How to escape the culture of mass deception (via RLW in comments). Written from a conservative, not libertarian, perspective. But the basic point is good. Thailand investigates the U.S. ambassador for lèse-majesté — because he criticized lèse-majesté arrests. Never, but never, ever, did I think anybody would say this about marijuana. Never. Ugh. Big data to be the next trillion-dollar business? Oh, please … Socks. Containing urine. Circulated by walking. Generating electricity. Just because you’re inept and unprepared, buddy, doesn’t mean the rest of us are. (Still, the certification process sounds horribly inadequate if it was anything like he describes.)…
Category: Mind and Spirit
Spirituality, moods, feelings, and thinking free to live free.
In the wake of the foul jihadist murders in San Bernardino, we now have two new categories of weapons, according to politicians and the media. First comes “assault clothing” (H/T DB). Deadly outerwear is followed by “multi-automatic round weapons.” No word yet on what a M-ARW may be. Or on how clothing can kill. But be on the lookout for these new dangers. These are truly perilous times. “When ‘suspected’ is close enough.” Scott H. Greenfield is a little behind the curve in some of his information here. But his heart and head are certainly in the right place (Tip…
On Thanksgiving, Cat (aka The Brunette), revived her inspiring essay “What Anarchism Means to Me.” Cat, you knocked my socks with that one. What a thing of beauty and truth. I tried to pull a sample to quote here, but no … just go. Read it all for yourself. (Thank you to Mama Liberty for pointing me to this one.)
Happy Thanksgiving, everybody! I’m off to cook the Big Dinner with all the fixins and plenty of leftovers. It’s a tough job, but I’m sure Ava and Robbie will help. I’m grateful beyond words to all of you for for your presence, your comments, your support, your ideas, your smarts, and your commitment to freedom. I’m going to take a couple of days off now, so see you sometime over the weekend. Meantime, I hope you’ll leave comments saying what you’re grateful for in your own life, this very interesting and challenging year. (Clipart courtesy of Webweaver.)
I just came in from stapling some plastic sheeting on my back wall. I’m nailing it over the two-year-old tarpaper that isn’t keeping the water out next to the kitchen door. In some places it’s hard to find a surface for the staples because the wood underneath is crumbling away from rot. I’m glad two sides of the house look good now, ’cause anybody seeing those back walls first would surely be thinking they’d walked onto the set of Winter’s Bone. “I’m better than this,” I want the world (e.g. UPS drivers and my immediate neighbors, but not the tax…
Brendan O’Neill of Spiked writes of Paris one week after. About the lack of passion:
It’s the feeling you’d expect to see following a natural disaster, when tragedy is inflicted on people by forces beyond our control, rather than after a conscious, bloody, moralistic attack, on the citizens of Paris and the values of France. The flower-laying, the books of condolence, the exhortations not to give ISIS our hate because that is what it wants… this has all been good and decent and moving. But where’s the fire? The anger? …
I grew up in a classless world. (Not classless as in “Donald Trump ain’t got no class,” but as in “Anyone can grow up to be president.”)
Maybe this was less true for some people of my generation, but I simply don’t remember ever caring two hoots about somebody’s economic class or status or anyone else caring about mine.
For the last few weeks I’ve been sitting on a couple of articles about Europe, Islam, and Western civilization, waiting for a moment to link them and talk about them. After Paris — again, Paris — this is as good a time as any for linking: ZeroHedge: “The Death of Europe.” National Review: “Is the West Slip, Slip, Slipping Away?” If Western civilization is dying, it’s slowly destroying itself from within. Murderous Islamists who won’t tolerate any views other than their own are merely the opportunistic barbarians at the gates. But there is no doubt that these savages, who come…
Been deadlining, but all caught up now.
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While I had my face buried in my latest BHM house-fixup article, the world outside was getting hammered with the kind of rain that makes even a seasoned Northwesterner wonder if there’s an umbrella (or perhaps a submarine) in the house.
Saturday evening just as it was turning dark, a young man came to my gate. He was as clean cut as a Mormon missionary (about the only other people prone to show up hereabouts at such an hour) and traveling on foot as they do. But he was solo. I had the vague feeling I’d seen him somewhere before. “I was here with Mike the other day,” he said by way of introduction. He gave no name. Mike — meaning Handyman Mike — has gone through a steady stream of minions or minion wannabes, all pretty much interchangable to me.…