Friday, December 10, 2010
Tonight, however, I ate cookies. For most adults and the majority of toddlers, this isn't a headline making event. For me, sugar is outside the scope of my diet. I'd say it has the same affect on me as chocolate-coated coffee beans, but chocolate-coated coffee beans would stop my heart. So, no, it's not like that. It just makes me wired. Unable to sleep. Restless. It can even prompt me to tweet, which, when done on sugar, isn't much different than drunk dialing.
So take into consideration the extent of my conscious mind before I'll click on a video of a compilation of Wednesday night's late-night television. Basically, I have to be drugged.
I thought I'd share. Enjoy what you can. There are even Obama jokes now. And it only took two years of insane spending, flubs, inaccuracies, factual fallacies, ridiculous quotes, missteps, a grassroots opposing movement, international leaders mocking him, and a historic vote of conservatives in the House.
They're only a Presidential candidacy and half-term late. That's comedy on the cutting-edge.
Poor Letterman. He just can't bring himself to harm The One without attacking Palin, since jokes about her have never been tried before.
I wonder what Letterman would do if he ever stumbled onto a dead horse.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Some people will sign anything that includes phrases like, ”global effort,” “international community,” and “planetary.” Such was the case at COP 16, this year’s United Nations Conference on Climate Change in Cancun, Mexico.
This year, CFACT students created two mock-petitions to test U.N. Delegates. The first asked participants to help destabilize the United States economy, the second to ban water.
My favorite line about Dihydrogen Monoxide, i.e. H20: "It's the major ingredient in acid rain."
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
"Aslan symbolises a Christ-like figure but he also symbolises for me Mohammed, Buddha and all the great spiritual leaders and prophets over the centuries. That’s who Aslan stands for as well as a mentor figure for kids – that’s what he means for me."
man paid for his ability to be anyone but himself
PS That's like how:
- When I read H.G. Wells, I can't help but think of childhood toys. That's right, The Shape of Things To Come, symbolizes for me...Play-Dough.
- Or when I've read excerpts from Sal Alinsky's Rules for Radicals. I don't see a progressive/liberal/communist manifesto. No. I see a country cookbook with recipes for shepherd's pie and plum pudding.
- When I hear the story of Che Guevara, I think of how the man was fighting against impossible odds for the right to wear pantaloons. White, lacy ones.
- And atheist Richard Dawkins? For me, he symbolizes the Easter Bunny, the Toothfairy, Horton the Elephant, Charlie Sheen, and Theodore Huxtable.
As long as we don't let something like truth hamper us, we're so fancy free to believe anything we want. Just like taking C.S. Lewis, a devout and infamous Christian writer, and his amazing childhood story about Jesus Christ and believing it can represent the very things that are His polar opposite.
You might be interested in the reaction from C.S. Lewis' former secretary:
Darn. And I really liked him.
Walter Hooper, Lewis’s former secretary and a trustee of his estate, said the author would have been outraged.
"It is nothing whatever to do with Islam," he said. "Lewis would have simply denied that. He wrote that the 'whole Narnian story is about Christ'. Lewis could not have been clearer."
He attributed Neeson’s remarks to political correctness and a desire to be ‘very multicultural’, adding: "I don’t know Liam Neeson or what he is thinking about… but it was not Lewis’s intention."
Friday, December 3, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
But I digress.
The history of the holiday has always intrigued me. Something had to be missing. I could nearly feel it. Maybe I learned the full story in grade school and grew up to forget it, my subconscious pinging every once in a while when some liberal teacher, politician, talking head told me we were celebrating how Native-Americans saved the day.
That just didn't seem right.
Not that I'm degrading their contribution. Heck, I AM Native-American. Cherokee, in fact. My ancestors, on both sides, were sitting at that table on that fateful first feast. But to end there, it felt incomplete.
I've been writing stories my entire adult life. I've been reading them in droves, too. When it ends wrong, when it leaves a vacancy, I feel an ache in my bones. Something in that story went awry. I know like I know my writer's arthritis.
That's how I've always felt about Thanksgiving, as if a chunk - one I had known as a child - had been omitted.
Now, at last, is - as Paul Harvey would say - the rest of the story. This is the real Thanksgiving story, one confirmed by historic facts I already knew from David Barton's Wallbuilders. Heat up your leftovers and enjoy.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
So I spent a year walking with my head down and concentration stretching my brow. It isn't as easy as it sounds, not when your school is tiled, your walkways are aging cement, and your roads are brick.
Asphalt and carpet came later.
That was my worst hobby. My second worst, however, was starving myself. And that, in comparison, was very easy. It wasn't about doing an activity. It was about not doing an activity. Not eating.
I was good at it, too. After a few months, I got so good at not eating I could do it in my sleep.
Last week, in the throws of a stomach flu that had more love for me than I had for it, I couldn't help remembering those idiotic days of anorexia. It's been over a decade since I decided a smaller jean size was worth death. These days, I'd rather be healthy than scrawny. Actually, I'd rather not be scrawny at all. Curves, I've found, are actually quite girlish. Who knew.
For days, while Thanksgiving turkey and pumpkin pie were on everyone's mind and plate, I got excited about consuming a fourth-cup of milk. It's a strange situation to find starvation actually feels familiar. A definite sign of youthful ignorance, I suppose. Or the sad fact we women have a hard time ever finding our sense of self.
Now a week later, I'm a little thinner, a lot less dehydrated, and working on wooing my appetite back to it's former glory. I'm willing to slather butter on everything until it does. That's love, my friends. True devotion.
So in the interest of making everything, including a flu bug, educational, I'd like to share the ten things I've learned from not eating:
1. Animals make the best meals.
2. Not eating is a real time saver, except for those moments of blackout.
3. It's totally true. Nothin' says lovin' like the Pillsbury Dough boy.
4. For every meal I miss, I visit it back tenfold.
5. Snickers really satisfies, as do chocolate cupcakes.
6. If you forget to say grace, repeat the meal, as necessary, until you remember.
7. Cardboard sign or not, everyone works for food.
8. Leftovers are a great way to show you believe in second chances.
9. The thing that separates us from the animals is that we chew our food.
10. If you lose your sense of wonder, find it again in the bread aisle.
For everything else, there's muffins.
If only he'd gotten her new pot-scrubbers, all of this could have been avoided.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Terrorists aren't three-year-old little girls from Punxsutawney. They are Muslims. Male. In an approximate age range. And foreign-born or with dual citizenship. That's fact. Either we face it and defend ourselves. Or we have government employees, armed with rubber gloves, touching us in places that would generally warrant a sexual harassment charge or a swift kick to any soft-tissue area.
There's precautionary measures. And then there's insanity. They do not resemble each other.
What if your job depended on pictures being taken of your naked body or a stranger touching you inappropriately? Usually they call that the entertainment industry. According to the TSA, it's all part of the job for a pilot.
That's why two are suing, wanting the right to do their job without intrusive techniques which violate their Fourth Amendment rights. And Hannity brings up a good point, if a pilot wanted to crash a plane, at some point he simply could. No explosives necessary.
Here the man's story and his rather detailed (awkward!) description of everything those scanners can see.
Are there any other options? Here's one: talking. Yes, talking. That's how El Al Airlines in Israel keeps people safe. And it works.
It isn't complicated. It isn't expensive. It certainly won't make anyone money. And it gives the private sector back their privacy and removes the oppressive government control. Here's how it works.
First, airport security researches ticket holders before they arrive. Any red flags? Any obvious signs of suspicion? No? That's one obstacle down, with no hands yet snapping on rubber gloves.
Second, a security agent may or may not walk right up to you and start...wait for it...chatting. Airport security is trained to find terrorists, instead of search genitalia.
Former Security Chief Isaac Yeffet of El Al Airlines explains how they keep passengers and planes safe. And no one needs to see you naked.
I don't know. Talking? It seems so...so...what's the word I'm looking for?...effective.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
I was curious about the event, however. There were so many questions to be answered, like....
What did they do for entertainment?
That answers the, "Was anything funny?" question, too.
Where there opportunities for good, rational conversation?
Democrats are in power but Republicans are stopping Obama. If only that were true. Maybe after today it will be.
What happens when you don't bring your papers?
Crowder was minding his own business, going out for ice cream, and boom! He's deported.
How hard was it to find "irony"?
What about multiculturalism? Appropriate signage? Okay, I'll make this one easier. Sanity?
That did it. I'm no longer curious.
Mumbai: The US would be spending a whopping $200 million (Rs. 900 crore approx) per day on President Barack Obama's visit to the city.When the economy's got you down, elections don't go your way, and, darn it, even your golf game is suffering, what's a President to do but head off to Mumbai and blow a billion dollars.
"The huge amount of around $200 million would be spent on security, stay and other aspects of the Presidential visit," a top official of the Maharashtra Government privy to the arrangements for the high-profile visit said.
About 3,000 people including Secret Service agents, US government officials and journalists would accompany the President. Several officials from the White House and US security agencies are already here for the past one week with helicopters, a ship and high-end security instruments.
Ankle chains. That's what you need. Or collars. You're only dogs, after all.
Ever get in the mood to see astronomical, hateful snobbery? Then here you go.
Durn. I'd sure shootin' likta prove them smartypants wrong but, heck, i'm jus' too durn busy runnin' my comp'ny to sit 'round all day only a'flappin' ma gums.
Here's the Obama chanters, their blind adoration, and where it's gotten us thus far, with the reality mixed in. It's the "O-Bam-A" remix. And it's rather fitting for a historical day such as this.
They didn't know the man when they were chanting his name. They liked his speeches. They liked holding hands. They liked standing in studios and smiling at the camera.
He hadn't accomplished anything. Yet the 2008 Obama voters took his good press and believed it for gospel.
Two years later, those willing to accept reality have allowed the disillusionment to slough off. Obama was only a guy in a suit with a slogan. He likes playing golf, taking five vacations in a year, reading from telepromters, taking over private businesses, criticizing our country abroad, being interviewed on The View, and preaching at everyone to sacrifice and stop whining, while he whines and refuses to sacrifice.
By the end of the night, however, the grit of this country is hoping for positive, conservative, power-to-the-American-people, Constitutionally sound change.
And, in case the subject should ever be brought up again, "change" should never be unquestioningly accepted without specifics.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
|Gov. Chris Christie comments on 'teachers unions gone wild'|
If you haven't been enlightened yet, enlighten here.
Monday, October 25, 2010
When people use to talk about Big Brother watching you, I assumed they were talking about mine. He likes people watching, as do most artists. They're looking for inspiration and a Xanadu moment courtesy of a passing stranger's steel-toed boots, an older woman's vanilla perfume, or the teenager's gum whose flavor just lasts and lasts. There's no telling what might take an artist on a journey, a series of Alice experiences where they wake up in unfamiliar rabbit holes.
Later in life, about the time I understood that I understood nothing, I understood the Big Brother reference. I'm still unsure, however, why we insist on referring to the cold, institutional, impersonal federal government in familia terms: Big Brother, Uncle Sam, Mother...forget that one.
Private eyes (clap, clap) are watching you. Or me. Catchy song. Government eyes, however, are not cool. But there's a more unseemly character on the playground these days. Their toilet paper roll/duct taped binoculars are trained on you and your everything, from the questions floating around in the alphabet soup of your brain to whether or not you're watering your rhododendrons.
It's Google. Grandpa Google, to you.
They not only want to know where you live, where you work, what football game scores you're most interested in, but how to be that fatherly shoulder when you can't remember the name of that place with that song about that movie that one time.
Also, they think they can read your mind.
"We know where you are. We know where you’ve been. We can more or less know what you’re thinking about.”That's Eric Schmidt, Google CEO. You can call him Cuz. He's gotten a bit lost in the strings of power wrapped around his fingers. They have affected his tongue, and maybe a little bit of his frontal lobe.
That isn't all he thinks, according to Wall Street Journal's Digital Daily columnist John Paczkowski, whose name I spelled accurately on the first try. Schmidt might actually have a God complex. A "creepy" one.
In the past year alone he has:Every morsel of food, every libation, every slice of pie entering Schmidt's mouth should be known to the world. Or he shouldn't be eating.
- Addressed criticisms of Google’s stance on privacy by saying, “If you have something that you don’t want anyone to know, maybe you shouldn’t be doing it in the first place.
- Claimed people want Google to “tell them what they should be doing next.”And thus, should equally share in the consequences of those actions.
- Said this: "One day we had a conversation where we figured we could just try to predict the stock market. And then we decided it was illegal. So we stopped doing that."That forbidden fruit term you're searching for is 'Black Friday.' Ask the ghost of Jay Gould and James Fist to explain it to you.
- Suggested name changes to protect adults from the Web's record of their youthful indiscretions.You were named after your great, great grandfather. Big deal. Try 'Herbert' on for size.
- Said this: "What we're really doing is building an augmented version of humanity, building computers to help humans do the thing they don't do well better."Then an orb of electric pulses crackled on the pavement and a naked Arnold Schwartzenegger appeared.
Since Schmidt enjoys talking far past the filter mileage on his brain, he told the viewer(s?) of CNN's "Parker Spitzer" show last week that people not overjoyed about having their homes photographed and uploaded onto an international database "can just move."
Wise words, Grandpa. Wise. Words.
I like Google as much as the next gal. Well, their products, anyway. But Schmidt. Ego much?
I wondered what my Google searches said about me. So I took a look. Here are a few key word searches in the last 48 hours: mess hall, John Bonham, humpty dumpty, Boca Raton, Tropic of Capricorn, lead products, Peruvian people, bullet speeds, The Great Escape movie.
There Schmidt. Read my mind.
If you have any trouble, try Binging it.
No, I didn't agree with everything he did. I don't know a person on this planet who does what I want them to do 100 percent of the time. I'm willing to play puppet master. I simply can't get anyone else to play along.
What he was is what we do not have now, an honorable President. A man who loves his country. A leader with his nation's success a priority. A confident spokesman for American values of freedom, individual liberty, and the potential of every citizen.
President Bush was an encourager. A man on our side. Shouting in the bullhorn. Ralling the citizenry. Leading when no one else wanted the job, which is the true definition of leadership.
He didn't whine. He didn't complain. He never pointed a finger at a predecessor. He simply did his job.
That's what I miss, a professional. A President without malice. A man of substance and few words.
His excuse? I have no idea.
My excuse? I had a cold. And I don't believe in fever blogging. Or drunk dialing. Or alphabetical filing.
What I do believe in is the Toothfairy, wishing on a star, and small business. Not necessarily in that order.
Dang. Wish I was rich like that guy and borrowing six figures so I could pay interest on a tax payment.
Looks like good, clean, family-friendly fun to me - except for the language, which is graphic, and the mindset, which is offensive.
I'm shocked anyone would find this shocking. These are professionals, people. Leave your children in their very capable hands. And rest easy. These are government employees. They're the good guys.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Besides the overacting, the other thing I notice about this commercial is the extreme hypocrisy between 1986 GE and 2010 GE. They don't always bring good things to life. In fact, you can thank them for those over-sized, mercury-filled, screwy florescent light bulbs that we're being forced to buy. Personally, I think the light they give off is substandard.
But since Americans love to hug GE and love GE and pet GE and squeeze GE and call GE our very own, we paid them $25 million in stimulus funds to lay off 18,000 workers in 2009.
In addition to the $24.9 million it received in stimulus grants, GE was also awarded $5 million in federal contracts under the economic stimulus law.So to stimulate jobs, we've now paid GE $30 million and received 18,000 fewer employed Americans and ugly light bulbs for our expense. Time to sit down and revise the family budget. This isn't working.
At least Jeffrey Emelt, GE CEO and close Obama pal, will be having a good Christmas this year. That thought, I'm sure, will keep the American taxpayers warm at night while sitting under the depressingly dim glow of their GE florescent light bulb.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
"Although the troubling racial subtext is more deeply buried here than in 'The Blind Side' (where it's more like text, period), 'Secretariat' actually goes much further, presenting a honey-dipped fantasy vision of the American past as the Tea Party would like to imagine it, loaded with uplift and glory and scrubbed clean of multiculturalism and social discord. In the world of this movie, strong-willed and independent-minded women like Chenery are ladies first (she's like a classed-up version of Sarah Palin feminism), left-wing activism is an endearing cute phase your kids go through (until they learn the hard truth about inheritance taxes), and all right-thinking Americans are united in their adoration of a Nietzschean Überhorse, a hero so superhuman he isn't human at all."
In other words, according to Salon.com reviewer Andrew O'Hehir, the movie sucks because people are too optimistic. Women are classy. The horse makes history. And there's a happy ending.
If only there could have been more profanity, explicit sex scenes, drug usage, an ignorant and blatantly racist white man who was also a military veteran, a whimpy priest or pastor, and a burning picture of Richard Nixon.
Those in the dark, love the dark. And despise the light.
Here's what the conservative reviewer Carl Kozlowski at BigHollywood.com said,
"That rich cast is a testament to the strength of Mike Rich’s screenplay, one in which Rich builds on his record of uplifting sports movies such as 'The Rookie.' He also pulls off the impressive feat of not needing a single swear word or other impressive element to tell his tale, making it a perfect family film, while in no way making the film seem sugar-coated or condescending. He also gets in some solid digs against the hippie and anti-war movements of the film’s time frame. Put it all together, and 'Secretariat' shows that sometimes a solid, sturdy ride can still beat the flash in the pan entertainment around it by a country mile."
A movie worth the money to watch it, a rare quality. I'll be sitting in the seventh row with my popcorn.
The Socialist Network, however, is real life.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
I never forget that about her. Or her hugs. Or her red hair. Or the kindness of her spirit. You wanted to be around my Grandma Birdie. You wanted to be close to her, in the same room, the same moment, the same air. You wanted to feel the warmth of her smile on your face, a statement I have only ever made or could ever make about my Grandma Birdie or my mother.
Personally, I always wanted to sit on Grandma Birdie's lap but her legs were too short so I kept sliding off. Instead, I leaned on her, snuggled in next to her, stood in her proximity so she'd wrap an arm around me every once and awhile. Since she died when I was eight, the childlike weight of my not-yet-fully-developed-tall-frame-self wasn't yet laden down with my full-milk fortified bones. So, hopefully, my leaning, snuggling, hugging wasn't too much. Then again, if I'd been too heavy, she still wouldn't have said a word.
Another thing I remember about Grandma Birdie is that her life was hard. Terribly hard. She lived in a home that consisted of one bedroom and a kitchen. There was never any indoor plumbing, though she always kept it clean. Water was pumped from a spring. The bathroom was an outhouse. Baths were taken outside. And that was only her home life.
To survive, my grandfather farmed and she worked at the local restaurant, shedding her joy and cooking around. She worked. She worked hard. She also wrote a column for the local newspaper, including very detailed, personal, and historical stories of her family as Oklahoma Dust Bowl survivors. She was a gifted writer, a talent that attracted friends and family to send letters in hopes she'd write back. Unlike me, she never got the chance to make a living at her passion.
It wasn't until the day she died that anyone, anyone in our family, anyone at all, knew her cancer had returned. She suffered in silence.
She was a cancer survivor and eventually a cancer victim. But she lived her days without complaint. No complaint. None. And when we came to visit, she always had Fudge-Stripped cookies to send back home. They were, no doubt, one of her rare expenditures, rare guilty pleasures. And she gave them away.
I didn't think about her at all yesterday. Not when I was slaving away on a deadline. Not when I was dealing with a health issue. Not when I was gritting my teeth at my house chores - iron clothes, do laundry, pay bills, make chili. Not when I sat in my vehicle turning the key over and over again with no response. And not when I walked into town to deposit a check and then back home again.
It wasn't until the last half mile of my journey, with my body overheated, my hand cramping from carrying my purse and sweater, my feet ready to see home, the thought "dang, cars make everything so much easier" running over and over in my head, that I thought about my pampered existence. That thought always leads me to Grandma Birdie.
The week hasn't been great. The year, really, hasn't been so fab. The same issues I struggle with today I've been struggling with for years. The wars are the same, only the calendar dates change. In the middle of it all, I often wonder why life has to be so hard, why God - like Samantha on Bewitched - won't wiggle His nose and make everything all better.
Then I remember Grandma Birdie. In her kitchen sat a large metal bowl, a drinking ladle hooked on the side. The water was always cool and unbelievably delicious. As a kid, I'd gulp down an entire ladle and wonder why water didn't taste like that back home. Then I'd run outside and forget everything except for exploring the woods, sneaking past the barbed wire fence, and discovering a dinosaur bone, which always turned out to be a cow.
The water came from a natural spring, a spring across the property and down the dirty road from Grandma's house. That was her water supply. That was where she hiked everyday for water, water to clean the dishes, water to bathe, water to fill that metal bowl with the ladle so I could gulp it down at my leisure.
I have no freaking concept of living a hard life.
Monday, October 4, 2010
It's Virginia Ironside, a British advice columnist, who believes the compassionate thing to do with a suffering child is to shove a pillow over their head and hold it down until their body stops thrashing about fighting for oxygen and they die.
Watch the face of one of the program hosts, Susanna Reid, who seems a bit shocked, while Ironside just continues on as if killing your child is the most natural thing a "good mother" would do.
"If a baby’s going to be born severely disabled or totally unwanted, surely an abortion is the act of a loving mother. If I were the mother of a suffering child – I mean a deeply suffering child – I would be the first to want to put a pillow over its face… If it was a child I really loved, who was in agony, I think any good mother would."
First, I think it needs to be asked. Did Virginia Ironside have any children who died mysteriously?
Second, as she grows older, should she be in pain, what kind of pillow would she prefer shoved over her head? Foam? Down? Ruffles on the edges?
Compassion it compassion, Virginia. You shouldn't go without.
Abortion is the act of a loving mother? Killing is now love. Well...that's what Hitler thought, too.
That's Gianna Jessen. An abortion survivor and warrior for the unborn. She survived a saline solution abortion, an abortion technique which burns the baby from the inside out. We don't even treat our serial killers to a death like that.
The culture speaks of humanity, of arguing against capital punishment, of sympathizing with captured terrorists, while silently killing babies by any means possible, even if that means cutting them into pieces. That seem upside down to anyone else?
Gianna Jessen has a testimony. It's the example of her life. And it's not only miraculous and charming, it's delightful, funny, encouraging, and joyful. You might remember her from this:
Recently, a video has been circulating of a speech Gianna gave in 2008 where she spoke at Queen's Hall, Parliament House, in Melbourne on the eve of a debate to decriminalize abortion in Victoria. I finally got around to watching it. Now I wonder what I could have been doing that was so much more important than finding the time.
What I wonder is if feminists truly are for empowering women, for women who face insurmountable odds and yet survive and are successful, women who brave opposition and even persecution for their beliefs and rights, women who fight for other women, shouldn't Gianna be their poster child?
I'm sure they're getting around to it. Any day now you'll see Gianna as a guest speaker at a NOW Convention. Any day....
Saturday, October 2, 2010
I have this little life motto, it goes something like this. "If you think death is funny, I don't like you." I tweak it a bit from time to time. But that's the gist of it.
Then I usually follow it with, "If you think people should die if they don't do what you want or think like you do, I really don't like you." And I stress the really part, holding out the first syllable so they can feel the weight of my really.
Does that mean I'd make a video where I blew them up into bloody messes, snuffing out their life? That I'd joke about killing them? Nope. Because I can disagree with someone and still not want them murdered or find their murder humorous, like the rest of the sane, compassionate, free-thinking population.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wait for the Bill Ayers joke. And the Biden joke. And the Democrat ad joke. And, if none of that amuses you, enjoy the clips of Obama and his "post partisan" rant at Wisconsin. Did he really say Republicans were sucking on slurpies? Why yes. Yes, he did.
Gotta respect a man who takes absolutely no responsibility for his actions and their obvious repercussions. Very Presidential of him.
|The Daily Show With Jon Stewart||Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c|
|Indecision 2010 - Democratic Campaign Woes|
Obama told it straight at one point. He has accomplished 70 percent of his agenda.
- Bankrupt America? Check
- Irritate racial relations? Check
- Take over healthcare? Check
- Pay off the unions? Check
- Insult our allies? Check
- Alienate the Jews? Check
- Sympathize with terrorists? Check
- Indebt the next two generations of Americans? Check
- Increase government control? Check
- Fundamentally change the country? Check
- Party like it's 1999? Check. And check again.
What's left? I guess it's time to start selling off some of the flyover country to China.
Of course, that could get expensive. I'm Cherokee. But I'm also Irish and German. So do I buy homes in all three nations and split my time equally? Or would apartments be better? Maybe time shares? And if they are time shares, how many of those two-hour presentations do I have to sit through?
It's a great conversation. Too long to post here so I recommend clicking this link for your daily dose of absurdity and reading the whole thing. But here, as a teaser, was a great part at the end.
RUSH: My forefathers were born in this country. Are you the rightful owner of the country? Is that what you believe, do you think that you're one of the rightful owners of the country that --
CALLER: Yes, I do.
RUSH: -- you were here at one with nature --
CALLER: The Cherokee nation, yes, I do.
RUSH: One with nature and you guys, you're never at war with one another, all the tribes got along and you got along with the Mexicans and never slaughtered the buffalo, everything was hunky-dory, and then Columbus showed up and then the white guy showed up and here came syphilis and here came racism and sexism and bigotry and homophobia and environmental destruction?
CALLER: That's right. You got it.
RUSH: Thanks, Bob. Appreciate it. There's your average Obama voter, and it's exactly what Obama thinks. Bob, God, I love you, man. That's a classic make the host look good. It's the primary job of caller, and Bob did it.
From all of us American squatters to you, thanks Bob.
Ahhh...Now I get it. Here's a thought from a Godly woman who has some questions for our God-confused President.
Tara,I'm sure you will share my joy over the fact that Obama(nation) continues to tout his Christian faith. I know, for me, despite all evidence to the contrary, what a huge reassurance this is."I am a Christian by choice" he is quoted as saying on page A 12 of today's Tulsa World. He goes on to say, "I came to faith later in life (citing earlier that his family weren't the kind who went to church every week) and it was because the precepts of Jesus Christ spoke to me in terms of what kind of life I would want to lead--being my brothers' and sisters' keeper, treating others as they would treat me."Nothing about being a sinner, nothing about being saved by grace, nothing about relying on the Holy Spirit for wisdom and discernment, nothing at all that would resonate with someone who really is a Christian.I'm not sure who his "damage control" advisors are who are trying to refute what 18% believe--that Obama is a muslim--but they aren't doing a very good job. Which only proves they apparently aren't Christians either and are trying to ignorantly figure out what he aught to say to try and convince people who "wrongly believe Obama is muslim" that he shares their faith.Maybe they should have started by encouraging him to not cancel the National Day of Prayer and not participate in the spin-off muslim day of prayer. I don't know. I'm just a white, middle-aged, middle-class house wife. But that's where I would have started.
Sounds good to me. I say we give C the Presidency and see what she can do with it. I know for a fact, the woman wouldn't need a teleprompter.
Not bad. At least it was something.
With technology and conveniences and all our manual labor covered with a flip of a switch or push of a button, you would think we had somehow circumvented the need for plain, basic, brute human strength. We don't kill and skin our food before eating it. We defrost, nuke and repeat. For lawns we have self-propelled motors. For personal protection we have guns. For stubborn jars we have kitchen aids from The Pampered Chef to pop the top.
Who needs men to be physical men anymore?
This week I interviewed an old friend. He heads up a local mission and is, in my opinion, the epitome of the masculine male - staunch integrity, mental sharpness, problem solver, follower of Jesus (that's the big one, ps), and physically dangerous. The man can kick the majority of the world's keisters. He has a six-degree black belt in Kyokyushin-kai, third-degree in Tae Kwon Do, first-degree in Okinawawn Shuri-te, and first-degree rank in the sword-weilding art of Iaido.
The first time I ever met him he offered to carry me home. Now, grant it, the circumstances were unusual. He took my photographer and I to a few extreme locations to shoot poverty and homelessness in the city. Being the girl scout that I am, I was prepared for anything in my sandals, which quickly attracted every sticktight in the five-mile wilderness. (For those unfamiliar with "sticktights", they are spiked spawns of the devil that masquerade as plant seeds.) Every two minutes, I was peeling these suckers off my feet and getting my fingers bloody in the process. Eventually, realizing we may never make it home due to my choice of footwear, he simply said, "Do I need to just carry you?"
During our recent conversation, he said something rather profound and I haven't stopped thinking about it all week.
"When the book 'Wild at Heart' came out, I started getting all these calls to come speak at men's groups and luncheons. Men had finally realized it was okay for them to be men," he said.
They didn't know it before? Apparently not.
As my nacho-eating friend explained last night, men have been under chickafication (my word, not his) since grade school. He said men are taught not to compete, not to be proud of being the best, not to strive for excellence in masculine roles. How many movies demonize the captain of the football team while glorifying the gawky, awkward, spindly outcast? The men with the most physical acumen are always the stupid, bully types, i.e. the best is the worst, the strongest the cruelest. Never forget that, as if Hollywood would let you.
And if they didn't convince you with teenage minidramas, they'll be sure and get you in the wartime movie where soldiers are really bloodthirsty mass murderers, i.e. tough guys who fight for justice are evil.
I didn't doubt my friend's recollection of school. I still remember back in high school when finding a guy who would "cry at movies" was the thing. I never got that. If I'm crying at a movie and he's crying at a movie, who lends me their shoulder? I want a shoulder, dang it.
Last weekend, a few friends and I went to a rodeo. I sat on that hard bench surrounded by the smell of manure, and took in the sights, those sights being men roping calves at incredible speeds, riding bulls at breakneck speeds, and giving the audience a small taste of what happens when wild men mix with wild beasts.
I'll be going back.
I'm not sure how we got here, where men get manicures and facials, women sport bulging biceps, and we're all stuck at a Sadie Hawkins dance with no one taking the lead and no one following. That makes for a truly terrible turn around the floor.
As an independent female of the self-reliant sort, I have no qualms about men being physically superior, men taking the lead, men fixing the gutters on my house (really no qualms about the last one, fyi). How is not encouraging men to be the fullness of themselves, the fullness of their - God bless 'em - physical prowess, a sign of strength by females? How is that complimentary to either of us? As a capable woman, I'm confident enough in my own right not to deny a man confidence in his. I call that truly feminine feminism.
If you want an idea of a world void of the defining qualities of one opposite sex, imagine a world without much color, without softness and sweet smells, without tenderness, without nurturing, without glamour or refinement, without giddiness, without girlishness, without someone to make a dwelling place a home. That would be life without femininity.
Now imagine life without masculinity. Or at least in short supply. Look familiar?
So, my earlier question, who needs men to be men? Absolutely everyone. Even men. And in the meantime, you'll find me sitting on an uncomfortable bench at the nearest rodeo.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Here's from Sean Duffy's own bio:
Sean is the tenth of eleven children born and raised in Hayward, Wisconsin. At the age of five, Sean began logrolling, a favorite pastime for many children in his northern Wisconsin hometown. In high school, Sean learned how to speed climb and soon after joined the Scheer's Lumberjack Show to offset his college and law school expenses. As a lumberjack performer, Sean traveled all over the state and country performing in lumberjack sport competitions and exhibitions.
At the age of 18, Sean won his first World Lumberjack Championship in the 60-foot speed climb. He went on to earn two more World Champion titles in this category. In 2004, Sean was named the Honorary Athlete of the Wisconsin Badger Games, a popular state wide multi-discipline amateur competition modeled after the Olympics.
And in case you want to see some of that lumberjack action, here's another Sean Duffy ad:
Lumberjack. Conservative. Flannel shirts. What can I say? I'm in love (in a purely political sense, of course).
Okay, maybe a tinge not political.
There is nothing about an argument I enjoy. Not the loudness. Not the expelled, hot breath. Not even the fact I win them all. (That's a direct, purposeful jab to anyone who has ever argued with me. I do things like this because I'm obviously childish.)
There are things, however, very important things, monumental life thing, things so important I can't identify them but will instead keep referring to them as things, that deserve a fight. They deserve to be protected, lauded, and, even in the absence of minty mouthwash, argued for. This is perhaps why no one believes I hate arguing. Because I do it. From time to time. After a hearty toothbrush and flossing regiment.
Blogging often feels that way to me. Like an argument. You put your opinion out there so that an unnamed individual, safe in their silo of anonymity with names like "Punchlove" and "Suprstr9" can tell you how very wrong you are. Or simply call you a name since their conversation skills are as unimaginative as their screen names.
We've created a world for cowards, actually. Can't handle face-to-face interaction? No worries. Sit in your safe haven and blast your nonsense from your mother's basement. No one ever needs to know. And you never need to listen.
These are the things I dislike about blogging. No. Let me go at least one step too far. These are the things I despise. And because of this, because I believe in accountability, even for myself (I need accountability, too. I'm childish at times, remember?), I've tempered, censored, and kept mum often times about often ideas. The often is so often I can't give you specific instances.
Either that, or today I'm just not into details.
I'm a private person by nature. Very private. I have a small, very intimate circle of friends. To these people I tell pretty much everything of the everythings I'm going to tell. The rest I keep to myself.
Am I emotionally Ft. Knox? Not necessarily. But definitely a bunker of some sort.
People need to earn access to our lives, access to our opinions, access to our inner-thoughts. And it goes both ways. Trust me, I don't want your inner thoughts unless I've earned them. That way, I've subconsciously given them value. I will appreciate them, respect them, even if I don't agree. Spouting off your opinion in a tweet? Yeah. I really couldn't care less about it. And yes, I've tweeted before.
See the predicament?
Over the last year, culminating into greater intensity over the last several months, I've felt compelled to increase my boundaries. Yes, I have walls. Fortified cities always do. They are healthy, managed, and made of this beautiful slate rock. Breathtaking, really. Similar to limestone but visually closer to marble.
I've stopped tweeting, stopped doing Facebook status updates, and even stopped blogging at my previous intensity. I needed to think. To have privacy. To, once again, reestablish my boundaries. If a cave existed with indoor plumbing, I'd live there. Seriously. I'd take lots of books, several notebooks with pens, and a jar of peanut butter. And I'd live there.
Silence, however, isn't always the noble choice. Like I mentioned earlier, there are things, those unnamed things, worth fighting for. Worth talking about. Worth, dare I do it, even discussing on a public forum.
So. Here's where I'm at. I'm resituating. Repositioning. Resomething or othering. That doesn't mean I'll be sharing my deepest, darkest secrets. In fact, I won't even admit to having any. But I will be sharing my thoughts on more than politics. And I'm more than happy to listen to anyone with a cohesive, pragmatic, or at least imaginative, differing viewpoint.
Or I might block you. You never know about childish people like myself.
I'm sending this out as a simple fyi. Many of you have been very faithful about reading what I post. I don't take that honor lightly. I have, however, been giving you a watered down, highly-screened version of my thoughts over the last several months. I've been clocking in. And clocking back out again. If you are going to stop by, you deserve more from me than that. I acknowledge that.
This doesn't necessarily mean I'll be blogging more. I'm pregnant with projects at the moment. Those projects are extensive and long-enduring. So time is limited.
Not that I'll stop posting videos. Darn if I don't like those videos.
I will, however, promise to make my posts, or at least create more posts, with more meat and more relevance, as well as more topics. Like or dislike, I'm basically making you a pledge to give more. You have the option to tune in or run screaming for the hills. If those hills had caves with plush seating, that'd be a difficult choice for me.
Friday, September 24, 2010
This is Why.
There must be a line. A healthy boundary, I say a lot. Everyone should have them, healthy boundaries that is. What we allow and do not allow. What we accept and do not accept. What is good for us, what is not. Boundaries protect us. Give order. Keep the bad out, the good in.
A country must have them, too. A healthy country. One that survives. But not only. One that also flourishes. We must have boundaries, a line that says, "Yes, we accept this. No, we do not accept that."
The Constitution is that boundary. It sets the limit of what government can and cannot do. Our budget is a boundary, it shows what we can and cannot afford. Individual freedom is a boundary, it limits what the government can and cannot control.
The Tea Party isn't a revolutionary movement. A new idea. The Tea Party is a reminder of the boundaries that were established long ago and have given Americans the greatest country to ever exist in the history of mankind. The Tea Party is simply standing up for healthy boundaries.
Why the Tea Party? That is why.
Monday, September 20, 2010
She isn't the only member of the Obama Sunshine Band not feeling warm and toasty.
A representative from the business community, Kenneth Langone, a co-founder of Home Depot, asked via a video feed for an explanation of what he sees as the administration’s anti-business stance.
Then a 30-year-old law school graduate said he’s no longer able to make the interest payments on his educational loans, much less able to have a mortgage or a family. He said he had been inspired by Obama’s campaign. But now, “that inspiration is dying away,” he said. “I really want to know: Is the American dream dead?”
Not dead. But very, very ill.
I've avoided that title my entire life. Feminists, or what liberals have defined as feminists, are angry women. Masculine women. Women who must degrade men to elevate themselves. Women who sneer at femininity, instead of embrace it without apology. They degrade the value of motherhood, of children, of self-respect from a moral perspective. Feminists tell women to treat sex like a man, to act like a man, all while scoffing at the value, contributions, strength, and invaluable attributes of men. A liberal-termed feminist may succeed in business, but she does so with a chip on her shoulder and hardness about her mouth.
Want to feel powerful ladies? Then be powerful ladies.
An admirable woman, to me, is one who is a force to be reckoned with because of her unique feminine flair, not in spite of it. She's joyful, not angry. She's optimistic, not bitter. She's passionate, not biting. She's not only a wife and a mother, she loves the role. Excels at it. She encourages male strength, instead of viewing it as her competition. She embraces female attributes because she's confident in her individuality. And even in the face of obstacles, even, dare we say it, unfair treatment, she succeeds in all her endeavors without self-pity because challenges invigorate her.
This is how we should redefine the term "feminist." And these conservative women are doing just that.
Women being empowered, making a difference, fighting on the front lines, without dropping a stitch of clothing? Welcome to the conservative movement.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
No more problems now. It was a slight communication misunderstanding between my domain provider and myself.
They sent me an email this morning saying, "Hey, your account has expired."
And I responded, "Hey, you shut down my site."
And they said, "Hey, that's what we do."
And I said, "Hey, that's so uncool. Don't do that."
And, hey, it's all better.
I doubt there's an entire legion of Tara Lynn Thompson's out there salivating over the possibility of taking possession of their domain. But in the off chance any extra saliva is being produced, I secured the sight and am now back online to abuse this web space in any flippant way I deem entertaining. Or I could use it to fight for truth, justice, and the American way.
Monday, September 13, 2010
“It seemed to me that American patriotism had been hijacked by politicians who used it for their own jingoistic ends, and I wanted to use my television show to get away from that. I wanted to get back to the image of the gum-chewing GIs who brought swing dancing, fruit, and hope to Scotland when my parents were kids. I wanted to share the feeling I got when I received my big color poster from NASA in the mail. I wanted as many native-born Americans to understand the thrill and exhilaration that comes from joining the land of the free.”
If this sounds trite, I don’t give a rat’s ass. I believe in it. America truly is the best idea for a country that anyone has come up with so far. Not only because we value Democracy and the rights of the individual, but because we are our own effective voice of dissent. The French may love Barack Obama, but they didn’t f***ing elect him. We did.”
PS Because Ferguson deserves two posts today. Thanks for the heads up again Tim Slagle. Check out his full article at BigHollywood.com. The above quote was taken from Ferguson's book, "American on Purpose".
And, because a post isn't complete without getting to enjoy his humor and his accent, I give you Ferguson's citizenship test.
It's a great day for America.
I like Ferguson because he genuinely makes me laugh. I adore the man because he's a patriot.
Tim Slagle at BigHollywood.com did an excellent piece on Ferguson's annual honoring of 9/11 in his monologue. Since I've been unplugged since Friday, I hadn't posted anything on the 9/11 anniversary. In thinking of what to post, I stumbled onto Ferguson's 9/11 monologue from last year, thanks to Slagle's article.
Ferguson says everything I'm thinking and in that charming accent, too. I could never compete.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
In other more interesting news...I'm posting a couple of pilots or shorts. But check it out for yourself at RightNetwork.com. Only, not at work. It sucks you in. Also something I won't describe with exclamation points.
Now, for the fun part. Videos.
Here's the RightNetwork promo reel. Gives you an idea of what to expect and what's to come. Here's where I'd plug in a yeehaw, but it's just not the same without the exclamation points.
This is Flatbed & Ned. I knew a guy named...Ned, once. They're talking about vampires, as are most girls from ages 35 and under who appear intrigued by the prospect of bleeding out.
One more Flatbed & Ned just because.
Up Next: Evan Sayet's Right 2 Laugh. Conservative comediennes, really? I thought conservatives were miserable misers who sit in our dark homes in our dusty rooms rubbing our gums together where our teeth use to be and thinking about how we can hurt the little people, while simultaneously being the little people.
Liberal talking points generally cancel each other out, if you can stand to listen.
Don't judge the period usage. I really am excited about RightNetwork. Truly. Excited.
How about an emoticon instead?
What a bunch of haters.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
A few numbers, courtesy of Keith Hennessey's piece last month in the New York Daily News:
Average unemployment under Carter: 6.5%
Average unemployment under Clinton: 5.2%
Average unemployment under Bush: 5.3%
Current unemployment under Obama: 9.6%
But Obama assures us we've been in a Recovery Summer and everything is moving in the right direction. What is the right direction?
- $862 billion stimulus with nothing to show for it
- $788 billion health care already costing individuals and businesses more
- $2.5 trillion more in debt since Obama took office
And free trade agreements with our allies that should have been sent to Congress for approval, but instead sit on his desk while he plays golf, vacations, and talks to the women on The View.
Signed free trade agreements with allies Colombia, Panama, and Korea have not been ratified by Congress because the President has not submitted them for approval. For 18 months, all three have sat in his inbox.What is Obama's answer to the Recession that keeps looking more and more like a Depression? Why, roads, of course. Build more roads!
He's announced another stimulus, $50 billion, to go toward roads, railroads, and runways. The first $862 billion toward roads and "shovel-ready" jobs worked so well, as is apparent by the dropping house prices, declining consumer confidence, mounting unemployment, and out of control deficit spending, we're going to play it again Sam.
They recently repaved a highway not far from my house. I have no idea why. It was a great highway. Quite nice, actually. No pot holes. No cracks. Fairly new. Next thing I know, they're ripping up the entire thing for miles and laying new asphalt. Now nearly done, the only discernible difference is that the road is a different color.
Forget personal success, the realization of dreams, freedom to make my own spending decisions, less red-tape as a self-employed member of the private sector, and a growing economy where my business will thrive so I can hire more labor. I just want darker asphalt.
Last week, Noel Sheppard from NewsBusters.org wrapped up this entire argument rather neatly. He was responding to Chris "tingly legged" Matthews confusion over why voters would want George W. Bush back. Possibly a new PPP poll was killling the buzz up his gams. The poll found that Ohio voters preferred Bush over Obama, 50 to 42.
But that's only half the story, for the Democrats (ME: that included then-Sen. Obama) have controlled Congress since January 2007. As this is a Congressional election, it is a referendum on what the Party controlling the House and the Senate have done since they took over.I keep hearing Toby Keith's song, "How do you like me now?", playing over and over in my head.
Here, the numbers are even more glaring, as the unemployment rate that month was 4.6 percent. Over 7 million people have lost their jobs since the Democrats took over Congress.
As for fiscal policy, the last budget created by the Republican-controlled Congress had a deficit of $160 billion. This year, with Obama and Democrats controlling everything, we're on pace for close to a $1.6 trillion deficit, or TEN TIMES 2007's shortfall.
The line that always gets me: "Well guess who just put some money down on a pop-up camper. Randy did."
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
"Don't drink and drive. If you drink, get a ride. But if you get a ride, make sure it's not free. And if it is free, don't tip the driver."
Terrorizing little girls and putting drunk drivers on the roads - it's work and you're paying for it. Thanks yo. Those greedy 3-year-olds are a blight on the public sector's coffer. Down with lemonade stands! Up with extended unemployment!
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Maybe. If you're talking about government green and baby poultry. A discrimination lawsuit against the USDA has already cost taxpayers - of all shapes, sizes, and colors - $1 billion. And if Obama extends the booty, it will cost $1.2 billion more.
Gateway Pundit has an excellent description of what stinks in suburbia:
Pigford v. Glickman was a class action lawsuit against the United States Department of Agriculture (USDA), alleging racial discrimination in its allocation of farm loans and assistance between 1983 and 1997. The lawsuit ended with a settlement in which the U.S. government agreed to pay African American farmers $50,000 each if they had attempted to get USDA help but failed. To date, almost $1 billion has been paid or credited to the farmers under the settlement’s consent decree. Democrats want to add another $1.2 billion to the money pot and continue with the reparations.
Economic bondage for everyone!
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Then they knocked one out of the park with "Fireproof," a movie honoring and valuing marriages. Now, they are taking on the role of fathers in "Courageous."
"What we need in our society today and in our churches are strong men who stand up for the Lord Jesus," J. Robert White, executive director, Georgia Baptist Convention.
Amen Mr. White. Amen and Amen again. This world needs Godly men.
I heard a quote from Jennifer Aniston the other day where she degraded the role of fatherhood, all in the effort to promote a movie. Yep. This is why celebrities should be interviewed and their opinions coveted.
Next year, she'll do a romance movie and talk about her great desire to find a man.
Danielle Bean at The Washington Post tackled this subject, prompted by Aniston's quote. It's an excellent article of truth. Love those. Here's the link and here's the money quote:
Who needs a dad? Every child does. Even unbiased studies and statistics say so. Boys raised without fathers are twice as likely to end up in jail. Girls raised without fathers are eight times more likely to wind up pregnant as teens. The childhood rates of depression, suicide, drug use, and sexually promiscuity all rise when a father is not present in the home.
What the scientific data can't quantify, though, is the pain of loss a child experiences when he is denied the right to two parents. All of the nice talk about "love is love" won't make that gaping hole go away. In fact, pretending the loss is not real is the cruelest thing you can do to a child who is growing up fatherless.
I cannot, in any suitable words, explain the importance my father has had in my life. Monumental doesn't cover it. Imperative doesn't cover it. Paramount. does. not. cover. it.
He gives those groovy kids out there a lesson on the Constitution while trying not to harsh their mellow, or some such thing. I didn't really get it. So I took another drag and watched the video.
Crinkley white people - a new description for our founding fathers, as well as this year's hot Christmas toy.