The Complexion of the Race

Overlooked in the Election Day flood that rolled across America was the remarkable performance of candidates from groups often said to be on the outside looking in at the American good life. First time black, Hispanic and female candidates were not only well-represented in the running, but won as often as not. Want to talk demographics? Let's talk demographics. Here's a sample of last night's winners.

Nikki Haley, the child of immigrants from India, overcame smears for supposed business malfeasance and sexual misconduct to become South Carolina's first female governor. Marco Rubio, the son of Cuban immigrants, dispatched not only his opponent from the other party, but the sitting governor of his state (running as an independent), to become Florida's new senator--not to mention a blazing supernova on the national scene. His friend from Florida, David Rivera, won a congressional seat. Jaime Herrara ousted an incumbent congressman in Washington State. In neighboring Idaho, Raul Labrador also emerged from nowhere to defeat a congressional incumbent. Lt. Col. Allen West, a black man running on a platform of "Restoring American Exceptionalism," handily defeated an incumbent to win Florida's 22nd Congressional District. Latina Susannah Martinez mounted a powerful campaign and was elected governor of New Mexico. Brian Sandoval won the governorship in Nevada. In Texas, two Hispanics, Bill Flores and Francisco "Quico" Canseco, also unseated incumbents (Flores defeated long-time congressional power broker Chet Edwards). Tim Scott, a black man espousing principles similar to those of West, won the 1st Congressional District of South Carolina.

A shining theme emerges here: the brightest promise of Obama's election--that America had become a practically color-blind society unconcerned about one's sex or color, but only with the content of one's character--is true. In the American republic, no door is closed to you but the door you fail to open. In the American republic, if you are of good character and sound principles, your skin and your sex are almost meaningless. In the American republic envisioned by our founders and soon to be restored, your skin or your sex will neither stop nor save you, and demographics will be of continuing interest only to marketeers.

"Oh," says Lt. Columbo, turning back from the door and raising a finger in the air. "Just one more thing..."

All of these ambitious winning political newcomers on the national stage--black, brown and female--are conservative Republicans.

You know, the party of rich white men. Which begs the question: to whom does the future of America belong? Which suggests this answer: to all of those, as always, who embrace the American dream, the exceptionalism of the American republic, the responsibilities inherent in American freedom and the uniquely American way of being and doing. And to no one else.

15 Life Roolz for Aging Yard Apes

1. Life isn't fair. Sometimes you get lucky; sometimes you get screwed. That's the way it goes. Get used to it.



2. All families are "dysfunctional," if dysfunctional means less than perfect. So is everything--and everyone--else. All humans are a little nuts, and so are you.



3. If you mess up, it's not your parents' fault--even if your family was dysfunctional. Perhaps your family caused you real pain, damaged your psyche or crushed your dreams. Guess what? Now's your chance. Living well is the best revenge. Whining about your mistakes may be satisfying, but not repeating them is better.



4. The world doesn't care about your self-esteem. In fact, the world insists that you accomplish something before you feel good about yourself--and that's not unfeeling or unreasonable. When you knock out Liston, Frazier and Foreman, you can call yourself The Greatest and people will agree. But not before.



5. Flipping burgers is not beneath your dignity. Let's face it, at your age, you don't really have much dignity. Like self-esteem, dignity must be earned. What you call dignity, adults call attitude; and flipping burgers, like any job--or any position of trust--is an opportunity.



6. You may never be rich. Why lie? It's always possible, but the odds are against it. If you keep at it, however, you are almost certain to be successful and comfortable. Half the battle in life consists of showing up every day, on time and ready to go. But you will probably not make 100K--or even 30K--right out of high school. So get real.



7. Going to college is not a magic bean that will grow up to support a castle in the clouds. If you have no vocational calling and the only reason you have for going to college is to prolong your dependent adolescence while you wait for a Big Idea, don't bother. Wherever you go, there you are. Big Ideas usually come when you're busy doing something else, so you're better off drawing a paycheck.



8. If you think your teacher is tough on you, wait 'til you meet your boss. Chances are he won't belong to a union (unless you do), which means that he can be fired. Which he will be, if you don't do your job to his satisfaction. His job depends on your performance--and that makes you expendable.




9. Life is not divided into trimesters and you won't get the whole summer off. Forget about Easter break in Daytona. Plus, very few employers will be interested in helping you find yourself. Do that on your own time.



10. When you land a job, remember that the job is not "yours." The job belongs to the employer who loaned it to you on credit, based on your promise to perform. The good news is that the employer does not own you. What belongs to you is your freedom; what you are selling is your service.



11. TV is not real life. Even reality TV is not real life. In real life, people can't spend all day running around half-naked on tropical islands or hanging out in the coffee shop cracking jokes. Plus, a little sexual innuendo in conversation goes a long. long way, most people find visible tattoos distasteful and a boob job is not required to scan groceries.



12. Before you were born, your parents were probably cool--or at least not as boring as they are now. They evolved into boring creatures through natural selection: by paying your bills, cleaning up your messes and listening to you tell them how cool you are. So before you heal the planet, clean up your room.



13. Nor will you always be cool. No matter how cool you think you are, your own kids will find you insufferable. You cannot prepare for this too early.



14. Be nice to nerds. It's the right thing to do and--since nerds, dweebs and geeks are often serious people--the chances are better than even that one day you will work for one.



15. Your school may have eliminated winners and losers. Life has not. Life quickly separates the wheat from the chaff. Don't be chaff. And don't expect a gold star for attendance or a trophy for being the best tweeter ever. If life is good to you--and you are good to life--you will have a network of family and close friends. But the hard truth is: you are on your own. And what could be more glorious?

We Ain't Them

Frankly, I don't think much of Islam. I've yawned and struggled through the Koran, Sunna and two recommended versions of the Haditha--and I still don't think much of it. Compared to the Bible, both Old and New Testaments, the Koran doesn't. Not as revelation, not as history, not as moral instruction and definitely not as literature. The Koran is stilted, clumsy, repetitive and, above all, derivative--and don't tell me I don't get it because I don't read Arabic. The illiterate Mohammed didn't either, much less write it, and Arabic is an unsophisticated language. It ain't Hebrew, Greek, Latin or English, the languages of the Bible. To me, the Koran is a user's manual for the abused and Islam is more totalitarian sociopolitical control system than religion, but no one--yet--is forcing me to buy into it, and as an American, what and who other people worship is not my business.


But that doesn't mean I don't have an opinion, which is: Mohammed ain't Moses. For a holy man, he was awfully preoccupied with the things of this world--not all them legal or seemly. As a prophet, which he claimed to be, he sounds like Daffy Duck alongside Isaiah or Jeremiah. And he sure as sunrise ain't Jesus Christ. What Mohammed was--among many unsavory things we won't go into now-- was a plagiarist. Without the Bible to crib from, and ancient pagan beliefs from the surrounding desert tribes to coopt (including recruiting a certain demon djinn named Al'lah) he might have remained silent--and we'd all be happier today. Especially Muslims.


Which (work with me) brings us to Islamic terrorism. I'm not one of those self-hating lefty appeasers who believes that killing terrorists creates more terrorists. Frankly, I don't care if it does. The more that pop up, the easier it becomes to play Whack-a-Mole. A wall of stacked dead terrorists, like the wall of dead Persians the Spartans built in 300, is not an unpleasing image. For every one of ours who falls, I'd prefer to see one hundred of theirs go down--as policy. Sue me.


All that said, we ain't them--and we must never forget that. When the Tolley-bonn took over in Afghanistan, they destroyed the mammoth Bamiyan buddhas, built ca. 300-500 AD, because they supposedly threatened Islam. (Islam has an inferiority complex--and deserves it.)

This followed a pattern of jealousy, triumphalism and historical revisionism begun with the building of the golden-domed Al-Aqsa mosque in Jerusalem over the ruins of Solomon's temple and continuing today with the threatened construction of the Ground Zero mosque. When the Jews retook the Old City of Jerusalem in 1967, they did not blow up the Golden Dome and start construction of a new temple, which would have been tit for tat. The reason they didn't? Israel ain't them, and neither are we.

Which (keep working with me) brings me to the scheduled ceremonial burning of the Koran on 9/11. This bonfire is the "brain" child of the Rev. Terry Jones, founder and pastor of the Dove World Outreach ministries of Gainesville, Florida. Dove's grandiose name belies the fact that it has 50 members and I don't know or care where Jones got his divinity degree or even if he has one. This is America. Anyone can start a church and get a tax exemption. Is this a great country ot what? Yes, this is a great country. Remember that, because we ain't them. We ain't terrorists and we ain't Westboro Baptist and we ain't Dove Outreach. We're Americans. We don't purposely kill women, children or innocents, we don't use human shields and we don't burn books. Even when our symbols are violated, whether they soar into the sky like the twin towers or lie in their former shadow like a graveyard, we don't engage in cheap symbolism, because we ain't them. Most of us are Christians, whom God taught that every human soul has equal worth, and we struggle to remember that, because we ain't them.

Oh, we'll fight back. Don't dream that we won't. And we'll win, too, but burning the Koran is not fighting. It's a cheap publicity stunt, tailor-made to play into the hands of Democrat spinners desperate to find some leverage in the eleventh hour of a campaign that is likely to end in a blood-bath. It'll give them a chance to call us haters, but we're not, because we ain't them. Let's not find a way to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. We're Americans, the people from the City on a Hill, and the whole world is watching. And cheering. We're the real American majority, silent no more and standing tall in overwhelming numbers for the first time in my lifetime. We don't have to play stupid and we don't have to play dirty. We're not afraid of terrorists. We're not afraid of Islam. We're not afraid of any enemy, foreign or domestic. And we're certainly not afraid of a poorly-written book. We can win this thing sweet and clean, battle by battle, standing in the fire of truth. So let's just do it, our way, the free American way, because--never forget--we ain't them. I don't care wo they are.

Dead Words Walking--Part One

Dead words walking are words and expressions that are part of today's vernacular, but deserve to be on Death Row, awaiting execution. Part One consists of words heard many times a day on broadcast media. These words and phrases have been convicted; many suspects still roam the streets. If you hear one, cover your ears and call the authorities.

Walking It Back -- As in, "He ran his big mouth yesterday, and today is busy walking it back."
But once the horse slips from the stable and canters into the world, it's too late. It doesn't matter if the statement is an outright lie (which is usually the case), or an unfortunate choice of words, or just accidental blurting (which is likely to be the truth). You can lasso Dobbin and walk him back to his stall, but his tell-tale hoofprints remain in the world. Excuses and explanations may be possible--occasionally even good ones--but there is no walking back the talk. Let's stop pretending there is and turn this expression into dog food.


At the End of the Day -- This means "ultimately" or "finally" or, if you're feeling dramatic, "in the end." Not exciting words, so the first time you heard "at the end of the day," you may have found it refreshing or colorful. Then the media magpies snatched it up and flew in raucous circles. Now it's not unusual to hear it from the same talking head several times in a five-minute segment. At the end of the day, an example must be made of the next public figure to use this expression.

Thinking Outside the Box -- Some say this expression came to us from Madison Avenue admen; others insist that it comes from the cutting edge world of scientific and technological innovation. Wherever it came from, it needs to be put back in the box. Nowadays, it's used whenever a teenager is deciding whether or not to invest in a tattoo. What we really need to do is apply old, tried-and-true solutions to current problems. Current, not new problems, because human problems are never new--only their context. Here's an idea: how about thinking inside the box for awhile? We might learn something.

Sausage-Making -- "Laws are like sausages; it is better not to see them being made." --Otto Von Bismarck. He added "Out of respect for sausages." In the Obama era, permutations of this aphorism are favored by left-wing newscritters pretending to be moderates. They use this to suggest that the strong-arming and bribery employed to ram through, say, ObamaCare, are business as usual. This is, well...baloney. Bismarck (often credited as the first big government progressive, as well as the father of the welfare state) meant that politics and legislating involved unsavory horse-trading and tit-for-tat favor swapping, but the Obama-Pelosi-Reid Axis of Ego has plumbed new depths of legislative depravity. At least for America. This expression must be ground up, encased and fed to pet Democrats.

Game Changer -- This new cliche hails (as so many do) from the sports world, where it means any big play which alters the flow and eventual outcome of a game. It's harmless and has only become offensive because everyone--everyone--in media (all of whom suffer from cutesiness and echolalia) uses it incessantly, for every petty morsel of breaking news. Let's bench it before it makes a game-changing mistake.

Orientated -- If you become oriented, you are not turning Japanese, no matter how much you think so. To become oriented is to be familiarized with new surroundings or a new situation, or to be placed in proper relationship to that which is. To be disoriented is probably to be drunk. The process of becoming oriented is called orientation. But there is no such word as "orientated." I don't care how many times you've heard it. And any hairdo who uses it should be immediately frog-marched off the set.

Tipping Point -- This has taken the place of turning point, but conveys a spicier sense of urgency and inevitability. The tipping point of a situation occurs at the same instant as the game changer. Although overused, it's colorful, and I wouldn't really mind it except for the fact that, just as we don't know what play, if any, was the game changer until the game is over, we don't really know where the tipping point was until the tipped object actually crashes to the ground. The other tipping point comes at the end of a restaurant meal, but doesn't concern us here.

Dysfunctional -- Any word entering this dimension from the realm of psychobabble is suspect--this one more than most. My chief objection to it is that it is meaningless. These days, anything that doesn't work perfectly from the perspective of everyone involved is dysfunctional. Ergo, everything's dysfunctional. Every organization, every system, every relationship--especially the family. I have a question for you: Did you survive into adulthood? If yes, then your family was functional. Not perfect, but then neither are you.

Going Forward -- This one--meaning "from now on"--was probably conceived by the same people who brought us "at the end of the day." With a key difference. While "end of the day" is abused by the full political spectrum, "going forward" is abused exclusively by progressive leftists, who favor imagery that promotes relentless forward progress down the yellow brick road to the Emerald City of Mankind. The left is moving on.org, never looking back, nor, since they're wearing blinders, side to side. They only have eyes for the finish line. And then what?

Hello, Alien

Hello, alien. Do you come in peace? I hope so, because we've had it up to here with those who don't. Don't ask to be taken to our leader, because right now we don't have one, but I'll be happy to answer any questions you may have.


Mind you, this is America. We've always been sociable, a little bit different (and frankly, a little bit better) than other countries--and plan to stay that way. New blood is almost always welcome, but we can afford to be picky. At the moment, you need us far more than we need you, so keep that in mind.


I know, I know: "America is a nation of immigrants." True enough. The ancestors of every last soul living on this big, beautiful piece of land came from somewhere else. Even those folks we mistakenly call Native Americans came from Asia--in calling them Indians, Columbus was almost right for the wrong reason--but so what? Go back far enough, that's true of most countries on earth. Humans move around, seeking greener pastures. Just like you.


Look, I can see how badly you want to move to our particular lush pasture--and I would, too, if I were you--but that's not reason enough. Look at it this way: a vagrant wants to move into the mansion on the hill, too, but someone already lives there. Somebody bought or built it, painted and furnished it, plants the flowers and pays the property taxes. Someone shelters children there and has cultivated years of memories. Now pretend that someone is you and suppose that vagrant is a great guy down on his luck. Maybe he has a family to feed. Life can be hard. You might give the vagrant a few bucks, or more than a few, if you're a good fellow, but he must move along. The mansion is yours, not his.

Now don't you dare tell me that your ancestors once owned half of my country, giving you the right to be here. They never owned it--only claimed it--amd their claim on it was no stronger than any other European colonial power. Battles were fought, deals were made--it's all in history books. What Spain and France lost or sold is gone forever. The first actual independent nation, with actual borders--you can see it on a globe--on the American land mass was the United States. The same country you say you want to be a part of now. And I don't blame you.

But this country is not yours. Not yet. Your mere itch to live and work here cuts no cheese; no matter how much you want us, we have to want you. And (think of American life as a pot luck dinner) we don't want you unless you're good company and bring something to the table. Something we want or need. Something we're hungry for. (And two things we've had more than our fill of are empty-handed mouths to feed and automatic votes for Democrats.) That something might be a skill, a sound character, a particular area of education or even the willingness to work hard. But don't tell me you're here to "do a job Americans won't do." The reason Americans won't do them is because you're willing to do them for next to nothing. If you ever do become an American, you won't do them either. This might be be the land of the free, friend, but it's not the land of the cheap.


And never mind what you've heard, most Americans don't give a fig for diversity and don't have any special respect for it. Being different, by itself, is no selling point, but if it becomes an issue, it can be a deal breaker. Americans come from all over, sure, but that misses the point. The only real, worthy diversity is expressed in individual human beings, not groups. America was known as a melting pot where group differences dissolved. Some people would rather we were a tossed salad, but we can't afford to let that happen. It doesn't work; and America became great not because of diversity, but because of its overcoming.


Look, friend, I can see that you have a better tan than me and I can hear that your English stinks. Granted, my Spanish stinks worse, but I've got a pretty good handle on English, which is what we speak here. Hey, if I knew I was moving to Spain, I'd hunker down with some language tapes, and by the time my plane hit the runway in Barcelona, I'd be speaking bad Spanish with a ridiculous accent, but determined to improve. I wouldn't expect them to change all the signs just so I could read them. I'd read everything I could get my hands on about my new country--especially about its history and heritage--and I wouldn't walk the streets waving Old Glory and yapping about George Washington. That would be bad manners. In America, we're sick to death of bad manners.


About that brown skin--in America, very few of us care. Americans come in all colors. Always have, from the beginning. Folks a lot darker than you fought in our war for independence. Like all of humanity, we've had problems with race, but we're unique in history for the bold and bloody steps we've taken to solve them. In our determination to live together as neighbors. Not just neighbors, but good neighbors. Color can't be helped and is no big deal. But culture, traditions and values are. Like any country, we're entitled to be the kind of country most of us want to live in--and to stay the kind of country we've always been. We're not about to change the essential nature of America to suit you--no more than we'll change the language. You're the one who wants to live with us. It's on you to fit in.


Color's no big deal, but in America, character is the biggest deal of all. I don't care what color my neighbor is. I do care if he mows his lawn and schools and disciplines his children. I don't care what music he likes, but I do care how loud he plays it at midnight. I don't care what church he goes to--or even if he goes at all, but I do care whether he shares and honors the same values I live by. I don't care if he's my best friend, but I do care if he's neighborly--and what kind of example he and his family set for my children. So long as it's legal, I don't care what he does for a living, but I do care if he's a parasite on society.


It's been nice chatting with you, alien. I hope I can call you friend. Someday, maybe, if everything I've said makes sense to you, I will call you fellow American. If not, then the time has come to say goodbye.

You Just Might Be A Pinko...Part One

First, an explanation. I never use the hijacked word liberal. Prior to the 20th century, a liberal was a rational free thinker about society and the state and a respectable thing to be. Today's American liberal does not conform to any part of that description. Likewise, I refuse to use progressive, because that assumes--falsely--that implementing the progressive project would, in fact, be progress. I don't use socialist, because the hybrid American socialism envisioned by fellows like Eugene Debs and Norman Thomas was adopted by the Democratic party long ago--and has been the governing assumption since the New Deal. It's not fair--yet--to call everyone holding left-of-center sympathies one of the loaded totalitarian lefty terms like communist or Fascist, because many of our countrymen are simply confused. So to me, if you're out there wandering in the lefty wilderness, you belong to the catch-all resurrected category of pinko. And you might just be a pinko...



...if you call yourself a feminist and a multiculturalist. Feminism, a brainchild of the western world, barely exists outside it. As a rule, the non-western multiculti world dismisses women, ranging from gentle consignment to second-class citizenship to brutal genital mutilation and honor killing. To be consistent, a multiculti must be anti-feminist, and vice versa, but as a pinko, you care nothing for consistency. You suffer from a condition called cognitive dissonance: holding two opposed ideas in mind at once and believing both, but, as a pinko, you can live with that.


...if you think it's constitutional to be forced to show proof of health insurance, but unconstitutional to be asked to show proof of citizenship.


...if you weep because war is not healthy for children and other living things, but want to increase government funding for Planned Parenthood.


...if you think that illegal aliens should be covered by ObamaCare--and that refusing to participate in ObamaCare should be illegal.


...if you think that freedom of religion means freedom from religion. As far as you're concerned, if you hear a church bell toll, religion is being established in your sovereign mental space.

...if it doesn't disturb you that the same government that claims it's too hard to upload a huge health care bill to the internet claims that it can command and control the health care of a nation, no sweat.

...if you believe this statement: "It's important to counter media portrayals that paint a frightening picture of adolescent sexuality and its consequences by teaching teens the upside of sex." Never mind that "the upside of sex" has been the #1 topic on the adolescent mind since Noah sailed. Forget that our culture constantly trumpets the joy of sex for its own sake as though it were our Muslim call to prayer. Ignore the unholy trio of unwed motherhood, abortion and STDs. Hey, you're a pinko! You believe that if we can save just one young person from feeling guilty, it's worth it.

...if you believe that one of the main jobs of public education is to teach the cardinal virtue of tolerance, but that schools should have "zero tolerance" policies regarding aberrant behaviors, such as a 5-year-old boy trying to steal a kiss on the playground, or pointing his finger like a pistol, or drawing a picture of a cross.

...if you believe that a teacher who can't keep order or teach kids how to read and write is nevertheless qualified to bring the same kids up to speed on the birds and bees. And if that includes showing fifth graders how to roll a rubber onto a banana, well...isn't it a useful skill?

...if you believe that justice--legal, economic or social justice--means anything other than getting what you truly deserve.

This is but the tip of the iceberg into which American culture is about to crash. Or maybe we have crashed, and are scrambling for lifeboats before we sink. But if you are a pinko, you see no crisis, much less disaster, and are busy rearranging deck chairs. Good luck with that. Or maybe you still don't see yourself as a pinko. If so, watch this space for further clues.

Apres Nous, Le Deluge

Tonight, Saturday, August 21, 2010, on the progressive paradise of Martha's Vineyard, the Obama entourage is making merry.

Louis XV supposedly said "Apres moi, le deluge," (after me, the flood) because the French natives were restless; his wild orgy of spending and unchecked privilege was almost over. But most scholars say those words actually came from Madame de Pompadour, Jeanne Poisson (known as Jeanie the Fish in gangland circles). Regardless, they were wrong. The sybaritic French monarchy was able to squeeze out one more Louis before the dam broke, the rabble took to the streets, blood flowed over the cobblestones and the guillotine blade grew dull from overuse.

American progressives will not be so lucky. There will be no second act for the Obama crime family, nor any successor in his footsteps. The water is already rising. As a metaphor, that the Obama clan should choose to take their 17th vacation of 2010 on an island, surrounded by water, at a traditional haunt of the hyper-privileged left wing, is almost too easy.

But let them enjoy it, because this is the end. Let tomorrow's children absorb the legend of their arrogant profligacy and transparent contempt for the people they were charged to serve. Lest we forget, upon Madame D'Obama's return from a glitzy spin around Spain, the royal family jetted down to Panama City, Florida (a favored Redneck Riviera beach destination of the Great Unwashed) for one day, just long enough to snap a single suitable photo designed to message "Nope, no oil here" before fleeing to their detached Bastille of privilege.

But we must draw a distinction between the French monarchs and the Obama court. In 18th century France, the nation and everything in it actually still belonged to the king, by divine right, to dispense with as he saw fit. Legally, if not morally, French blood and treasure were his, so he was carousing, albeit stupidly, on his own centime. Not so Obama. Not a nickel of the public treasury belongs to him, nor to the state over which he was mistakenly chosen to preside. In America, the people rule. Every now and then we forget, but we always remember. It's the American way to "laissez le bon temps rouler," and when the good times are rolling, it's easy to turn a blind eye. We were blind, but now we see.

Tonight, we're huddled on the dark mainland watching the party lights twinkling on the island in the sea, and see a man, snug among his czars and courtiers, who delivered a trillion dollars in bribes to unions and Democratic district pork projects. We see a man-shaped something who sold out Europe to Russia and got nothing in return, who spit on our British cousins and cooed sweet nothings to contemptuous Iran, gave back rubs to our enemies and is doing all he can to leave Israel for dead. We see a dark lord who will not use his borrowed power to protect the lives and interests of those from whom he borrowed that power, who will not protect their homeland's borders, because to him, that homeland is not a place, but a state of mind. If he knows that the proposed Ground Zero Mosque follows an historical, triumphal Islamic pattern of cultural domination by historical revisionism, he will never admit it. If he doesn;t know, that's bad. If he does know, but doesn't care, that's worse. And all the while, the champagne flows. He chooses not to see, but we see.

We see that high crimes and misdemeanors have been committed against the American people and their traditions. We see that a thug would be king. We hear the laughter and clatter of fine china, the hilarious toasts to the God-and-gun clingers. We hear and we see, but in the royal court, the ball goes on. We wonder if, after the party in the dead of night, the revelers of the Obama court freeze up with an animal sense of what is coming. Stabbed with self-recognition, do they say to themselves "Apres nous, le deluge?"

Maybe they don't know. Maybe it's better that they don't. Hey, party on, dudes! Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow you die. Tonight, in the rest of America that is not lucky enough to be Martha's Vineyard, rage, fear and a new sense of honor run deep. And a guillotine is being prepared.

Blame It On the Sun

The Long Marchers of the American left (the Democratic party is their more or less camera-ready face--compared to, say, Code Pink) are desperately unhappy. They know they're going to get spanked in November; the only question is how hard--but November is the least of their worries. Two short years ago, they thought that their generations-long march through the institutions had ended in triumph, that they would quickly and fundamentally transform this free-for-all nation they loathed into an orderly banana republic in which they would all be top bananas. But what rises like a helium balloon falls like lead after the gas is burned off. Suddenly, it's all coming apart. The rough beast of authentic American republicanism is once more shambling towards Bethlehem to be born--million-faced and roaring--and the artificial center they created cannot hold.

The Long Marchers stare at one another in disbelief. How can this be happening? We just got here. How can hope so quickly turn into despair? How can change so quickly become a mantra used against us?

For nearly their entire first year of unbroken failure, they blamed Bush. Under constant seige from a lapdog media, Bush's last two years were undeniably rough (and he made a few moves that even he has since admitted he'd like back) and 3 out of 4 Americans--even some admirers--were not unhappy to see him go. Things are tough out there, said the Long Marchers, but we're here to help. It'll take time to come back from the Bush disaster, but time is all we need. It didn't work out that way. Everything got worse.

Their next villain was Republican obstructionism. Never mind their overwhelming Congressional majorities--those pesky Republicans refused to allow them free rein and were blocking the path to the Promised Land. "They have no ideas," they sneered. "They're the Party of No."

Like FDR, Obama believes that Americans crave motion for its own sake, that doing anything beats doing nothing. Throw enough dung at the wall (or money at a problem) and something will stick. But that just isn't so, and America was not that stupid. "We're not the Party of No," the GOP claimed indignantly. "We're the Party of Hell No!" Most Americans applauded. It was one of the smartest things they ever said. And the smartest thing the Republicans ever did was to listen to and echo the howling of the torch-and-pitchfork peasants surging through the streets. If they are wise, they will continue to do so.

The Long Marchers turned back to blaming Bush. Worked once, oughta work again. But time had passed. Although Obama actually owned the economy from the February day on which he passed his first giant stimulus, now the American people were tired of waiting for the magic drug to kick in and let Obama know he owned it, for better or worse. For a stretch of months in 2009, it looked like the economy might be getting ever so slightly and slowly better. But then it got still worse.

The Long Marchers were sure it couldn't be the steak, so it had to be the sizzle. Re-messaging had to be the key. So, they sent out glad-handing party animal Joe Biden for a cross-country celebration of Recovery Summer. That was a non-starter. America's ready to party, yes, but not the kind of party Shoeless Joe had in mind.

Then they tried to buy the mid-terms with the race card. It was declined.

Nearly two years after taking office and turning the country upside down, they tried to blame Bush one more time and run a nationalized campaign against him, but this time even Jon Stewart wasn't having any and joined the mockery. Two months before the election that will either solidify or effectively end the Obama administration's ability to govern, the once-droopy George W. Bush is suddenly standing taller than he has since Katrina. In front-line must-win Democratic districts across the nation, Bush (who isn't running for anything) now leads Obama in approval polls by a significant margin. And the "Miss Me Yet?" t-shirt bearing his goofily grinning face is the largest seller in the country. The Long Marchers are shocked to discover that if they run against Bush, they will lose. Again.

But, of course, this is not about the misunderestimated Bush, whose vengeance will come in history books, nor even about Republicans. It is about nothing but America and the reintegration of its present and future with its glorious past. It is about reclaiming the mantle of honor and our rightful place in the world. It is not even about politics, which is a means, but hardly an end. It is about shrinking the state to its proper size, yes, and restoring the balance between liberty and license, but above all it is about one thing: redemption--and in all of human history, there is no greater theme. In the face of a tide of redemption, the Long Marchers know they will be washed away.

But they have one last trick. Their last-ditch strategy is to paint selected Republican candidates across the country as "too extremist," hoping to tar all Republicans with the same brush. As though Gov. Chris Christie of New Jersey is radical and hates "the children" when he tells the teachers' unions that the rules of life and economics apply to them too. As though Sharron Angle, Harry Reid's opponent in Nevada, is wild-eyed to suggest that the Department of Education might not be a good idea. Really? Ronald Reagan didn't think it was a good idea either, and he did OK. After all, Jimmy Carter, who never had a good idea, created it in 1978. It's hardly a venerable institution, and its elimination might be an idea whose time has come. America might just have grown the appetite at last to revisit much supposedly settled business that has derailed us from being the nation our founders intended us to be.

So, the savvy Republican move now would be more political ju-jitsu: embrace the label, just as they embraced Party of No. "Yup, we're extreme. Kinda like Adams and Jefferson were extreme." Yes, but what about those Tea Partiers? "Yup, they're extreme too. Kinda like Patrick Henry, who demanded liberty or death, or Martin Luther King, Jr., who said "I may not get there with you, but I have seen the Promised Land." Perhaps a little compare-and-contrast is in order: who's more extreme, our guy George Washington or their guy Chairman Mao?" And maybe it's time to revive the ghost of Barry Goldwater, who said: "Let me remind you that extremism in defense of liberty is no vice; and let me remind you also that moderation in pursuit of justice is no virtue."

The Long Marchers must face it: there is nowhere to go but back to the desert wilderness, there to learn that you can't promise water and deliver vinegar to a thirsty nation. Nor can you hold the water of life in your hands. Drink it quickly, or watch it all slip through to be absorbed by sand. When it's hot, blame it on the sun. When you repeatedly fail, sooner or later you must blame yourself.

So now the Long Marchers have broken a reeking flop sweat, because Daddy's almost home. They know they've been bad and have a beating coming. What they don't know is how much it will hurt. The answer: worse than they can imagine--but they have no one to point at but each other. If America is a putting green, they misread this country like a golfer after dark. They stroked it far left; it broke wide right. They've been misreading us for a century--and getting away with it--but this time they went too far. The Americans are coming--not to liberate another land, but to liberate themselves. The Long Marchers done got cocky. They done crossed the bridge too far. They done us wrong. And they can't uhuh-uhuh-uhuh-uh-undo it.

Goodnight Moon

Goodnight, sun; goodnight, moon.
Goodnight, nation that soared to the moon.

Goodnight booming cities and creativity's rush,
And liberty's children, now with minds full of mush,
And Homeland Security, ordering "Hush!"

Goodnight, flag of stars.
Goodnight, rocket's red glare.
Goodnight, freedom--everywhere.

Misdirection

Ten days ago, Obama, through his congressional lackeys, shoved an unwanted indigestible health care bill down America's throat. But then he dressed in camo, graced by a rakish ascot, and zipped off to Afghanistan to address the troops. This morning, he announced plans to look into oil drilling in the Atlantic seaboard and Gulf of Mexico (but not in the Pacific, where the real potential lies). These are feints to the right, designed to disarm, to make him appear reasonable. They are purely political. Like the malignant health bill, the worst symptoms of which will not kick in for years, this "investigation" will consume huge chunks of clock as it is picked over by committees and litigated by green groups. It's all show biz. Like the steam roller bearing down on Kevin Kline in "A Fish Called Wanda," we are watching a slow motion coup.

Stalking Donkey, Hidden Agenda

Did you ever wonder why Obama keeps leaving cooing health care messages to America, even though most of us now refuse to return his calls, why it seems that no matter where we go, there he is, maddeningly available, why he persists, with insane optimism, in trying to coax us down the same blind alleys?

We dated him; it didn't work. But he won't take no for an answer. He fits the classic profile of the stalker, sick in love with himself, but projecting: it's not about me, he says, but you. Whether he knows it or not (and, chillingly, he very well may not), he is lying. It is about nothing but him. He seeks to fill a hole reamed through him by his childhood, but that kind of hole no human other--not even a nation--or a world--of human others can fill. Yet he persists, looking for love in all the wrong places. He is obsessive, and therefore dangerous, no matter how pathetic.

He desperately wants something for America, he says, but the gift he wants to give us is not health care or security or freedom, but himself. He is the gift that will keep on talking (giving only to a few at the very top and very bottom); his once-hidden radical progressive agenda is just the paper and ribbon that add mystery to the gift. Under the flamboyant wrapping, though, is an empty box. A box so big and so empty we can stand in it and hear the wind blow, carrying whispers of the end of the American dream. Barack, it's not funny anymore.

So cut it out. Stop with the midnight calls and the shadowing of the American people. Stop lavishing us with porkulus presents that we can't afford to keep. You're buying us useless baubles with our money, not yours; don't expect us to appreciate it. You are squandering whatever compassion we might otherwise feel. Think of the recent elections as a mild restraining order that you'd be well advised to heed; and understand that the American people are prepared to take much sterner measures.

Smell this, Barry: we're just not that into you.

Cocktail Tips

I once tended bar and liked to devise my own concoctions. Here's one: Mix a jigger of self-righteousness with a jigger of self-congratulation, add a pinch of smugness and dashes of entitlement and false humility. Shake it all up in a swag bag with a double shot of stupidity, pour it over icy indifference and garnish with a designer logo or awareness ribbon. I call it the Oscar.

The Voting Rights Rehabilitation Act of 2012

Be it known that:

Any individual born within the several States, territories or dependencies of the United States to at least one parent who is a born or naturalized American citizen shall be considered an American citizen. Any individual born outside the several States, territories or dependencies of the United States to parents, both of whom are American citizens, shall be considered an American citizen. Any individual born outside the several States, territories or dependencies of the United States to one parent claiming American citizenship shall be eligible for citizenship, subject to review, but shall not be designated "natural born." No individual born within the several States, territories or dependencies of the United States to non-citizen parents shall be considered a citizen of the United States.

Any born or naturalized American citizen, having reached the age of majority, shall be entitled to one (1) vote, to be exercised at his discretion in any legitimate electoral process within his residential jurisdiction. Any individual or entity attempting to exercise the voting right of a deceased individual shall join that individual in his tomb.

Any citizen providing valid proof of high school graduation or GED qualification shall be entitled to one (1) additional vote.

Any citizen providing valid proof that he/she is presently serving or has been honorably discharged from any branch of the armed services shall be entitled to one (1) additional vote. In the event of conscientious objection or medical deferral, alternative service in fulfillment of this requirement may be considered on an individual basis. AmeriCorps shall not receive this consideration.

Any citizen providing valid proof of college graduation from an accredited institution shall be entitled to one (1) additional vote. Advanced degrees, while ineligible as a means to accrue additional votes, shall not be cause for removal of votes previously accrued, except in the case of tenured university professors.

Any citizen providing valid proof of marriage shall be entitled to one (1) additional vote. This accrued vote shall be lost in the event of divorce, but accrued again in the event of remarriage, up to and including a third marriage, but no more than one (1) marriage vote may ever be accrued. The widowed shall be exempt from this provision. Any citizen with more than three marriages shall be considered a lost cause.

Any citizen providing valid proof of home ownership shall be entitled to one (1) additional vote. This provision applies to the primary residence only; additional domiciles or properties, even if used exclusively by the owner, shall accrue no additional votes. This shall be known as the Rangel rule.

Any citizen providing valid proof of parenthood shall be entitled to one (1) additional vote. Never-married parents shall be ineligible for this provision. Divorced parents remain eligible provided that all responsibilities to the progeny of the marriage are discharged faithfully and in a timely manner. The widowed shall be exempt from this provision. Additional votes shall not be accrued by the bearing of additional children, as this would unfairly disadvantage post-modern leftists and the sexually confused.

Any individual providing valid proof of business ownership, resulting in the legal employment, in compliance with all applicable regulations, of two (2) or more non-family workers shall be eligible for one (1) additional vote. No enterprise colloquially known as a family, such as the Manson family, is necessarily excluded from this provision; however, crime families, regardless of number of employees, shall be excluded from this provision.

For the duration of time that the United States operates under a progressive taxation system, one (1) additional vote for each tax-paying tax bracket, up to a maximum of three (3) additional votes, may be accrued. No citizen who pays no federal income tax shall be eligible for this provision.

Any citizen receiving direct unearned benefit from tax monies shall not be eligible for any additional vote accrual beyond the one (1) conferred by citizenship. Earned unemployment, veteran and retirement benefits are exempt from this provision. The concept of what constitutes "earned" shall be examined on a case-by-case basis.

Additional votes may not be accrued through public service or professional achievement, especially when determined by legislatures or appointed bureaucracies according to perceived social equity or value.

Inasmch as the United States was envisioned as a meritocracy, dedicated to actual fairness and honest justice, with an eye to the general welfare and the greatest good for the greatest number, the Voting Rights Rehabilitation Act of 2012 shall provide for the accrual of not less than one (1) vote and not more than eleven (11) votes to every born or naturalized American citizen. This bill is now submitted to committee for perusal and revision.


Copyright (c) 2010, Daniel Crocker

Ode on a Kenyan Urkel

He's totalitarian--and quite the contrarian;
He's deaf to the howls of the people.
When you lay the facts bare: he just doesn't care;
He hears only the baas of his sheeple.

He's no uniter, that smirking divider;
And he's decidedly not the Decider.
He's no reformer--just a soulless Transformer--
And a birth certificate hider.

Should you call him a danger to all we hold dear
And a smug egotistical prick;
He'll call you a fool and duck out for a Kool;
He's a wolf-crying, Bush-blaming dick.

He compounds each error, makes light of terror;
(For a commie, he's got a great gig.)
To him, we're a joke--he'll just keep blowing smoke.
Our four-flushing socialist pig.

He was hailed as a Savior, but he's nobody's hero;
He'll slink off a bad joke, with an approval of zero.
But with the help of his goons, he'll first leave us in ruins--
Our vacationing, fiddling Nero.

He'll preach all night to his Amen Chorus;
And a delusional few still believe that he's for us,
He says "Let me be clear," but his thinking is porous,
Salutes the flag, but gives allegiance to Soros.

There'll be no red states at all by the end of his time,
No independent American workers;
Obedience will be virtue, non-compliance will be crime,
And our women will all hide in burkhas.