Read the previous post first. Excellent minds befuddled by current events.
Now for a common mind unbefuddled. Ya know, everybody knows that everybody knows the depths. The unique arrogance of the elite — you know, Ivy, powerful, beautiful, rich, famous, etc — is that they’re too damn dumb to know this elementary fact. Worse, the elite think the depths can be overcome by force of IQ, money, and position.
Nothing overcomes the depths but life itself.
In this respect there are no alphas, betas, and gammas. Why I was struck by Mika Brzezinski’s condemnation of Miley Cyrus. Why was she so offended? Have to say I think because she’s an Evelyn Waugh heroine (early novels only). Different rules for the quality versus the hoi polloi. Her friends can have fuck buddies, abortions, and shallow parasitic relationships, because that’s the way of life at the top of the celebrity sphere. But girls from Kentucky and Tennessee and Ohio just shouldn’t. Civilization would fail.
Mika’s a phony. Thinking she maybe wishes she hadn’t slept her way to wherever she imagines she is.
I wasn’t that pleased with Victor Hanson either. Stated my objections once or twice to his lack of understanding of pop culture. But he does enjoy descending like Gibbon with a classicist’s arm bar to wipe us all out.
Truth. Mylie Cyrus wore a bikini called “nude” that was nothing of the sort. She was just a girl wanting attention. Any man on the scene would have sent her back home with a message to grow up. She did nothing like Madonna’s Sex Book, her near X-rated movie, or her disgusting practice of cruising New York in limos looking for sex partners. Outrage? Really. If anything, she’s the reductio ad absurdem of stupid girls who don’t quite know what lascivious means.
No, I don’t dislike or misunderstand nostalgia. It’s just that we are where we are. Having a super-class of amoral plutocrats isn’t quite working for the, uh, common man and common woman.
We prefer, down in our lowly dens of poor iniquity, to experience sin AS sin, and ask forgiveness accordingly. We’re not fond of the trumpet as the voice of confession. You know. Maybe the whisper is better.
Or country singers. Maybe the ones who don’t rip off their tops or show off their crotches to everyone who wants to see.
Probably just me. An old man dreaming.