Amarillo: Boondoggle on the Staked Plains

In trying to lay out hotel reservations for a long trip recently, I found myself in need of a place to spend the night in North Texas. Not a lot of choices: Amarillo was the obvious one. Yet I hesitated, because I dimly remembered some problem with that city a couple of years back when I was planning stops along the same route. Well, maybe there had been a convention at the time… so I tried again. Rooms at any place nicer than the Budget Super Zero started at $150: sure enough, that’s pretty steep. Must be because there’s literally nothing else by way of hostel or settlement in North Texas, and people cramming in a late summer vacation on their way to Santa Fe or Phoenix or the People’s Republic of California have no options if they don’t wish to drive all night.

Okay, $150. Then I make a few clicks and prepare to confirm, when I notice that the taxes piled onto the already rather whopping bill are… $75! The bill increases by fifty percent to pay the damn taxes! Why, why do you pay so much tax when you pass through Amarillo?

The only reasonable answer I can divine is that the windmill-building and fracking industries are booming in the area—and local government is doing everything it can to cash in on the bonanza while it lasts. After all, if you’re traveling in connection with a major energy-producer, your expense account will readily absorb an extortionate tax (since your company intends to turn around and extort the consumer).

Now, I have my reservations about fracking. The strange incidence of earthquakes in some areas where the procedure is performed (and very unusual near-to-surface earthquakes) is a worry. But at least fracking yields a tangible result that is creating substantial energy-independence for the nation.

On the other hand, if you’ve read my earlier posts, you know that I go downright livid at the thought of windmills. They are not delivering sufficient energy to justify their existence; and by the time better technology exists, we’ll be stuck with thousands of these monstrosities in the heartland whose dismantling will be almost as costly as their assembly. Meanwhile, flatbed trucks are chugging and grinding to transport single blades out into the middle of nowhere, eating up diesel fuel every mile of the way.

On top of all that, I now realize (or am pretty darn sure) that local businesses and municipalities have probably lobbied for these gigantic exercises in futility. Ka-ching, ka-ching. If you still want to tell yourself that you support that endeavor because you believe in natural, renewable energy, then keep singing yourself to sleep with the same refrain… but you’d better keep your eyes firmly shut and the lights turned off.

Burgess Owens, W.E.B. Dubois, and the Arrogant Do-Gooder

Burgess Owens is an American of African descent who distinguished himself as a professional football player in his youth and, more lately, has achieved prominence for resisting the statist plantation where black people are supposed to spend their lives. He’s an extraordinary man from an extraordinary family. I’ve often wondered how a people who suffered so much from the institution of slavery could deliver themselves so willingly to the patronizing clutches of a Big Government machine promising to do every little thing for them. Believe it or not, several of the old folks who had been born into slavery and were interviewed by WPA social workers in the Thirties recited the mantra, “Things were better in slavery days.” That is, if their owners were reasonably humane, they had housing, clothing, food, medicine… all the essentials provided for them by Master. (A lot of these interviews are available now as free Kindle downloads.)

Owens doesn’t want any magnanimous patron making “life decisions” on his behalf. He feels the way I do about the government rushing in to look after me in my old age: bug off! I would give my life a thousand times to save my son… and my government expects me to rob him of his future because I was too stupid and shiftless to save for my last days?

I do wish Owens might have hooked up with a competent editor in writing Liberalism, or How to a Turn Good Men into Whiners, Weenies, and Wimps… but the editorial “corrections” made by publishing houses nowadays are worse than no editing at all. (I discovered that the hard way.) If you’ll pardon all the brackets and ellipsis points, however, here’s an extremely interesting passage from the end of ch. 9:

It is easy to conclude that for young DuBois, due to his liberal teaching and indoctrination at Harvard and [the] University of Berlin, … both evolution and eugenics had become core tenets of his belief system.  These tenets he would later apply to the “lesser evolved” masses of his race and the “crème de la crème” intellectuals, the Talented Tenth.  As documented by Broderick, DuBois, at 25 years old, would take stock in [sic] his future.  In his diary he would speculate [about] his place in the modern world.  His comments seem to allude to a perception of self as a potential Savior of his race.

“I am glad I am living, I rejoice as a strong man to run a race, and I am strong—is it egotism, … [this] assurance—or is it the silent call of the world spirit that makes me feel that I am royal and that beneath my scepter a world of kings shall bow?  The hot dark blood of that black forefather born king of men—is beating at my heart and I know that I am either a genius or a fool….  This I do know: be the truth what it may I will seek it on [the] pure assumption that it is worth seeking—and Heaven nor Hell, God not Devil shall turn me from my purpose till I die.”

The quoted phrases in the first paragraph were actually used by W.E.B. DuBois, founder of the NAACP. What this passage reveals with shocking clarity is the immense hubris of the man who was the self-appointed Moses (or Jesus) of his race, and who esteemed nine-tenths of his “tribe” too stupid to be capable of finding their own way. The same arrogant attitude is shared by every progressive “do-gooder” on the current scene. If only you could see what’s really in their hearts, the contempt in which they hold you and me… to them, we are mere children. And since we’re not children at all, we are “as if” children—which is to say, idiots.

When I Hate Being Right: Global Safety Deteriorates

I’ll write as little today as necessary to get the idea across, because I don’t like using this space to post political commentary. But recent events are snapping my last nerve.

The oligarchy that tyrannizes millions of human beings in Communist China has been busy over the past few weeks. Chinese troops are now swarming along India’s Bhutanese border and spoiling for a fight (news is that they’ve already launched a mortar shell or two). As usual, the Chinese grind out a bunch of claptrap about only taking defensive action: paranoid lunatics always take only defensive actions. But I don’t even know that this regime deserves the excuse of insanity. They’ve prosecuted their “we’re Number One” economic jingoism for so long, forging ahead with an environmentally ruinous industrialization adrift from any sort of market force, that their economy is actually in shambles. To conceal the fact, they have to keep pillaging natural resources from the rest of Asia and—increasingly—Africa. Naturally, this is bringing them into conflict with numerous sovereign nations that don’t like being invaded or steamrolled… so the PRC’s government cranks up the estercola-mill and announces that it has to defend itself.

I can only reiterate that this is a scary, scary bunch of megalomaniac plutocrats, who are nowadays wielding a communist ideology with the self-serving cynicism of a jihadi who sends out boys to suicide-bomb while he rakes in generous contributions. Of course, the PRC elite have done absolutely nothing to put Kim Jong Un back on his leash. Through his rabid yapping, they have satisfied themselves that Donald Trump is highly unlikely to push any red buttons. That’s just what they wanted to find out.

And now, thanks to quarreling “bigly” with the broadcast media (speaking of mad dogs), Trump is afraid to forge any kind of alliance with Russia, a move which would be essential to containing the truly ravenous imperialism of Red China. Though he condemned Congress’s sanctions against Russia as ill-considered, Trump signed them into law, anyway, lest anyone accuse him of delivering on a sub rosa election promise to Vladimir. I have never been a Trumpista, but I would indeed have respected him in a new way if he had vetoed the sanctions and chosen, instead, to pursue some sort of rapprochement with Putin. That would have demonstrated true independence, and also a genuine concern for our national welfare. Now we’re merely hanging out the European Union’s wash for some reason—another statist oligarchy that doesn’t execute dissenters left and right, it’s true, but has ceased being a friend to free speech, liberal values, and the Christian faith. And by the way, Mr. Trump… sticking your thumb in Vlad’s eye is not going to improve your press coverage!

If I thought our talking heads contained anything by way of gray matter, I would suspect them of being on the Chinese payroll. Our foreign policy has now been so disastrously hamstrung by Russophobia that the new administration has already committed major strategic gaffes and also shown the world that it is hostage to the kingmakers at CNN. Kim Jong Un is free to slaver and bite, the PRC imperial government to appropriate and exploit… but, by gum, we’re going to hound Trump out of office! Yeah!

No, our media are not in league with the PRC. They’re what Lenin called “useful idiots”. Why should you pay some fool to go on the attack who starts to salivate every time you ring a bell?

 

Aliens, We Need You Fast!

I’ve taken to watching Ancient Aliens sometimes because I like the historical puzzlers often introduced there. What I least like is the lurch to the conclusion that every historical or archeological conundrum may be sufficiently answered by putting a spacecraft from the Delta Quadrant on the ground. The other night I was really annoyed when these two assertions were made within five minutes of one another: a) that life could not have evolved on Earth without the Moon’s stabilizing influence on tides and axial wobble, and b) that ancient texts actually refer to a time when there was no Moon. Wa… wa… wait a minute, now! Who could have observed the moonless period and passed along that information if the Moon was needed for life to evolve? What looked like a Homeric text was quickly flashed across the screen; but Homer only mentions the Moon twice (in similes belonging to the Iliad), so I don’t know what the fleeting Greek hexameters were meant to peddle. I was reminded of how con artists will say they’re from the FBI and then flip out some toystore badge that they withdraw immediately.

Wildly presumptuous conclusions, internal contradictions within arguments, inadequate documentation… these are characteristics not just of offerings on the History Channel, but of pretty much every aspect of our culture (or our post-culture, as I call it). I heard an “expert” of some sort declare on TV the other night that our children grow brighter and brighter by the generation, and images of kids playing on smartphones appeared. If I slip on a pair of Nikes, does that make me faster than a barefooted Zulu?

Indeed, the case for our steadily dumbing down rests on the very proliferation of “devices” among us. They’re smart, all right, those chips and circuits. They do more and more of our thinking for us, to the point that our ability to string ideas together sensibly is beginning to atrophy. I had a girl in one of my classes last spring who had attended a writing class two years earlier as a freshman. I was very happy to see that she’s signed up near the end of her college work, because she had consistently made really sharp contributions in class when barely out of high school. Boy, did I ever miss the mark in that prediction! As a near-senior, she had become a dope and a nuisance, fiddling around on YouTube and tittering with her best friend as I tried to conduct discussions. She had lost all apparent regard for social propriety, for professional obligation, and for dedication to self-improvement—and, oh, by the way, her grammar had grown atrocious. After almost the full battery of undergraduate courses, she was preparing to enter the “educated adult mainstream” a worse writer and thinker than she had reached us.

This is only a graphic instance of a phenomenon that I see repeated year after depressing year. It’s one of the reasons I’ll be retiring soon. I can’t take it. You see, we educators egg this kind of thing on. Instead of demanding that students leave their i-gear and e-gadgets at the door, we require them to spend more and more time online. We tell the public that we’re “preparing America’s youth for the world of tomorrow”… or some such crap. Meanwhile, they think that research is chasing down a keyword phrase. They gather their news from the headlines that Google is pleased to flash before them when they power up. They learn to express allegiance or acquire a following by tweeting cliché one-liners and uploading photos of themselves mugging in front of some cliché venue. They have no depth and no originality… and we’re doing it to them, at an accelerated rate, all because a) we don’t wish to be thought Luddites and “flat-earthers”, b) our administrators are pushing all of it full-force (to ease more of us off the payroll and to elbow more contracts to their buddies and relations in tech), and c) we don’t have to work as hard if the children are punching buttons all period.

Is it any wonder that the line between documentary and cartoon is blurring? I guess the only meaningful question, in terms of our collective future, is whether we’ll be able to shift all thinking competency over to computers and robots before our own spiraling incompetency leaves us as dumb as a baked squash.

 

Hands Off YOUR WHAT?

We’ve bought a nice little piece of land in the Appalachian foothills where I plan to grow almonds and apples, just to name the two that begin my list alphabetically. I have cans and canisters of seeds saved from years and years ago which I intend to plant. We’ll see what actually comes up. Thanks to genetic modification, very few of the fruits and vegetables I would have bought at the grocery store over the past six or eight years will ever produce anything from their seeds. That’s a frightening thought, and one of the reasons I want my own land with my own food growing on it. Some day, Big Brother is going to be deciding who gets viable seeds and who doesn’t, because nothing in our commercially purchased food will reproduce. I’m sure the basis of selection will be “first come, first served”… just as I’m sure that the single year my tax-exempt charity was hounded by the IRS had nothing to do with Lois Lerner’s reign.

At the entrance to my property sit two rusty old gates. They won’t keep out any hunters who really want in, but they might be a mild deterrent to teenagers looking for some place to drive into the woods and smoke weed or run anatomy experiments. The previous owners don’t seem to care about the gates sufficiently to take them down, and we’re glad enough to have them since we are not yet in situ. It might be said that the gates are now ours: the property is ours, and the gates were a free gift. Kind of.

But what happens if, after we’re moved in and well settled, the previous owners show up and want their gates back? They say, “You know, leaving them didn’t seem like a problem before… but now we’re running really short of cash. We need another pair of gates on our farm but can’t afford to buy them—so, naturally, we thought of these two. Sorry that you got used to them, or that we let you get used to them… but they weren’t ever part of the original sale. You realize that, don’t you? You didn’t pay a penny for them. They were a freebee, given on the assumption that we had unlimited money in the bank. Turns out that we don’t, so… now we need them back.”

At this point, I rear back and scream at the top of my lungs, “Hands off my gates! Do you want me to die—do you want robbers to break in and kill us? Everyone has a right to protection in this world. Hands off my gates!

I would look pretty stupid, wouldn’t I?

“Planet-Saving” Scams: The Stupidity and the Outrage

In case I haven’t written enough about this before… let me urge anyone who reads these scribbles to view words and phrases like “environmentally friendly”, “sustainable”, and “renewable” with extreme skepticism when they appear in the context of energy. The California legislature, in its interminable and terminal stupidity, has apparently decided to require that all new houses be equipped with solar panels and that all farms devote 25 percent of their acreage to windmills. One idiot legislator was chirping about all the new jobs that will be created by the heavy-handed mandate; and when questioned about how the consumer will pay the roofing crews who profit from the artificial bonanza, he blithely responded that the federal government would pick up the tab in the form of tax credits and rebates. That means YOU, my dear, and I: WE shall pay for California’s decision to “act responsibly” and “save the planet”. I thought Californians wanted to secede… so what’s holding them up?

Umm, and about “saving the planet”… just a few words. The rare-earth elements with which solar panels are coated—delightful stuff like cadmium and mercury—are so toxic that they can’t even be mined legally in this country. In the Third World and China (i.e., where people will shorten their lives just to eat for what time they have, or where their government doesn’t give a damn if they live or not), the locations where such mining is done are known as “cancer villages”. The life expectancy falls well short of thirty. So the next time you’re congratulating yourself for being environmentally responsible and saving the planet, say a little prayer for the children whom your virtue sent to an early grave… would you, please? And by the way, the panels need replacing every twenty-five or thirty years. Their energy output is not indefinitely sustainable.

As for windmills, every time I drive west or up into the heartland, I’m infuriated. There are quite literally thousands and thousands of the things. The landscape west of Abilene was never lyrically beautiful, but it once had a kind of sublimity that I found uplifting. Now vast tracts of land from West Texas to… yes, California… look like some kind of Siberian gulag for misbehaving fans—or perhaps like an infinite gauntlet of paddles awaiting some class of sinners in Dante’s lower Inferno. I’ve never seen all of the blades turning at once, and few of them ever turn very fast. Imagine the rate at which a turbine would be spinning at the base of a mediocre waterfall, and then compare that mental picture to the pathetic gyrations of these regimented titans. It is simply inconceivable that the horde of creaky monstrosities will pay for itself in less than a century. Each blade exceeds the length of a flatbed truck and must be hauled expensively (using God knows how much gas, by the way) from whatever industrial hub produced it (using God knows how much oil or coal, by the way). And there they sit, thousands upon thousands of them, all but motionless and about as scenic as the smokestacks of nineteenth-century Manchester. So far, though many are perched in prime tornado territory, we haven’t seen the consequences of their huge blades being torn asunder near a population center. And in the very near future—far sooner than a century—when we have discovered some infinitely cheaper energy source, we will face the further risk and expense of having to take them down.

Meanwhile, the industrial donors to these idiot politicians who sell their “clean energy” programs to you, the idiot public, keep raking in the taxpayer’s cash. We are creating jobs, you know! And meanwhile, as well, those of the emoji generation who need to slap a little icon or bumper-sticker on their conscience to show that they care about the planet as they check their messages and scroll through YouTube have the drive-through fix they crave. At what a cost! But what do they care? Just as long as everyone knows they “care”.

Now Big Brother Is Coming After Our Language

I’ve been chipping away on about the fifth or sixth revision—and much the most thorough one I’ve ever done—of a textbook I wrote years ago for a unique class. The intent is to teach Latin and Ancient Greek concurrently, emphasizing their many points of overlap, while at the same time drawing parallels with several modern romance languages. I guess you could say it’s a crash course in several mutually supportive languages for a generation that doesn’t have time to waste. I was hoping that a publisher somewhere might help me market the book to home-schoolers… but the publishing industry has degenerated to the point that you, as an author, are expected to have an audience and/or marketing strategy in you hip pocket, and not just a manuscript. Your publisher’s job is confined to pushing a few buttons and raking in the money. And since home-schoolers are a rather scattered group, by definition—and since my name isn’t Kim Kardashian or James Comey—no publisher will touch my unique little volume. Well, I’ll sell it myself through my website someday soon.

But anyway… the thought has occurred to me several times that I’m probably risking a lawsuit now when I teach this kind of subject matter. You see, the ancient languages in question have three genders; and gender must frequently be expressed in such parts of speech as adjectives—we’re not just talking about the “he/she” pronoun pair. (Some languages, like Russian and Arabic, even indicate gender in certain tenses of their verbs.) On the basis of what I hear to be happening in Canada, the teaching profession could become very dangerous very quickly. That’s one reason that I’m about to walk away from it. I only hope I haven’t waited too long.

What do you do on the day when some frosted nut-bar protests, “I’m uncomfortable with the word for ‘anger’ being feminine,” or, “It’s really sexist to make the word for ‘sun’ masculine but the word for ‘moon’ feminine.” Do you tell the whine-bag to use any gender he/she/it/they wants for any word, and abrogate your duty to correct improper usage? In Canada, O Canada, apparently, you can be fined for using gender-specific pronouns that offend a “trans” person (whatever the hell that means), and you can also have your child taken away if you refuse to support the public education system’s push to mainstream transgenderism (whatever the hell that means).

This sort of thing is no longer harmless idiocy. In fact, it’s time for young people to see it in its true colors. The edu-political complex has been working for decades now to dismantle all social structures that bind us together without the help of a centralized bureaucracy. It has denigrated mainstream religious faith while laboring hard and long to wedge in faiths with implicit or potential points of cultural clash; it has prosecuted the same kind of subversion in terms of the broader cultural usage, as when it undermines the lingua franca and promotes a sense of ethnic division; and it has waged war upon the nuclear family from every possible direction, but especially through the ongoing sexual revolution. Many younger people now perceive no stability or security in anything around them—not their religion, not the language they intend to use at the grocery store, not the ground rules of a simple dinner-and-a-movie date. Only the new, nannified Uncle Sam seems as solid as a marble edifice. It is that impersonal god of the state who truly loves them and will look out for them, and certainly not their family or their neighbors. Normal human ties are only treacherous snares: that faceless, aloof, omnipotent System promising lifelong fairness to and concern for all is the one god worth praying to and the one shoulder worth crying on.

Now, our gender-touchy whiner who insists on saying buenas dias and buenos noches has no idea that he/she/it/they is a pawn in a power play; but when we become too paralyzed even to address to each other without first consulting Big Brother’s manual of Correct Speak, then the forces of evil will have won the game for our future simply by moving pawns around—lots and lots of pawns.