Tagged: women
Chappelle Is Toast
I’ve had a change of heart.
I still agree with my last post’s (complicated) assessment, being: the fact that the following sentence will never be uttered reveals why Mr. Chappelle is helping the trans community: “Mr. Chappelle—while thoroughly picking on the trans community—could not but help them—because he is black.” I believe this sentence will never be uttered by anyone of significance, as stated, because I believe the real conflict in our nation (and the world) is between “tranquility” and “morality”. So Mr. Chappelle, in not addressing the immorality of the trans community, is clearly on the “tranquility” side of the conflict—by default.
All that said, where I differ from my opining of a few days ago is that I implied that Mr. Chappelle’s status as a black comedian (which cannot be discussed) will protect him. I have changed my mind. Mr. Chappelle is toast.
So why the change of heart? New facts, or at least a forgotten perspective, have since been revealed to me by my recent reading.
As I think I’ve mentioned, I’m still working through the Great Books of the Western World, via the Great Ideas Program guided reading set. I’m in Montesquieu at the moment, still. (It’s a longer than normal selection.) And I came across this in last nights reading (The Spirit of Laws Book XII, Chap. 5 Of Certain Accusations that require particular Moderation and Prudence):
“The Emperor Theodorus Lascaris attributed his illness to witchcraft. Those who were accused of this crime had no other resource left but to handle a red-hot iron without being hurt. Thus among the Greeks, a person ought to have been a sorcerer to be able to clear himself of the imputation of witchcraft. Such was the excess of their stupidity that to the most dubious crime in the world they joined the most dubious proofs of innocence.”
Don’t mishear me. I’m not saying Mr. Chappelle is being accused of witchcraft. This is clearly no witch hunt. I would even hesitate to say it’s like a witch hunt. But maybe I could be pressed to admit similarities do exist. Instead, the point is that the trans community is out to get Mr. Chappelle and Netflix. It is also clear that the trans community is never going to be satisfied. Moreover, history is full of examples of humans never achieving satiation, no matter how many times they claim they could be. Taking this fact into account, the inevitable consequence is that the accusation will rue the day. Mr. Chappelle is toast. Fini. Finished. Dunsky. Netflix is likewise on the hurt train.
Netflix will likely recover after firing the boss, but we’re operating—not under a time of witch hunts, no—we’re operating within a time of the category that includes witch hunts and “cancel culture”, which Montesquieu rightly and timelessly labels “stupidity.”
To be clear, Mr. Chappelle was stupid, or put more nicely “unwise”, for electing to take on “tranquility” without arming himself with a shield of “morality”. You’ll see soon how his joke only helped the trans community.
All the while, “morality” and “tranquility” battle on. Whose side are you on? In either case, choose your weapons carefully.
Response to Castro’s “Americans Don’t Know Who Latinos Are” New Yorker Podcast
Mr. Castro was interviewed on the “New Yorker” podcast the other day. This title was very provocative to me, so I gave it a listen as I exercised. It’s only 20min long.
The main charge he makes to prove his thesis is, “Can you name three latinos who had had a significant impact in American history?” He explains that he asked this to a very high placed school administrator.
The problem with the exchange, as described in the interview, is that Castro doesn’t account for the current political climate as he reveals that the administrator sheepishly admitted that he couldn’t.
Conversation 101: Whoever is asking the question has the power. Read your Bible if you don’t believe me. If you are in an important conversation and asked a question, answer with a question. If it’s a good question, the momentum will shift in your favor.
The administrator, by answering the question, already loses. Instead, he need have—and this can be done charismatically if need be—only flipped the question on Castro and asked, “Can you?” And then when Mr. Castro posits the name, the administrator (or you or me) interrupts as he takes notes slowly, to say, “Excuse me, but could you go slower. What did he do? Uh-huh. Got it. Yeah. Funny how I never heard of him. Must’ve been some genius.”
On this specific topic, the truth is—and all Americans know this deep down—Latinos don’t know who Americans are. And most Latinos probably never will.
Americans do not care about skin color. Americans do not care about ancestry. Americans do not care about how much hardship you overcame. Americans do not care about your current struggles. Americans do not care about your hopes and dreams. Americans do not care about Hollywood representation. Americans do not care about Latinos. Americans do not care about Blacks. Americans do not care about Whites.
Americans are not superficial. Americans are not trendy, and they are not trending. Americans cannot be cancelled. Americans cannot give up. Americans do not have DNA. Americans do not have an accent, they do not have a dialect.
Americans do not have mothers. Americans do not have fathers. Humans cannot create an American anymore than we can create purple mountain majesty.
Americans don’t know who Latinos are? Wrong, Sir. Wrong.
You want me to name three Latinos who had a significant impact on America? While I’m thinking, can you name three Americans who you don’t consider as your personal heroes?
The only people who have a significant impact on America are Americans. Next question.
My Second Anniversary
Nearly two years ago I posted, while on my honeymoon, an update to the classic children’s tale “Henny Penny”. You know the one. It’s where the chicken gets a whole line of animals to follow it as it claims the sky is falling—that is, until Foxy Woxy comes along and takes over as leader and slaughters them one by one. Remember?
It’s on my mind tonight again for two reasons. Firstly, because I chatted with a policemen at the HyVee where I was picking flowers and a card (and candle) for the occasion. This then reminded me that, secondly, last week Peggy Noonan wrote a Henny Penny-esque column that I had meant to respond to here.
Mrs. Noonan is a force, that’s for sure. She won’t stand the test of time, but she is compelling for today. It’s not that she writes poorly that’s the problem. It’s that she writes in a way that seems to indicate she really understands the word on the street. Her “M.O.” seems to be pinpointing the word on “main street” and then giving it context. But like most folks, since Trump, she’s lost the pulse.
The specific point of hers that I’m referring to, in her “Lost Thread” column, is the part about how police used to be respected and how now there is no respect. Instead, she points out, there are actual calls to defund them etc.
Before joining the Air Force, I had entertained the notion of being a policeman. And this, despite having seen “Wayne’s World” and laughing with the jokes, “[sniff sniff] Definitely a pork product.” Can you believe it?
You see, Peggy Noonan is no different than the other hype-sters. How could she be? The sky is not falling. And yet she says it is. She says the very men who have sworn to protect and serve are today under a newer and stronger attack than ever before.
It’s all hype. They are not. Police have never been popular.
Hear me clearly. When I say, “Police have never been popular,” I am not wrong. Nor am I able to be persuaded away from my position. This is because I am not basing my position on facts, I am basing it on belief.
The police are only now under attack? Give me a break. Never in human history have people wanted to submit their actions to judgement or consequence. This law of nature is behind how police barely exist in history. Who would even want to get in a criminals way? It’s a nearly unreasonable profession.
Mrs. Noonan has it all wrong. The police have never been popular. And there isn’t enough data in the universe for her or anyone to use which would prove otherwise. Sorry, Ms. Penny. The sky isn’t falling.
The right perspective is that life is hard—if you’re hellbent on living as a man and not an animal.
Just In A Bad Mood
I only caught a glimpse of my step-son through the front-window this morning, coming up from the basement as I did, a minute too late to see him off to the bus stop. I immediately thought, “What a moron.”
The window was mostly covered by the drapes, but they were poorly closed and so a large enough crack to see through was present. The eleven year old boy was wearing his mask like all morons do, over his ears and around the bottom of his chin, like a chin strap. The sides were around his ears, the mask itself, pulled down off his face. You get the picture.
What bothers me is that the atheists that don’t have children never, and I mean never, talk about one specific topic in this mess called life. They’re so smart, they know oh so much, they want to teach us all, but they never mention the singular sight that I saw.
Because of the efforts of atheists, today’s children are figuring out how to make masks fit their personality, how to make masks look cool. Like pinch rolled jeans, or Jordans, or braided belts, masks are being adopted by children as part of their external personality. Why? Because they’re morons. Children as a group are morons. They blindly follow anything the adults say.
Now, the atheist, as a rule, won’t have children and if they do, then they don’t raise them as children. They treat them like small adults. “Babies are delivered through the vagina,” they tell inquisitive kindergartners, proud to not fill a child’s head with stories of large-beaked birds wearing funny hats.
Atheists, the godless and the childless, and I don’t mean the ignorant ones—I mean the ones who want to fight, who think they have made a proper study of the topic and are sure they are right (Freud, Nietzsche, Marx and the like)—never satisfactorily explain how they stopped being a moron. Despite this content void in their curriculum, they proceed to place all their efforts towards the obviously impossible task of teaching all children (current and former) the importance of human mask-wearing.
Trying to implement mask-mandates still? The only failure of my life that took me more than a year and a half to notice was my first marriage. How long until these morons admit that positive legislation (telling us what we must do), if not backed by a spirit of support, fails?
Atheists are children grown older. I’ll never forget that getting divorced, admitting failure, was the first time I felt like an adult. I was a father, a pilot, a veteran of combat. None of those things felt grown-up to me. Admitting I failed? That was my ticket to the real world. That was my ticket to Jesus Christ.
My moron step-son? There’s hope. Lord willing, there’s hope.
This Post Is Not About Trump
Unlike every other composition of contemporary writing, I want to be clear up front that this post is not about Trump.
My grandpa died a short while ago, after a long life. Like Billy Crystal’s character in City Slickers, I have to admit that this one death calls to mind other deaths—and death in general. Keep in mind, this post is not about Trump.
Since this post is not about Trump, I want to use it to talk about and I need to work out three deaths that have happened in the course of my life.
The first death is that of the exclusively male Air Force flying squadron. I proudly state here that I was a member of the last flying squadron in the United States Air Force that required the aircrew members to be male. The squadron, or I should say, that iteration of the squadron exists no more. Now females can take part in every aspect of aerial combat, at least in the USAF.
The second death, chronologically, is that of the Boy Scouts. I’m talking Shakespeare here. There is something in a name. Or in this case, there is something in two names. I am an Eagle Scout, the highest achievement the Boy Scouts of America offered. And when I grew up there were Girl Scouts. The best organization the females in the country could develop was the Girl Scouts—a bad facsimile of excellence training for boys. That the Scouts now lets in girls does not change history (whether meaning the past facts or the introduction of some new mode of living): where on earth do women have a club that men want to join or wish they had thought of? The new name just admits that the Boy Scouts have died. Like my flying squadron.
Lastly, the Baptists have died. Sure, sure, sure. The Baptists are still meeting every Sunday. And they collect money and they publish Sunday School materials and run some seminaries. But it’s over. What makes me so sure? I just spoke with a new-ish Baptist pastor this morning who confessed that in five years he has not had one non-believer attend, convert, and join his church. Five years. Five years? Five years!
Remember this post is not about Trump.
I spent nearly every Monday from 4th grade to 12th grade in Boy Scout meetings. I spent nearly every Sunday and Wednesday in the Baptist church. And I worked my tail darn near off to get into the last male only flying squadron the United States Air Force had.
What will America be like without Men, Boys Scouts, and Baptists?
That’s an easy answer that you already feel in your bones.
Feminine, fatherless, and godless. In other words, absolutely unremarkable.
Pointedly: uninteresting.
Tragically: unsafe.
And most frustratingly: undesirable.
Remember, this post is not about Trump.
Luckily for you, I am still alive and happy to call your attention to what has died. Why? Because I was a Boy Scout, I was in the last exclusively male flying squadron of the USAF, and I was a Baptist. In short, because I am not afraid of you.
(This post is not about Trump.)
Imitation Is The Sincerest Form of Flattery Part 2
Whatever the malady that drove Mayor Pete and Chasten to the hospital (Get Well Soon!), I had quite the adorable little experience with my 13 month old daughter the other day. It definitely was a sign of the times.
Like most fathers, in the true sense of the word, I found myself feeling weary from spending several hours in all manner of mind-numbing activities with my daughter. And like most fathers, again, fathers, not homosexual men who visit hospitals for photo ops, being tired, I began to consider poor decisions as viable options and thought, “I can just lay down on the floor, right here, smack dab in the middle of the family room. Nothing unsafe can happen without me hearing it. I just need to rest my eyes.”
Here I must confess that there is also a certain thrill when your own flesh-and-blood, your very seed—as they used to say in Bible times—believes they have free reign to climb around, on, and over you.
As most of you know, this daughter is not the only continuation of my bloodline which I have helped deliver unto the world, which I only mention here to relate that I have experienced this climbing scene before.
So, little “A-” (let’s call her) starts to crawl on top of me until she gets right up onto my chest.
Oh, sorry to interrupt, but you should know that for whatever reason A- has developed a habit of leaning her head forward when she wants a kiss. (Or at least that’s how we interpret and respond to the signal.)
So, as I can tell that her head is near my head, I next feel her head, face really, lower down to my head. This was not, to my thinking, very well aimed, if affection was her goal; her face landed nowhere in particular, it seemed. All I’m trying to describe is that her face was now awkwardly touching mine.
As you’re probably thinking, I thought, “Oh! How sweet!”
Then (my eyes are closed all the while) I feel a slightly uncomfortable, open-infant-palm go: “Smack!” And right on the button, too!
As you know, I’m tough as nails, being a hero pilot and all, so don’t read into this recounting anything more than that it startled me.
And then it hit me! No, not her hand, but what she was doing.
While laying there I remembered that we have on the shelf these old 1950s era children’s encyclopedias and that back in the 50s and before, the physicians used to have a less precise approach to CPR. Taken together (context drives meaning, folks) with the fact that, these days, especially with the pandemic going on for her entire life, everyone knows that first responders are the priestly class, if not gods themselves, and she was communicating to me—the little savant—that she, too, like her maker, wants to be a first responder.
Do you see it? In that face-to-face move, she wasn’t giving me affection. She thought I was dead, or unconscious at the least, and she was at the “look, listen, and feel” step of assessing her patient.
As far as the whack on the nose, it was a forgivable targeting error—she is only 1 after all. She had merely—incorrectly I might add (some performance improvement is upcoming)—assessed that I was in cardiac arrest and had begun old-style compressions.
My daughter! Following in the footsteps of her ol’ man. Can you believe it? It was a beautiful sight to behold, even if there was no professional cameraman nearby.
Imitation Is The Sincerest Form Of Flattery
Did Mayor Pete and Chasten both contract COVID-19? Does anyone know?
I’m only asking because I just saw a pic of them in the hospital. They didn’t look sick, but it’s possible they only have it mildly.
Then again, they were holding babies and I think it is illegal for people with COVID-19 to hold babies.
Hmm. Must be some other reason for their visit. Anyone know?
This Ever Happen To You?
I just had this terrible experience.
I’m finally at the point in my morning where it’s time to shower. Know what I mean? I’ve exercised, taken the kiddo to school, had my regularly scheduled one-on-one phone call with my boss (he was away from his computer so we did just a “phone call” instead of Teams video chat), sent some emails, fielded some calls, and saw the flooding in NY.
Following?
I’m not saying it was an ideal morning or the ideal time to shower, but I was there.
Now, there is nothing on this side of heaven so wonderful as a hot cup of coffee after a shower. Am I right? So I head over to the machine and see where it’s at. I’m married, you know, so lots of possibilities await my inspection.
The machine, I discover, is on in the “stay warm” setting. I think, “Oh, how nice. My wife already made a pot.”
Then I squint and see that, no, no she did not. That’s not it at all. I was fully wrong.
The right answer is that she rewarmed the leftovers from yesterday. Kinda gross, but, hey, we’ve all been there. Am I wrong?
So now this is where the panic sets in. What’s the proper process for the situation? I know, instinctively, that rapid temperature changes are recipes for disaster when it comes to physical objects. Luckily, our Ninja Coffee Maker has a removable container that is filled with the new water, so I don’t have to refill the hot pot and risk catastrophe in that sense. But what about the pipes? Where should I pour the warmed coffee?
Can you understand my anguish?
I WAS READY FOR A SHOWER AND NOW THE PHYSICAL UNIVERSE IS ABOUT TO BE ALTERED!!
Being a natural hero, I poured out the coffee directly into the kitchen sink drain, only then running some cold water down the pipes to offset the coming darkness.
But before showering I just had to ask, “Has this ever happened to you?“
I Enjoy the Topic, That’s Why
I didn’t write anything at length yet about Afghanistan etc. I never went there. My helicopter was there for a bit before I was officially qualified on it, but it kept crashing or having expensive mechanical issues due to the combination of its gross weight and mountain operations. Therefore, it was relegated to Iraq. That said, I was an officer in the United States Air Force, during the main time that we were in Afghanistan and I joined for the main reason that we were in Afghanistan—revenge.
I want to talk about today’s Kabul attack more than Afghanistan in general, but I want to get this out there before the moment has passed. Daily I am more convinced than ever that the minute 9/11 happened, if not sooner, the United States should’ve declared war on Islam.
I don’t think this war would be blood-free, but it doesn’t have to have any killing. My aim is not killing people, but killing lies, killing Allah, and killing the Koran. All the other false gods of human history, at least in the West, went the way of the dodo, for very complicated reasons. Allah still holds his own because of lies.
Islam is a totalitarian system, not a religion.
By way of example, I wore sweat pants and a sweat shirt every day in college. It was my burka, of sorts. Additionally, I went to the weight room every Monday-Friday, like it was a mosque. That behavior, while religious, didn’t qualify me for sainthood. Anyone who knows anything knows this.
Don’t give me that “most muslims are peaceful”. The supposed “peaceful muslims” are owed an end to Islam as much as everyone else.
No one in human history has ever eradicated Islam, despite many other world-views being trounced, so it must be difficult. Enter the United States.
Now. To today’s attack. Here’s my initial gut reaction. This is said in the same vein as the one during the heated rhetoric of last election, where many of my veteran pals and I had some sort of instinct telling us to make sure our weapons were in working order. This was, of course, to no avail, and ultimately brought a healthy feeling of foolishness. But right now today, my gut is telling me the place to avoid is DC. And that’s my negative way of saying my gut is telling me the place that is going to suffer is DC.
Remember my post on “alignment”? The one where I said we need alignment, not “justice”? Well, the bad guys are being bad guys. The bad guys are aligned. It’s the United States that isn’t aligned. We’re the good guys. And we all know it. We feel it in our bones, no matter how many lies are trending right now.
I am a fairly normal, if at times recluse and eccentric, citizen. Heck, my wife just became a citizen today. Imagine that! I almost forgot about it already. This morning I stood among a lobby full of newly sworn-in Americans who were holding new American flags, who were asking each other to take pictures, and who were genuinely smiling. But there are other Americans making the news daily who seem to me to have my vision, but, unlike me, they seem to have nothing to lose.
If these other citizens get the itch to take action, I don’t think Kabul is accepting inbound flights right now. But I’m pretty sure American roads are wide open.
Again, this is just a feeling. My meaning is figurative and my aim is posterity. Except the war on Islam, bit. That needs to be declared immediately. (Consider your own loathing of the idea. I didn’t know you were an Islamic apologist, did you? It’s not a religion in any meaningful sense of the word. That’s its first lie. There is no constitutional protection for totalitarianism. After clearing that hurdle, the path to victory is clear.)
Get Lost, Loser!
I’m a loser. Fact.
The Taliban—well, you know.
Why am I so unafraid to declare my shameful status? Because I never want to stop “moving forward”, as Rocky Balboa said in Rocky 6.
As I mentioned a few posts ago, for a while now it has become evident that the next “loss” is written on the wall. The workplace is being used as a tool for government conformity, totalitarian-style. I’m stubborn (and right), but I’m not stupid. I’m talking, of course, about the vaccine and mandatory-ness.
So to hit rock bottom as a loser, I took another loss and got the vaccine just now. (I’m writing this as I wait to not have an adverse effect.)
Why get it today? Because I’m tired of losing. So today I’m a loser twice-over. I’ve doubled-down on losing. The only way to go from here is up. (Umm, wait, that’s not right.)
Wish me luck.
Captain’s Log 