After seeing a wedding performed during the middle of the Rose Parade this morning I will have to admit to some trepidation about what might happen at halftime during the Rose Bowl, when I discovered the newlyweds planned to attend the game.
Mar 24 2009
While I generally try to avoid making too many “inside references,” I recently witnessed a health professional trying to get a feel for how much pain someone was in, and they brought out the Universal Pain Assessment Tool. It didn’t take long to realize the universal applicability of such an assessment instrument, and so, herewith:
Jan 19 2009
Commenting on the report that President Bush has declared Washington, D.C. a Federal Disaster Area (no… really, no kidding) in order to make it legal for FEMA money to be available to help pay for the Inaugural Infestation, Mark Steyn comments on our permanent state of routine emergency.
I’m not worried about “change” so much as creep. The Obama administration doesn’t have to do anything terribly transformative – overnight socialization of health care, etc. In fact, it doesn’t have to do anything at all. It could just sit there, and America would still drift remorselessly, incrementally left, inch by inch. Eventually, you reach a tipping point: At some point in the next four years, we will reach a situation where the majority of Americans pay no federal income tax but are able to vote themselves more goodies from those who do. The most basic of conservative principles is that if you reward bad behavior you get more of it. We now have a government offering trillion-dollar rewards for bad behavior to the financial system, to the housing market, to the auto unions and to individual voters. And the heirs to those Connecticut town meetings that Tocqueville regarded as the best form of government ever devised by man now underbudget their snow-removal costs, secure in the knowledge that the Feds will pick up the tab.
We’re now told that the problem with the last New Deal is that it was too small, so Obama’s new New Deal has to be even bigger. That’s like telling New Orleans that the problem is they’re not far enough below sea level so they need to dig deeper. If Washington is now a federal disaster area, it would be nice to think of Barney Frank and the gang waving from the roof of the Capitol until they can be evacuated somewhere safe, like one of the outlying South Sandwich Islands or Charley Rangel’s vacation property in the Dominican Republic. But, alas, Washington is one of those disaster relief cases, where they get the relief, and the rest of us get the disaster. As the incoming president has said, this is the worst crisis since …oh, at least the great Vernon, Conn., snowfall of 1996. To facilitate the stimulus, I urge him to declare every American his own individual federal disaster area.
Clearly, this misses the point. Right-wing war monger that he is, Steyn has completely missed the boat… again. Bush didn’t declare Washington, D.C. a federal disaster area so he could funnel money to buy more Brie and caviar for Obamamaniacs passing through on holiday for a mid-winter night’s dream. Instead, he has a secret plan to use the order to control federal troops around the capitol so that when all the Lefties breeze into town (those few that haven’t lived there for decades) he can arrest them. Guantanamo is about to get LOTS bigger. Most Democrat Senators aren’t worried about it…. they’ve been to Gitmo and seen these guys living it up at Club Fed. They only want to close it because they’re jealous. The donkey-kissing legislators (think about it) don’t really care, as long as they can be waterboarded with Dom Perignon, a shortage of which certainly would be a national emergency.
I hear that a certain Congressman from Massachusetts is actually looking forward to meeting his new cellmate, Muhammed Muhammed Bubba Abdul. Somehow, I don’t think he’s related to Paula.
Go Bush! Four more years!
H/T: Daily Kos
Jan 11 2009
So, a couple of weeks ago I was trying to sell my car. I had arranged to meet with a potential buyer in a local shopping center, in front of an auto parts store. The buyer never showed, though I stood around for about an hour waiting.
It was cold. So I was really bundled up, walking around in front of the store, waiting for my no show buyer. I am not a snappy dresser, and doubtless looked a bit mismatched. I was listening to a book on my iPod (earbuds hidden under my aged stocking cap). The book was “Orthodoxy” by G.K.Chesterton, a gem if there ever was one, and as is my wont when listening to books on audio, I stopped the iPod now and then and thought to myself a bit about what I’d heard. And since Chesterton is often so pithy, sometimes I stopped and repeated the sentence I had just heard, for the sheer enjoyment of it.
Walking back and forth rather aimlessly, I wasn’t really watching all the people come and go, I just kept on eye on my car, figuring that if the buyer showed up, that’s where he’d go first.
A nice gentleman came up and said something I didn’t hear, what with the audio in my earbuds. I didn’t even know he’d spoken to me at first. I silenced the iPod, and looked at him, and he said, “Are you OK, sir?”, and then offered me a ten-dollar bill. At first, I had the brief, crazy notion that he was my buyer, hoping I’d sell the car for a ten-spot.
Then it dawned on me that he thought I was a homeless person, and was offering me money. I began to realize that he’d been watching me from inside the store, and probably saw me talking to myself, pace Chesterton. Briefly, I was tempted to take the money, thank the man, and buy some hot chocolate. I suspect I looked like an unemployed former Santa Claus imposter.
Better angels won the day, and I explained that I was trying to sell my car, pointed at the ancient Volvo wagon, and asked if he was interested, since my putative buyer never appeared. The man’s expression became even more sympathetic (verging on pitying), and I realized he thought I was making it up, and didn’t really own the car. I walked over and unlocked it, and the man’s face fell even further; he actually seemed to believe I was selling my home!
It took some time for me to convince him that I was not one of those well-spoken, educated homeless people, but was exactly what I said I was. I’m not convinced now that I was totally successful.
We introduced ourselves, and it turns out he is a retired Marine officer teaching special ed in a local high school. I expect I looked just about nothing like a music professor. I’m still not sure he believed me.
While I do speak well and sound educated (no snickers, please), I’ve heard several homeless people who sound as good… and he probably had, too.
He should have bought the car… it was a good deal.
I really like hot chocolate.
I think I’ll see if I can use this whole narrative as a way to wangle a new jacket from my wife.
Jan 10 2009
The car of the future… the very near future. So well made, it will the very, very, very last car you ever own.
The 2012 Pelosi GTxi SS/RT Sport Edition
Jan 04 2009
You’ve probably seen this, but I couldn’t resist.
Uncle Jay Explains: Year-end! 12-22-08
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