Tagged: love

Larry David Eats His Own. It’s All That Can Be Done to Bill Maher.

I’m not going to make it childishly easy, but I have a fantastic anecdote for why the Left’s constant use of Hitler will never work.

When my Ethiopian step-son first had an opportunity to get me a birthday gift after coming to America and joining his mom and I’s family, he got me a T-Shirt. The shirt was black and on the front had a bald eagle, mid-flight, and a rider. The rider was a superimposed George Washington, taken from presumably some famous painting.

I loved the shirt. I loved the gift. Most of all, I felt heard.

“Not bad,” I thought.

The first big opportunity to put the shirt on full display was the county fair. We’re talking small town Minnesota. This was during or around COVID and so everyone was already bursting to get outdoors cause a ruckus. Or I was. Like all small towns in Minnesota, there was a wildly disproportionate amount of Somalis and they were sure to be at the fair, for the proper American reason: boredom.

Imagine the scene for a second. I proudly walk out among this multicultural crowd, wearing GW riding a bald eagle. I am checking out the other whites’ shirts, and, as expected, they were mostly about how they would kill anyone who tried to take their guns.

The Somalis, like all immigrants, wore Puma brand gear. (I remember having like one Puma brand item as a kid and being terribly embarrassed by the non-Nike, Reebok, Adidas gear.) No matter, these kids are Generation Puma, through and through.

Now, reader, let this scene play out for a bit. I keep walking and scanning shirts. I also scan eyes to see if any ignite with patriotic sparkle and joy when they see my shirt.

None do.

You can imagine my disappointment.

Finally, while ordering dessert before leaving, a youngish white girl that was serving—likely a veteran’s daughter—said, “I like your shirt.”

I am not going to tell you the answer to the riddle, because I don’t believe you’re stupid. The point of my anecdote is to give a BIG clue as to why Larry David can only further evidence why the Left and Democrats are limited to reinforcement of their incompetence when they bring up Hitler. It can never take their intended effect.

Do you see?

The Good Fallout From The Space Bimbos’ Expensive Selfie

Before they had their fun, would you have been aware that there is a formal program called, “Commercial Space Astronaut Wings Program”? I hadn’t given it much thought, as on this topic I am generally awestruck immobile by yet another instance of uncanny synchronization of unrelated technology jumps. Can someone please explain how virtually every human being is able to view, in stunning HD, videos of the now weekly commercial rocket launches? Using Resurrection Sunday as a backdrop, we might say that it seems like physicists care more about letting others watch their work than religious zealots ever did.

I digress.

Regarding “astronaut” more broadly, it was always obvious to me what this meant, because as a former USAF pilot, I went to training with a guy that had a career goal to become an astronaut. Given my then (and still) adoration of AF pilots, his goal didn’t seem out of reach—indeed he seemed to be completing the exact right steps at the exact right time. If anything, I learned that I would never be an astronaut because I hadn’t even believed I was in the running until, after meeting him, I considered that if I was in the same training as him, surely I was at least had better chances than everyone else not in USAF pilot training.

So the definition for Commercial Space Astronaut Wings Program is: “Crewmembers who travel into space must have ‘demonstrated activities during flight that were essential to public safety or contributed to human space flight safety.’”

And that is still pretty weak as definitions go, imho. (And the bimbos would, under the most generous definition of “human space flight safety”, need to say, “I earned my Commercial Space Astronaut Wings!” Under no circumstance does the English language allow for them to be called Astronauts.)

But now we know. And that is a good thing.

Completing Blacks’ Translation of Blacks to Whites in a Way Only a Literate White Could Do

So this HS Track stabbing murder is still on my brain. There is a YouTube channel which consists of Black twin brothers reacting to the passing scene. In effect, they are comedians who specialize in highlighting the constant, loud, but relatively small, tom foolery of the Black Community.

Most recently in this murder case, the attorney held a press conference. As the thing unfolded, the Twins began to recognize and highlight what anyone would recognize—that it was essentially a paid advertisement for some new johnny-come-lately BLM type group.

Here’s the particular additional factor that I, and only someone with my resume, can add to help even these Twins understand more fully what we all witnessed taking place.

The reason the attorney repeats the name of his organization four hundred times throughout the press conference is because the Black Community, as a group, is still operating on oral tradition. If his intended audience doesn’t memorize the name of the organization in that moment, he will never see it blossom into whatever he believes it should and can become.

I know, I know. You want to tell me that Whites or Western Civilization aims for memorability too. But that is not what I mean. What I mean is that when these things happen, we’re (literate Whites) watching Old Testament or pre-literate or illiteracy in action. They are not just “us” but “different”. They’re actually not us. They are actually different.

The reason I write this is I believe only once we understand this fact have we obtained the almighty truth without which we have no foundation from upon which to act.

How An Old Eagle Scout Gives A New Eagle Scout A Knife

I don’t really have a relationship with my nephew who is a graduating HS senior. Without directly asking my sister why she got him involved in Boy Scouts, I imagined the answer to be fairly obvious and plain: she saw how it helped me in life, both with enjoyment as a kid and professionally in acceptance into USAF Pilot Training and ability to complete it successfully.

Her son is riding fairly high right now, with several notable achievements under his belt, including Eagle Scout and acceptance into a unique college program. When I visited recently for his birthday, I directed the concept with him to knives, just for fun. I was surprised that he knew a bit about metals being used these days. He also surprised me by an earnest delivery of how he was super practical in being content with cheap knives that got the job done. Being the uncle who was consistently tardy or absent on birthdays and Christmas his whole life, I figured I would take a moment and a rare handful of cash and get him a knife he would never buy for himself—and likely never use. I also wanted it to be one that he would forever associate positively with Uncle Pete.

To my shock and dismay, when he finished opening the gift, my sister and mom took turns nastily cautioning him about the dangers of bringing it to school. Essentially they warned him that he would lose many opportunities that are available to him today over such a thoughtless mistake. They both then looked at me with apprehension, bordering on respect, a kind of, “I hope you know what you’re doing” attitude. I credit them for not “disagreeing” or “revoking” the gift.

Keep in mind, this was only a week or two before the black kid murdered the white kid with a knife.

How did I, the Eagle Scout uncle, caution the newly armed man?

Later, and one-on-one, I homilized, “I had no idea that your mom and grandma would react like that.” This opening keeps me credible and trustworthy. “On the topic, I just want to say this.” This establishes that the sermon is brief and likely worthy. “I got you the knife partly because of all these recent achievements of yours.” This is a compliment; hard to not like a compliment. “But please know that if you were to do something stupid like ignore reality and bring it to school, besides the consequences, by my thinking, it would mean that all the achievements were counterfeit.” This was the respectful and powerful punchline.

He blushed hard and seemed hurt.

Then he shed any maturity he had just revealed unintentionally, if winsomely, and smiled and nervously giggled in what I supposed must be counted as a teenager’s acknowledgment of unsolicited guidance.

Round-About Way of Exposing the Inner-Most Thoughts of My Immigrant (And All Immigrants) Wife

My now-citizen, but through the notorious near-decade long legal process, wife (to be clear, nothing to do with yours truly or marriage) reported to me that her co-workers (immigrants themselves) are all ate-up with the incessant deportation news.

Picture with me a fancy hotel setting. You see everywhere all the BIPOC (some Europeans too) immigrant staff hustling and bustling to help management create the most amazing experience ever for guests, all the while you can overhear a discussion of politics is taking place when they believe they are out of earshot of anyone who would report it.

“Wait!” you say. “It sounds to me like they’re talking instead of working.”

I agree. But when I gave my wife the line, “I would start with, ‘First, right now we should be working…’ she insisted that they were working.”

So recall the picture. Talking AND working.

My wife reported to me that she was responding to the others’ fears and what I would call suckerdom with, “I have family back home, so if they sent me back, I would be fine.” And also, “But they won’t send me back because I am a citizen.”

According to her, the co-workers are under the belief that any immigrant—even those with permanent resident cards, which are green, and US citizens—are eligible for deportation. How stupid. But it is what it is.

How would I handle the discussion if I was her? Glad you asked.

“Firstly, we should be working right now. Working and talking is impossible, especially at the low wages we earn. My husband says he is paid to think, not to work. He talks at work. I don’t understand it, but I do understand his pay is far above ours.

“Secondly, do not answer any of these questions I am about to ask. I do not want to know the answers. Moreover, my goal is to give you confidence that you have nothing to fear. But if you answer the questions in a certain way, you may feel more fear. So please don’t answer them.

“Okay. Can you show me your green card? What is that word on the top? Permanent. That means that you never have to leave. Sure, there is paperwork to renew it every ten years, but that is just paperwork. No one leaves when they have a green card. Again, it’s in the name right on the card.

“If you don’t have a green card, surely you have some kind of visa. If that is you, you have made the choice to accept the risks involved with temporarily working here—to include having the visa revoked if you break your part of the agreement. So don’t break your part of the agreement. If I understand things at all, that pretty much means don’t lie. Like you, I don’t fully understand ‘telling the truth,’ but I believe it covers ‘show up to work as you said you would do and don’t commit crimes.’

“Now, if you have already committed crimes or are in work of a different nature than approved or whatever, I would be nervous. And I would suggest changing jobs back to a job that you got your visa to do.

“Lastly, I can tell you that these people are confusing to me. None of us will ever understand them. But they have cash.”

I Have A BIPOC Teenage Step-Son, Therefore You Should Listen To MY Take

For starters, “The Captain had turned on the Fasten Your Seatbelt Sign.” So buckle up.

I need to draw your attention right away to certain facts that I believe should be obvious, but due to everyone’s performative heightened sensitivities these days, aren’t.

1. This is a WordPress blog called Captain’s Log. I am a pilot. I was a pilot in the Air Force. You don’t need to know anything beyond this combination of demographics (male, writes blogs, flys aircraft professionally, did so in the USAF) to be certain that I am white.

2. This teenage step-son I have referred to is a step-son. Step. That means I am not some happy-go-lucky Academy Grad who adopts African orphans to keep up with the Joneses. In order to have a BIPOC (African—not African-American/Black) step-son, I must be married to a BIPOC wife.

3. This is one level deeper, but given that he is my step-son, I think it is fair for anyone to assume that in his mom’s eyes, he is an angel and can do no wrong. In other words, there is absolute and comprehensive discord when it comes to raising him.

Let’s move on to certain facts that are not available to even faithful followers.

A. He currently is testing the waters of HS Track and Field.

B. His haircut is near identical to the alleged murderer’s.

C. I have seen him taunt his opponents (in basketball) in similar language to “Touch me and see what happens.”

D. He and I haven’t spoken many words for over a year now. This silence went into effect basically since a time when circumstances led to me checking his phone and finding atrocious garbage, to include a selfie of him flipping off the camera (which also exists for the alleged murderer). In ol’ fashioned American Dad style, I subsequently took a hacksaw to his phone. He hasn’t had one since. And he lies so much that I have decided to back off rather than “fight, fight, fight.” (Which would be with BOTH him and his mom/my wife.) Additionally, I agree with the general philosophy, “There is no point in communication if there is no truth.”

Got the picture?

Backing up, regarding the dead twin, I find great consolation in Mark Twain’s humor. Perhaps you will too. He wrote

In other words, in the fullest sense, between the black kid and the white kid, the black kid got the shaft—what a stupid thing to do.

When I tell whites about the demographic decisions of my life, they reward me with such reactions as, “That is sooooo interesting,” and, “That’s what I love about you, Pete!” It feels good. It feels amazing. They are right. And “interest” is at least half the reason I live how I live. Who wants a boring life?

But the truth is that I also love America and believe in my heart of hearts that I have an excellently formed and accurate appreciation for what exactly America is. And I want America to do what stands before it as possible—even if it still feels unlikely. I mean, I want America to be a post-racial country. Let’s mix it up like no one has and enjoy the unpredictable result. What is the saying? “Variety is the spice of life.”

But no. No one else wants that. Nope. Instead, my dreams have resulted in having a step-son who models himself after thugs and a wife who indulges him at every step.

As I have read the interweb’s reactions and trolls, I have come across this tit-for-tat notion where the Black responds, “Sure, when you first hear there is a murder and one person is White and one Black, you are right to guess that the murderer is Black.” Then they add the kicker, “But when we hear that a school shooting has occurred, everyone knows it is a White kid.”

I also grant this assessment.

The enormous difference, and one which affects me directly, is every White purposely dresses different than school shooters! And in the cases where there is some similarity, it is honest-to-goodness poverty or ignorance that has led to it. No White kids (except the seemingly unending supply of actual copycat killers) are imitating the school shooters’ appearance.

School Shooters are LOSERS! It is why they do it. They are losers with no imagination, no creativity, no hope, and access to guns. Losers. They are people who I purposely avoid and counsel everyone to avoid. They are losers who I want nothing to do with. They are terribly easy to spot. And they are pitiful. Leave them alone and report them anytime they do something that can keep them from shooting up schools!

With this Black kid, the same cannot be said. How he looks and how he acts is exactly the way my immigrant step-son has determined is how “cool” looks and acts. Take any run-of-the-mill Black celebrity-filled room, and this kid would have fit right in—same for my step-son. But the school shooter losers? They got beat up for showing up. That’s why they are convinced they are losers and see no way out but violence.

My first instinct when I saw the Black kid’s picture(s)? I wanted to tell my wife to take my step-son to get a proper haircut. Do I seriously believe that something as seemingly trivial as a hairstyle can change a life? Absolutely. How do I know? Because it ain’t about the hairstyle. It is about the fact that some parenting is happening. Some adjustments. Some common sense. Some reality.

What have I actually done after this tragedy? Nothing. Why not? Let me reference a not-so-famous quote from a beloved crime saga.

Neil McCauley (appearance completely like the cop sitting across from him) says to Vincent Hannah (I have a movie poster over my beloved piano of the very coffee table scene):

“You see me doin’ thrill-seeker liquor store holdups with a ‘Born to Lose’ tattoo on my chest?”

In other words, my time with my wife and my step-son has persuaded me of that which even believably portrayed criminals know to be the truth: Some folks are born to lose.

There are days when I avoid considering how much damage this “interesting” kid can do to my life and family (future legal troubles that my wife insist I pay to help as one example). But they are not the majority.

Dishonesty Is Without Use

I just began reading Ben Franklin’s Autobiography. As with all books I read, it is great.

Of note in his early years, he recounts a time when after trying to persuade his dad otherwise, Ben’s dad taught him, “Nothing is useful which is not honest.”

Just thought you might be able to put this to work with your own children.

A Downright Mean (But Not Mean-Spirited) Observation

It occurs to me near constantly, when it comes to relationship problems, “I am so right!” Nearly every marital issue could be solved by implementing some kind of “rule” or process. Get it? The disagreements all stem from each of us wanting our own way. (This is a given.) But the very idea (only ever presented by yours truly) that we compromise and/or put a “rule” or “plan” into place is so foreign to my non-Western wife that all I can do is assert the following observation:

If my non-Western (code for African) wife ever were to triply 1. See the value of “rules” or “plans” 2. Implement them and 3. Execute them, then all war (civil and otherwise) currently spanning the globe would end in the same instant—the two events are inextricably linked.

But it ain’t never happening.

It is still to be determined whether the hangup—be it blindness, stubbornness, or laziness—is genetic (some level of biology) or vindictive (“What does (s)he want?” “Revenge.” “For what?” “For being born.”) or proverbial (“can’t teach an old dog new tricks”). For what it’s worth, my money is on “all of the above”.

We will see.

Irritants of the Past Few Days

My daughter got a singing Moana doll as a gift. The doll says absolutely stupid things. To start, Moana suggests that her people have been ocean explorers (“We must sail to the far seas”). Yeah, exploring oceans in a canoe which never left sight of land. Then she has a line which says, “The stars lead us to where we want to go.” Again, the Moana’s of the world have never navigated their tiny islands or narrow coastlines via the stars. Gimme a break. Finally, she says something about “We’re all part of the land and sea. It’s who we are; it’s who we’re meant to be.” I’d already passed boiling point, but with this the folks at Disney seem to lose all distinction between bringing classic European fairy tales to life, a la Cinderella, Snow White, and Beauty and the Beast among many others (Pinocchio), and inventing fairy tales whole cloth for tribes who never wrote any down—and likely didn’t have any to begin with. In other words, folks, if you think all the peoples of Planet Earth are composing compelling music, telling remarkable stories, and relentlessly exploring the planet, then you are a fool.

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People do not “forget” the truth they were once taught. I have this hardbound collection of early Berenstain Bears stories and one of them is, “He Bear She Bear.” It is remarkable in its simple and inoffensive presentation of the facts of life. No alphabet mafia folk had been read this book as a child and then concluded at a later date, “No. No, that’s not right.” Instead, Berenstain Bears became tired, lost their en vogue status, and then went the way of the dodo. This is the way all truth is “forgotten”—boredom and displaced proportionality.

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You cannot grasp the “bully” nature of illiterate people until you live with them. They bully because they have no other recourse. It’s sad, but true.

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My mother shared with me that my immediate family members and likely their spouses are tired of me portending to be the only one with ideas. I share with you that my immediate family members and their spouses never read books. I believe it was Booker Washington who pointed out that those who can’t read and those who don’t read are one and the same. My brother and his wife tour the world to see the historical locations of everyone whose ideas I read about and would love to chat about. These two come back and report what tour guides told them. In my opinion, it’s worse than tribes who lived only with oral tradition because they think they are living it up. All they are really doing is anarchy.

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Books, for me, are a map, no different than a VFR Sectional or Low IFR Chart. I can’t tell you where you are on the map, indeed that is not my job (or anyone else’s). But given that I have a map and you do not, I can discern quite simply that you’re lost. It is your job as a literate person to determine where you are.