We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
“It’s the educated reader who can be gulled. All our difficulty comes with the others. When did you meet a workman who believes the papers? He takes it for granted that they’re all propaganda and skips the leading articles. He buys his papers for the football results and the little paragraphs about girls falling out of windows and corpses found in Mayfair flats. HE is our problem. We have to recondition him. But the educated public, the people who read the highbrow weeklies, they don’t need reconditioning. They’re all right already. They’ll believe anything.”
The context makes it especially delicious. The speaker is a thoroughly nasty head of the "special" police at a front organization for what turn out to be demonic forces. The hearer is a sociologist being asked to write PR for the front organization.
Assistant Village Idiot
Quite true. I was gulled for two decades by such esteemed rags as the "Nation," "In These Times," and "Harpers." I used to think even that Lewis Lapham was sane. As my responsibilities increased and I became more of a working dad and less the cafe intellectual, I began to realize just how much the liberal intelligentsia were full of themselves. Happily, today, I appreciate the "Chicago Tribune" as it completely covers the urine spots left by my old dog on the basement floor when she can't get to the yard.
If I need to skim the daily news, I can pop over to Lucianne and a host of other fine Internet sites.
In some sympathy for the press, I do recall just how well-read the tradesmen who worked with and for my dad were fifty years ago. Those were also the days of four daily English newspapers in Chicago and a number of foreign language papers including two Polish dailies. Guys with thick calluses on their hands did read, did discuss--a lost art--and did lay bricks and mix cement all in the same lifetime.