A national holiday? Are you fucking kidding me?
In totally unrelated news, just a few minutes ago I heard through the front door of my tiny studio as my next-door neighbor got a midnight visit from the repo man coming to get their truck. Now how will they get to McDonald’s for their Obama cake?
(Via Protein Wisdom.)
Sorry, folks, for the virtual silence all day — I woke up with one of my sinus headaches and it still hasn’t gone away. When I have one of those I’m no good for anything.
I don’t know why it always makes me feel better to know that mine is not the first generation to experience certain situations. For example, here’s a quote from Cicero that I found in the comments on Protein Wisdom that fits the post-election blues mood to a T:
“Do not blame Caesar, blame the people of Rome who have so enthusiastically acclaimed and adored him and rejoiced in their loss of freedom and danced in his path and gave him triumphal processions… Blame the people who hail him when he speaks in the Forum of the ‘new, wonderful good society’ which shall now be Rome’s, interpreted to mean ‘more money, more ease, more security, more living fatly at the expense of the industrious.’ Julius was always an ambitious villain, but he is only one man.”
(Note to any of the new “O” generation that might accidentally have coasted on over here: Cicero was some old Roman dude who lived like two thousand years ago, man. Even before the first MTV channel!)
P.J. O’Rourke, once a great conservative slammer of liberal idiocies, now another half-drunk passenger on the same leaky “inclusive” boat along with the l likes of Peggy Noonan and Christopher Buckley. What can I say except that it looks like sooner or later the effects of being college-age in the Sixties come out, kind of like shingles. And the effects are just as painful and embarrassing — though usually the pain and embarrassment is suffered by onlookers and former fans.
Eh. Anyway, I think P.J. jumped the shark a while back. I haven’t been able to get through his latest couple of books, whatever they were called — they just rambled all over the place and repeated, weakly, things he’d already said in earlier, funnier works. Florence King had the sense to stop writing when she realized she’d run out of things to say. Time to put away the keyboard, Peej.
“Racism” now means “not caring about the color of a person’s skin.” So-called “black conservative” John McWhorter says it right here in his column. And don’t you dare disagree with him, you racist.
The folks calling me up, waiting for the black case for McCain, have supposed none of this would be important to me. But surely the queasy feeling I got was not because they were being presumptuous. It’s something more personal.
The queasiness is because, in my heart of hearts, there is a part of me that thrills to the Obamas because of a red-blooded racial loyalty. There. I admit it.
How dare they imagine that a “conservative” might actually vote for the conservative candidate. It was McCain’s fault that he wasn’t black. You don’t expect a black man to go past “racial loyalty” and vote for some old white dude when a brother’s running, do you? You do? RAAAACIIIIST!
My sister and I noticed that Obama “looks like us” for real – he happens to match us rather well in specific skin tone and darn it, that does feel kind of good.
You know, I’m a fat, five-foot-four, middle-aged whitish woman with graying hair, bad teeth, and bad skin. So far no president of the US of A has looked at all like me. By this criteria I should have felt totally rotten all my life. I should have been supporting Hillary solely because she was a woman. But as I don’t base how I feel about life on whether or not the president of my country looks like the face I see in the mirror, I’m a RAAACIIIST!
From now on when people ask me why I didn’t vote for Obama, I think I’ll just tell them “because he was black.” Why not? It’s what they think anyway. If I told them the truth — I don’t like his ideas (what few concrete ones we’ve been able to pry out of the cone of silence surrounding his true self, that is), his political associations with people like smug, silver-spoon terrorists like William Ayres and his psychotic wife Bernardine Dohrn, the fact that he was nurtured by the corrupt Chicago political community, the fact that he seems to have coasted through life on his good looks and sense of entitlement, and so on and so forth, I’d get “you just don’t like it that he’s a black man.” So okay, fine. Have it your way. God forbid I should disturb the pleasure you take in victimhood. Christmas is coming, the season of giving, and I’m such a giver.
(Via Kathy Shaidle.)
Hmm. My usually quiet apartment complex parking lot is full of: police cars with flashing lights, cars going through the parking lot (possibly detoured off the street and through the lot — there are two street entrances), and people standing and staring. And there was quiet a bit of “party noise” coming from outside before that. I wonder if people waited until the weekend to celebrate — or something — the election results, because as far as I know November 8 has no significance as a holiday.
You must read this comment thread where a supposedly rabid McCain supporter calling himself “Hank the Tank” attempts to turn others against Sarah Palin by repeating old slams (such as the “embarrassing Couric interview” one), and is exposed several comments later as being an Obama supporter, one “Nick.” Ace’s site, see, uses a special IP identifier for commenters, so troll sock puppets like this one can be exposed. But that’s not the funny thing — the funny thing is that the sock puppet keeps on commenting, trying to defend himself as just wanting to have a “spirited debate.” Oh — and “Hank the Tank” a.k.a. “Nick” also claimed to be a vet, prompting many of the commenters to initially treat him with some respect before his unmasking. But liberals are our betters, right?
On a related note, another commenter linked to this article in the Times Online by one Tim Shipman, in which the very first paragraph contains long-since disproved slams against Sarah Palin and her rally audiences — for example, the one where someone was supposed to have yelled “kill him!” — an allegation later found to be bullshit. Mr. Shipman also cleverly claims her rallies had a “lynch mob” atmosphere. Yet despite all the racists frothing for Obama’s blood, he somehow got elected! Fancy that. The kicker? The only source Mr. Shipman gives for all of his allegations is “a Newsweek history of the campaign.” So a “reporter” for the mighty UK Times can read an article in an American weekly newsfroth magazine, write an column that’s basically a synopsis of the Newsweek article, send it in, and it gets published. What can I say except congratulations, dude, on getting such a sweet paying gig. Real writers actually have to come up with their own words — but you, Mr. Shipman, can just cut and paste stuff you read on Huffington Post three weeks ago and your bosses will give you money for it! I’d go for a job like that — except for that darn smidgen of integrity I have! I blame my parents — they insisted on teaching me that lies and gossip were bad things.
Conservatives’ reaction to Bush’s victory by a slim margin (I don’t remember what it was exactly but I believe he won over Kerry by a little bit more than half): “Thank God he squeaked through.” Liberal reaction to Obama’s win over McCain by a slim margin — a little more than half: “Almost half the country didn’t vote for him! Life sucks. Waaah!”
(Via Jim Treacher.)
Hm. I thought only white rednecks who lived in trailer parks and were devoted NASCAR worshippers shot guns into the air to celebrate things. Another stereotype goes down the drain. And in other news, various minority groups share viewpoints in a multicultural exchange of ideals. Looks like Obama’s election has already improved things!
(Via.)
Well, guess what I probably won’t be doing? Going back to college to finish getting that bachelor’s degree. At least, I won’t if this cute little plan goes into effect. You know what? The word “volunteer” implies the term voluntary. As in, it’s not something I’m being coerced into doing in order to get something I need. The first person that comes to me telling me I “have to volunteer” is going to be told to shove their orders where the sun don’t shine.