Huh. That’s odd.
Isn’t that odd, calling the night before? It’s a 1:30 event. Like, who can arrange time off on that kind of notice?
I’m awfully tempted to try to nip out for an hour. It’s not far from the office and I can’t imagine there’ll be many people there. So I could look him right in the
eye and say, “Ummm…hi, Senator.”
February 13, 2008 — 7:32 pm
Comments: 14
It’s a big game; let’s play it on the whole field
THE NEXT PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES IS SITTING IN THE SENATE RIGHT NOW
Boo! That means (among other unfortunate things) he, she or it is going to have all kinds of history with the Senate. Alliances, grudges, favors to call in. The next president is going to know how to play that instrument.
So it’s especially important that we get good people in the House and Senate and maintain some influence over them. A solid conservative in a state a thousand miles away is going to have far more positive effect on your life than a squish (or a Democrat) in your home state (unless you’re looking for somebody to bring home the pork. You’re not looking for pork, are you? Are you?)
By all means, get off your duff and vote in November. Our side isn’t going to be enthused this time, so turnout will inevitably be down. That makes your vote weightier than usual. But many of us live in districts with no interesting contests. And in terms of direct influence over the election and subsequent behavior of legislators, nothing beats money and direct communication.
It’s unfortunate that demonstrators, donors, letter-writers and other loudmouths count disproportionately in the system. But you know what? Tough. They do. We’re like cockroaches to politicians: for every one of us they see, they assume there are a hundred more just like us in the walls.
So let’s make some noise. Small donations and no green ink! Well, no more than you can help, you ‘winger nutcase, you.
SeeDubya got out ahead of me on this one (get out of my head, man!). He suggests a sort of Adopt-a-Pol scheme, where you pick a good guy and send him $20 every month along with a nice letter or an article. It’s a plan.
DoublePlusUndead suggests a place to start — Lou Barletta, mayor of Hazleton. He’s one of the guys drafting local laws that crack down on businesses and landlords who aid illegals. He’s running for Congess in Pennsylvania’s 11th District, which is considered a very safe seat for the Democrat incumbent (all the more fun to make them at least sweat a little).
Me, I’m looking to stick my nose in a number of places it doesn’t belong. I need a distraction this year and this could be more fun than breeding show rats. If you know of vulnerable or up-and-coming conservatives, get out the word. Maybe we can use that internet thing the kids are all het up about.
And don’t forget governors. We make some of our best presidents out of those.
Despite everything, I have a really good feeling about the state of conservatism today. Why? Because I drink excessively and it affects my judgement.
Still, I’m wrong only maybe 50% of the time!
The ultimate determinant in the struggle now going
on for the world will not be bombs and rockets but
a test of wills and ideas. No, really. I said that.
— 12:10 pm
Comments: 6
Forgive me, Zombie Reagan
I was just hitting my teens when the Vietnam war ended in shame (my big brother was one of the last draftees — the most persuasive argument I know for an all-volunteer army). Then Watergate. The energy crisis(es). The Iranian hostage crisis. Stagflation. A president named “Jimmy.” Oh, it was a terrible time.
We had our 200th birthday and the press was full of stories by learned men about the death of empires. Two centuries was a pretty good run, everyone agreed.
We made shit products and charged too much money for them and nobody wanted to buy. Instead of making things better or cheaper, we tried to guilt each other into buying our own junk with strongarm appeals to a patriotism we didn’t really feel (“look for the union label” the Textile Workers sang to us on the TV. Buy our shoddy, overpriced crap or you hate America).
Everything cost too much and nobody had enough and we were COLD all the time. We — my family — ate a lot of game. Greasy stews and small furry animals bleeding out in the sink; that’s what the Seventies mean to me. That, and disco.
Malaise was busting out all over. It was pervasive. Drenching. It got right down into your bones, like damp cold. It worked its way into the drapes like a ripe stink. It was all over for America, we were all done.
Jimmy Carter didn’t totally own the malaise, but he was the perfect front man. Turn down the thermostat and put on a sweater, he said. You aren’t so special, he said. Pride goeth before a fall, he said. You’re going to poke an eye out with that thing, he said. America elected Jimmy Carter to atone for her sins, because surely God was mad at us.
The media assured us that sour, spiteful, shriveled up whey-faced bitter schoolmarm Jimmy Carter was going to be president forever.
When Ronald Reagan kicked his ass, it was like Spring after Winter. Like rain in the desert. Like all the bad things in all the stories coming untrue at once. Like lollipops, quilted toilet paper and a pony for Christmas. Every Christmas.
I was not all that political. Maybe, in a way, that made the contrast more vivid to me.
For years, I was so distracted by the difference Reagan made that I largely missed what a remarkable man he was his own self. The press helped me here: Bush Derangement Syndrome didn’t flare up out of nowhere. Ronnie led the way on this one, too. Damn, but the media hated that man.
Well, forgive me. For I have just boughten the Reagan Diaries and I shall readen them cover to cover.
So help me Zombie Reagan.
Wait! You didn’t pick the guy with the great hair?
Did you learn NOTHING from me?
February 12, 2008 — 3:14 pm
Comments: 16
Help us, Zombie Reagan — you’re our only hope!
UPDATE: Since this has turned out to be the Identity Election, I believe the time is right for an undead candidate. Got any slogan ideas for Zombie Reagan? Please join us in the thread and share. Let’s win one for the Kipper!
February 11, 2008 — 6:56 am
Comments: 71
Things which disappoint
I struggled to pull a post out of my ass today, but I am in vile humor. Then Uncle B came to the rescue and dug up the perfect metaphor.
Literally. He was planting the hedges, and he excavated this small, heavy, useless chunk of metal. Yes, minions, I’m afraid this thing is what’s left of our machine gun. Can’t think what else it can be.
Perfetto!
Oh, and you know what? You’re not getting a pony for Christmas, either. Or a go-kart.
If you want my thoughts on McCain, go read Ace. Added: by which I mean, he wrote an essay that perfectly encapsulates what I’m thinking, not that I had any brilliant comments in that thread. Sometimes, you forget he’s not just another moron.
February 6, 2008 — 6:19 pm
Comments: 21
Don’t forget to vote!
Vote for me or I’ll kick you in the nuts! The nuts! Nuts! Nuts, I say! Hey, who said nuts? You calling me nuts? I’m not nuts! You’re nuts! Nutty nutnutnuts.
UPDATE: See-dubya, you magnificent bastard! Thanks for the Hot Air link. Thanks to Mike at Cold Fury, too! And welcome, link-hitters. I’m kinda worried this graphic might’ve…worked.
February 5, 2008 — 1:04 pm
Comments: 72
I dub thee Flaming Asshole (in honor of Johnny Mc)
…click above to view this masterpiece of the toper’s art in glorious color…
Because Enas Yorl dared me to, that’s why.
It’s a jigger of Sour Puss, a jigger of creme de banana and a jigger of creme de noya (made from real fruit pits!) mixed up in a bud vase (looks all Star Trek, don’t it?) and stuck in the freezer for an hour. It’s…not as vomitously hideous as you might think. It’s…tart. And kicky. Yeah, I’m finishing it. Shut up.
So today, I saw the mover and the exterminator. Tommorow, the dentist, followed by an all day Division meeting.
But tonight belongs to Flaming Asshole.
January 31, 2008 — 7:42 pm
Comments: 9
Choose? Why?
Tweedledum and Tweedledee
Agreed to have a battle;
For Tweedledum said Tweedledee
Had spoiled his nice new rattle.Just then flew down a monstrous crow,
As black as a tar-barrel;
Which frightened both the heroes so,
They quite forgot their quarrel.
Big black crow? Uhhhh…no comment. Hey, I don’t write the nursery rhymes. I just press them into service when much brain hurt ouchie.
Excúseme, yo tienen que aprender hablar español.
January 30, 2008 — 12:08 pm
Comments: 34
Superman is a Freak Out — We Hate Money
Was ever hippie philosophy more succinctly expressed than in this pithy couplet?
Pithy couplet. Heh heh.
In support of my thesis that mainstream comic artists couldn’t draw a hippie for beans, I present Issue 118 of Superman’s Pal Jimmy Olsen (1974). Note that Jimmy is dressed as…I’m going to say Walt Whitman. His lacy zoot suit is purple.
And check out ol’ Ben Franklin in the background there. The Money Hate guy. He’s wearing the remains of a three-piece suit with trouser legs hemmed castaway-style. I bet that’s the artist’s deadbeat friend.
“Dude, I totally drew you as a hippie on the cover of this month’s Jimmy Olsen!”
“Nowai!”
This is pretty much a step up for Jimmy. In this series, he’s usually cross-dressing or trying to kill Superman, or both. Why he’s actually Superman’s pal doesn’t bear thinking of.
Today’s episode is brought to you by the airport lurgy that is still kicking my ass.
January 15, 2008 — 5:56 pm
Comments: 8
Cool it, man! You had your chance!
It occurs to me that, while I’ve been absorbed in the presidential race, I haven’t posted anything about it. So meet Prez Rickard, first teenage President of the United States (well, sure they amended the Constitution first — do you think DC don’t know their civics?) Superpowers: Executive authority, veto, unarmed hand-to-hand combat.
His mom named him Prez hoping he’d be president some day. In gratitude, he made her vice president. Okay, I realize that last bit is pretty implausible. Hey, it’s a comic.
Prez made it to four issues, from 1973 to 1974, and made cameo appearances in several later comics. According to Wikipedia, he ultimately dies of a brain tumor “aggravated by the dishonesty of Presidents Ronald Reagan, George H.W. Bush, and Bill Clinton.” You’d have to have a heart of stone not to laugh at that one.
The comics never really figured out how to draw hippies, did they? They were always like Beatniks, but with kicky Florence Henderson style wigs. Way too much daddy-o and not enough groovy.
As I remember it, there was a bit of anxiety that stupid shit like this might happen after the 26th Amendment passed in 1971. The following election — and every election afterward — was going to be swung at the last minute by the “youth vote.” Heh. A “youth vote” that never materializes. The 18 to 24 demographic is consistently a no-show.
Stupid hippies.
January 14, 2008 — 2:43 pm
Comments: 20