We’ve got spirit, how ’bout you?

Posted on by
Reply

Jay Rosen is reading about and hearing from all the activists gearing up to spend big money on the upcoming battle over Supreme Court nominees and doesn’t know what it is good for.

In the last election, 121 million votes were cast, and each one of those people could (in theory) be influenced by a media campaign. On the coming nomination, 100 United States Senators vote. Can they be influenced in the same way? The press is saying: yeah, they can. But it cannot be so.

It’s a good point in so far as groups on both sides pouring money into television commercials and other events should have little direct effect on the votes of 100 senators. Of course, it’s not about influencing voters but about rallying the faithful. This is going to be the Super Bowl of politics this year and what’s a big game without cheerleaders and rowdy fans to inspire their team and intimidate the opposition? The back-and-forth is merely the political version of the old “We’ve got spirit, yes we do, we’ve got spirit how ’bout you?” chant. Even though the Dems and their fanatics will – like the old AFL in the pre-merger Super Bowls – be trying to show they’re relevant, they have to feel encouraged that some Republicans have shown themselves to be easily intimidated.

Therefore the orchestrated cheering has already begun, and from the Left I hear chestnuts such as:

Here we go, Moonbats, here we go!

Babies don’t vote! Babies don’t vote!

2-4-6-8 – who’s character do we assassinate?

Filibuster! Filibuster! Don’t invoke cloture! We’ve got war, for the culture!

Ree, ree, ree, attack the nominee!
Ras, ras, ras, our thumb is in our …

Even though President Bush has suggested that we all play nice, I wouldn’t mind some New York-style hazing, ala the Daryl Strawberry era, when Chuck Schumer gets up to flap his gums. Can’t you just hear the crowd sing-songing, “Schooo-merrr! Schooo-merrr!” Or how about these cheers and chants from the Right:

Hey-hey, ho-ho, reconstructionists got to go!

Teddy, Teddy, he’s all wet!

Elections have consequences! Elections have consequences!

Give me another S! Give me another C! Give me another A! Give me another L! Give me another I! Give me another A! What’s that spell!

And could it be any sweeter when it’s all over than for the Righties to taunt the Left with “Here comes the judge! Here comes the judge!”?

Of course, the insiders refer to all of this as “activating the base,” which really means “getting the base to cough up even more money.” After all, what’s a Super Bowl without commercials?

Flippin’ bird

Posted on by
3

I love dogs. I think they make great pets. They are affectionate, responsive and great company. They are also fun to name and they come when you call them.

So do I have a dog? No I do not.

For some reason my household of one wife and two daughters has steadfastly resisted my importing a gregarious, interactive canine while embracing a variety of animals whose common trait has been that names are useless affectations since they don’t respond to their use. We’ve had two cats, a hamster, a guinea pig and, for a brief time, a rabbit. The latest addition is a parakeet, which I’ve learned is more accurately called a budgie. Each has come to us after being abandoned or as a product of a broken home, yet none have shown any appreciation for being delivered from a roadkill fate or a career in cosmetic testing. In fact, on more than one occasion, the remaining cat has even tried to kill me by running between my legs while I’m carrying 40-pound bags of water softener salt down the stairs.

(Full disclosure: some of these pets are no longer with us. One cat, the hamster and the rabbit have passed on to what Raymond Chandler would call – especially in the case of the cat – “The Big Sleep.”)

There once was a time where whenever I’d get home I’d be greeted by the squawks and squeals of my little girls honoring my return. Now I get squawks from the budgie who seems perpetually offended by my presence and squeals from the guinea pig who has associated the sound of the door opening from the garage with delivery of another load of dandelion greens and stems for his buffet. (For a funny flash file on the eating and dancing habits of guinea pigs, go here.)

I don’t understand what is up with the budgie; I thought we were going to be pals. My sister-in-law found her outside her shop following the big wind storm a couple of weeks ago and brought her home. My youngest then adopted her and we found a large, lovely cage at a garage sale for just $5. My daughter filled the cage with bird toys and feed. While she was on 24-hour probation his first day with us she was friendly as all get-out and liked having her head and neck scratched. Now the mere appearance of a finger near her cage drives her around the bend. She can also be sitting on her perch singing away as happy as a clam (if a clam could sing, that is) and in mid-note suddenly launch into a sputtering, head-bobbing Donald Duck-type diatribe that I assume represents budgie cursing. (A budgie with Tourette’s Syndrome?)

I did some on-line studying about budgies and discovered that they can be excellent mimics. I thought the budgie might find it appropriate to repeat one of my favorite Monty Python lines, so I parked myself beside her cage and started repeating – in my best, feminine, John Cleese voice – “I just spent four hours burying the cat.”

No reaction. I thought perhaps he needed more context, so I recited the opening lines from that Python sketch:

Mrs. Conclusion: Hello, Mrs. Premise.
Mrs. Premise: Hello, Mrs. Conclusion.
Mrs. Conclusion: Busy Day?
Mrs. Premise: Busy? I just spent four hours burying the cat.
Mrs. Conclusion: Four hours to bury a cat?
Mrs. Premise: Yes – it wouldn’t keep still.
Mrs. Conclusion: Oh – it wasn’t dead, then?
Mrs. Premise: No, no – but it’s not at all well, so as we were going away for a fortnight we wanted to be on the safe side.
Mrs. Conclusion: Quite right – you don’t want to come back from Sorrento to a dead cat. It’d be so anticlimactic. Yes, kill it now, that’s what I say.

I didn’t even get so much as a, “You’re a loony” in response. Looking back, even though I was frustrated, it probably wasn’t a good idea to continue with the rest of the sketch:

Mrs. Conclusion: We’re going to have to have our budgie put down.
Mrs. Premise: Really? Is it very old?
Mrs. Conclusion: No. We just don’t like it. We’re going to take it to the vet tomorrow.
Mrs. Premise: Tell me, how do they put budgies down then?
Mrs. Conclusion: Well it’s funny you should ask that, but I’ve just been reading a great big book about how to put your budgie down, and apparently you can either hit it with the book, or, you can shoot them just there above the beak.
Mrs. Premise: Just there!
Mrs. Conclusion: Yes.
Mrs. Premise: Well well well. ‘Course, Mrs. Essence flushed hers down the loo.
Mrs. Conclusion: Ohh! No! You shouldn’t do that — no that’s dangerous. Yes, they breed in the sewers, and eventually you get evil-smelling flocks of huge soiled budgies flying out of people’s lavatories infringing on their personal freedom.”

(Note to self: no flushing Supreme Court justices down the loo.) The bird squinted at me, then sidled to the other side of her perch, turned her head away, stretched out one leg and squirted out some processed bird kibble.

“Oh-ho!” I said. “Well let me just tell you something else I’ve learned. It says here that budgie is the short name for budgerigar and budgerigar is a word used by the Australian Aborigines. Do you want to know what it means? Huh, do you? It means ‘good to eat.'”

Come to think of it, right about then is when the whole Donald Duck business with her began.

Of hidden standards and agendas

Posted on by
3

Two of the most recent Supreme Court decisions appear to be on unrelated subjects but I think there is a common theme. In going halfsies on the two Ten Commandment cases before them the court essentially said that displaying the Ten Commandments in or around government buildings was okay as long as they could be considered as historical artifacts and not as something the government says you should live by.

And in their emminent domain-related Kelo decision the court said the same thing about the U.S. Constitution.

There has been a lot of great writing on other blogs about these decisions already, especially on Kelo, and I don’t have much to add in terms of ramifications and analyses. I do have a couple of observations on what I see as the underlying issue before us, however. (If you want ramifications and analyses, I especially liked these postings from Sprucegoose and from Craig Westover.)

Both the Constitution and the Ten Commandments have similar objectives: both set out how we should relate to one another, while the Commandments described how we should relate to God and the Constitution laid out how our government should relate to us. Part of the idea was that following the principles in each would result in a happier, more peaceful and more prosperous life, and that by putting these principles in writing we could hope to avoid large scale abuses of individuals tring to shade these for their own advantage.

Aside from prohibitions on killing, stealing, perjury and the occasional Sunday blue law that may be in effect in some areas, there aren’t a lot of laws on the books enforcing the Commandments. That’s not to say that putting some teeth into the “honoring your father and mother” line wouldn’t be generally beneficial to society. Enforcing that part about “not coveting” however would probably cripple the economy. Still, their presence in the public square and in our awareness established that – however unattainable – there is a standard of right and wrong to aspire that goes beyone legal and illegal. In my opinion, those who find the Commandments offensive are offended more by the suggestion that there should be such a standard of behavior (other than their own) than by the mention of God.

The Constitution, on the other hand, has given birth to thousands of laws, each supposedly adhering to its standard to provide fair play in a world that becomes increasingly ingenious about playing unfairly.

Both the Commandments and the Constitution ultimately depend on an understanding that justice is available, consistent and to be expected. In their recent decisions the Supreme Court has chosen to hide one standard from sight while ignoring the other.

Book burning

Posted on by
Reply

I was beginning to think that Feet to the Fire would rather walk barefoot over hot coals than respond to my book meme tag, but it turns out he just has a lot of books to consider. Hotfoot it over to his blog to see which of the thousands he chose to single out.

It looks like we shared some common interests in our hardly mis-spent youths, and I’ve read several of the specific books he mentions. In addition, the “Rich Dad, Poor Dad” book was one I had my daughters read as part of their home education.

Go see for yourself, but bring your own marshmallows.

You don’t have to win, but you do have to fight

Posted on by
Reply

Do you remember your first punch in the nose?

I think most guys can. I didn’t have a particularly violent childhood but it had its share of slugs, kicks, slaps, bites, dutch rubs and indian rope burns. All these were pretty much the expected and accepted currency of rough and tumble boyhood. Still I wasn’t prepared for the discombobulation of taking the first shot to the snotlocker. It was painful, disorienting and effectively short-circuited my offensive efforts in the fight. For that matter, it didn’t do a lot for my defensive efforts either. Ultimately the pain went away before the humiliation did. What lasted, however, was an understanding that that type of blow, while shocking, isn’t fatal. I would get hit in the nose a couple of more times before I became an “adult” and was able to do better than just persevere in those episodes.

I thought back to these experiences today while reading Michelle Malkin’s “Land of the Meek” post and her related “Namby Pamby Nation” column. Here’s an excerpt from the column:

The left-wing Kumbaya crowd is quietly grooming a generation of pushovers in the public schools. At a time of war, when young Americans should be educated about this nation’s resilience and steely resolve, educators are indoctrinating students with saccharine-sticky lessons on “non-violent conflict resolution” and “promoting constructive dialogues.”

Peaceniks are covering our kids from head to toe in emotional bubble wrap. They are creating a nation of namby-pambys.

The latest example of Hand-Holding 101 comes from the New York City public schools. According to Lauren Collins of The New Yorker magazine, the school system is introducing a new curriculum called “Operation Respect: Don’t Laugh at Me” into all of its elementary and middle schools. The program is now used in at least 12,000 schools and camps across the country.

Ostensibly, the program helps kids deal with petty meanness and name-calling from insensitive classmates. Not by instructing them in self-defense, mind you, but by inflating their self-esteem.

Now, I generally support non-violence. Despite what you may assume from the way I opened this post, my mother raised me not to fight and not to hit; especially where my younger brother and sister were concerned. “You’re bigger than they are, and it’s not right.” I tried to live up to her standard, and suffered the sanctions when I couldn’t. But along with that came the sense that I shouldn’t let other big people pound on littler people either.

There was a time when my brother was in junior high when some larger classmates of his conducted an ongoing taunting campaign against him. When this escalated to ganging up on him physically, an intervention was discussed at the dinner table that night. Somewhat to our surprise, my father indicated there would be no parental involvement: if we wanted to send a message we’d have to do it ourselves. “You don’t have to win,” he said, “but you do have to fight. If you don’t let them know there’s a price to pay this will never end.” That might not be word for word, given the years that have passed, but the meaning is still clear to me today.

The next day we waded into them (a couple of the younger guys were every bit my size)…and we won. The next day, and the day after that, brought additional skirmishes as other “insurgents” sought their own revenge, but we continued to prevail and by the end of the week peace reigned in the neighborhood. I did have to endure a mother hen cursing me out from her front porch while her six-foot “chick” skulked nearby in utter mortification, but the look on his face was worth it. Not to mention what it did for my self-esteem.

Read Michelle’s post and the comment string that goes with it for examples from others of how peace at any cost approach is literally hurting kids and leaving them ill-equipped to handle their emotions and and life’s setbacks. As for me, I don’t think I was warped by my experience. I haven’t resorted to physical intimidation or violence to solve a dispute since that time, but the lessons learned from that week and from the punches in the nose I received before then have served me well.

Some say that you can’t live like that today because a fistfight might suddenly turn into a gunfight. There’s certainly evidence to support that. I wonder, though, if the youth today had been allowed to scrap more when they were younger – if they had learned that respect sometimes needs to be earned, not assumed – that the rage that leads to going for a gun might have already been tempered. For me, I learned I wasn’t always going to win, that some people just weren’t going to like me, and that I could take a hit and keep going. It gave me confidence and also taught me how to think under pressure. One last example:

When I was a sophomore in high school my gym class went through the Red Cross life-saving training program. We met in the school pool and learned and practiced techniques for grabbing and controlling drowning swimmers so they could be rescued. When it came time to pass our final exam, our gym teacher invited a couple of seniors who were varsity tackles on the football team to be our “victims”. They were told to resist us in any way they could in order to mimic the panic and unpredictability of a real drowning victim. If we couldn’t “save” them we would get an F for the final.

The tackles, naturally, looked at this as a legal way to beat up on underclassmen. I watched as three or four of my classmates were themselves dragged out of the pool, bruised and bloody. The only thing our teacher said was “Next,” and I realized he meant me. Having been grounded in evolution theory, I may have suggested that we wait and see if my assigned drowning victim would develop gills. (Of course, that would have meant evolution is observable.)

Nevertheless, into the pool I went to grapple with a guy who was big, mean and having a good time. I knew he seriously wanted to hurt my feelings…and anything else he could get his hands on. I suppose if he’d been through “Operation Respect” he might not have acted this way, but odds are you’re going to run into people who slept through the class.

Anyway, instead of swimming up to him and trying to get my arms around his barrel-sized chest in one of the holds we had been taught, I treaded water just outside his reach while he taunted me. When he finally lunged at me I instead wrapped my arms around his head in a way definitely not described in our textbook and proceeded to do everything I could to keep my body between him and the surface of the water.

The agreed upon signal if anyone found themselves in trouble during a “rescue” was to pinch your partner. I waited until I had felt two or three pinches before releasing my grip. When he popped desperately to the surface I took the opportunity to apply a more orthodox hold and swam him to the side of the pool – a direction he was now very happy to go. He was heaving, my classmates were cheering and the instructor was hiding his face behind his clipboard so we wouldn’t see him laughing. That seemed to calm things down for the rest of the assignment and we all passed, including the earlier rescuers who were given a second chance. As for the guy I “rescued”, he learned to appreciate the difference between playing at being saved and the real need to be saved. But that’s a blog for another day.

Willing to serve in Woodbury

Posted on by
1

Roy and Betsy have been friends of ours for eight years. Roy has a professional position with a lot of responsibilities and I’d estimate they have a pretty good household income which allows Betsy to devote her time to her family and volunteer activities. They have a lovely home in Woodbury, and if I had to guess I’d say they probably vote solidly Republican.

In the time we’ve known them we’ve seen quite a bit of their son, who has just graduated from high school. He’s a sharp enough kid, but one who’s never been that interested in academics and, like many young people, his worldview and self-awareness didn’t appear to extend much beyond his dinner-table reach. Nevertheless at the end of his junior year he started systematically interviewing recruiters from the various branches of the service to find out about their programs. When he finally decided to enlist last summer his decision was influenced by one benefit in particular: he selected the Marine Reserve because it “looked like the toughest.”

Roy and Betsy weren’t especially thrilled with their son’s desire to enlist, but didn’t try to discourage it, either. “It’s an honorable profession,” Roys says, and in many ways it was an option that made sense for him. “He had put himself in a situation with his grades where he knew college wasn’t really an option,” says Betsy, but grades were only one example of something he recognized in himself. “He said, ‘I need some discipline. I know this will be good for me,'” Roy says.

Betsy acknowledges that it is an exciting and anxious time for a mother, but she’s proud that her son’s made his own decision, “Especially when a lot of his friends are saying, ‘I wouldn’t want to do that.'” Similar responses have come from adults. “We’ve had two types of reactions from other parents,” Roy says. “The first one is they are aghast, and say things like, ‘Can’t you talk him out of it?’ The second type has been very supportive.”

Update:

Along similar lines, Captain Ed has an interesting post today at Captain’s Quarters about the military meeting its June recruiting quota, the strong re-enlistment numbers and a nice perspective on the role a stronger economy may play in recruiting. You can read it here.

Tiger Lilly’s homework…and coming up next on The Night Writer

Posted on by
Reply

Tiger Lilly has completed her share of the Big Book Meme, and it’s posted over at the MAWB Squad. Short and sweet, just like her.

In other news, I had an interesting conversation Sunday night with a married couple who’s only son has enlisted in the Marine Reserve and will be reporting to boot camp later this summer. I’ve typed a lot of notes about what was said regarding his reasons for enlisting, their reaction and the reaction of others, and their take on the recent comments by Senators Durbin and Kennedy. I’ll finish organizing these notes and hope to post these comments sometime late on Monday.

Stay tuned!

Decisions have consequences

Posted on by
2

Andy at Residual Forces has the story and photo evidence of a Wellstonian scofflaw coming to justice. The miscreant flagrantly flouted the law while flaunting his Wellstone bumper sticker. While he probably appreciated the “kinder, gentler” boot now in use, here are some ideas for additional and complementary bumper stickers he may want to add:

Happy to Pay for a Better Minnesota Through Parking Fines.

Bush Lied and My Car Died…Please Don’t Give Me a Ticket!

Parking Police = Nazis

I Probably Had It Coming.

Wheel Booting Is Prohibited by the Geneva Convention (it’s possible).

Victim of Big Government.

Couldn’t we discuss this in Cook County?

Or, as the Night Writer commented on Andy’s post:

Don’t Park the Bus (here)!