I finally contracted COVID-19. Obviously I didn’t die.
Honestly, it wasn’t even bad. About ten years ago I used to get “strep throat” every winter. That would take me out for two weeks during which I would have have a horrible sore throat that made life pretty miserable. I eventually decided to have my tonsils removed and voila! No more strep throat.
I wanted to write this post to record how ridiculous this disease behind the whole pandemic was. To begin, I’ll share that I often comment to my family that the “West” is simply depressed. We are in a great “psychological” depression, nothing more, I say. I share this assessment here because it may help paint the picture I have of this disease. The worst part of the disease is psychological.
I never felt that bad. Sure, I had the fever. And I wished it would be gone every day. And it wasn’t. But that was it.
The very odd, and I mean unconscionably odd, part was that no one—not one medical professional I spoke with—offered me any help. As in, I would call this number for work. And they asked some administrative questions. Then I would call this number at the hospital. And the doctor asked some clarifying questions and scheduled a test. Then at the test, I took the test. There was some small chitchat. That was it.
No one ever suggested Tylenol or Advil. No one asked if I needed something stronger than OTC drugs.
The world is going to shit over this, I thought?
No, I answered, the world is going to shit over fear. Some generation of absolutely weak-minded and untested humans, spread thoroughly around the globe, gave up their minds to so-called “experts” and “science”. They gave up their minds.
I can’t be more clear here. The worst I ever felt was when I saw the email notification that the test result came in. I really had wanted to stay clear of all the nonsense. I only took the test because I figured work would want to know. And as I read “positive” I can’t deny there was a haziness to my vision. I mean, what should I expect? This was a killer disease. Just fatal. A plague by all accounts. And I had it. I stared at my phone screen, having logged into a newly created account (store that pw same place as the others), and the word stared right back at me. After lingering in this interaction of mind and language for a bit, I got bored. Then I remembered. What the fuck am I doing? I have a fever. That’s it.
This whole thing started because…because… Why did this whole thing start? Because a generation of absolutely weak-minded and untested humans, spread thoroughly around the globe, gave up their minds to so-called “experts” and “science”. They gave up their minds.
To all you “anti-vaxxers” and generally free-thinkers who never gave an inch: Well done. To the rest of you, never again. Never again will I even show cordiality when you try to shame me into compliance with groupthink. Stay outta my way.
My title comes from the fact that I’m an Eagle Scout. I was in the Boy Scouts of America since 4th grade, and I was awarded the highest rank shortly before my 18th birthday.
This achievement is probably the biggest reason I was accepted into USAF pilot training—plenty of fellas have good grades and a pilot license. Nowadays, if I’m at work and in front of a television set I can’t help but be struck by the amount of commercials having to do with how the Boy Scouts were apparently the second worst organization in human history as measured by how many little boys the adult men in charge molested.
I was never molested. None of my friends were molested.
Also all over the news right now is the Oprah interview. Hopefully it’s Oprah’s last. I refuse to watch it, but am confident the folks at Charlie Hebdo have summed it up quaintly.
We live in the time of perversion.
Meghan and Harry are not royalty any more than LeBron is king.
Oprah didn’t “conduct an interview with the Duke and Duchess of Sussex”, anymore than Trump “incited the January 6th insurrection.”
America is not a democracy—nor an oligarchy—anymore than Somalia is under rule of law.
When my friend and I had cars and driver’s licenses, we were sure to enjoy the newfound and rare freedom to linger whimsically after Monday night Scout meetings ended. The rest of the boys were picked up by their parents in timely fashion with little say about the matter. Most leaders were themselves parents, but there often would be one thirty year old single dude who just liked camping and giving back to the organization that formed him so strongly.
One night, this thirty year old and my friend and I were chatting in the parking lot. The Scoutmaster came over and stood for a bit—almost seeming impatient. Finally he did seem impatient and I said, “We’re okay. You don’t have to stay.”
I’ll never forget the feeling in my gut when the Scoutmaster gave me a look that said, “How stupid can you be?”
As we turned to get in our respective vehicles, in an attempt to save face with my friend, I think I overcompensated and actually said, “I still don’t understand why we have to have two adults,” even though I knew darn well that child molestation was a thing.
For this post, the aspect I’m drawing attention to is the silent shame that I was made to feel for being stupid, for ignoring reality, for trying to pretend there are no patterns in life.
My life is overflowing with men and women who made me feel shame for being stupid.
And my-unmolested-self couldn’t be more grateful.
How about you? Feel like you learned anything here today?
I’m working through a guided reading of the Great Books of the Western World, as you know. Sometimes, not often, certain passages are not compelling. The author’s divisions feel forced and the destination blurs.
Because of my high literacy, I began noticing that the more I read the more I learned. And the more I learned the more I began wondering, more clearly than ever before, why am I studying this so fervently? I don’t want to be in politics. I don’t want to be a politician. It’s an interesting field of study, but there are many others just as interesting that may prove more practical, I couldn’t help thinking. But I kept coming back to the fact that Locke said that man first existed in the State of Nature on his own and only later, when it benefited him, gathered into political society. Aristotle, on the other hand, had started with man as a political creature. There was no isolated man. For Aristotle, no man was an island.
Obviously, Locke is right. But whichever side you come down on, the reason to study politics as a hobby is that everything (except religion) is post-politics. Your politics influence your decisions in every other facet of life (except religion). And the only thing that influences your politics is your religious beliefs.
Want to chat about the weather? Me too. But that’s not half as interesting as why you believe America is or should be a democracy. And it’s not one hundredth as important as why you believe that Qu’ran:Bible::Black Ink:Red Ink.
Will my study of politics help me in any measurable form or fashion? It might. That’s why I do it.
The other day, I read the same type of argument I have been hearing for many years now. In this case, it was Rich Lowry who did the writing. He wrote, “A key difference between the Greeks and Romans and the rest was that their writers critiqued and lampooned their own societies. This willingness to engage in self-criticism became one of the hallmarks, and strengths, of Western culture.” He wrote this within a piece which lamented the removal of the “Classics” from curriculums around the country.
At first blush, anyone who makes the same lamentations as Mr. Lowry might find his statement to be true. But ultimately it is not true. A key difference is not that the Greeks and Romans lampooned and critiqued their own societies (though other societies may, no doubt, have accomplished less of this). The key difference is that we, the West, conversed with our own societies.
Make no mistake, the Left believes it is carrying out the staunch and noble tradition of “criticizing and lampooning its own society” that Mr. Lowry mentions. But they, the Left, were never the West.
The West is something you choose to become, not something you’re born into. You’re not the West because you’re white. Or because you’re an American. Just like you’re not a man because you’re male. Or a woman because you’re female. Do you see? The West is built of men and women of a certain quality. But the Left never learned this. (This, too, can help explain why they behave like children.)
Regarding the activity of criticism and lampooning, the Left believes that when they remove the classics, they are doing what Copernicus and Galileo did to the geocentric model of the universe when that pair introduced the heliocentric model. The Left believes that when they revise history, they are continuing the tradition of replacing superstitious falsehood like Darwin. Don’t miss this point: Mr. Lowry would have us think that the West’s great tradition and singular tradition is to “critique and lampoon” itself. If that was accurate, the Left is surely in the right. But it’s not accurate.
The tradition is to converse, to discuss, to ask each other uncomfortable questions. And this is certainly not what the Left is doing.
So stop. Stop pretending that there is any other reality unfolding than shaming, that there is any other fix than violence—and most don’t seem to care to take it that far.
If the Left was the West, they’d talk to us. They’d debate us. That they don’t, even as they believe they are continuing the progress begun by the West, simply teaches us that we need to elevate our strategy.
To conclude, the question is not, “Are the Classics Racist?” as Mr. Lowry and his ilk like to express. The question is, “Should the Left be stopped?”
Two days ago, I looked at the world through the eyes of Bill Gates. What I saw was not quite that he wanted to turn humans into batteries—Matrix-style—but that he (as an inventor of a powered tool) valued perpetual energy over human liberty. Today, I want to look at the conservative pundits through the eyes of a marketer. Why? Because my YouTube “feed” makes me feel shame before my maker.
Whether Shapiro, Prager, Tucker, or Elder (not to mention Knowles who I click on most for some unknown reason), when viewed from a marketing perspective, they all contribute more to the Left’s publicity than anything pushed by the Left. If ratings are to be trusted, this observation is even more damning.
I would never know that “chestfeeding” is a term or that the “classics” are being banned if I didn’t read and listen to the conservatives. Why wouldn’t I know? Because the Left doesn’t market themselves. Instead, the Left marches along, shaming any dissenters. The Left doesn’t shout, “We’re changing the language!” Instead, they change the language and shame dissenters. The Left doesn’t shout, “we’re banning the classics!” Instead, the Left bans the classics and shames the dissenters.
I’ve already written that if conservatives are not writing to incite war, then they’re wasting their time. Here again, I’m writing that if you’re calling attention to the Left’s actions, you’re simply acting as their marketing team. There’s no such thing as bad publicity. I’m saying here that I now believe that the conservative pundits help the Left, or, in other words, I’m arguing that conservative pundits are out of alignment with their own goals. You don’t put McDonald’s out of business by creating ads that tell people how cheap (in price or quality) their burgers are.
If the Left (or pure evil) understands anything better than the conservatives, it is that we do not live in a world of ideas. We live in a concrete world, a world where action matters most. “Raising awareness” is not action. And the Left, despite its claims to the contrary, never raises awareness. Instead, they shame dissenters. Shame is not an idea. Shame is the targeted illumination of specific actions for the purpose of conformity. Ben Shapiro revealing that the Left just passed another evil law does nothing but advertise that the Left is winning.
In any case, I’m done with conservative pundits. I own too many unread good books to waste time reading and listening to conservative pundits, now known to me as the Left’s marketing team.
Good day, Sir!
Seriously. He should announce his campaign this very second.
I don’t care one bit for the man. But it’s time to fight 😉 such unadulterated groupthink. Not one democrat broke rank? Give me a break. Cowards one and all.
Yesterday as I listened, I kept thinking, “If you’re not careful, you may end up highlighting who really incited the demonstration…yourselves,” as the Left made its case.
Today, when I watched the opening statement and the barrage of montage highlighting the utter hypocrisy of the Left, I cried.
Apparently I can take the dose from the Left when offered daily.
Apparently I am overwhelmed by the administration of many of the Left’s daily doses into one five minute period.
Oh. And the rest of the “very fine people” response now seems like the most sensible sentiment he ever uttered. Anyone else find that to be true? Separation makes the heart grow fonder, I guess.
Four votes were guaranteed—my own and my three closest friends’. That’s how many votes I was certain that I would receive regardless of how my speech for president of my college fraternity went.
It was a good speech. I lost. Because we knew each other, I asked my fraternity brother who counted the votes how many votes I got.
That was it though. That was my last attempt in politics. Why? Because I lost? Nope. Because I only got the four votes that I knew I would. I, apparently, have an intuition about these kind of things.
This impeachment, like my election speech, is a waste of breath.
Even the most casual news watcher knows they don’t have the votes. Done deal.
Oh. And no one and no ink on paper (decision or vote) can prevent a riot. This is no different than the fact that neither theft nor murder can be prevented. (Nor disease.)
I have this ten year old boy in my life now. He lived the first eight years of his life halfway around the world from me. I initially guessed that that meant he would be different than typical me-first, screen-addicted American kids. I was wrong. The reach of western television, movies—who am I kidding?—the reach of YouTube, Facebook, Roblox, Fortnite (not to mention the requisite child neglect for these things to have any lasting influence) on planet Earth is near complete, I am unhappy to report.
When I grew up I loved television and movies. I wouldn’t be me without Michael Jordan, Ryne Sandberg, Rocky Balboa, and, of course, Maverick. But somehow, I knew the boundaries, however breakable, of these forms of entertainment. I knew I could never be MJ, and I knew that I had a decent shot of being Maverick.
My ten year old stepson—though deprived of essentially all screen-time for almost a year—still unflinchingly retorts, “I want to play Roblox,” in answer to my, “But what do you want to do?” character development-intending inquiries.
Despite his having no television time (or box, even), I often find that old habits die hard and am motivated at dinner to pull up a clip or song on my phone to help him assimilate—or just because I want to hear it. In a more and more infrequent, but always endearing, display of innocence (and unthinking) the boy confessed after such a video last night (food court flash mob of Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus ), “Sometimes I feel like I’m in the video.” Before I had recovered from the brutality of the unexpected admission, he added, “And it’s very hard to remember that I’m not.”
I can’t be more clear than to plainly declare that it is my fervent goal to use the rest of my time with the boy to show him that real life is better than the make-believe world on the screen.
Why? Why is this my goal?
Is it because real life is, point of fact, better than the make-believe world on the screen? No, I don’t think I could say that that is what drives me. Make believe world, the fantasy, is obviously better than real life. Obviously. Definitionally, the fantasy is better.
So why do I hope to show him that real life is better, especially considering that I just said that I believe the fantasy is better?
That’s the interesting question. To help answer it, and to make a bigger point to my conservative and frustrated readers, we need to change gears.
My guided reading through the Great Books of the Western World has landed me in Marx’s Communist Manifesto. I have lots to comment. (For example, though not the point of today’s post, I do have to say here that I had always suspected, but never could confirm until just today, that the proletariat were virgins. Good to know.)
My response to this Manifesto is forever and intimately tied to my quest regarding my step-son. And I believe my response should be every conservative’s response, too. But I never hear them admit the real problem. So it would be foolish to see them respond the same as I do.
To be clear, I am saying here that every republican (not the members of the similarly named political party in our beloved America, but those of us who see no merit to democracy as a form of government), every republican, every anti-communist, every anti-Marxist—but here I repeat myself—to date has misunderstood the problem Marx gave to the world. Their answer to Marx is always the same. Even the great republicans, like Thomas Sowell and Clarence Thomas, have missed the mark when they think “evidence” will help our cause.
“Evidence” is the cause of Communism—not its defeat. This is similar to how “evidence” is the cause of Fantasy. If life really was all that it’s cracked up to be, we’d have no reason to “escape” through entertainments and diversions—through fantasy. Savvy?
To repeat, “evidence” is the cause of Communism—not its defeat. This is similar to how “evidence” is the cause of Fantasy. If life really was all that it’s cracked up to be, we’d have no reason to “escape” through entertainments and diversions.
And this drops us back to my quest with my stepson, and its seeming paradox. If I believe fantasy is better than real life, then how can I want him to see that real life is better than fantasy?
Couched in political language, if I believe that communism is better than this mess of a political system we’ve inherited, then how can I want you to rebuke it in favor of this mess?
Back to my stepson.
What, dear reader, do I want? What, precisely, do I want for my stepson?
I can’t see this answer for you. You may never see the answer. But I do believe that if you can see what I want, and what drives me, then you can help rebuke the Marxists.
Again, I can’t see this answer for you. You may never see the answer.
This post may now feel like a waste of your time.
But this inability is the definition of the problem anti-Marxists face. I hope I didn’t patronize you along the way.