Wednesday, January 28, 2004
If nothing matters, why do I care what kind of Dysfunctional Care Bear I am?
Thanks to Terry at the Summas via our favorite Tart Motley, I now know that I am:
Nihilist Bear
Which Dysfunctional Care Bear Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
Good stuff. If they don't have "Disgruntled Ciceronian Bear", this is my next choice.
N.B. - Great trivia:
if you look at Thug Bear, you will notice he has a gun on his stomach (try to ignore the picture caption)
That gun is a Laser Pistol from the best, most underrated conservative TV show of all time Battlestar Galactica. I will post my theory as to why it was conservative at a later date.
Thanks to Terry at the Summas via our favorite Tart Motley, I now know that I am:
Nihilist Bear
Which Dysfunctional Care Bear Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
Good stuff. If they don't have "Disgruntled Ciceronian Bear", this is my next choice.
N.B. - Great trivia:
if you look at Thug Bear, you will notice he has a gun on his stomach (try to ignore the picture caption)
That gun is a Laser Pistol from the best, most underrated conservative TV show of all time Battlestar Galactica. I will post my theory as to why it was conservative at a later date.
Monday, January 26, 2004
License to Il
My favorite Objectivists, Cox & Forkum (link rightward), have once again drawn attention, literally, to the machinations of the last, great Stalinist: DRNK Grand-Poobah-for-Life Kim Jong Il.
The man is amazing. He takes crazy/brutal to a whole new level. And cunning as a fox.
The most dangerous man in the world.
My favorite Objectivists, Cox & Forkum (link rightward), have once again drawn attention, literally, to the machinations of the last, great Stalinist: DRNK Grand-Poobah-for-Life Kim Jong Il.
The man is amazing. He takes crazy/brutal to a whole new level. And cunning as a fox.
The most dangerous man in the world.
Thursday, January 22, 2004
Is there an Anglosphere or not?
This may be a passé question, but it is one I have been fascinated with for some time. Is the support of Britain and Australia during the Iraq war an accident of who happened to be in power at the time, or is it indicative of some larger phenomenon? Is there something in the shared political and social life of those countries which have grown from English roots? Or am I just romanticizing a historical convergence of leaders who all wanted to do the same thing at the same time?
I would like to believe the former, but have not given it real assent as of yet. I would like to believe that the sentiments that I have for my new favorite socialist, Tony Blair, and for Prime Minister Howard in Australia are rooted in some great Anglo-American-Australian tradition that values freedom above political security. I still get teary thinking of Blair at the SOTU address after 9-11, and Bush remarking that America has no greater friend than Great Britain. Great stuff.
But I may be fooling myself. I realize that the anglosphere may not be real, but just a good spin on a singular situation.
Keeping that in mind, I'm feeling all Anglofreaky today, reading this super article by Caroline Overington, the New York correspondent for the Australian paper The Age. If my theory of the Anglosphere is wrong, it's the kind of wrong I can live with.
This may be a passé question, but it is one I have been fascinated with for some time. Is the support of Britain and Australia during the Iraq war an accident of who happened to be in power at the time, or is it indicative of some larger phenomenon? Is there something in the shared political and social life of those countries which have grown from English roots? Or am I just romanticizing a historical convergence of leaders who all wanted to do the same thing at the same time?
I would like to believe the former, but have not given it real assent as of yet. I would like to believe that the sentiments that I have for my new favorite socialist, Tony Blair, and for Prime Minister Howard in Australia are rooted in some great Anglo-American-Australian tradition that values freedom above political security. I still get teary thinking of Blair at the SOTU address after 9-11, and Bush remarking that America has no greater friend than Great Britain. Great stuff.
But I may be fooling myself. I realize that the anglosphere may not be real, but just a good spin on a singular situation.
Keeping that in mind, I'm feeling all Anglofreaky today, reading this super article by Caroline Overington, the New York correspondent for the Australian paper The Age. If my theory of the Anglosphere is wrong, it's the kind of wrong I can live with.
Tuesday, January 20, 2004
Environmentalism, the new Religion
The Curt Jester Has a piece about environmentalism as the Atheist religion.
After reading it, I Googled to find the Michael Crichton speech referenced in the article. What I found was somewhat surprising. It's a really interesting speech.
And while I shudder to think what his analysis of the Catholic Faith would sound like, I agree with his critique of the environmentalist's approach to fact when it conflicts with the accepted Green dogma. I have always thought that for a movement that is supposed to be based on scientific principles, environmentalism and its most radical adherents are amazingly unscientific when shown data that does not support their theories.
I particularly liked his jab at the Rousseauian "Noble Savage" and "Gentle Native Americans Living in Harmony with the World" myths.
And here is an eye-opener:
Although the preachers of environmentalism have been yelling about population for fifty years, over the last decade world population seems to be taking an unexpected turn. Fertility rates are falling almost everywhere. As a result, over the course of my lifetime the thoughtful predictions for total world population have gone from a high of 20 billion, to 15 billion, to 11 billion (which was the UN estimate around 1990) to now 9 billion, and soon, perhaps less. There are some who think that world population will peak in 2050 and then start to decline. There are some who predict we will have fewer people in 2100 than we do today. Is this a reason to rejoice, to say halleluiah? Certainly not. Without a pause, we now hear about the coming crisis of world economy from a shrinking population. We hear about the impending crisis of an aging population. Nobody anywhere will say that the core fears expressed for most of my life have turned out not to be true. As we have moved into the future, these doomsday visions vanished, like a mirage in the desert. They were never there---though they still appear, in the future. As mirages do.
Now, chances are he'd say the Resurrection was a mirage, I don't know. But his critique of the environmental position is right on.
I may buy a replacement copy of The Andromeda Strain to show my support.
The Curt Jester Has a piece about environmentalism as the Atheist religion.
After reading it, I Googled to find the Michael Crichton speech referenced in the article. What I found was somewhat surprising. It's a really interesting speech.
And while I shudder to think what his analysis of the Catholic Faith would sound like, I agree with his critique of the environmentalist's approach to fact when it conflicts with the accepted Green dogma. I have always thought that for a movement that is supposed to be based on scientific principles, environmentalism and its most radical adherents are amazingly unscientific when shown data that does not support their theories.
I particularly liked his jab at the Rousseauian "Noble Savage" and "Gentle Native Americans Living in Harmony with the World" myths.
And here is an eye-opener:
Although the preachers of environmentalism have been yelling about population for fifty years, over the last decade world population seems to be taking an unexpected turn. Fertility rates are falling almost everywhere. As a result, over the course of my lifetime the thoughtful predictions for total world population have gone from a high of 20 billion, to 15 billion, to 11 billion (which was the UN estimate around 1990) to now 9 billion, and soon, perhaps less. There are some who think that world population will peak in 2050 and then start to decline. There are some who predict we will have fewer people in 2100 than we do today. Is this a reason to rejoice, to say halleluiah? Certainly not. Without a pause, we now hear about the coming crisis of world economy from a shrinking population. We hear about the impending crisis of an aging population. Nobody anywhere will say that the core fears expressed for most of my life have turned out not to be true. As we have moved into the future, these doomsday visions vanished, like a mirage in the desert. They were never there---though they still appear, in the future. As mirages do.
Now, chances are he'd say the Resurrection was a mirage, I don't know. But his critique of the environmental position is right on.
I may buy a replacement copy of The Andromeda Strain to show my support.
Dean Blows a gasket
This is the funniest damn thing I have heard in long time. Here's Byron York's take on Dean's Iowa speech in Nat'l Review.
And here is an audio clip of Deans' imitation of Randy "Macho-Man" Savage at Wrestlemania III:
CAUTION! DO NOT LISTEN TO THIS CLIP WHILE SIMULTANEOUSLY DRINKING A COKE OR ANY OTHER BEVERAGE. WILL CAUSE VIOLENT LAUGHING SPASMS THAT COULD RESULT IN "MILK OUT THE NOSE" SYNDROME.
The man is the best thing to happen to politics since Jim Trafacant. I wish he had a catchy phrase like Trafacant's "Beam me up, Scotty!" Given that it appears that his handlers and speech writers are all ex-WWF performers, maybe something like "Can you smell what the Gov's cookin'?!"
The man is a train wreck waiting to happen. And it's super. Just think, this is the man that Al Gore, the service Unions, and the bulk of Dem support has gone to so far. They have to stick with him. If he is prone to these sorts of personality retrogrades and yet still wins the nomination, the Dems are sunk.
But how much fun would it be to see President Dean give a speech like this at the UN? That would be priceless.
This is the funniest damn thing I have heard in long time. Here's Byron York's take on Dean's Iowa speech in Nat'l Review.
And here is an audio clip of Deans' imitation of Randy "Macho-Man" Savage at Wrestlemania III:
CAUTION! DO NOT LISTEN TO THIS CLIP WHILE SIMULTANEOUSLY DRINKING A COKE OR ANY OTHER BEVERAGE. WILL CAUSE VIOLENT LAUGHING SPASMS THAT COULD RESULT IN "MILK OUT THE NOSE" SYNDROME.
The man is the best thing to happen to politics since Jim Trafacant. I wish he had a catchy phrase like Trafacant's "Beam me up, Scotty!" Given that it appears that his handlers and speech writers are all ex-WWF performers, maybe something like "Can you smell what the Gov's cookin'?!"
The man is a train wreck waiting to happen. And it's super. Just think, this is the man that Al Gore, the service Unions, and the bulk of Dem support has gone to so far. They have to stick with him. If he is prone to these sorts of personality retrogrades and yet still wins the nomination, the Dems are sunk.
But how much fun would it be to see President Dean give a speech like this at the UN? That would be priceless.
Da na, da na na na na na, HEY!
In case you were wondering, that is my poor translation of Gary Glitter's "Rock N' Roll Part 2", the preferred anthem of the Fanatical Foxboro Fan Legion of the New England Patriots.
And once again that song is echoing around NE as Bill from Annapolis is leading the Pats to their second Super Bowl in 3 years.
As a lifelong Pats fan, this is a situation I have trouble dealing with. The 2001 team was awesome, the way they kept upsetting the favorites and eeking out tough games. But that was one year. Every franchise is capable of having one good year.
But now I'm faced with something else. 15 straight wins (most in one season since '72 Dolphins). 7 point favorites. Accolades, hosannas! Annoitning of a possible Dynasty in the era of no Dynasties.
This is far too much for one man to bear. The Pats do not do this. All of my football sureties are slipping away. We NEVER are the best team in a Super Bowl.
I'll have to start telling myself that we're going to lose. No shot. Carolina is going to beat us into the ground with their running game and make us look like the old Patsies. It's the only way I can stay grounded in this time of great expectation.
In case you were wondering, that is my poor translation of Gary Glitter's "Rock N' Roll Part 2", the preferred anthem of the Fanatical Foxboro Fan Legion of the New England Patriots.
And once again that song is echoing around NE as Bill from Annapolis is leading the Pats to their second Super Bowl in 3 years.
As a lifelong Pats fan, this is a situation I have trouble dealing with. The 2001 team was awesome, the way they kept upsetting the favorites and eeking out tough games. But that was one year. Every franchise is capable of having one good year.
But now I'm faced with something else. 15 straight wins (most in one season since '72 Dolphins). 7 point favorites. Accolades, hosannas! Annoitning of a possible Dynasty in the era of no Dynasties.
This is far too much for one man to bear. The Pats do not do this. All of my football sureties are slipping away. We NEVER are the best team in a Super Bowl.
I'll have to start telling myself that we're going to lose. No shot. Carolina is going to beat us into the ground with their running game and make us look like the old Patsies. It's the only way I can stay grounded in this time of great expectation.
Thursday, January 08, 2004
Somebody get the IOC on the horn, I've got some new events that need to be included in Athens 2004
Over at the inimitable Summa Mamas, Terri(y) has this to say (I can never remember if Terri(y) is "y" and Micky(i) is "i" or vice versa):
I've not read the article yet, because I have not had 5 minutes of uninterrupted quiet time today. They phone rung off the wall, McBaby was in and out of the refrigerator continually (and believe me, GRAPES EVERYWHERE is a hideous game to play) . . .
I know that "Grapes Everywhere" game. It is one of Mac's favorites. Almost as popular in my house as "The Juicebox Squeeze Challenge", where contestants are judged on fluid height and distance. Mac and Auggie are both Jr Olympians in the Juicebox Pentathlon.
The other day, however, we discovered a new and exciting game.
Auggie was choo-chooing some of his favorite trains on the floor next to me, but Mackie was nowhere to be seen. My wife, who was sewing away in her studio, says, in a voice much like Samuel or Nathan at their most prophetic: "Hey, where's Mackie?"
All was quiet in the house, but it was that quiet that sits you bolt upright in your chair when you finally realize its enormous stillness, with an exclamation of "WHAT'S GOING ON?!!!" Something was amiss. I walked into the other room and saw this as I went:
In the hall, small, fresh droplets of the pink paint we are using in Scagel Mk 3's room decorate the hardwood floors.
Then Mac, who walks out of the bathroom and stops dead in his tracks when he sees me. He goes immediately pale.
"What are you doing, buddy?"
"Oh, nothing."
"Really, what's up in the bathroom?"
"Weeeeeellllll, I was just doing sumpthing."
I walk into the bathroom and the old-hanging-off-the-wall type sink is pink. Totally PINK. The water is running and a paint brush is being cleaned by the cold H2O, obviously refreshing itself from it child-sponsored endeavors.
"LIZZZZZZIIIIEEEEE!"
"[CRY, CRY CRY]"
"It's OK, buddy."
I was upset, but so shocked by the humor of the whole situation that I was that kind of over-the-top magnanimous that I find is my default reaction to such situations as painted sinks, poopies on the floor, and sharp butcher knives being used as train bridges. I was trying to decide if I should roll on the floor laughing or use the new closet pole I had just put up as a switch. Luckily, I found a happy medium.
I was Helpful, "let's get this cleared up" Daddy. The paint was fresh and came up easily with a wet cloth. No lasting harm done.
Once that was done, I morphed, a la The Wonder Twins, into "Wroth of God" Daddy. "Form of, cold rage! Shape of, Bulging neck veins!"
Needless to say Scagel MK 1 was doing not much of anything constructive that hour that didn't involve sitting on his bed without toys. Well, maybe it was only 10 minutes, but the kid is so cute, it's hard to stay too mad at him for any length of time. "It's OK, Daddy, we'll get some paper towels! Is that a good idea?" He could charm the pants off the most hardbitten, anti-child cynic. He's just that adorable. It's becoming something of a disciplinary hurddle.
The next day we went to see "Cheaper by the Dozen". It was not the most amazing or highbrow film I've ever seen, but I liked it immensely. I'm sure my initiation into the "Sink Painting Time Trials" Event had something to do with my reaction to the film.
Over at the inimitable Summa Mamas, Terri(y) has this to say (I can never remember if Terri(y) is "y" and Micky(i) is "i" or vice versa):
I've not read the article yet, because I have not had 5 minutes of uninterrupted quiet time today. They phone rung off the wall, McBaby was in and out of the refrigerator continually (and believe me, GRAPES EVERYWHERE is a hideous game to play) . . .
I know that "Grapes Everywhere" game. It is one of Mac's favorites. Almost as popular in my house as "The Juicebox Squeeze Challenge", where contestants are judged on fluid height and distance. Mac and Auggie are both Jr Olympians in the Juicebox Pentathlon.
The other day, however, we discovered a new and exciting game.
Auggie was choo-chooing some of his favorite trains on the floor next to me, but Mackie was nowhere to be seen. My wife, who was sewing away in her studio, says, in a voice much like Samuel or Nathan at their most prophetic: "Hey, where's Mackie?"
All was quiet in the house, but it was that quiet that sits you bolt upright in your chair when you finally realize its enormous stillness, with an exclamation of "WHAT'S GOING ON?!!!" Something was amiss. I walked into the other room and saw this as I went:
In the hall, small, fresh droplets of the pink paint we are using in Scagel Mk 3's room decorate the hardwood floors.
Then Mac, who walks out of the bathroom and stops dead in his tracks when he sees me. He goes immediately pale.
"What are you doing, buddy?"
"Oh, nothing."
"Really, what's up in the bathroom?"
"Weeeeeellllll, I was just doing sumpthing."
I walk into the bathroom and the old-hanging-off-the-wall type sink is pink. Totally PINK. The water is running and a paint brush is being cleaned by the cold H2O, obviously refreshing itself from it child-sponsored endeavors.
"LIZZZZZZIIIIEEEEE!"
"[CRY, CRY CRY]"
"It's OK, buddy."
I was upset, but so shocked by the humor of the whole situation that I was that kind of over-the-top magnanimous that I find is my default reaction to such situations as painted sinks, poopies on the floor, and sharp butcher knives being used as train bridges. I was trying to decide if I should roll on the floor laughing or use the new closet pole I had just put up as a switch. Luckily, I found a happy medium.
I was Helpful, "let's get this cleared up" Daddy. The paint was fresh and came up easily with a wet cloth. No lasting harm done.
Once that was done, I morphed, a la The Wonder Twins, into "Wroth of God" Daddy. "Form of, cold rage! Shape of, Bulging neck veins!"
Needless to say Scagel MK 1 was doing not much of anything constructive that hour that didn't involve sitting on his bed without toys. Well, maybe it was only 10 minutes, but the kid is so cute, it's hard to stay too mad at him for any length of time. "It's OK, Daddy, we'll get some paper towels! Is that a good idea?" He could charm the pants off the most hardbitten, anti-child cynic. He's just that adorable. It's becoming something of a disciplinary hurddle.
The next day we went to see "Cheaper by the Dozen". It was not the most amazing or highbrow film I've ever seen, but I liked it immensely. I'm sure my initiation into the "Sink Painting Time Trials" Event had something to do with my reaction to the film.
