R.I.P., Kate Steinle—and God Help the Rest of Us

Some day, I will be able to speak freely about several subjects that weigh very heavily on my heart at the moment. As a teacher of over thirty years’ experience, I am dismayed, disgusted, and even infuriated by things that I see going on around me… but I must not speak. Not yet.

So I’ll content myself, at the moment, with a few comments about the liberation of Kate Steinle’s killer by a San Francisco jury last week.

Yes, it was a jury’s decision, and not an activist judge’s, for a change. Yet the judge could have thrown out the verdict, as I understand, had he or she determined that the jury ignored its instructions and willfully disregarded the letter of the law. I don’t know how this could be said not to have happened when the shooter, a convicted felon, was in possession of a firearm. That act in itself is already a crime, whether the felon shoots the piece or not. If he merely touches it, he’s in violation of the law. Nevertheless, the sterling character in question was exonerated on that charge.

Neither do I understand how a defendant is allowed to walk when his defense is a patchwork of lies, many of them trimmed with other lies when the earlier versions sprang leaks. I accuse you of emptying out my wall safe. You say, No, I spent that evening at my auntie’s. Well, that’s not what you aunt says. Oh, did I say “aunt”? I meant “uncle”! Well, your uncle’s been dead for three years. But I was at his house. No, you weren’t: the new owners don’t know you. But I was going over there to fetch some stuff, but my car broke down….

Now, nothing in such a line of questioning establishes that you in fact possess the contents of my safe. You have lied so many times in seeking an alibi, however, that your evasions may—and should—be construed as evidence of guilt.

But not in San Francisco.

Apparently, Franciscans are so blissfully, virtuously ignorant of the operation of firearms, furthermore, that they are incompetent to pass judgment on an act involving one. You cannot fire a gun with your toe—not unless you’re a chimp, and your heel can bend like the palm of your hand to restrain the handle as the trigger is compressed. (Was our innocent murderer shoeless? Did anyone even ask? You certainly can’t pull a trigger with a sneaker!) The bullet is supposed to have ricocheted upward into Ms. Steinle’s heart. What did it hit? A forty-caliber slug would have to encounter something pretty solid to gain four feet of height within fifty feet of distance—always assuming that the gun was lying flat on the pier. Did anyone bother to reconstruct the incident? What hard surface did the bullet strike?

Of course, my guess is that it didn’t matter, and wouldn’t matter. California juries are composed of people who intend to go to sleep that night wrapped in a warm confidence that they are morally superior to the rest of the nation. They’re not going to bully people of other cultures. The poor immigrant fellow was just trying to make his way in the world. The real villain here is the NRA—because without the NRA, there would be no guns. And so on, and so on… nighty-night.

How many of our neighbors and our relatives will have to die so that these pompous idiots can curl up in their solipsistic, sociopathic utopianism every hour of every day?

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Netflix Movies: Just Stick Your Head in the Toilet

Over the holidays, my son wanted us to watch a movie together. He had something very recent in mind, and he didn’t think Netflix would carry it. I’d never logged onto Hulu, and the Roku seems to have misremembered the PIN number that I wrote down a long while back, so… we went movie-hunting in Netflix, despite my son’s strongly expressed misgivings.

(The previous paragraph, by the way, is an excellent capsulization of e-life: infantilized product names, cryptic acronyms, passwords and numbers galore, software malfunction [I wrote the PIN down precisely because it worked at one time]… so much spiritual poverty amid so much material wealth!)

After we tired of combing through endless yet uniformly idiotic offerings, I all-but-blindly clicked on something titled U.S.S. Indiana. It claimed to be historical. How could you go far wrong with World War II? It opened with two ordinary seamen puttering up to a Southern mansion in an old truck. The one was ushered into a roomful of profiteer-industrialists back-slapping each other over all the riches the war had brought them and closely questioning their guest in bell-bottoms about the Manhattan Project. The other was taken upstairs to a bevy of hot Southern chicks dancing to jazz in slow-motion moves that reminded one of Ice Follies… and of these, she who was most overly made-up partnered up with Sailor Boy for a lust-at-first-sight tango.

Back to menu. Scroll down. Hmm… Canadian movies. The Canadians are more tasteful and cultured than we, are they not? They’re always telling us so. I’ll try this.

Rampage: President Down. Guns, guns, guns. Explosions, assassinations, land mines, tunnel-crawling, body armor, target practice, machine-gunning, more explosions… punctuated with Superhero Mass-Murderer’s raves on some recorded message or other about the United States being solely responsible for all the violence and evil in the world.

We ended up with Trailer Park Boys, a serial which seems much more adequate to the genius of the contemporary Canadian mind. My wife had retired to bed by that time, so the steady barrage of f-bombs fell on hardened ears; and, of course, it occurs in a context which underscores the impotence of brain capacity hasn’t learned to cope with modern living. One can let loose and laugh.

What about the “serious” productions, however? A common seaman being grilled by drooling capitalists about the nuclear bomb before one was ever dropped? Did someone hire the Trailer Park Boys to write this script?

I’m sure the Canadian snot who directed the assassination-orgy would argue that we Americans brought all the violence into the world–so if we’re offended, well… take that! But you’re the one responsible for this movie, imbecile. And if you have a specific indictment to lodge against a specific American foreign policy initiation–Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan, Obama’s beloved drone program–then do some research and make a film about that particular adventure. Your vengeance-flatulent fantasy about the lone-wolf weird kid turning the tables on the playground bullies and taking them all out (in FBI and CIA gear) with grenades and exploding bullets conveys about as much moral insight as Stephen Paddock Against the World would have displayed if the Las Vegas shooter had lived to get a directing gig in Hollywood.

I could drop some trailer-park adjectives myself when I think about what utter crap our “entertainment” industry is churning out. You tedious, talentless, parasitic, hypocritical, sanctimonious, morally vacuous, intellectually bankrupt, doped-up, spaced-out legions of deadbeats and losers! I hope your punishment is to watch your own creations over and over for all eternity.

Insanity Begins Where Truth Evaporates

In just the past week, I’ve been bombarded with so many outrageous claims and patently made-up fantasies that I’m somewhere between headache and nausea.

Did you know that illegal aliens actually commit crimes at a lower rate than other residents—overlooking the fact that illegal entry is itself a crime, I mean?  Of course, being illegal, many of this group don’t call the cops when they’re robbed, raped, or mugged in the barrio… but I’m sure that whatever study the professor was quoting to Tucker Carlson took this into account.  Right?

High rates of Ruthenium 106 have been detected in the southern Urals… but, hey, Russia isn’t engaged any longer in the covert weaponizing of nuclear materials, and Jared Kushner’s chat with a Russian lobbyist remains a far greater threat to our security than Hillary’s Uranium One deal.  Anyway, who’s to say that Greenpeace Russia isn’t lying as part of a Trump pay-off?  Right?

Today I saw a video claiming that Native Americans have observed Thanksgiving as a day of mourning for centuries, and that the actual date marks the occasion of a massacre wrought by the Pilgrims upon their swart, dark-haired, fatally naive hosts.  The narrator was a Native-looking young lass who truly seemed to be very distressed.  Why would she lie?

All week I’ve been reading about our “greatest president”.  No, not Barack Obama—the other one: Abraham Lincoln.  He promised not to free the slaves as a candidate, his proclamation freed them only in the South and not in Unionist border states, he freed them then only to find more cannon fodder for his unpopular war, he had to siphon off precious troops to suppress draft resistance in states like New York, he smashed presses and imprisoned editors when newspapers in far-from-the-front Ohio and Indiana criticized his policies… but these are all just charges assembled by Southern apologists.  I have it on the high authority of Glenn Beck, the official historian of Planet Earth.

A professional sportswriter penned something that crossed my bow yesterday.  It argued that we might as well usher all the Steroid Boys into the Hall of Fame and waive the character criterion, because the Hall’s prior occupants are a bunch of bastards.  Take Tris Speaker, who wouldn’t attend teammate Ray Chapman’s funeral because Ray was Catholic.  Naturally, the argument made in Charles Alexander’s painstaking biography that Chapman was born Protestant and that, in any case, he selected Speaker to be best man at his wedding reeks of bias.  I’m sure the no-name who has wearied of the Hall’s prissy “character” clause must have it right.

A certain relative at our Thanksgiving gathering launched a verbal tirade because my son beat her at chess.  She insisted that knights couldn’t leap over other pieces when moved—citing an Internet source which actually undermined her position… but that was just our interpretation of the passage.  And the Internet is always right, especially when it’s vague.

From the cosmic to the national to the trivial, I find myself wading through hastily stitched “facts” at every turn.  What’s happening?  Are we all losing our minds?  Am I, perhaps, a psycho for thinking that the sun sets in the west?

No, it seems to me, rather, that we’re falling into a habit of rewriting the rules (sometimes literally) to whatever game we’re playing so that we personally come out ahead.  And because I once thought that Putin could be trusted, and that Glenn Beck could be trusted, and that institutional or professional research could be trusted, I don’t think I’m the lunatic in this asylum.  Why not?  Because I’m capable of admitting error and changing my mind.

Here’s an exercise I recommend: think of three positions that you’ve had to surrender over the past year because the facts just didn’t support them.  Can you do it?

Girls Need More Prudence in the Post-Polite World

I would begin, “Please don’t misunderstand…” but I have long learned that those words are always wasted.  People who want to misunderstand will surely do so, as on the day when three senior English majors were pleased to construe a perfectly anodyne joke I hatched (to cover my irritation about rampant absenteeism) as a crude sneer at suicides.  (I had murmured, “Absent again?  Question 5 must have driven them to suicide!”)  These prissy censors decided to be offended rather than opt for a more civil, friendly, and obvious interpretation of my words; and as for me, I will never forget the offense I felt at being so zealously cast in a villain’s role.  No, I didn’t feel “raped”: I just felt slapped in the face.

So misunderstand, if you will… but listen: women who don’t wish to lure into the open their male colleagues’ Inner Swine probably shouldn’t leave dozens of photos on Google images showing themselves buck naked (or peu s’en faut), with the skimpiest of remaining strings or veils, perhaps, serving only to emphasize what isn’t in plain sight.

The Tweeden woman who is protesting Al Franken’s multiple molestations—and rightly so—might have considered that when you ring a bell in Professor Pavlov’s lab, all the dogs within earshot start to salivate.  I had no idea who this young woman might be; someone wrote that she was a newscaster.  I did a quick search… and my iPad’s screen started to blush.  Ms. Tweeden, I second your outrage, and I have decried the degeneration of male manners over a lifetime twice the length of yours… but if you don’t want the neighborhood strays nipping at your heels, don’t go jogging wrapped in strings of fresh sausage.

For fifty years and more now, feminism has been encouraging young women to flaunt conventions of decency (if not to advertise an overtly licentious lifestyle).  This was always a nasty pit-trap into which the most impressionable girls took hard falls.  Here they were told by academic mentors that they were going to gate-crash male lairs of privilege…. and all they accomplished was the rush-delivery of more low thrills to the worst kind of man.

I don’t know if the news desk and the Hollywood “casting couch” are distinctly different pieces of furniture any more, at least for young women.  If a daughter of mine were considering a broadcast career, I would warn her to develop a thick skin and study karate.  And if Megan Kelly, who hasn’t stopped protesting her harassment at FOX since her exit therefrom, really believes that she was originally hired only for her interviewing skills, then she must be the most naive human being ever to utter the words, “Tonight we begin our coverage…”.

It’s not right, of course, that women in particular should have to be eye-candy in order to land such positions.  Ratings rule, however, at the end of the day.  The profession is invincibly sordid in that regard.

Teaching isn’t so very different.  You can possess the knowledge of a Henry Kissinger about international affairs—but if you conduct your Topics in Diplomacy seminar in soporific monotone, you’ll soon be looking for a new gig (unless, that is, you are actually Henry Kissinger).

I wish we could recover some vestige of manners.  Few people loathe the moral and cultural cesspool in which we dwell more than I.  But as I recall my single days in the Eighties, when women never wanted to see you again if the first date didn’t end in bed, and as I now read of actresses feeling “assaulted” when a nonagenarian in a wheelchair slips his arm around their waist, I can’t help but conclude that today’s girls—for their own good—need to do their calculations all over again.  This world of “rights” and “freedoms” has grown dangerously pathological.  Don’t assume that any space is safe, ladies, and learn to keep your guard up better.  Listen to your grandmothers.

 

Guns: Part One

Why was I so mad at the Left in my last post?  Oh, I don’t know… maybe just because I’m so tired of lies from every political quarter, and because the Left’s pose of outrage at gun violence is especially sanctimonious, hypocritical, and fraudulent.  I can lie to you about a car because I want to sell it; and then again, I can lie about the car while also telling you how sick I am of lying car salesmen.  The Left’s rhetorical position on guns is of the latter sort.
Remember Operation Fast and Furious?  No?  Well, no wonder!  It wasn’t really, as one might say in the high calling of journalism, “covered”.  A corrupt FBI collaborating with the corrupt Holder Department of Justice to disseminate guns illegally among Mexican cartels in the hope that these latter would kill lots of innocents (as they obligingly did) and stir outrage in the States against the Second Amendment… it was Phase Two alone that didn’t quite go as planned.
I’ll be perfectly blunt.  If there is indeed any sort of conspiracy behind the Las Vegas massacre (and the disappearance of a serious investigation certainly enhances the plausibility of a cover-up), then my money is on Fast and Furious, Take Two.  The American mainstream was insufficiently riled up when a score of birthday-partying kids in Juarez was murdered due to Holder’s gun-running… so this time, let’s gun down some middle Americans themselves.  Let’s get them at a Country Music concert, where their kind likes to gather for patriotic expressions in twangy tones and maybe a prayer or two.  Riddle Uncle Cletus and Sister Sharlane with bullets, and let’s see then what they all think of the NRA.
Do I really believe that certain politicos associated with the left side of the aisle would connive at gunning down dozens of unsuspecting citizens?  Well, at least two Democrats left the floor of the House when Paul Ryan called for a moment of silence on behalf of the victims, and a CBS exec voiced publicly that the gun-owners among the fallen deserved to die.  Several of the “D” persuasion made no bones about tweeting out a snarky contempt (understood as humor in their circle) for the fifty-eight redneck fatalities.  And I must repeat: Fast and Furious introduced the script.  There’s nothing in this “conspiracy” that wasn’t zealously and demonstrably executed under Eric Holder’s reign.
Why would any human being, let alone a public servant of the highest standing, conspire to murder dozens or hundreds of fellow beings?  Because, you see, the Second Amendment must go at all costs.  It is the log-jammer in the bottleneck: it is what inhibits the forward surge of the totalitarian progressivist state.  We will never be able to arrange the lives of individual people who are too benighted to understand the destiny awaiting the species as long as they can resist forcible persuasion effectively.  We must have their weapons.  Why is the US not Mexico?  Because Mexicans cannot stand up against homicidal marauders and corrupt police who work hand-in-glove with them.  We can perhaps draw enough Mexicans into our nation that, endowed with their inbred subjection to the will of the patrón, they will create a critical mass at the ballot box; but right now, that strategy is looking dubious.  Maybe we need another, if we’re progressives.
The endgame is to get the guns.  All of them.
Hence the knee-jerk response from the Left every time any incidence of gun violence occurs: never miss an occasion to remind John Q. Average that this is happening entirely and only because of the Second Amendment.  And if some of the Average clan should drop dead of lead poisoning, in the process… all the better!  To make an omelet, you have to break some eggs.

The Cold-Blooded-Killer Ideology

What was the political ideology of the highly educated, well-to-do, self-righteous thug who ambushed Senator Rand Paul with deadly intent as he mowed his lawn?

What are the ideological connections of the brutal Antifa cowards who routinely destroy property while kicking and sucker-punching bystanders whenever any college campus schedules a constitutionalist speaker?

What were the politics of Gabby Gifford’s shooter? What were those of the assassin who turned his rifle on U.S. senators practicing softball? How about the Butcher of Las Vegas?

What is the political persuasion of people who consider mass-murderer and rabid racist Ché Guevara’s face a fashion statement?

None of these figures was an Islamic terrorist… and, yes, we have had plenty of those. We’ll probably have plenty more, unfortunately. But the rash of white male homicidal sociopaths recently is notable—and it appears that child-murdering punk Devin Kelley was of the same political stripe as the others I have just named. A profile is emerging: disgruntled, angry at the world, socially inept, abusive in intimate relationships, furiously resentful of mainstream culture and traditions, particularly inimical to Christianity, committed in Charles Manson fashion to some kind of helter-skelter anomia intended to usher in some kind of revolution… hmm. Maybe a criterion for the legal purchase of a firearm should be supplying objective evidence that one is not a Leftist.

Oh, I know—we have the idiot who drove his truck into a crowd during the Charlottesville KKK rally (which, by the way, was utterly unpremeditated); and let us never forget that media darling of mass-murderer paradigms, Timothy McVeigh (who, by the way, was dishonorably discharged from the military, like Kelley). But for every hayseed mumblety-peg who forgot which gear of his truck was “reverse”, we now have a hundred slogan-spouting Leninist sociopaths.

Speaking of mass murder… what is the political preference of the creative geniuses who churn out lurid blood-sport fantasies for our “entertainment” venues—nightmares so graphic that one wants to look away even during fifteen-second television teases? What about the party-affiliation of the willing participants in these sadistic bacchanals—people known as “actors” for some odd reason? What about the designers of rape-and-mutilate video games and of the hardware that purveys them—which political ideology does this lot seem most likely to embrace?

Which side has constantly promoted the murder of babies in the womb for half a century now, even to the point of sanctioning the extraction of the child’s brain with a large hypodermic as he or she attempts to exit the birth canal?

Which side has tirelessly advanced the exploitation of women as sex objects, not just by way of movie and film production but also and especially by disseminating in academe a code of casual, on-demand, recreational sex?

Which side, in short, has consistently broadcast a view of life as a meaningless sojourn among partially evolved primates whose only compensations are sex, intoxication, hallucination, and electronically sustained fantasy, and whose highest moral imperative is to reduce the number of wasteful, useless Yahoos thus impeding the good Mother Earth’s natural cycles?

Confiscate all the guns, if you like. It won’t do any good as long as a studied self-perversion continues to define the “progress” of our society.

Two Suggestions for a Better World (Don’t Hold Your Breath)

First, the NFL. (I hate football, by the way, and have never been a consumer of the NFL’s product.) Certain conscientious players will don black armbands prior to the raising of the flag. The anthem completed, they will remove the signs of mourning and go on about their business. When a svelte female sticks a microphone in their face after the game (funny how women seem so eager to assert their presence in the most brutal of all our sports), they will explain that they wish to honor their nation–but also to grieve publicly the loss of well over a million defenseless babies annually to abortion. (“They are fetuses,” snarks Answers.com if you use the “b” word.)

Then let’s see how the NFL reacts. Care to place a bet?

Now for health care. The abortionist’s comeback is always, “Well, you don’t care what happens to the fetus after it becomes a child…” which is correct, in a way–because it’s Mom and Dad who are supposed to care about the “fetus” both before and after it “becomes a child”, and too often neither cares at either time. Implicit in the comeback, you see, is the assumption that Mom will give her new baby one hell of a life. She already has six or eight other babies, and she hasn’t bothered to care for any of them. (Needless to say, Dad–or the dads–is/are nowhere in sight.) We, on the other hand, are supposed to care–meaning that we’re expected to keep ponying up tax dollars to buy every new child food, clothing, health care, and education. Mom doesn’t even trouble herself to look for a job: her job is to have babies and collect monthly checks for them. If one of the dads should decide to marry Mom, and if he should have a job other than sharing in the baby-bonanza, he chooses to keep the kids on Medicaid rather than buy into the group policy offered at work. So we continue paying…

If my wife and I had been able to keep more of our own money over the years, we could have adopted one or more children. We wanted to… but the process is costly and lengthy. Women are either aborting their unwanted babies (excuse me: fetuses) or else consigning them to Grandma and collecting Uncle Sam’s check. So… yeah, maybe some of us begin not to care much for this situation.

Here’s my suggestion: how about a box on the income tax return that you could check and then designate X dollars for the health care of babies born to parents illegally resident in the US, legally resident but unmarried and unwilling to practice birth control, or married and gainfully employed but unwilling to take the insurance offered at work? If “caring” in such circumstances appeals to you, then you can donate however many thousands you wish. Nancy Pellosi could easily manage six figures a year out of the millions she has garnered from marginally legal but patently unethical insider trading.

As I say… don’t hold your breath.

Finally, a stray thought: why is it that evidence of brilliance in our far-distant ancestors can only be explained by hypothesizing visits from extraterrestrials, yet the current generation is styled the most brilliant ever because its young use smartphones–the assumption being that all of them could assemble the circuitry or write the code for the software? Can any of them even average his grades without using the Math Ap or logging onto Blackboard? But, hey… we don’t build campfires, and we have nice teeth!