Maggie's Farm

Creative destruction, the economists call it. In an unfettered free market, livelihoods are always in jeopardy from the possibility that other demands or desires might supersede your desire to continue in your job for your entire life. I had a rough and tumble job for a long time: logging. It was hard work, sometimes dangerous, but I liked being out in nature, in the company of those like myself. And I wasn't a Johnny-come-lately to logging. I am the last in a long line of loggers in my family.

But technology, and the desire of many people who are concerned about the environmental impacts of my trade, keep such as I from working at the only thing I've ever known. The world has moved on, and I must accept that.

It's not that bad really. I could have fussed and protested. Some of my former workmates still go out and log illegally; partly for their daily bread, but mostly I suspect because it is ingrained in their very being. I've moved on. I submit to the will of the greatest amount of people, who use as their instrument the hidden hand of the market to signal me to do something different now. Please do not judge my efforts too harshly; though it's unlikely I'll ever get much better, I try as hard as I can in my new chosen profession.

We think it's terribly unfair to single out Barack Obama for calumny for associating himself with the Reverend Jeremiah Wright Junior's rather tame opinions. After all, I'm sure all right thinking Americans are still angry at the Roman Empire for killing black Jesus. Of course I'm terribly old school, and I'm still pissed at the Etruscans. One of them peed behind our pagan altar once and it left a stain. I demand multi-generational reparations, or at least they could make a modest gesture of remorse and buy us some Febreze for the tapestry we had back there. But I digress.

It's a sign of our corrupt and contemptible culture that we point out that shouting "We hate everybody that doesn't look like us and a lot of people that do, too." from the pulpit might be a somewhat less than generous worldview for a preacher, but only for the brown candidates' churches. What's Lily-White Clinton, doyenne of the Roman Empire (hell, she married Caligula) listening to in church? We've scoured the Intertunnels for evidence of the cackling cankled one's Sunday Service, and let me tell you brothers and sisters... It's explosive stuff. I give you: Hillary's Preacher.

-I told her that I was a flop with chicks

-I've been this way since 1956

1959. Whatever.

The New Yoik Times, that bastion of originality, says Barack Obama is a plagiarist, because he used the same motif for a lame speech as another politician. They're very picky over there at the Times. I've heard that they discipline their own employees for making stuff up and copying things without attribution. I know it's true because it happens so often that it's always fresh in your mind. You're a bad man, Obama:

The controversy arose after Mr. Obama, of Illinois, delivered a speech at a Democratic Party dinner in Wisconsin. He responded to criticism from Mrs. Clinton, of New York, who argued that Mr. Obama might deliver smooth speeches, but that she was better prepared to solve problems.

“Don’t tell me words don’t matter,” he said in his remarks. “ ‘I have a dream.’ Just words? ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal.’ Just words? ‘We have nothing to fear but fear itself.’ Just words? Just speeches?”

The passage was similar to one used by Mr. Patrick in response to similar criticism.

Hey, I'm content to live in a world of unoriginal politicians, but far be it from me to doubt the Times when they hold everybody to a higher standard. Well, almost everybody.

That's from Noam Cohen at the New York Times, appended to the sterling and no doubt highly original article:

Is Obama a Mac and Clinton a PC?

Hmm. February 19th, 2008. Hey look! Maggies' Farm, January 3rd, 2008:

Hey, what's the lead time on developing stories over there at the Times? I bet I can guess. Of course, it's not my standard of plagiarism we're talking about here, it's the Times' we must adhere to: "...was similar to one used by..."

Not only would such a blatant ripoff without attribution be dishonorable, it would be sorta lame too, because the item was a re-run on Jan.3rd 2008. We ran it first on January 26th, 2007. All the unoriginal and stale news that's fit to print, I guess. Remember, it's the New York Times' world, I'm just trying to live in it. If you Google "new york times plagiarist," it returns 1,660,000 entries. That's a lot, and they all seem to be NYTimes employees, not Barack Obama. I guess it will return 1,660,001 after I hit "save." Sorry.

Let's get all Woodward and Bernstein, shall we? Wrong paper, but who cares? They don't seem to. Here goes: Hey Noam; what did you know and when did you know it?

I'm weary of everybody finding fascism in the unlikeliest of places. I'm tired of finding little cookie duster moustaches photoshopped onto politicians that remind me of church wardens, not mail-fisted strongmen. I'm worn out from the endless denouement of every discussion on every topic, no matter how mundane, being a reference to that weird Austrian corporal.

It's a looming Weimar you're all not recognizing, not the next Fuhrer. Everybody's oblivious to the cobbling together of a miserable tottering spineless Byzantium, because they want to spot Mehmed in every passerby,when they should be fixing the chinks in the walls and looking to the horizon.

I said I was weary of it, and just look at the picture I offered. I apologize. It's not the Hitlerjugend I read about yesterday. It seemed to me Weimar being remade, not the Third Reich. Lord knows what will come after this Weimar falls. Or perhaps, Lord, peace be upon him is more to the point.

If you disassembled the current slate of candidates from both parties into their component parts, then stitched together the best bits from each of them, (good luck looking for the good bits) you might be able to make a zombie Franklin Pierce out of the mess. Maybe. After you re-animate the dodgy potlach politician you've assembled, it could wear any one of their empty suits. Not one of them is qualified to go out and get Eisenhower a pack of smokes. America has always produced great men (and women) like Ike.

I wonder where we keep them now?

Charmin NYC Restrooms.com

Bill Gates desperately wants the cool kids to like him. And he's decided that kissing some one-world socialist claptrap tail is worth a shot. He went to Davos, Switzerland and embarrassed himself by announcing Compassionate Conservativism by another name is something he just made up. He can't become popular with the faux-leftist set because he doesn't know how to make useless $3000 laptops for the same people that said they wanted to look at the New York Times on their $600 cellphone last week. He doesn't have the knack or the steel rimmed glasses for it, I guess. I wonder if he can grow a beard yet, never mind a perpetual three day one. The cool kids love Steve Jobs because he's a rapacious loser. Bill's a rich generous winner. They hate that.

Whatever. Bill's decided now that he's got so much money that he feels guilty about it, it's time to overturn the board for everybody else that might like to make a living--or a killing--in business. He wants what he terms "Creative Capitalism' now, not the icky kind he pictures in his cubicle rat worldview that's all messy and filled with Bhopal smokestacks and little brown babies with distended bellies on late night TV commercials. They're still on late night TV, aren't they? Or did Sally Struthers eat them all?

Heh. A fat person that used to look sexy pointing at hard-up people and saying "Send me money, or the kid gets it... I mean, they don't get it." That's the Davos ethos in a nutshell. Sally could get a flurry running for president on that platform, too.

Here's Gates:

"We have to find a way to make the aspects of capitalism that serve wealthier people serve poorer people as well," he told an auditorium packed with corporate leaders and politicians at the annual meeting of the World Economic Forum. "I like to call this idea creative capitalism."

Look, I'm sure that wiser people than I'll ever be will open the intellectual window on this gaseous economic exhalation and let some fresh air in. That's a lot of work. I'm lazy. I just want to point out two things to Mr Smarty Zune Pants.

I was born in Boston. I've lived in Massachusetts for the vast majority of my life. I don't want to live here any more.

Mitt Romney has surrendered me to my enemies. It's foolish to blame it on him, perhaps; his successor, Deval Patrick, stays up late every night thinking of things I detest. But Romney's face is on this Massachusetts Universal Medical Insurance Requirement.

I don't have health insurance. I haven't had any health insurance for about four years. I had health insurance for four years prior to that. Before that, I didn't have health insurance for twenty years. I've never had dental insurance.

Health insurance is a misnomer. Insurance is designed to safeguard you from ruination if unexpected things happen. People call that "catastrophic health insurance" nowadays. They call prepaying for all sorts of tangentially medical-related things "health insurance," but it's really more like a retainer or a club.

Massachusetts wouldn't allow me to insure myself or my family. They still don't, really. I should be able to insure my family of four for a few hundred dollars a month against catastrophe, while I pay 100% of everyday doctor bills out of pocket. It's illegal here now, as it was illegal here before.

Very wealthy people use tax-subsidized employee benefit money for all sorts of things that have no business being called "Health," and the legislature mandates that all these sorts of extraneous, frivolous, and even criminal things must be covered by any insurance offered in this state. I tried to get insurance before the state mandated it. It cost over $1100 dollars a month, and it had deductibles that we would never conceivably meet, So we just ended up paying on the nail for everything anyway. I let the insurance lapse, and saved the money to pay my doctor bills.

This is a re-post from one year ago:

Well, the United Nations has its Intergovernmental ... its Interglobal... its Climatological...

Oh, why even bother getting the title right. We all know what it is. It's a global taxation system tarted up with a graph and a chart or two. The United Nations has never accomplished anything. Let me retract that. The United Nations has never accomplished anything beneficial to mankind. Every once in a while, you can shove it aside if you bribe enough of its members and get something done. You can put a UN patch on a US uniform and kick North Korean ass, for instance. But let's not pretend the UN did anything. It's a talking shop for the worst kind of people, representing mostly venal or totalitarian governments. The only successful program run by the UN was Saddam's Oil for Food scam. And by "successful," I mean Kofi Annan's and Saddam Hussein's kids got theirs. It took the US military to give Saddam's kids what they deserved.

Let me save you all some time.

Look, I know it's amusing talking about Ron Paul! Ron Paul! is a blast. Everybody loves a verbal grenade rolled into excrutiatingly dull settings. But politics is supposed to be dull. Politics was interesting in Russia in 1917, in Iran in 1979, in Venezuela last year... well, what I'm trying to tell you is you don't want to "live in interesting times."

Now, young persons and people in rent-controlled apartments that work at fair trade coffee shops can afford the luxury of talking about whether the American Civil War was a good idea. If you just got out of college, Ron Paul! is right up your alley. Why talk about today's silly problems when Ron Paul! is arguing about whether we should abolish the Second Bank of The US? It's so much more lively to talk about history, because it's on the shelf and you can find any damn version of it you want to argue over. Real time isn't indexed yet.

Ron Paul! is captivating to youngins because he's like the reset button on Halo. You don't have to live with your decisions in the context of your surroundings. If you charge into a nest of fiat currency economies or Brutes, Elites, and Grunts and get slaughtered, just start over! Instead of having to offer cogent and useful advice on how to move forward in contemporary life, you just mention that contemporary life shouldn't be that way. But governance is not an editing exercise. It's a writing exercise. The editors are many; some have access to editorial pages, and some have access to nuclear weapons. And if you're feeling devil-may-care with every aspect of government andyou figure: Why not blow it up and start over? it's useful to remember that the fellow behind door number two when you press the reset button on government sometimes isn't all that interested in the gold standard; he might be more interested in invading Poland or collectivizing the farms or something.

So Ron Paul! excites youth because they really don't think they have anything at stake yet in the affairs of the world. And he attracts the survivalist nuts who have already gone to the bunker, and desire someone to give the imprimatur of sanity to their decision to drink their own urine, hoard Kruggerands, and eat Spam underground already. The Pat Buchananites love anyone who says: Things used to be swell but now they suck. And conventional Conservatives, ashamed to call themselves that because the hip kids will photoshop them in Brownshirts or in a bathroom stall with Larry Craig, call themselves Libertarians for cover and adore Ron Paul! because he says over and over again that he's not interested in doing the one thing Libertarians hate: governing. So he's got the idealistic college kids, the country club anarchists, and the nuts. Who's that help?

Re-posted from January, 2007

The members who comprised it were seven-eighths of them, ...the meanest kind of bawling and blowing officeholders, office-seekers, pimps, malignants, conspirators, murderers, fancy-men, custom-house clerks, contracts, kept-editors, spaniels well train'd to carry and fetch, jobbers, infidels, disunionists, terrorists, mail riflers, slave-catchers, pushers of slavery, creatures of the President, creatures of would-be Presidents, spies, bribers, compromisers, lobbyists, spongers, ruin'd sports, expell'd gamblers, policy-backers, monte-dealers, duellists, carriers of conceal'd weapons, deaf men, pimpled men, scarred inside with vile disease, gaudy outside with gold chains made from the people's money and harlots' money twisted together; crawling, serpentine men, the lousy combinings and born freedom-sellers of the earth.

- Walt Whitman on a Democratic Party Convention.

I am an Internaut.

The Internet is a wonderful mess. I use it for most everything, including my livelihood now. I am deathly sick of about 90% of it, but that's OK, as you'd have to live to be a thousand to look at 10% of it anyway.

There is an infantile sense of humor on the tubes that I find endearing. There's a really nasty sort of discourse that is its fellow traveler, so you have to sort of pan for your comedy gold, but it's there. And it's not always for the meek.

Anyway, the Internet has decided that Hitler is funny. I applaud this derision. There's a kind of psychosis that goes along with it that we could do without --that decidedly milquetoast politicians or the former CEOs of software companies or people that try to stop you from stealing movies on bittorrent sites are Hitler, who is not funny at all when you're a very emo commenter on webpages looking to get the silly comparison meter to go to eleven. Hitler is very bad when George Bush is Hitler, and very funny the rest of the time, apparently.

It's not new to make fun of Hitler. During WWII, Hitler was made sport of by everybody from Charlie Chaplin to the Three Stooges. In a way, I suppose the dead bastard would prefer to be remembered like he is in Germany -- spoken in a serious whisper with a sense of dread, by law. I like it much better to watch an old Looney Tunes cartoon and see a bunch of Jews in Hollywood make a mockery of him.

Please, do not overreact. Erin Burnett, who undoubtedly is so smart that she would still be reading the news on MSNBC even if she looked like Madeline Albright, has referred to the POTUS as a "monkey." Twice. A lot of grim, humorless, authoritarian conservatives will get their panties in a bunch over this, and feebly ask for some sort of retraction. Pshaw, I say! Can't people who read the [scare quotes] news [end scare quotes] have opinions? Can't Erin have the hots for that Gallic midget instead of the Plano one? Can't we all just get along?

I say yes. In the spirit of the exchange, I'd like to remind everybody who finds this offensive to lighten up, and also do my part to support Ms. Burnett by jocularly suggesting that she get in the kitchen and make some noise with those pots and pans.

My sammich ain't gonna make itself.

By the way, Erin, in honor of President Bush accompanying the hunky leader of the country that until fairly recently ruled Algeria, perhaps next time you should refer to Bush as a macaca. I doubt anyone will mind.

I'm going to put an excerpt from The Guardian on here in a second. The Guardian, for those of you that aren't Anglophiles, is sort of the British Isles' intellectual appendix. That is to say, it doesn't seem to serve any positive function; it collects detritus; is dangerous if it ruptures into the body politic; and even though its removal from your life seems to have no deleterious effect, you just leave it there and ignore it unless it gets inflamed.

Anyway, we read the The Guardian because we are dying to know whether Bush is Hitler, or Bush is Mussolini; and they are the only ones that cover that waterfront 24/7 to our satisfaction. Personally I lean towards Hitler, as old Musso's girlfriend Clara Petacci was a babe and I can't picture George with any babes eating anything bolognese. While we were seeking Bushitlerburton guidance at the Guardian, we came across this nugget. It's industrial strength stupid. I'm talking worthy of enshrinement on the Mount Rushmore of Moronic Observations. It is profoundly dumb, which is hard to do. There's really no point in reading the whole thing. You can if you want, but like many such things, you get the idea of everything that goes throught the mind of such a person from the snippet, which appears to be lonely and pointless trip, and now you can ignore everything else he ever says forevermore.

You know, if you're going to spend all that money and go to all that trouble, you really should enjoy yourself. Bust up the furniture, maybe. And if nothing else, after you settle in for all those decades of either eyeing the kitchen knives while he watches football, or smiling and nodding while your significant other picks out just the right candle at the second CandleBarnOutletAnnex you've been in today, you'll still have some amusing wedding pictures to look at.

Lots more, all hilarious, at DivineCaroline.com

Without question, the most entertaining thing on the Intertubes right now. If Iowahawk ever calls, and says: Road trip!, never say no. You can sit in the back with me, the Techno-Viking, and the Seven Horsemen of the Apocalypso. And Dick Dale, if'n he ain't busy.

Iowahawk, via Instapundit.

[I attended the Patriots press conference at "Sullivan Stadium On Steroids" in Foxborough Mass this week. I made a transcript of the proceedings, as best as I could remember them. They may be a little off here and there -- just a jot or tittle-- but this is the gist of it.]

Bill Belichick: I have some opening remarks if that's all right with you sportswriters. If it's not, I won't, because you are, of course, the sworn representatives of our fans by virtue of being in a print union and waiting for the last guy who did it to die of cirrhosis; so I defer to your judgement.

Sportswriters, in unision: Go ahead, you duplicitous pondscum.

BB: Thanks, and apologies to any pondscum or associated bacterium that are rightfully offended to be compared to me by you tribunes of accuracy.

I realize now, looking at you legions of dumpy middle-aged men, and women with big feet, that you're glaring at me because I'm dressed in a sweatshirt. You reasonably assume that I'm mocking you because it's nearly as casual as the white socks and mandals, front-butt cargo pants, and ill-fitting Hawaiian shirts with barbeque sauce dribbled down the front that you all wear all the time. It was not my intention to ruin your lives by wearing a simple hooded drawstring tunic, so from here on in, I'll be wrapped completely in duct tape, and Mr. Kraft has generously allowed me to set aside time from the Novenas I'm required to say for all the other teams to allow all you sportwriters to pull the tape off me at midfield, with a whipsaw motion, while you're all judging just how evil my post-game handshake is. I will now field questions.

Reporter: What steps have you taken to ensure that your team stops scoring points?

BB: Of course I apologize for scoring points against our opponents. It's unseemly. I tried putting both our second and third string quarterbacks into the games, but unfortunately the second string quarterback accidentally scored. I benched him for having the effrontery to score points during a football game, and luckily Matt Gutierrez tripped on one of the legs on the easy chair Redskins' Defensive Lineman Phillip Daniels had dragged out onto the field to sit in, and was unable to score.

Reporter: That doesn't answer my question, you rude jerk. What are you doing to avoid scoring points going forward? You jerk.

Sometimes --a man appears.

Look, you want to rub up against the shiznit from time to time and stand your hair on end with the static electricity of a hundred galaxies. You want to stay clear out of Liberaceland and trod the stones along the cutting edge of the interstellar flapdoodle. Perhaps you wish to forestall the march of time and feed from the power of the In Crowd like some funky vampire. Here is your new leader. Follow the TechnoViking to your salvation. If you have any infirmities, deformities or deficiencies, he will cure them; or at least beat the holy hell out of anyone that makes fun of you over them. Or he will kill you. It's your choice.

Not really. Techno-Viking will choose for you, for he does not just lead; he rules.

(Slight warning: There's a curse word in print on the screen at the end. But the Techno Viking does not speak curses. There is no need.)

There's something desperately wrong with all of you.

No, not you. You're fine. It's those other people. The ones interested in politics.

Now, don't get me wrong. I vote in every general election. As far as I can recall, I've never voted for anyone with any enthusiasm. There's something weird and strange about being enthusiastic about a politician. If you're not holding your nose when you're pulling the lever, I have no use for you.

The politician is just like the plumber to me. I call the plumber when the big porcelain bowl won't empty. You all seem to want to sit right in the bowl all day long, every day, and are amazed and angry to discover that others don't want to forego having a well-adjusted, autonomous life and climb right in there with you. Guess what that makes you in the hopper of life. All government is the least worst thing you can make it. If you like the government, don't just tolerate it -- you're daft.

I want a Wingle.

A Wingle is a pick-up truck made in China by the Great Wall Motor Company.

How could you not want a Wingle if you read their advertising copy? How could you resist:

Bold design of chrome plated grill, infiltrating with the desire to conquer all from inside to outside.

Hmm. They may want to drop the conquering thing. Never mind that; check this out:

Inner decoration equipped with streamline incorporate central console, its innovative outline and comfortable tactility unified with vehicle style, clear legible high brightness dashboard, fashionable, honorable, and comfortable.

Isn't that a daisy? Like all advertising copy, it's pure unadulterated horsehockey. But it is adulterated by the translation. It's charming, in the same way it's charming for everybody else when your toddler says: "Daddy makes boom-boom and Mommy lights candles. The bathroom is just like church." It reveals much in its innocence, like a pretty coworker who dresses sleepily and shows up to work in a slip.

Company’s advanced four wheel drive system make manipulation arbitrary.

This is perfect for those late-night rides home from the tavern. "It washnt mee offshisher. My Wingle ish arbitrary. I can't manipoolate it any other way -- don't tase me, bro..."

The solid headlamp gives the vehicle spirituality and top artistic charm

Solid headlamp? Are they burning coal in there? That's a decidely low beam.

Fashion in every detail demonstrates innovative design concepts, creative design and avant-garde daring style, without any meaningless decoration. Brilliant achievements in their careers enjoy life passion.

If this was a PowerPoint presentation, all you'd need to do is throw in a few "synergy" and "enterprise" sorts of words and paste in the pictures. Fantastic.

Available in several colors. "Milky White" is nice, but sounds too much like cataract surgery for my tastes. I'll take one in "Fashionable Orange." And don't skimp on the lead.