Signs of Decline, Part I

Lots of advertising kick behind the new F-type Jaguar.

But it’s a stocky little wallflower.

If it were a girl, you'd say lose the hips and we'll talk.

If it were a girl, you’d say lose the hips and we’ll talk.

The real thing is long gone.

Why the old ones are dying.

Why the old ones are dying.

I could talk more. I did. WordPress didn’t like it. Enough said. They said. Why I’m dying too. I drove this car. You have no idea. Life today is a huge diminution of what it once was. But how could YOU know?

The Anti-Feline Backlash

Even smart people have stereotypes.

Even smart people have stereotypes.

Not starting a fight here. Jonah Goldberg is a clever guy and a good writer. But he doesn’t like the response to the cat beats dog video.

I have breaking news!

My dog is quietly sleeping on the couch! That’s right, she is a warm puddle of furriness. Earlier this morning she rubbed up against me and asked me to feed her. Even weirder, when I asked her to sit, she didn’t. She just stared at me as if I owed her money.

My only regret is I don’t have video of this amazing activity. For if I did, I’m sure The Today Show and Good Morning America would lead with it.

I can only reach that conclusion given the global hysteria over a cat that attacked a dog that was attacking a small boy. What I mean is, if one cat out of a billion acts like your typical dog, surely when a dog acts like a typical cat, it should also be big news.

Of course, that wouldn’t happen. Why? Because we expect dogs to be dogs. Not all dogs are heroes, of course. Not all dogs follow commands. Some dogs even do bad things, like attack little kids in the driveway. But these are exceptions to our expectations. Every day some dog somewhere protects a member of his family. Every day a dog does amazing things when asked. Every day millions of dogs do less-than-amazing things like sitting or fetching or rolling over.

But here’s the thing: When a cat does it — BOOM — everyone applauds like finish-line huggers at the Special Olympics. Put a video of a cat fetching a ball up on YouTube and it will rack up views like notches on Bill Clinton’s headboard.

This hero cat is a celebrity now for doing exactly what you’d expect of a family dog.

You know what this is, right? It’s the celebrifying bigotry of low expectations.

I don’t mind giving this cat her due, though who among us doubts that her motives could have been less than pure? Maybe the boy was her protein-rich “rainy day fund” as it were, “Hey Dog, I’m saving the bald baby monkey for later!” Maybe the dog and the cat worked out this whole stunt in advance to make her look good. Who knows?

All I ask is you see things through canine eyes for a minute. How would you feel if you saw this fawning coverage of a cat doing a dog’s job as proof that “cats rule and dogs drool,” as Sally Kohn put it? It’s the story of the prodigal son all over. Dogs do the hard work of being mankind’s wing-mammal in this world, and all it takes for everyone to gush over cats is one (alleged) instance of feline heroism?

Read the whole thing. It’s pretty funny. But it’s also wrong. What he leaves out is that species do interact. People have made arguments that human civilization begins with the domestication of the dog. Co-evolution they call it. Dogs simplified hunting. Humans had more time to sit on their ass and think. Dogs were waiting for air-conditioning and McDonalds. Their patience was rewarded.

Also possible that humans learned altruism from dogs. Where else do you see a being willing to die for you with no possibility of an ulterior motive?

Cats are considered exempt from the dog-human bond. That’s just prejudice, even bigotry. If humans can learn from dogs, so can cats. Why I talked about the phenomenon I’ve lived that could be called dog-cat packs. Cats aren’t stupid because they don’t obey commands. They just don’t like commands.

Lots of the supposedly lower animals are smart. Dogs learn English words, sometimes hundreds of them. Cats learn tens of them, but they still have emotional intelligence. Crows and ravens learn no English words but they learn our faces and our rhythms and how to exploit our technological civilization. I won’t even get into the genius of rats and squirrels and pigeons, and raptors. We are surrounded by intelligence, by deep emotion, by the consciousness of the universe.

Should I be talking instead about the VA scandal or the lame speeches at the 9/11 Museum dedication? Well, how the hell would I know? Your silence is driving me to silence. I’m thinking I’ll hear another evocative Raebert groan before I hear from the crushed multitudes of the Obama Pogrom.

Suit yourselves. Grrrr.

The answer is yes.

By all means go gentle into that good night.

One thing cats have over dogs. Cats never submit. The smartest ones I know are nervous now.

Mickey has an alibi

Everybody seemed pretty surprised by this video. I wasn’t. My first impulse was to check that my feral Mickey hadn’t been moonlighting in Bakersfield. He wasn’t. He was on the couch downstairs.

Quite simply, he's The Man.

Quite simply, he’s The Man.

I’ve seen exactly this move before. When we got Elliott, he thought he was going to rule the roost, as his foster mother warned he might. Mickey was already elderly, fat, and inclined to very long naps. Elliott was young and full of himself. Izzie was young and happy for a sparring partner. She’s always had a Bruce Lee thing going, lots of posing, angry cat noises, and plenty of slick moves. Mickey had handled all of this like Neo handled Agent Smith at the end of The Matrix, with bored slow motion parries. Elliott, on the other hand, waded into her like Mike Tyson, usually without damage. But then came a day when he got above himself, pinned her down, and had her by the neck. She was screaming. I leaped from my seat but I wasn’t quick enough to get to her before what happened next.

Mickey, sunk in sleep on the bed in the master bedroom (or so we thought), came tearing around the corner at full charge down the hall and absolutely blew Elliott up, knocking him a full two feet away from Izzie. Very like the video above.

Boom. All done. Pecking order established once and for all.

Two factors here, seemingly at odds with one another. Mickey is one of three ferals Lady Laird adopted at the same time, one boy and two girls. The girls never have become acculturated to human companionship. Mickey was braver. He thought we humans might have our points, even if he was born skeptical.

It took me two years to get him on my lap. He had a habit of fishing with his tail. The end would hook and dance like a fish lure, and so I grasped it and let it go immediately. He’d cast again with the same result. One day he just jumped up and settled his considerable weight on me, purring like a housecat. Which he’s done ever since.

We're friends. For life.

We’re friends. For life.

The other factor is a household with multiple dogs and cats. They become part of a pack. Every individual relationship is different, but there is loyalty to the pack and its members. In this environment, cats become astonishingly doglike. They know and respond to their names, they visit and nuzzle with one another, and they worry about one another. Cats will alert you when a dog is in distress, for example. They are also jealous of one another for couch time, and their irritation is not expressed to one another but to you.

I’ve had evenings when Raebert, Mickey, Elliott, and Izzie all take turns needing to be on a lap on the couch. It’s the culture of the pack, of which we are also a part.

Mickey keeps a low profile, but in some ways he’s the most interesting of the bunch because he’s come the farthest. He was born a wild thing, but he has come to love us. This is no anthropomorphic fantasy. If we both leave to go somewhere for a considerable part of a day, he gets cross. He glares fixedly at you as if he were winning a staring contest. Not allowed. The pack is supposed to stay together.

If you’ve studied wolf packs, there’s an alpha dog and there’s also an enforcer. Raebert is the alpha. Mickey is the strong right arm, despite his gathering age.

In truth, Elliott is probably bigger and stronger. Doesn't matter.

In truth, Elliott is probably bigger and stronger. Doesn’t matter.

Raebert and Mickey don’t hang together much. No need. Two big gray icons ruling the roost.

If we had a little kid here, Mickey would absolutely have done what the cat in the video did. It’s just his style.

Pat calls them not cats and dogs but the “four-leggeds.” They’re conscious, make no mistake about that. They make their feelings known. And not everything is about food.

P.S. I’ve written about Mickey before, notably here and here, despite his insistence on remaining more or less incognito.

For a bonus, he’s also mentioned here, which I link because it’s funny, back when Obama screwups were still kinda sorta funny.

Bring it, Sam!

The gay lip lock seen round the world. Censored by me. While I still have the right.

The gay lip lock seen round the world. Censored by me. While I still can. You know. Sam The Man.

Everybody’s seen the Michael Sam draft moment. I’m reminded of the old movie Speed. “Pop quiz, asshole:” If you’re the first openly gay guy drafted by the NFL, “What do you do? What do you do?”

Well, obviously, you confirm everyone’s worst stereotype by sobbing like a girl when the call comes and then you French kiss your boyfriend on national TV to drive home the point that you’re the first openly gay guy to get drafted by the NFL. Oh. And then you insist that you should have been drafted in the third round, not the seventh.


Need to explain the title. Lady Laird and I discovered an amazingly charming reality show about a troupe of competitive hip hop dancers from Memphis, Tennessee. Not one of those shows where you spend all your time laughing at the participants.

To the contrary. The show is called Bring It! And it’s funny, yes, mostly due to the stage moms, but also impressive and inspiring. This kind of dancing is intensely competitive, even confrontational given that contests end in “Stand Battles,” where two troupes dance in response to one another for multiple rounds.

The dancers range in age from about eight through eighteen, and they endure ferocious discipline, long hours, and a, well, Lombardi-type coach who knows her real job is building character, confidence, and a relentless work ethic. They’re called the Dancing Dolls. Here’s a sample of what young girls can do when they’ve been taught to dance in synchrony.

Here’s a glimpse of just how tough she’s prepared to get.

And here’s a glimpse of the coach and her youngest students. She made mistakes in her own life. She wants to armor all the girls against those mistakes.

One more clip. You may think hip hop dancing is lewd. It’s a cultural distinction. The coach is adamant that she’s not teaching her girls how to be strippers and hookers. Here’s a Stand Battle against a troupe that does the spreadeagle thing. It’s called Stinky Diva because the Dancing Dolls mock their opponents for the spreadeagle thing. Even teenage girls know when too much is too much. ESPN, take note.

Last word before the end of the Timeout. Lots of competition among the Dancing Dolls. Lots of Stand Battles. They win, they lose. She cuts dancers from upcoming performances without ceremony. But there is never any sobbing or blubbering. They are learning how to take failure and come back stronger.


Where were we? Michael Sam. Actually, there were two stories worthy of note in his draft performance. First, his blubbering and sloppy exhibitionism. Second, the ESPN determination to run the footage over and over and over and over and over and over again, as if we — their customers — needed to be slapped in the face with their superior sense of what we should approve and admire.

The point is not original with me, but it’s still pertinent. When Tebow got drafted, he was mocked for his ostentatious Christianity. When Sam got drafted, we got mocked based on the assumption that we would be hatefully offended by his ostentatious homosexuality.

Why? Because homosexuality is suddenly cool. Not because ESPN is chock full of closeted queers. That would be slightly more acceptable. But gay people are a tiny minority. The desire is to rub our faces in it, to demonstrate their cultural superiority to the rest of us troglodytes. People like me who never watched Brokeback Mountain and never will.

It’s the same impulse that drives lib politicians to outlaw cigarette smoking everywhere while fighting for legalization of marijuana everywhere. Even though Patrick Kennedy (yes, those Kennedy’s) points out that no heroin addict ever started with a needle in his arm.

It’s the same impulse that causes the MSM to flat not cover the Gosnell trial, even though he’s probably the most prolific serial killer in the history of serial killers. Even Ted Bundy might have shrunk from sawing off a baby’s head on its way out of the womb.

What’s bad is good and vice versa. The tyranny I’ve mentioned before.

Gay guys are cool? Try these facts on for size.

The sometimes-deadly disease syphilis is exploding in the United States, with most of the increase since 1995 among men who have sex with men (MSM), according to a new report from the Atlanta-based Center for Disease Control (CDC).

As recently as 2000, researchers believed the total elimination of syphilis was within reach. The recent dramatic increases in infections, coupled with the observation that syphilis closely tracks with other diseases like AIDS, have the medical and scientific community deeply concerned. The CDC report considers “the increase in syphilis among MSM is a major public health concern.”

According to the report, “During 2005-2013, the number of primary and secondary syphilis cases reported each year in the United States nearly doubled, from 8,724 to 16,663; the annual rate increased from 2.9 to 5.3 cases per 100,000 population.”

The report also says that “men contributed an increasing proportion of cases, accounting for 91.1% of all primary and secondary syphilis cases in 2013.” Most of the increases came from men who have sex with men, which were responsible for 77% of cases in 2009 but 83.9% in 2012, what the report calls “the vast majority of male… syphilis cases.”

The report warns that the numbers in the new report are likely far less than the true number because only 34 states and the District of Columbia fully report sex of sex partners.

The report raises a particular concern about what it calls “co-infection rates.” “There are reported rates of 50%-70% HIV co-infection among MSM infected with primary or secondary syphilis…”

The notion of co-infection follows closely a report just published by independent researcher Dale O’Leary in the prestigious Linacre Quarterly of the Catholic Medical Association, found at the bottom of this article.

O’Leary reports that researchers understand the problems of health among MSM are now so vast and interrelated they are considered a “syndemic,” a linked set of health issues involving two or more afflictions acting in concert within a specific population. According to the medical literature, among MSM these would include diseases like syphilis, gonorrhea, and HIV but also such pathologies as partner violence, drug abuse, and psychological disorders. Treating a single part of this puzzle would not solve the whole problem.

The HIV/AIDS infection rate alone is bleak. From 2008 to 2010 the new HIV infection rate grew 12%, from 26,700 to 29,800 cases reported. One in five sexually active MSM carry the AIDS virus, but nearly half of those don’t even know it. However, HIV/AIDS is not the only problem, as the new CDC report on syphilis makes clear. According to the Linacre paper, “MSM are far more likely to be diagnosed with other STDs, some of which have become resistant to commonly used antibiotics.”

The paper reports on a 2004 outbreak of something called lymphogranuloma venereum (LGV), considered rare in the developed world prior to 2003, which includes “tender, enlarged lymph nodes in both groins.” A 2004 outbreak in the Netherlands among MSM has led to its spread in the European Union and the United States almost exclusively among the HIV-positive.

Another linked pathology is Hepatitis C, “which can lead to liver cancer, can be [sexually] transmitted and is spreading not only among HIV-positive gay men, but also among HIV-negative MSM.” Human papillomavirus is epidemic and has led to a “dramatic increase in anal cancer among MSM, especially those who are HIV positive.”

Included in this particular syndemic, according to the Linacre paper, are issues related to mental health, including higher risks of “suicidal ideation, substance misuse, and deliberate self harm than heterosexual people.” According to the paper, even the Southern Poverty Law Center, an advocacy group for MSM, admits “that LGBT people suffer higher rates of anxiety, depression and depression-related illnesses and behaviors like alcohol and drug abuse than the general population,” though they chalk this up to “homophobia.”

Why don’t we care what ESPN thinks is cool? Because what isn’t cool isn’t. Sometimes what’s wrong reveals itself in the simple fact that it’s poisonous to life, health, and happiness. If you think you know better, Michael Sam, Bring It!

We only ever get a moment.

It’s the whole movie. Click on it later.

Tyranny is the rule, not an exception. The assaults of tyrants or would-be tyrants are the rule, not an exception. (Laugh and cry at this. It ain’t just the Russians who live like this.)

That’s the real meaning of American exceptionalism. We had a moment — 200-some years in the sordid 5,000 year chronology of recorded history — in which one people organized themselves to address the constant antipathy between morality and power. “Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s,” Christ said. The founders of our country added another sentence: “But if you can, keep Caesar in a box.”

We have all been the beneficiaries of that innovation. It’s doomed, of course. Caesar always escapes from the box.

Your children will live in a different world. Tyranny has returned, clothed as always in promises that it is the opposite of tyranny. As always, the tyrant definitions are polar reversals: weakness is strength, grievance is virtue, dependency is prosperity, sloth is entitlement, ignorance is knowing everything worth knowing, vice is liberty, passivity is wisdom, slogans are reason, baby murder is freedom, and loveless animal sex is sufficient consolation.

Sadly, most of you will lose your children, if you have not already lost them.

When social contracts get twisted into caricatures of what they were intended to achieve, everyone loses. What awaits is chaos, violence, confusion and endless loss, perverse obsessions, subjugation.

Where we are. Get your children ready. Your life is no guide to what theirs will be. Your moment will not be theirs. Theirs will be some variation of these three World War II movies.

The first is Hope and Glory, linked complete above. Brits in Britain during The Blitz. Still civilized but shredding slowly apart. Sometimes funny but not really. Sometimes inspiring but not really. Not what you’d hope for your own spoiled young consumers. Without you, how long would they last and how much would they remember?

The second is about a child’s life in a prison camp. More Brits, but sheared off from the root of their cultural tree of life.

The full movie is online here.

Finally, the fate of the defeated and deluded. Much closer to what our own young’uns are likely to experience. The survival fight of the barely conscious, striving mightily to understand what humanity actually consists of if it isn’t some pile of convenient unthought about platitudes.

This one’s on Netflix and it’s also available in 10 minute chunks on Youtube. Contrary to the intimations of the trailer, it’s not about sex. It’s about a desperate, only partially successful attempt to come awake in the face of grave physical and moral danger.

Brace yourselves. I know you’re not ready for this fight. Nothing has prepared you. The intoxication of your evaporating moment has made you believe that optimism can save your seed.

It can’t. And it won’t.



1864. Best I could do. A computer scan of a daguerreotype from back in the day.

1874. Best I could do. A computer scan of a daguerreotype from back in the day. (Click on the pic for bigger.)

160 years. What a whole education might do for you. Think about looking the same for the last 140 years. Witnessing everything, forgetting nothing, and having to listen to the fads and fantasies of all the intellectual heavyweights of the day.

Longevity is a curse. Why? Because all the arguments that purport to be new and salient are old and yellow. I heard MacClellan argue for peace with honor, Woodrow Wilson proclaim a new age of international responsibility and the inevitability of improvement in the basic human condition. I heard FDR orate about the end of inequality. I watched Stalin use the principle of equality to grind everyone into dust.

Throughout, I was just an ageless pretty face. I was Dorothy Parker’s boy toy at the Algonquin round table. Had something to say but couldn’t get a word in edgewise. New York intellectuals are unquestionably the stupidest creatures on the face of the earth. Only a spectacularly successful and free society can produce and tolerate such utter nonsense. I learned to hold them and the Three Stooges in the same light. Repetitive routines that are supposed to be brilliant but aren’t unless you’re the moron audience for which they’re intended. What can you do?

So I waited. Never cared for Rita Hayworth or Grace Kelly. Always knew they’d die before their time. You get a feel for these things. Thought maybe Katharine Hepburn was the ticket, but she became a parody of herself, weighed down by that accent and all those Oscars. Talked to Greta Garbo once. Learned she wanted to be alone because she had nothing to say.

Have I mentioned the artists? Picasso, Jackson Pollock, Andy Warhol, Leroy Neiman Marcus, all of them. Drunks and whoremasters and queers and poseurs. They never cared to put art back together again. They were like kids who shredded the works of alarm clocks and left them lying on the floor for daddy to deal with. Only daddy had left long ago.

Yeah. Fitzgerald and Hemingway. The first a small man with a big talent. The second a big man with a big talent and a death wish. But neither with a big brain to accompany the talent. And then came Thomas Wolfe, a tall man with a big talent and nothing to say, Faulkner a drunk man with a big talent and said it all the first time, and then all the pretenders like Mailer and Roth and Styron. Somewhere in there were some originals, but originals always burn out early. Why there’s less than a hundred thousand words of Nathanael West, and Malcolm Lowry actually used his one novel to finish drinking himself to death.

It gets lonely. When all you are is a pretty face in proximity. “Hey, Dorian,” they say. “Get me another drink.” Evelyn Waugh actually spoke to me once. He said, “I’d ask you for another drink, but I can see you wouldn’t get it for me. Congratulations.”

And I’ve been to the wars. Which is partly how I can parse the artists and writers. Just old enough to have seen the final chess match of Grant taking Richmond. Chess measured in how few thousands of dead each pawn capture entails. Why HE drank. And I saw part of Sherman’s March too. Why I’ve affected his beard since then. The only general I’ve known who hated every minute, every death, of his victories.

And World War I. And World War II. Pretense aside, I was alongside my putative grandfather and my putative father as they suffered and feared and nerved themselves up for impossible challenges. Longevity. If you asked them today, they might have some memory of an infant, a little boy, an adolescent… But it would be a fuzzy recollection. What they do remember in detail is the grown up pretty boy who resisted their notions of how you’re supposed to be.

Because I’ve been here for many ages. And the truest thing about it all is that I have the imagination most people lack. Because I’ve been there. Pretty boy and all.

An Aside, Sort of.

A couple years ago, Comcast On Demand started listing movies attributed to ‘Phase IV.’ Things you never heard of. Figured it was the bottom of the straight to cable barrel. Didn’t watch.

But Netflix has been flexing its muscles of late, and I found a movie given four stars under the Phase IV rubric. It was called The Abduction of Eden.

The always too brief description said it was about international sex trafficking. Which struck a chord with me, given the Nigerian atrocity of schoolgirls abducted by an Al Qaida affiliate called Boko Aram. Today’s news: Hillary Clinton, champion of women’s and girl’s rights, refused repeated, insistent requests by the CIA, FBI, and DOJ to classify Boko Haram as a terrorist organization on the official watch list. Cause, you know, it would have conflicted with the administration’s meme of Al Qaeda ‘On the Run.’

Such a sweet idea, no? But look at the video. Horrific images and saccharine lyrics. Is that the genius of the Paul who is not THE Paul? Thinking so. At least Lennon got mad twice.

So I watched the low budget, straight to video production called Abduction of Eden.

Lo and behold. The single best treatment of the horrors of sex trafficking I’ve ever seen. Let me count the ways. No exploitative sex scenes or nudity, no federal agents crashing around in putative rescue attempts, no pious declarations by bureaucrats to get to the bottom of this hideous nightmare in human lives. No unalloyed happy endings punctuated by automatic gunfire and shamed, helpless girls cringing in cargo containers.

In place of all this, a good movie that drives home every noxious and humiliating aspect of this obscenity against the most basic human contract, that we will protect our girl children against predation.

Watch the movie. Dark but not without moments of light. Humanity is still brighter than evil.

P.S. RR suggests, somewhat ingenuously, that I should be a light bringer. As opposed to what? If the light that shines on the scene is a terrible light, that’s the light that has to be brung. Where we are right now.

Circles and Echoes

Available on Netflix. It’s a Must Watch movie. It helped me see.

I know I get tiresome repeating my term Serendicity, which is a combination of serendipity and Carl Jung’s synchronicity. But I harp on it because it’s such a standard part of my experience. When I ask myself a question I cannot answer, the universe gives me a hint from an unexpected direction. Not that I always know how to interpret the hint.

Where we are today. I’ve been ping ponging for weeks between two discrepant concepts. There’s the Egyptian concept of ‘Maat,’ which underlay their whole civilization, the idea that all things must be held together in a whole that keeps the world from flying apart. The symbolic purpose of the pyramids was to be a physical demonstration of Maat. Why the Egyptians tried very hard for thousands of years to do things the same way. Every man, no matter how humble, was part of the base of the pyramid that made the world continue to exist. Lately, though, I feel — with my weird sense of interconnections among all manner of things — that it’s all coming unglued. I start to see daylight, and scary other light, where there should be solid joins. Imagine a pyramid starting to separate, block from block and layer from layer. Through the expanding gaps you see, uh, what kind of light?

The other concept is Nietzche’s theory that everything repeats EXACTLY, in a kind of vicious whirlpool, or even tornado, of experience. And, lately, it feels like repetitions are occurring in my lifetime that I would have thought required centuries to circle back on and around the past. As the circle tightens it throws off sparks, a different kind of scary light, so many sparks that the whole begins to shimmer and distort, as if you cannot believe what your eyes are telling you. Maybe these are small circles of similarity nested inside Nietzche’s grander theory, a kind of proof. No actual logic explains this kind of insanity. I shake my head.

Together, the two concepts seem like a philosophical paradox, a superposition of the immovable object and the irresistible force that have somehow merged to ensure our destruction.

I have a physical sense of this, a simultaneous feeling that it is all flying apart AND imploding, like a collapse into a black hole, both at the same time.

As a born motorhead, I know something about speed. But I cannot wrap my head around the astonishing acceleration of this phenomenon. I cannot catch my breath. I cannot find a powerful enough metaphor. Therefore, I cannot write intelligently about it. Why, I suppose, I have so many apocalyptic dreams, however prosaic.

The sky is falling, almost literally, and yet everything goes on as before. The contradictions mount, the absurdities climb to new and unbelievable heights, and hardly anyone seems to notice the widening gap between reality and rhetoric.

It was less than a quarter century ago that the most massive attempt to organize society in accordance with Marx fell completely apart. Yet today, the hottest ticket in so-called progressive circles is a French Marxist named Piketty. Collectivist, centrally managed economies don’t work. But people who are presumed to be smart are panting to do it all over again.

Science has been transmuted to a religion, and unproven theories are promulgated like a gospel that seeks Inquisition-like punishments for those who dare not to believe. Those who are skeptical of ‘climate change’ are called deniers, recalling the language once used to describe people who pretended there was never a Nazi Holocaust of the Jews. Scientists — yes, scientists — argue seriously that people who do not accept their proclamations about climate change should be silenced or even imprisoned.

While, at the same time, people who use these same words and arguments have no problem comparing the historical victims of that factual holocaust to the Nazis who committed it.

Pig on the wing, courtesy of Roger Nazi Waters.

Pig on the wing, by Roger ‘Himmler’ Waters.

And they see no reason to silence — despite their silencing mood — people who would compound the sins of the past by engaging in real holocaust denial.

In Philly. Mayor Nutter is irate about climate change deniers. Holocaust deniers not so much.

This is at least marginally okay for some reason. Okay to make the Jew cry. Why? Because we’re used to seeing Jews cry? We like to see Jews cry? A little more than half a century is enough time to pretend that we don’t all basically hate the Jews?

Or is it a convenient mechanism for preparing ourselves against the day when Iran nukes Israel? They had it coming. How do you feel? I’m on record.

What goes on in our little heads? Why I posted the movie trailer above. Scots and Jews are both Chosen People. As small as their populations are, they embody the best and worst of all of us. Why I have no problem using the Jews to ask questions about how we think or don’t think, how we act or don’t act, in the face of truly terrifying circumstances.

The movie is about Hannah Arendt, a brilliant Jewish philosopher who covered the Adolf Eichmann trial for the New Yorker. Eichmann was the chief operations officer for the organization that transported Jews from all over Europe to the death camps. The Israelis captured him in 1961 and put him on trial without what you would call legal jurisdiction.

Hannah Arendt was herself a survivor of a French internment camp, as well as the former lover of Martin Heidegger, an eminent German philosopher who disgraced himself by joining the Nazi Party. Both facts are more or less irrelevant to Arendt’s controversial appraisal of what she witnessed in the Eichmann trial. Which was that Eichmann was not the arch-villain the press and his prosecutors made him out to be. He was merely a bureaucrat, a mediocrity, who had no moral basis for guilt because he did not, could not, think.

She coined the term “The Banality of Evil.” She also proposed that Jewish leaders of the time were complicit in the holocaust by not doing enough, not resisting enough. For which she was savagely attacked by Jews and others. She received death threats. Lifelong friends turned their backs on her.

Both of the causes of the vituperation against Arendt are still in play today. For example, days before I saw this movie I saw a modern incarnation of Eichmann in the button-eyed pup who uttered the “Dude, it was like two years ago” riposte to Bret Baier. Different cause perhaps. Not obedience but pure dumb-ass narcissism. Same result. No thinking going on. Not really human. Anyone who’s seen Lois Lerner sitting blank faced in a congressional hearing has seen Eichmann. Probably, you have Eichmanns where you work. The result doesn’t have to be death. It’s just that in the right (wrong) organization, death can be the result; it would all be the same to them.

And Jews are still complicit in the gathering peril of Israelis. Intellectual Jews who fund and support and write vehemently on Obama’s behalf despite his evident anti-semitism, to which they are willfully and idiotically blind. Which is, despite all the intellectual and educational credentials in the world, another manifestation of Eichmann syndrome. They think they are thinking, they’re sure they’re some of the best thinkers in the world, but what they regard as thinking is to real thinking what masturbation is to loving conjugal sex. And there’s no part of them that can ever learn the difference.

Where are you in this picture? Do you feel the pyramid flying apart? Do you feel yourself inside the accelerating maelstrom, the circle? Can you hear the echoes from our impending future? Or do you just not think about it? Think about this if you can. And this. And feel this (Not for children, VERY graphic).

Meager soundtrack with that. Here’s a better one. Thinking and feeling are more closely related than most smart people imagine.

P.S. This just in: Holocaust a hoax, according to California schoolteachers? How far from the yellow star? That rumble you hear is the fundament crumbling in fear.


The Romans were afraid of US.

Hadrian’s Wall. Meant to keep the Scots OUT of Roman Britain. The Romans were afraid of just how easily highlanders could kill, well, anyone. And they enjoyed it as much as if they were Romans.

A post that’s not politically correct. I’m getting ready to talk about Jews, which is always controversial, but they will understand that I am doing so from the standpoint of the one tribe that is as old as they are, as accomplished, and as continuously distinct.

They’ll also understand my claim that we are better. They won’t agree. But they’ll have to consult their notes.

You won’t find two older tribes. The Jews invented morality with their Ten Commandments. We invented capitalism. And the steam engine and television. Anyone want to take a vote? I kid.

But the Jews also invented surviving by running away, having a “diaspora,” and sulking a lot. We just kept getting in the other guy’s face, never leaving home, and constituting a constant threat to the stability of the greatest military on earth from one century to the next, permanently outnumbered and never giving a shit.

We had some dopey clerics. They had some dopey experimentalists who called themselves psychologists, philosophers, and geniuses while we were building the industrial revolution. And our lawyers are every bit as nasty and ruthless as theirs.

Scots were some of the first robber barons and philanthropists. Jews were the first Hollywood moguls. Want to compare?

There’s no category in which we don’t win till you get to physics. The Uncertainty Principle has not and never will be understood by any Scot. Except that we’ve always known it’s impossible to know who’s playing the bagpipe without knowing that the bagpipe is also playing the piper. Which is called Scottish Quantum Physics.

Jews have been hounded through the ages. Scots have too. Both are the targets of conspiracy theorists. Ireland and Britain continue to be terrified by whatever might be going on at Roslyn Chapel. The Jews, unfortunately, lost track of their primary temple some time ago.

Not that we’re competing. Except that as the two most ancient surviving tribes, they’re bound to compete. And have some of the same attributes. You think Jews are tight? You never saw my mother computing the tip to the third decimal point.

Thing is, Scots are superior. No matter what’s happening now. For more than a thousand years the Jews tried to assimilate, to run, to hide. That whole time, the Scots were trying to beat the holy shit out of England. Which somebody had to do, and the Irish weren’t up for it because nobody had invented pipe bombs and remote controlled car explosives yet.

Am I being impolite? Not sorry. Sick of political correctness. I come from the oldest, smartest, strongest tribe that owns billions of pounds in assets on earth. Jews have oranges and camo. I congratulate them. But there’s much more to be done.

Stay tuned.