Monthly Archives: June 2009

Yeah, I’m Still Alive

JUST A LITTLE busy’s all. Spent the weekend putting a floor in the downstairs bathroom. Discovered that what we thought was the cats’ water dish spilling was actually a slow leak from the shower. Don’t ask.

Life’s tough and those fardlers you lot elected to Washington over the last couple of years are bound and determined to make it worse. So easily led and credulous you are. The captive state-run media whines and moans about the evil George Bush and you fall for it like the suckers Mencken said you are. So — just for the change — you vote in the media’s party of choice to become your new lords and masters. And, now they’re going to enslave not only you, but all your unborn descendants and there’s nothing you can do — that you’re willing to — to stop it.

Their latest round of programs — thrown up like so many bomb-craters in your life’s road, more and faster than you can comprehend, let alone act to prevent or obviate — will reduce this once great nation to a shadow of its former glory.

No, they’re not stupid. They know what they’re doing. The incentives reward them for enhancing their own entrenched power. So they do.

Don’t try to tell yourself that they surely can’t be that evil. Don’t delude yourself that they’ll never get away with it. They’ve been getting away with it for over a hundred years. The Constitution won’t stay their hands. They rely on your sheeplike acceptance, on your desire to play the game according to rules they scorn, spurn, and spit upon.

You can’t vote them out, because there’s no change on offer. The opposition candidate is cut of the same cloth and the media has persuaded you that the third party is composed of loons and nutters. Your choice is between violent revolution, and you shrink from that, or slavery, and that’s too much to be borne. Sorry, Charlie. Those are your options. Choose now. The clock is running.

You’d better act before such sentiments as these bring the dark knock on your door at 3AM. Because by the time it does, it’ll be too late, and the butcher’s bill will be ten times what it would be today.

Have a good one.

Cross-posted at Eternity Road.

Neologism of the Day

FROM ROB ALLEN via Joe Huffman: regressives. Too damned true. Just as everything else about their public policy stance seems to come from Bizarro World — standing all logic, fact, and sense on its head — so, too, is their very name for themselves contrafactual. They may claim to be progressives, but what they prescribe for We the Little People is nothing short of a return to feudalism, with a very nasty authoritarian tinge. They want the delta of human society to indicate retrograde motion.


So Okay

I HAVEN’T HAD a lot to say. Lately. But I do have this burning question.

What’s with the winks in anime and manga? I get the popping veins and the bug eyes and everything. But not the winks. Can somebody explain to me please?

You Guys Say

THIS LIKE IT was a big surprise to you.

When I first formulated the “stupid/venal” dichotomy, I had never heard it before. People around me at the time told me it was old hat. Could have been. Mox nix. It holds.

There really are only two options. Either leftists are incapable of apprehending the inevitable results of their stupid policy prescriptions, are incapable of learning the lessons of five thousand years of history and many, many more of human lore, cannot possibly heed nearly universal warnings against their headlong rush off the cliff of stupidity, and are therefore insufferably evil. (In-sufferable in the Biblical sense — “Suffer not an idiot to rule.”)

They’re either stupid, or they’re venal. Doesn’t seem to be much middle ground.

A lot of people who are resolutely ecumenical will tell you not to blame malice when stupidity will suffice for an explanation to someone’s behavior. Me, I’m not so sanguine. I think those people really are evil. I’ve known them all my life. They’ve never looked like good people to me. They want to claim they’re smarter than everybody, more aware, fact-based. Fine. Make them own it. By their fruits shall ye know them. Their fruit is evil — it is calculated to bring about death, disease, poverty, war, injustice, and a turning away from God. They’re evil.

Kyew. Ee. Fuckin’-Dee.

Talk Radio is All Stem-Wound

OVER BARBARA Boxer’s parvenu-ish insistence on being addressed as “Senator.”

If you like.

For me, considering how stupid the woman is — Biden may be the stupidest man in the Senate, but he is being given a run for his money as the stupido supremo tutti di tutti by la Boxer — I can’t help wondering if she would have gotten the slight had the general simply replied, “Yes, ma’am,” to her upbraiding of him.

Nah. That type will always discover slights — even when there is none. So, of course, an intentional shot will pink her for sure.

I suppose. It’s at moments like that I am convinced that no one in government ever wants to get me up in front of a congressional committee. I’m not bright enough — or enough of a cold strategist — to be able to refrain from letting all those jumped-up climbers just how low is my opinion of them, and then to offer dispositive proof of my assertions.

Hay-soos Aitch Kee-Riste Corndog!

HEY BARRY! You’re president of the United States, not King of the World. Get your head out!

Except for the Fact

IT DOESN’T work as well, perform as well, offer the same endurance, carrying capacity, safety, convenience, and costs more…

And basically sucks the chrome off of big, dead, donkey dicks through a garden hose — hell, through surgical tubing …

it’s an improvement.

In My Life

Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.

–Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr

Or, as we say here at Casa d’Alger, Change is.

All I Gotta Say Is

THAT’S WHAT YOU get for voting for a man based on the color of his skin, not the content of his character.

Oh, Hai. Look!

DAD MADED A indoor kitteh dek.

I know I haven’t been posting much about progress on The Great Study Project. That’s mostly because I haven’t really had much progress to report. Not “none,” mind. Just… “not much.”

Over the last — I dunno — month? maybe? two? — I’ve been working on a typing desk.

This qualifies as a change order.

I had originally planned to have my desk project out from the wall in a slab, just to the right of the door as you come in, and six feet out into the room. Over time, I discovered a few things. For one, I don’t really like that idea, and for b, I didn’t like the compromises that were being force upon me in its design. It was starting to look like a Frankenstein’s monster, rather than an elegant and graceful creation. At the same time, I had the spark of another idea.

In order to allow myself to keep a desk set up while work is going on, and yet not take up the whole room with it, I faked up a temporary. I stacked two Crate-a-File (milk-crate-looking things that hold letter-sized hanging files) crates on a four-wheel furniture dolly. It felt so good I did it again. Then I fastened them together with a strip of dentil molding clamped between the dollies with C-clamps. I tied some fiberglass reflector rods into a bundle with Velcro cable wraps and then Vecroed the bundle to the crates. This gave me a fairly rigid plinth for a desktop. I hung a power bar on the back of one of the crates, stuck a quarter-sheet of 1/2″ MDF on top, clamped it down with miniature friction clamps, and called it a desk.

After awhile of rolling this assembly around the room pretty freely without having to really knock it down, it occurred to me that I could actually design a real, permanent desk like this.

At the same time, I’d been thinking about building a taboret. That’s a small, low cabinet, with drawers in it, often on casters. They are frequently used by artists to hold brushes, paints, and other paraphrenalia. As I played with various potential layouts of the room, I realized I was filling the room up and not getting to one key purpose for most of the spec –storage. The desk and the taboret were crowding things. I had to do one or the other. Then I had the peanut-butter-in-the-chocolate moment.

Put the two ideas together — the taboret and the rolling desk, and you find my solution — a rolling desk with LOTs of drawers. I’ve worked up a schematic (still no blueprints) of a desk with twelve drawers. The drawer pedestals are 12″ wide and 30″ deep. Each pedestal has three drawers — stacked — 11″ wide by 15″ long and of varying depths, front AND back. So that, when you’re sitting at the notional front of the desk, there are six drawers that you have to get up and go around the desk to get at. Inconvenient if you want all of the storage for the desk ready-to-hand, but a really neat idea if six drawers to-hand is more than enough. The other six become a storage bonanza.

Between the pedestals, which are on 4 casters each, is a 30″ wide kneehole, bridged by a desktop that is 40″ deep by 68″ wide. This leaves a 4″ overhand on all four sides of the pedestals. The desktop is hinged to the pedestals along the front edge and has pneumatic lift tubes built into the free side, allowing the top to be tilted for use as a drafting table when needed.

The whole schmear can be rolled around ad lib, the only limit being the length of flex that runs the 110v power from the wall socket to a power bar built into the underside of the desktop, just inside the kneehole in the back. The laptop that will normally reside on the desk will drive a set of monitor-mount computer speakers hung close to the power bar. I’ve been running a similar arrangement on the temporary lashup and am confident that electrical interference will not be a problem. That flex will be the only tether the desk has, as the laptop uses a wifi connection to the house LAN.

So I came to the idea of a typing desk. I needed to have a place where the keyboard, mouse, and monitor for my server/desktop machine wouldn’t create problems if should I want to clear the rolling desktop for drawing operations. A small, cantilevered bilevel arrangement, which utilized the supports already built into the East Wall bookshelves for the old slab desk design, seemed a natural. I drew up plans, bought lumber, and started cutting.

Bearing in mind the hassles I had with the Chinese crap, I specifically went looking for Canadian Birch at the Home Despot. I found a pile of 3/4″ plywood labelled Birch that looked fairly decent and bought a sheet. It wasn’t until I got it home and split the thing in two that I discovered the MADE IN CHINA stamp on the edge. I swear I checked. There must have been gremlins riding along ontop of my Jeep merrily painting that legend on the edge of that board, just to confound me.

(I have determined I will not suffer this again. I have made contact with a Real Lumber Yard and learned their stock and ordering processes and suchlike. I have a good source of real Birch plywood from people who know how to make cabinet grade sheet goods. Next time, this Will Not Be A Problem.)

But in the meantime, I bought it, I cut it, so I was stuck with it. I decided to make the best of it. I cut templates from 1/4″ hardboard. (1/2″ MDF would have been better — take note.) I did a rough cut with the sabre saw, then clamped the templates down and, using a guided 1″ cutoff bit on my router, faired the edges. Except I didn’t really do that hot a job. I mean, it worked and everything, but there’s a place where I’m going to have to cover up with trim.

And I discovered that there’s a technique to hot-gluing edge banding to curved edges. No matter how carefully you think you’ve compensated for the curves, you still end up with the tape being too long or too short to snug up perfectly against the edge So you have to make a vertical slit in it. Always wondered why they did that. Now I know. Except I didn’t do such a hot job. Nor were the slits probably placed in the best spots.

And I should have made the other side the top. The outer veneer peeled. (The guy at the real lumber yard described the behavior as potato chipping. Works for me.) I have a place that looks like there was some HEAVY wear — right where the mous will go. The rest of the surface is only marginally better.

The leg is a 3.25″ newel post with the bedknob part cut off and the turned spindle used as a foot. It’s the best looking part of the whole mess. Too good for that cheapass Chinese crap. But I am NOT starting over. I’m just going to pretend that the thing is intentionally distressed. I learned that from my cats.

Sunday, just before we left to go to dinner with both Number One Son, wife, son and daughter, and Number One Daughter, siggo, son, and daughters, I clamped up the leg of the typing desk and screwed it tight.


Some Years Ago

WHEN I FIRST started to wonder about the whole catastrophic anthropogenic global warming (CAGW) hysteria-hoax, the first question I asked was, “What is the temperature of the planet?” Sort of like Johnny Carson’s old running joke, “How cold is it, Doc?”

More, I wanted to know — fer realsies — how much the planet really did warm up and over what period of time.

Seems like a reasonable question, nest paw?

You know what? I still don’t know. I bet you don’t either. But at least I know where to find out, how the measurements were made, and how accurate they really are — fer realsies.

So here lately, I been hearing warmiasts talking about the atmosphere’s being “super-saturated with greenhouse gases.”

Er, yeah. So much so that it some of it even precipitates out on occasion. We here on this planet call it “rain.”


But it occurs to me to wonder: just what is the CO2 level in the atmosphere? How much has it really increased over time? And those answers I know, because I’ve been paying attention. But I bet you don’t. Not if you get your information from the New York Times. Or James Hansen.

Here’s a satellite map. This is the first time in history, this data has been recorded to such a high resolution and collated. You will notice a few things. Such as, although there look to be high-level concentrations over some human population centers, for others, not so much, really. Nor “downwind” from them, either. Hmmm. Also, though the claim is that you’ll get 1 degree per century of warming with a doubling of CO2, and that pre-industrial concentrations were 280ppmv, the scale tops out at far less than the 560 ppmv a doubling would require, and that that is over a timeline of approximately 250 years’ duration. Which would imply a CO2-caused warming of less than — FAR less than — a degree per century.

Measured with thermometers accurate to +/- .5 degrees. Oh, yeah.

Also, please to note that, although it is claimed that current global average CO2 is 380ppm, it appears that there are vast swathes of the globe (the polar regions being vastly under-represented in this particular projection) where levels are far below that.

And we need to define the term “super-saturated” with respect to greenhouse gases — seriously. I mean, I get something like this: To cause a solution to have more solute dissolved in it than it can stably contain at current conditions. Which implies what I said above — the solute would precipitate out at the first available opportunity, and you wouldn’t have to do anything about it. If that’s the case, what’s the problem? And then again, given that prehistoric levels of CO2 in the atmosphere have been many multiples of current levels, at what point does that super-saturation occur?

Of course, I know the warmiasts are just spewing bullshit. But you need to beware of it. And don’t let them get away with it.

The Caturday Post

THE KITTENS have reached and surpassed five pounds apiece. They’re starting to fill out and look like cats instead of kittens, although they’re almost a year from full maturity. The picture of Aqua at right was taken three weeks ago — an eternity in kitten time. You can’t really see much difference in photos; you have to hold them or see them in context with something to give you an idea of scale. But in that context, you can tell they’re growing — and fast.

We still can’t tell Aqua and Schuyler apart very easily. The differences we can detect are slight and subtle and none of them singly or in aggregate add up to a clear and sure recognition pattern. In looking at the sequence below, I found myself trying to see which was Aqua and which was Sky. I can tell — I think — by the size of the head and the shape of the face, but those are things that only avail for identification when the two of them are juxtaposed. When you see one of them in the evening gloom, trotting across the living room floor — with only a flash of a flank or a tail — es macht nichts. You just can’t tell. As it is, with not much clue — and given the information that Aqua is actually larger than Sky in weight (I think, or is it the other way around?) — I defy anyone to tell them apart from any or all of the first three images. Only in the fourth can you tell, because you can see a little bit of Sky’s collar. When you run into him on the stairs, though, you can’t see the collar. And, since Aqua often sits on the stairs, waiting for me to go downstairs and feed them, I have several times said, “Move, Aqua,” then adding as Sky turns and runs down the stairs in front of me, “If only you were Aqua.”

Number One Daughter stopped by the other evening and announced that she thought she could see a clear “M” pattern in Aqua’s forehead markings, whereas Sky didn’t have one. I don’t see it in these pix, though, and haven’t been able to spot it live. We’re pretty sure that Sky’s mask is tighter around his eyes than Aqua’s, but it’s a subtle difference to spot on the fly, as it were.

And here you can see Schuyler’s collar, which for me affirms the guesses from the earlier sequence that it was Sky on the left, because he has a bigger and more manly head. But, as I say, I defy you to tell the difference when said head is bopping around in kitten play.

Not to neglect the others…

Belle is asserting herself in getting attention that was somewhat pre-empted by Rommie, who was a bit more forward in her demands. She shares the couch with me while we’re watching TV of an evening, although she really doesn’t like it when I shift from sitting-eating position at the south end to lounging, couch potato position at the north end, necessitating as it does my scooping her up and moving her. I always get a glare, and sometimes she’ll get down and go do something (like whale on Oliver) to express her disapproval. She always forgets, though, and comes back before the next commercial break, demanding pets, or taking her throne at the south end, one forepaw draped over my leg to assert her ownership.

And poor Oliver. If there’s such a thing as a Delta or Gamma male, he’s it. He’s the youngest of the adults — bottom of the real power structure totem pole — and too old, really, to be a bona fide member of the kitten clique. Which is a pretty tight clique to begin with, since the three of them are littermates and might as well be terrible triplets for all the kindness and concern they show poor old Ollie. He’s not helped by his squeaky, almost whiney, little mew. Sometimes, I swear, Belle finds it all too annoying and whaps him around just to get him to shut up. “Oh, grow a pair,” she seems to be saying, “Quitcher bitchin’!” Which is hilarious, because none of them have any. But that’s the attitude she projects. Loki seems to accept Ollie as a companionable goodoleboy, but doesn’t stick up for him in any way. And the kittens take advantage of him without pity or remorse.

Loki has Toni worried, because he seems to have settled down into adulthood way too soon. He’s barely a year old and shouldn’t be so sedate — and sedentary. Even Belle, who must be over two by now, plays more than he does. But he’s still the King of Gettin’ Inta Shit (although Jazz seems to be working for the title of Crown Princess of Gettin’ Inta Shit), and is constantly knocking stuff off shelves and counters.

And that’s Caturday at Casa d’Alger. Howzitgoin’ where you’re at?

So It’s Finally Happening

THIS WHOLE THING we predicted back — oh, hell — maybe in the Carter administration? This thing that was found so risibile in thought experiments: (“What if we’d had to read Japs their rights during a firefight on Suribachi?”) This odious concept of granting manifest outlaws the protection of law — when they wouldn’t summarily execute air pirates on the tarmac? Maybe that far back?

The Gorelick Principle (if you can call it a principle) has finally come to full fruition and the U.S. Government (I refuse to say “We” because I had and will have no part of it) is now requiring of its agents that they mirandize unlawful enemy combatants captured on the field of battle.

Thus deprecating my rights as a citizen of the Republic.

How so, Alger?

It makes being an American citizen just that one whit less special. Yet another in a long line of degradations we have suffered at the hands of the bloated tyrants in Washington. What makes it even harder to take is you know the State Department won’t exert even a tenth as much effort defending the rights of American citizens in trouble abroad. Hey! If our laws apply to unlawful enemy combatants on foreign fields of battle, how much more so should they apply to American citizens being held up for a bribe in some Third World hellhole?

I predict this results in a sudden drop in the number of prisoners taken…

(“Was he surrendering? Oh, snap! Hey, how ’bout them Yankees?”)

…and pray that none of our brave men and women in uniform end up getting court-martialed over it.

Quote of the Day

With its belief in human freedom, both economic and individual, I would argue that America was the most radical of nations. While both the French and Russian Revolutions were more radical in their destruction of the existing social order, I would contend that in implementing statist, totalitarian systems, both the French and Russian regimes became regressive, whereas the American constitutional system, by limiting the power of the state over the individual with a written constitution, and trusting individuals and societies to evolve without coercion, was the more radical.

Mark Amagi posting at GM’s Place

Oo! Love This Term!

PIETY PLATE meaning the word “Hybrid” in alumnimum-coated polystyrene on the trunk-lid of your car.

Spotted at Tom Nelson’s place.

The Dark Lord of the Sith

AND ARCHITECT of the e-e-e-e-evill Boosh campaign against America, just keeps on architectin’ along. This time on why and how to stop Obamacare — the so-called “public option.” Which might as well be called the pubic option, because if it passes, we’re fucked.

Number Three Granddaughter

SINGING “HAPPY Birthday” — almost pitch-perfect, with a minimum of background coaching from Mama — into a voicemail message for me…


Happy Birthday to Me

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME Happy Birthday, Dear Me-eee…

Happy Birthday To Me.

Update: And to Number Two Granddaughter. (Second in a series, that is.) Neat having a grandkid share a birthday.

Willie Sutton

WAS A PIKER. The original “Slick Willie,” Sutton was a “prolific” bank robber during Prohibition and the Depression. He is famous for the foundational notion of Sutton’s Law, taught to medical students as the contention that, in attempting to diagnose a problem, one should first do the experiment that can confirm the most likely diagnosis.

In less-intellectual pursuits, this is known as “going after the low-hanging fruit.”

Reading the linked articles, you will find that Sutton himself denied ever saying that “Because that’s where the money is.” Which does nothing to debunk the fundamental truth that one should “rob banks” … “because that’s where the money is.”

Except it isn’t. Not really.

Banks have cash, yes. And those sums of currency and specie that might reside in the cash drawers of your average bank branch, while not inconsiderable, are… chump change compared to real money.

Like J.P. Morgan said, a man with a million dollars can live almost as well as somebody who has real money.

Yes, Dolly. While tangential, somehow… apposite.

Or maybe appositive.

Ha! And allow me to reinforce that: Ha! Ha!

More to the point, as Don Henley wrote, a man with a briefcase can steal more money than any man with a gun — a fact of which I believe Sutton was well aware.

Which brings us to Obama and the rest of his looter-socialist ilk.

Of course he’s gonna tax the rich! Are ya mental? That’s where the money is! And you object to that?

The point of order isn’t that he’s robbing the rich, the point of order is that he’s robbing American citizens! Wrap your wooden little heads around THAT notion, will you?

Now, wait a minute! Since you bring up the citizenship aspect, (she said, playing the good little shill), isn’t it a patriotic duty to contribute to the support of the government?

Well, Ms Shill, let us assume for the moment that you are a leftist of modest means — i.e., someone more likely than not to be suckling at the government teat in some fashion or other.

(::wairly::) Oh. Kaaay…

So… how much patriotic duty are YOU throwing into the pot?


Hey, You Know

IF CATSUITS can be tacticool, why NOT a corset?

Da doll is gonna haveta look inta this.

If You’re Known By

THE COMPANY YOU keep, this little bit of news ought to be seen as dispositive.

I Won’t Say I

TOLD YOU SO (although I did), but Og is back. (::fanfare: taran-taran-tarantilly::) And a big HUZZAH!

I’m not terribly suprised, however glad I may be. As I ‘splained to Toni, somebody who goes to the trouble of setting up a blog is displaying a serious disorder — the need to write. As RAH put it, you write because you can’t not write.

Well, that might not have been Heinlein. But it’s true.

So, after awhile of not writing, not posting …

‘Cept for…::mmph!::

A-ah! Dolly. That’s confidential. Not for you to speak of. OUCH! If you bite me again…

If you try to muzzle me again…

::alger and da doll glare at each other across the desk::

You done?

What!? Me? You were the one…

A’ a’ ah!

::slow burn::

ANY way… Og’s back. Go celebrate. Read. Bring his traffic back up.

And don’t stop reading Dick daily.

Can’t Help Wondering

LOOKING AT THE LINES ON THE PAVEMENT in the picture here… Did that guy just wander into that spot and stand his ground because he was in a pedestrian crosswalk and — you know — had the right-of-way? “HEY! I’m WALKIN’, here!”

‘Course not, Alger! That’s Tianenmen Square!

You know, Dolly, sometimes you’re like a computer in your literalness.

Point: Beldar

Did our self-proclaimed former professor of constitutional law actually read this speech before he delivered it from his teleprompter? If he did, then that raises the question: Has he actually read his present job description, or the rest of the Constitution and its amendments?


The Biggest of the Big

LIES IS THE MANIPULATION of statistics. As the saying goes, figures don’t lie, but liars figure. You should react with complete suspicion when, as Obama did Thursday, a politician expounds only the left side of an equation. Remember the equation must always balance. If you are not allowed to see it in balance, then you are being lied to.

For the example at hand: Obama repeated the oft-abused canard that America uses 25% of the world’s energy, yet represents only five percent (one twentieth) of the world’s population. You are meant to accept that this is the entirety of that equation, but in reality, it is only one-half of it — the left side, so to speak.

That is, reading left-to-right, an equation posits that some quantity manipulated over some other quantity is equivalent to either some third quantity or a third quantity manipulated over a fourth. (Or a fifth or sixth — equations can get very complex, given a chance, though most politicians do not have the intelligence or the training to work with such complex matters, so they stick to the simpler kind.)

When a politician lies with figures, he often is only taking you up to the equals sign — only showing you the left side of the equation — and lying by omitting the balancing matter on the right side.

In this particular example, the manipulation is to divide the world’s energy production by America’s population. But this, then, should yield a result. But you are never told the result. Why not, you might well ask — and well you should. Because therein lies the lie.

What, you should ask yourself, is the result of this operation? What does five percent of the world’s population do with 25% of the world’s energy?

You are, of course, meant to believe that we squander it. That is the manipulative intent. But a few moments’ thought make it plain that what we do with it is to enrich the world. We produce 20% of gross global domestic production. With 5% of the world’s population.

The other thing the liars forget to tell you is that we pay for that energy we use. It’s not as if we simply plunder the stuff. Did you know that, (according to the CIA World Fact Book), the US produces 22% of the world’s electricity, 10% of the world’s oil (and that’s taking into consideration the left-mandated moritoria on drilling in some of the world’s richest deposits in American coastal waters), and 18% of the world’s natural gas? And said Factbook doesn’t even mention coal. So, yes, we are a net importer. But it’s not as though we are importing it all.

Now, here recently, there’s been some discussion in certain venues that Obama’s supporters know that he’s lying — even that he’s lying to them about their own pet policy preferences — but they don’t care, because they figure he’s also lying to their political opponents about their preferences, and he doesn’t really mean it when he’s lying to them (his supporters, though the confusion engendered by this syntax could be seen to mirror the actual and deliberate confusion engendered by Obama’s lies), which they can tell by the fact that… Well, they can’t really.

And my point is, you may think you don’t care if your guy lies, because he’s lying in your cause, but I submit you’re not being cynical enough. And maybe you shouldn’t support a politican who lies because he lies in telling you he’s going to bribe you with stolen property (i.e., tax money) in order to retain his hold on power. Maybe you should support men and women who understand the role of limited government in providing the greatest peace and prosperity for the greatest number.

Cluebat WHACK! of the Day

A GOOD WAY TO demonstrate your utterly clue-bereft state is to call fast food “cheap.” Only to someone used to paying restaurant prices for arugula is fast food cheap. If you subsist solely on fast food, you will end up spending five to ten times the price of the same items bought in a grocery store and prepared at home.

What fast food is is convenient, something leftist witlings don’t seem able to appropriate in their minuscule minds. Convenient is an attribute which saves the time of the one convenienced, thus enhancing his life. This, of course, is a cardinal sin in the leftist mindset…

How can the mindless have a mindset?

Um… That was a rhetorical question and therefore requires no answer. But, I’m done, so we’ll just let it go.

I Don’t Trust

TO OBAMA’S PUTATIVE ecumenism — his bipartisanship — when he reaches out and taps Republican congressmen for administration positions. He might like me too, but once burned and all that. I think every one represents a seat made into an opportunity for Democrats to increase their majority.

Several Issues With

THIS MEME from Marko — The Top Five Most Embarrassing Albums On My iPod: (via Tam) are:

1. I don’t have an iPod, which ought to be an embarrassment in and of itself, but, somehow, I cannot be induced to care.

2. By the time iPods had come around, I was long-past any embarrassment over my taste in music. I will freely admit liking the Monkees — who were suddenly cool for awhile there in the ’90s. Same for Herb Alpert and Nancy Sinatra. OK, with Nancy, it wasn’t a musical thing. That scoop-necked sweater got more teenaged boys hot under the… collar than anything. But I don’t listen to any of that stuff anymore, because — and this brings us to…

3. The stuff I have that could get ripped (if it hasn’t already), is really high-grade stuff because — well — all the embarrassing stuff is on vinyl and hasn’t been replaced by CDs, yet. So, if I had an iPod, or if I allowed what’s on my external 300GB USB HDD to stand in for an iPod’s-worth of tunes, it would be the epitome of coolth, from Al di Meola’s Kiss My Ax to the brand new items from U2 and Tori Amos, (No Line on the Horizon and Abnormally Attracted to Sin respectively). While I wouldn’t recommend the U2 item too highly, it’s hardly uncool. Not to the level of Bon Jovi or Duran Duran, both of which I have on vinyl (and got free, BTW).

4. De Gustibus. What I consider just fine and dandy, some latter-day youth in tight black jeans and a bad haircut might consider so outré as to require defenestration. (“That’s if fer ‘im, then.” — name that TV show.) I mean — Basia? Clannad? I remember one time Hank Williams, Jr.’s tour manager giving me stick for liking both Maxfield Parrish and Bryan Ferry. It all depends on where you stand. I can cheerfully say that none of it embarrasses me. What’samattawhitchoo, Bay-bee? (Name that tune.)

All that said, here are some candidates.

1: The aforementioned Basia’s Sweetest Illusion (and nothing else from her doubtless large ouevre.

2: A Target store-label item called World Flutes, which I like, but which even New Age-y types cringe when I mention it.

3: Enya. Five albums. And I’m contemplating getting her latest, too. How sick is that?

4: Hootie and the Blowfish’s Musical Chairs. Someday, they may be remembered as one-hit wonders behind “I Will Wait.”

5: The really embarrassing thing, I guess, is how much stuff I really like that isn’t in my electronic collection. I feel sometimes as though I’ve been a bad steward to it. Some day I’m going to make a list of all of our vinyl albums and start looking for CD replacements.

Better hurry. The CD isn’t going to last much longer.

I doubt that. Sure, electronically-delivered music has passed physical media in sales volume for the first time this year. But that hardly means that the demand for physical media is inconsiderable. Hell, there’s enough demand for vinyl still to make it a vibrant market. CDs will be around for awhile, yet.