to the ground.)
Mr. Sharon: Now that's what I call a dead Arafat.
Palestinian: No, no... No, 'e's stunned!
Mr. Sharon: STUNNED?!
Palestinian: Yeah! You stunned him, just as he was wakin' up! Glorious leaders stun easily, major.
Mr. Sharon: Um... now look... now look, mate, I've definitely 'ad enough of this. That Arafat is definitely deceased, and when I pinned 'im not 'alf a decade ago, you assured me that his total lack of movement was due to 'im bein' tired and shagged out expecting another raid.
Palestinian: Well, 'e's... 'e's, ah... probably pining for the Jihadis.
Mr. Sharon: PININ' for the JIHADIS?! What kind of talk is that?! Look, why did 'e fall flat on his back the moment I let 'im to Paris?
Palestinian: The Palestinian Authority prefers keepin' on its back! Remarkable leader id'nit, squire? Lovely eyelashes!
Mr. Sharon: Look, I took the liberty of examining that Arafat when I got it home, and I discovered the only reason that 'e had been sitting in his office in the first place was that 'e had been PROPPED UP.
(Pause.)
Palestinian: Well, o'course he was propped up! If we hadn't had sham elections, he wouldn't let people nuzzle up to those bombs, strap 'em on with bony little arms, and BOOM! Yeahahahah!
Mr. Sharon: "BOOM"?! Mate, this tyrant wouldn't "boom" if you put four million volts through him! 'E's bleedin' demised!
Palestinian: No, no! 'E's pining!
Mr. Sharon: 'E's not pinin'! 'E's passed on! This Arafat is no more! He has ceased to be! 'E's expired and gone to meet 'is maker! 'E's a stiff! Bereft of life, 'e rests in peace! If you hadn't propped him in power 'e'd be pushing up the daisies! 'Is metabolic processes are now 'istory! 'E's off the twig! 'E's kicked the bucket, 'e's shuffled off 'is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisible!! THIS IS AN EX-ARAFAT!
(Adapted from this sketch)
Update: A 93-year-old provides the quote of the day: I wonder who'll get his tea-towel.
(An Israeli enters Gaza, and addresses a Palestinian.)
Mr. Sharon: 'Ello, I wish to register a compliment.
(The Palestinian does not respond.)
Mr. Sharon: 'Ello, Miss?
Palestinian: What do you mean "miss"?
Mr. Sharon: I'm sorry, I have a cold. I wish to offer a compliment!
Palestinian: We're closin' for lunch.
Mr. Sharon: Never mind that, my lad. I wish to compliment on this Arafat what I quarantined not half a decade ago during this very occupation!
Palestinian: Oh, yes, the, uh, the Palestinian Authority's leader... What's, uh, what's right with him?
Mr. Sharon: I'll tell you what's right with him, my lad. 'E's dead, that's what's right with him!
Palestinian: No, no, 'e's uh... he's resting.
Mr. Sharon: Look, matey, I know a dead Arafat when I see one, and I'm looking at one right now.
Palestinian: No, no, he's not dead. He's restin'! Remarkable dictator, my leader, idn'it, ay? Beautiful eyelashes!
Mr. Sharon: The eyelashes don't enter into it. He's stone dead.
Palestinian: No, no, no, no, no, no! 'E's resting!
Mr. Sharon: All right then, if he's restin', I'll wake him up! (shouting at casket) 'Ello, Mister Jackasser Arafathead! I've got a lovely fresh Jewish boy for you if you show...
(Palestinian hits the casket.)
Palestinian: There, he moved!
Mr. Sharon: No, he didn't, that was you hitting the casket!
Palestinian: I never!
Mr. Sharon: Yes, you did!
Palestinian: I never, never did anything...
Mr. Sharon (shouting and repeatedly hitting the casket): 'ELLO YASSER!!! Testing! Testing! Testing! Testing! This is your nine o'clock alarm call!
(Sharon takes Arafat out of the casket and thumps his head on a bombmaker's counter, throws him up in the air, and watches him fall to the ground.)
Mr. Sharon: Now that's what I call a dead Arafat.
Palestinian: No, no... No, 'e's stunned!
Mr. Sharon: STUNNED?!
Palestinian: Yeah! You stunned him, just as he was wakin' up! Glorious leaders stun easily, major.
Mr. Sharon: Um... now look... now look, mate, I've definitely 'ad enough of this. That Arafat is definitely deceased, and when I pinned 'im not 'alf a decade ago, you assured me that his total lack of movement was due to 'im bein' tired and shagged out expecting another raid.
Palestinian: Well, 'e's... 'e's, ah... probably pining for the Jihadis.
Mr. Sharon: PININ' for the JIHADIS?! What kind of talk is that?! Look, why did 'e fall flat on his back the moment I let 'im to Paris?
Palestinian: The Palestinian Authority prefers keepin' on its back! Remarkable leader id'nit, squire? Lovely eyelashes!
Mr. Sharon: Look, I took the liberty of examining that Arafat when I got it home, and I discovered the only reason that 'e had been sitting in his office in the first place was that 'e had been PROPPED UP.
(Pause.)
Palestinian: Well, o'course he was propped up! If we hadn't had sham elections, he wouldn't let people nuzzle up to those bombs, strap 'em on with bony little arms, and BOOM! Yeahahahah!
Mr. Sharon: "BOOM"?! Mate, this tyrant wouldn't "boom" if you put four million volts through him! 'E's bleedin' demised!
Palestinian: No, no! 'E's pining!
Mr. Sharon: 'E's not pinin'! 'E's passed on! This Arafat is no more! He has ceased to be! 'E's expired and gone to meet 'is maker! 'E's a stiff! Bereft of life, 'e rests in peace! If you hadn't propped him in power 'e'd be pushing up the daisies! 'Is metabolic processes are now 'istory! 'E's off the twig! 'E's kicked the bucket, 'e's shuffled off 'is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisible!! THIS IS AN EX-ARAFAT!
(Adapted from this sketch)
Update: A 93-year-old provides the quote of the day: I wonder who'll get his tea-towel.
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
Had Too Much Kofi?
"Bush Swats Kofi Annan with Rolled Newspaper," reads a headline at the brilliantly unreliable ScrappleFace.
Unfortunately, there are other reasons why Bush might do such a thing...
Unfortunately, there are other reasons why Bush might do such a thing...
Sunday, November 07, 2004
Preemptive France
The USA PATRIOT Act has foreign competition:
Armed with some of the strictest anti-terrorism laws and policies in Europe, the French government has aggressively targeted Islamic radicals and other people deemed a potential terrorist threat. While other Western countries debate the proper balance between security and individual rights, France has experienced scant public dissent over tactics that would be controversial, if not illegal, in the United States and some other countries.
Didn't Jean-Francois Revel once ask, "Why is it that the dark night of fascism is always descending on America, but keeps landing on Europe?"
Armed with some of the strictest anti-terrorism laws and policies in Europe, the French government has aggressively targeted Islamic radicals and other people deemed a potential terrorist threat. While other Western countries debate the proper balance between security and individual rights, France has experienced scant public dissent over tactics that would be controversial, if not illegal, in the United States and some other countries.
Didn't Jean-Francois Revel once ask, "Why is it that the dark night of fascism is always descending on America, but keeps landing on Europe?"
Updates Coming
Sorry for not keeping in touch the past few days--got sucked into the post-election excitement, plus I received some additions to my DVD collection. I shall be back in a few hours to try to catch up on lost time.
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
The Earth Still Turns
Don't worry, I refuse to gloat. This map says it all, anyway. I will say that John Kerry could have won if he delivered his campaign as gracefully as he delivered his concession speech, a gentlemanly message and a rebuttal to the obnoxious non-concession of John "Two Americas!" Edwards. As I wrote earlier, unity is of great importance in times of war. Few are confident in the protection of a crumbling home.
With that in mind, I note some lessons learned from the election:
1) We need more civil debates.
2) The people in 'flyover country' are no more or less intelligent than the coastal elite. Rather, people across America have different views, attitudes and needs, so they vote accordingly. Everyone could do well by respecting that.
3) Jane's Law is frightfully accurate: The devotees of the party in power are smug and arrogant. The devotees of the party out of power are insane.
4) It is as possible to speak poorly and mean much as it is to speak clearly and mean little.
5) Audiences around the globe ought to strive to avoid living in an echo chamber, because their establishment media is about as reliable as a town gossip.
Congratulations, President Bush. Now, about that spending habit of yours...
With that in mind, I note some lessons learned from the election:
1) We need more civil debates.
2) The people in 'flyover country' are no more or less intelligent than the coastal elite. Rather, people across America have different views, attitudes and needs, so they vote accordingly. Everyone could do well by respecting that.
3) Jane's Law is frightfully accurate: The devotees of the party in power are smug and arrogant. The devotees of the party out of power are insane.
4) It is as possible to speak poorly and mean much as it is to speak clearly and mean little.
5) Audiences around the globe ought to strive to avoid living in an echo chamber, because their establishment media is about as reliable as a town gossip.
Congratulations, President Bush. Now, about that spending habit of yours...
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
Representative Government Lives On
After the nervousness of my first time voting in 2000... I was still nervous for 2004. But this time, after bumbling to the wrong table, correcting course, stumbling through the stuff I had to sign and praying I was not doing something that could send my vote to Venezuela, I am fairly confident that I managed to accurately punch the buttons I sought to punch. "But your machine was rigged!" my brother joked.
I voted for Bush, gave Democrats and liberals my state and municipal support, endorsed a referendum requiring city employees to live inside city limits, and aggressively pushed the switch to register disdain over a possible tax hike.
It is a gray world of clouds and rain in Memphis, which may be an omen for Memphians of today's worries being washed away, or a sign of many more gray days ahead. Only one person stood in front of my brother and me when we entered the polling place. No bombs went off. There were no signs of voter intimidation. People were in typically Southern high spirits, although a silent, dismal, multi-partisan gaggle of activists huddled on the sidewalk outside--drizzled upon and largely ignored.
This is terribly anticlimactic for such a closely watched election. Why not reward voters, by the way? A little fun would be a fair way to cut into voter apathy. How about door prizes? Balloons to take home to the kids? Clowns (not the ones seeking elected office)?
Of course, things are bound to heat up again as the polls start closing.
Update: Somebody likes me?! Thank you for the kind words, Citizen Jo! I shall listen to some Bernard Herrmann in celebration!
I voted for Bush, gave Democrats and liberals my state and municipal support, endorsed a referendum requiring city employees to live inside city limits, and aggressively pushed the switch to register disdain over a possible tax hike.
It is a gray world of clouds and rain in Memphis, which may be an omen for Memphians of today's worries being washed away, or a sign of many more gray days ahead. Only one person stood in front of my brother and me when we entered the polling place. No bombs went off. There were no signs of voter intimidation. People were in typically Southern high spirits, although a silent, dismal, multi-partisan gaggle of activists huddled on the sidewalk outside--drizzled upon and largely ignored.
This is terribly anticlimactic for such a closely watched election. Why not reward voters, by the way? A little fun would be a fair way to cut into voter apathy. How about door prizes? Balloons to take home to the kids? Clowns (not the ones seeking elected office)?
Of course, things are bound to heat up again as the polls start closing.
Update: Somebody likes me?! Thank you for the kind words, Citizen Jo! I shall listen to some Bernard Herrmann in celebration!
I Pledge
I'll be off to vote in a couple of hours.
Heavily inspired by BuzzMachine and thoughts of the future, I now promise to...
Support the President, even if I didn't vote for the jerk.
Criticize the President, even if I did vote for the jerk.
Uphold standards of civilized discourse in blogs and in media while pushing both to be better (though standards may vary by subject).
Unite as a nation, putting country over party, though I actually wanted to unite myself as a continent. Gotta start small, I guess. Call me Wheelerstan.
Do the same thing as Michele, but without the drunken, naked cursing.
Review the advance copy of "The Incredibles" soundtrack that arrived yesterday.
Clip my toenails.
Take a shower.
Drink a glass of water.
Go to bed.
And that is a promise!
Heavily inspired by BuzzMachine and thoughts of the future, I now promise to...
Support the President, even if I didn't vote for the jerk.
Criticize the President, even if I did vote for the jerk.
Uphold standards of civilized discourse in blogs and in media while pushing both to be better (though standards may vary by subject).
Unite as a nation, putting country over party, though I actually wanted to unite myself as a continent. Gotta start small, I guess. Call me Wheelerstan.
Do the same thing as Michele, but without the drunken, naked cursing.
Review the advance copy of "The Incredibles" soundtrack that arrived yesterday.
Clip my toenails.
Take a shower.
Drink a glass of water.
Go to bed.
And that is a promise!
Monday, November 01, 2004
A New Ghoul Rises
To this comment of mine I want to add Christopher Hitchens' observation that humanity has a bigger enemy nowadays. One argument went out the window with the old ghoul's reappearance for Halloween; still, the article builds on much more important observations, and remains worth reading.
Update: James Lileks: No one showed up as bin Laden; perhaps it’s not because he’s scary any more. I’ll admit, I thought he was dead, and I am on record in print and on the radio as having said so. Let the record show I was wrong, and by all means keep that in mind the next time I speak with confidence and assurance. That said, he might as well be dead for all it seemed to spook anyone. I hate to say more about it lest something happen in the next few days, but for Binny to jack-in-the-box now, rather than appearing after his next Brilliant Mastermind Strike, seems to suggest he has nothing in the tank and less in the trunk.
Update: James Lileks: No one showed up as bin Laden; perhaps it’s not because he’s scary any more. I’ll admit, I thought he was dead, and I am on record in print and on the radio as having said so. Let the record show I was wrong, and by all means keep that in mind the next time I speak with confidence and assurance. That said, he might as well be dead for all it seemed to spook anyone. I hate to say more about it lest something happen in the next few days, but for Binny to jack-in-the-box now, rather than appearing after his next Brilliant Mastermind Strike, seems to suggest he has nothing in the tank and less in the trunk.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
