Lock ’em up, lock ’em up, lock em ALLLL up redux

Go get ’em, Gov.

DeSantis’ COVID Vaccine Grand Jury Gets the Green Light From the Florida Supreme Court
On Thursday, the Florida Supreme Court gave the go-ahead to a request by Gov. Ron DeSantis to impanel a statewide grand jury to investigate potential wrongdoings related to COVID-19 vaccines.

The Tampa Bay Times reported that Hillsborough County Circuit Judge Ronald Ficarrotta will preside, with members to be selected from five judicial districts. DeSantis made the initial request on the 13th of this month, stating at the time that “there are good and sufficient reasons to deem it to be in the public interest to impanel a statewide grand jury to investigate criminal or wrongful activity in Florida relating to the development, promotion, and distribution of vaccines purported to prevent COVID-19 infection, symptoms, and transmission.”

DeSantis was a one-time proponent of the vaccines for certain demographics, namely senior citizens. However, he became skeptical of them over time, in particular because of the claims about their efficacy. The Associated Press reported that DeSantis contends that drug manufacturers had a financial interest in creating a mindset that vaccinated people could not transmit the virus to another person. According to the article in the Times, the scope of the grand jury will include:

…people and ‘entities, including, but not limited to, pharmaceutical manufacturers (and their executive officers) and other medical associations or organizations involved in the design, development, clinical testing or investigation, manufacture, marketing, representation, advertising, promotion, labeling, distribution, formulation, packing, sale, purchase, donation, dispensing, prescribing, administration, or use of vaccines purported to prevent COVID-19 infection, symptoms, and transmission.’

State Surgeon General and DeSantis appointee Joseph Ladapo has faced criticism for guidance that he issued in March that the risks could outweigh the benefits when it came to vaccinating children.

Which is, y’know, perfectly fucking true.

Stay the course, Governor.  Make ’em pay. Take these malefactors of great wealth down, all the way down, every last man Jack of them you can lay your hands on, until they’re left squealing in their mire like the filthy pigs they all are.

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YES!

So my bleg the other day has borne fruit over at BCE’s joint, as fate would have it. Intrepid commenter Some rando puts us some knowledge:

Hey biggun: BP Mike was asking about Beethoven Christmas muzik.
Skunk works sez it’s Pamela Howland – Christmas With Beethoven.

And sure enough, BLAMMO, just like that: what once was lost now is found. Well, okay, I mean, it wasn’t really lost, exactly, it just sorta…I mean, y’know, I couldn’t seem to find…oh, to heck with it. Many thanks to you, Rando, and a very merry Christmas to ye.

Update! While we’re on the subject, let me revert to one of the Carolyne Taylor arrangements I found whilst poking around for hours the other night, and felt was fascinating: a happy marriage of one of my DeBussy all-timers, Clair de Lune, with the hauntingly beautiful “Silent Night.”

So much wonderful stuff out there just waiting to be listened to and enjoyed, one could never hope to get around to it all. Speaking of, please indulge me for a couple more from my annual Christmas Best-Of list.


You gotta love it, no?

Updated update! And since I’m dealing out the humble thank-you’s here, indulge me a wee bit further as I offer a most heartfelt one to CF Lifer Barry, who graciously assisted me in sorting out an issue with the Gab Pay thingamawheezy I wasn’t even aware I had. It gratifies me no end to be able to report that the GP tech-support folks were most Johnny-On-The-Spot-ish with their much-needed help; I’ve been rooting hard for Torba’s pet project since its inception, so it gives me the warm fuzzies deep down inside to see ’em take care of business in such an expeditious and capable fashion.

Much as I do like Elon Musk, enjoyable as it’s been to watch him pull Twitter’s head all the way up its own ass to the shoulders and wring it right the hell out to the accompaniment of a chorus of weeping and whining from overentitled, too-twee shitlibs everywhere, I really have no intention of jumping the Gab ship and heading there-wards instead.

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Exceptional

Comic Rob Schneider waxes serious.

I believe we in western civilization have departed from “The Age of Reason,” and are now falling into “The Age of Emotion.” We are in the process of trading critical thinking and logic for the excesses of ‘how one feels.’ Rational people are the new heretics who dare question it.

This “Age of Emotions” has it’s belief systems and superstitions that act as a religion. You are not allowed to question any part of it or you are excommunicated. At the same time the world is experiencing democracy fatigue. Which opens the door to totalitarianism.

And now with the help of big tech, government has at its disposal new enormous powers to control narratives & crush any dissent & to destroy people who resist or fight back.

Crisis after crisis will continue to be used to eliminate individual liberties

Andrea Widberg follows up.

Many Americans remember Rob Schneider from his time on Saturday Night Live in the late 1980s through the early 1990s, when he created several amusing characters. After leaving SNL, he’s had a decent Hollywood career, although he hasn’t had the fame his pal Adam Sandler has enjoyed. I hope, though, that Schneider will be remembered for something else. In a Twitter thread, he expressed his love for America and her constitutional values, especially when arrayed against the mindless emotionalism and techno-fascism that now threatens those values.

Schneider’s political trajectory was not foreordained. As a half-Jewish San Francisco Bay Area native and San Francisco State graduate (usually a sure sign of leftism) who then made his career in Hollywood, leftism would seem inevitable. Instead, Schneider is not just a conservative but also a proud American who understands and values America’s unique virtues and recognizes the forces arrayed against her.

Too many Republican politicians are afraid to say what Schneider said or, if they say those things, they don’t exercise their politics in line with those ideals or as a response to those threats. Many kudos to Schneider for his courage and wisdom.

Amen to that.

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A good and decent man

That would be the greatest Supreme Court justice we ever have had, the completely admirable and honorable Clarence Thomas.

“Thus, when you give to the needy, sound no trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may be praised by others. Truly, I say to you, they have received their reward.” — Matthew 6:2

Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas embodies this verse well, as it has recently come to light that he has been quietly placing Christmas wreaths on the graves of American veterans for years.

D.C. journalist and author Emily Miller spotted Thomas volunteering for Wreaths Across America at Arlington National Cemetery on Saturday, as seen in a photo she posted to Twitter.

Wreaths Across America is a charitable organization that mobilizes thousands of volunteers every year to put wreaths on the graves of veterans and fallen soldiers.

This isn’t the first year Thomas has volunteered at Arlington Cemetery, either.

The justice can be seen in a candid photo from 2013 helping to clean up the cemetery after the Christmas season on a rainy January day.

The un-self-conscious nature of the photo stands in stark contrast to the contrived photo-ops that Democratic politicians conjure up for their own selfish ambitions and narratives.

Which, there have been plenty of those, to the surprise of no sane and aware person. Exhibit A:

Democratic New Jersey Rep. Andy Kim shamelessly attempted to gain clout from the Capitol incursion by cleaning up the “carnage,” as described by one Facebook user — the carnage being a few water bottles.

A photo captured Kim “experiencing the horror firsthand,” while everything around him looked hilariously pristine.

The photo-op photo in question:

The horror, the horror
Nope, doesn’t look staged at all to me

The thing to remember here is, as the author reiterates in his closing ‘graphs, Justice Thomas has been going about his good works on the QT rather than making sure plenty of Enemedia cameras were on hand to publicize him for it. It’s exactly as the last line says:

We could use more people in Washington demonstrating a spirit of humility and gratitude rather than selfish ambition.

Couldn’t we, though. Couldn’t we just.

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Naming (un)conventions

Never underestimate the creative ingenuity and all-round insouciance of the general public. First, the backstory:

A few years ago, Britain’s Natural Environment Research Council announced a competition to name a new research vessel.  Given the sense of humor of the British public, it was perhaps not surprising that the winner – by a very large margin – was “Boaty McBoatface“.  Horrified at such unseemly (and un-bureaucratic) levity, the Council stiffly announced that the ship would be christened David Attenborough, but in recognition of public opinion, one of its remotely controlled submersible vehicles would be named according to the popular poll.  Wikipedia notes:  “Observers of contemporary culture coined the term ‘McBoatfacing’, defined as ‘making the critical mistake of letting the internet decide things’.”

One suspects the Ohio Turnpike Commission might have had that example in mind when they announced the winners of their second annual “Name-a-snowplow” competition.

Now, the winners.

Ctrl-Salt-Delete by Nicole G.

Blizzard Wizard by Jacqueline F.

Plow Chicka Plow Wow by Joshua K.

You’re Killin’ Me Squalls by Linda V.

The Big LePlowski by Matthew S.

The Blizzard of Oz by Annette B.

Ohio Thaw Enforcement by Jonathan H.

Clearopathtra by Samantha S.

One plow at each of the turnpike’s eight maintenance buildings will get one of the names. That includes the Amherst, Boston and Hiram facilities as well as others in Erie, Fulton, Mahoning, Ottawa and Williams counties.

Each winner will receive a $100 cash gift card, according to a news release. The commission got more than 5,500 entries between Oct. 24 and Nov. 20. The top 50 were put up for a public vote which ended Dec. 2 with more than 1,100 votes cast.

Heh. I love it. Back over to Peter for the wrap-up.

Good on the Turnpike Authority for letting the public join in the fun, and for selecting amusing names that will make people smile. There’s all too little of that from ponderous public authorities these days.

Ain’t THAT the sad, sorry truth.

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Lock ’em up, lock ’em up, lock em ALLLL up!

Swiping a page from Elon Musk, my preferred pronouns are Fauci/Prison.

DeSantis to pursue legal fight against Big Pharma in the criminal arena, recruiting additional states for ‘shadow CDC’

Following his two major announcements on Tuesday, Florida Governor Ron DeSantis made himself available for a Q&A with The Dossier along with a couple other media outlets.

Governor DeSantis had just announced that he was petitioning the Florida Supreme Court to impanel a grand jury with the hopes to “investigate crimes and wrongdoing committed against Floridians related to the COVID-19 vaccine.”  He also announced the establishment of a Public Health Integrity Committee, which the Florida Governor also referred to as a “shadow CDC” that seeks to hold the federal government’s health bureaucracy accountable.

Hot DOG! Might Real Americans finally be getting a “shadow government” of their own?

The Dossier asked Governor DeSantis if he was specifically focusing on Pfizer and Moderna, because they are the only pharmaceutical companies that provide mRNA Covid injections in the United States.

“Yes, for sure,” the governor responded, adding, “I think we will look beyond that too, because there were a lot of fraudulent representations made” with the government health institutions as well. In the earlier panel, the governor and his co-panelists cited claims by Dr Fauci, the CDC director, and the many others who grossly misrepresented claims about the supposedly “safe and effective” shots that were fraudulently marketed as providing immunity and blocking transmission.

The governor added that the vaccine mandates were “based on premises that turned out not to be accurate,” so the fight in the Supreme court will be “broader than” just Big Pharma, and will also target federal overreach.

Citing the 2005 PREP Act, a bill passed in 2005 by Congress that clears the drug companies of virtually all civil liability, Governor DeSantis discussed his approach to petitioning the Florida Supreme Court.

“They’ll go into federal court and try to squash anything that we do, but that liability does not include criminal,” he said of the Big Pharma protections. “We’re going to do our process with the grand jury. We will have more heft than a congressional committee would anyway, because it’s a criminal process, not just civil.”

Good on ya, Gov. Keep up the fine work.

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Happy 100th birthday

To the incomparable Charles Schultz.

The 100th anniversary of the late cartoonist Charles Schulz’s birthday came and went last week without any notice anywhere, that I saw. And so, with thanks to Mark, I pen my own little tribute here to one of the great creative geniuses in American history.

If you were young at any time between 1950 (when Schulz first began publishing his comic strip Peanuts) and 2000, when Schulz died at the age of 77, you grew up in a world in which everyone read the latest Peanuts comic strip (particularly in the US and Canada) as part of their daily newspaper reading ritual.

In that world, Peanuts comic strip panels—carefully cut from the newspaper—adorned refrigerators, bedroom walls, lockers, office bulletin boards, everywhere you went; Peanuts characters adorned T-shirts and lunch boxes; Peanuts references peppered everyday conversations; and Peanuts television specials attracted as many adult viewers as child viewers.

Most remarkably, in that world, Peanuts story lines, themes, and characters resided so deeply in the North American psyche, they had come to serve as crucial cognitive tools for enabling people to experience, make sense of, and communicate about themselves and the world around them.

On that last point, think of how many times you’ve said, or heard someone say, “It’s Lucy with the football”. The reference instantly transmits not just an insight into the true dynamics of a situation, but an insight with powerful emotional valence. In a flash, you think back to all those strips showing Lucy fooling Charlie Brown again…and you re-experience your own past feeling of wanting to believe in something so badly, you’ve forgotten what history has already taught you, and you’ve started to fall prey to the persuasions of someone who just won’t deliver in the end. Think of Lucy holding that football, and you inevitably start to wonder if, in this case, you’ve turned into Charlie Brown. It’s a reality check.

That it surely is. Tal goes on from there to, as he puts it, “touch on a few deeper issues,” in his usual erudite and adroit fashion. To wit:

People naturally tend to think of earlier generations as somewhat benighted compared to us in our present age. We assume those before us didn’t have the awareness we have, or the depth, sophistication, or imagination. And certainly, we might be tempted to imagine that about an era in which “The Andy Griffith Show”, “Gilligan’s Island”, and “My Three Sons” were the biggest shows going, as opposed to, say, “Narcos”, or whatever the latest serial killer series Netflix is running now. Or where the biggest pop stars were Frankie Valli, Dion, and Patti Page, as opposed to our present collection of convicted felons, prostitutes, drug addicts, pimps, and Satanists.

But Peanuts often went deep. One example is the daring surrealism Schulz inserted into the strip, particularly through the character of Charlie Brown’s beagle, Snoopy.

Sitting alone on top of his doghouse, Snoopy regularly hallucinates himself back in time to World War I. Once there, he often finds himself in air battle as a fighter pilot. In these moments, his doghouse is no longer a doghouse. It is a Sopwith Camel outfitted with Vickers machine guns. His main job is to kill Germans (particularly the flying ace Manfred von Richthofen); but in various sequences, he carries messages through trenches filled with the wounded, gets shot down behind enemy lines, dates local French girls, and laments the deaths of his fallen comrades.

Schulz goes farther. He ends up casting these episodes as perhaps more than hallucinations. In one strip, for example, Charlie Brown stands before his school classroom to read a paper on the flu epidemic of 1918. He then reveals it was actually Snoopy who wrote it, since Snoopy was there throughout the crisis. Snoopy stands next to Charlie Brown in class, dressed in his World War I flying gear. That Schulz never definitively explains what’s going on with the fantasy sequences only heightens our emotional engagement with the sequences.

Bachman’s deft analysis continues from there. Read of it, for It Is Good.

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Fairchild-Republic A10 Thunderbolt II: the plane that wouldn’t die

The plane the Chair Farce couldn’t kill off, more like (via Ed Driscoll).

A-10 Warthog: The 50 Year Old Plane That Just Won’t Die

Despite being nearly fifty years old, how does the U.S. A-10 Warthog continue to survive various efforts to cancel it each time it’s in budget-cut danger? An airplane that is as ugly as its name, the A-10 can bring the heat to the air-to-ground battle. Its many critics have to admit that this thing is just awesome at close-air-support. Designed as a “tank plinker” during the Cold War, the Warthog showed extreme prowess during Operation Desert Storm while destroying all kinds of Iraqi weapons systems.

How Many Lives Does the Warthog Have?

But the Air Force has wanted to eliminate the A-10 for more than 20 years. It is considered too slow and ponderous after decades in service. And despite its achievements in the air-to-ground fight, opponents believed the money used on upkeep and maintenance could be better spent on more modern aircraft.

Enter the Biden Administration and the U.S. Senate

Then politics entered the picture. First, the Biden Administration said no more Warthogs and proposed to retire dozens of them.

Because of course he did. It’s a US military aircraft that works extremely well, enheartening beleaguered American ground-pounders and striking abject terror into the hearts of America’s enemies every time it comes howling in low on another deadly strafing run with that enormous GAU 8 cannon; for a shitheel like Traitor Joe, what’s to like?



Be sure to watch the whole vid; it’s eight minutes-plus of pure, unadulterated glory, that’s what. Oh, and I DID mention that the GAU 8 Gatling-cannon is enormous, didn’t I? Why yes, I believe I did at that.

Big gun
Big enough for ya?

You aviation buffs will doubtless be aware that the A10 platform was actually designed and built around the GAU 8 Avenger rotary gun, resulting in one of the most successful combinations in military-aviation history. The A10 came into being as the replacement for the venerable Douglas A1 Skyraider, a warbird I was lucky enough to get some stick time in at an airshow years ago:

Flyboy
Co-pilot’s aircraft!
AoA
Cranking the Able Dog hard a-port
Bankage
Note the AoA indicator, at top center

The USAF, despite the A10’s matchless record of battlefield success, doesn’t see CAS as its role, greatly preferring the old-school glamor of aerial dogfighting, strategic bombing, and standoff-range missile engagements instead. Hence its longstanding dislike of the A10, dubbed by its opponents in Iraq as “the Devil’s Cross.” They feared the A10, and were right to do so; its other ordnance aside, the GAU 8’s stout 30mm depleted-uranium rounds ripped many a pinned-down Republican Guardsman into Kibbles ‘N’ Bits over the course of both Iraq conflicts, without its pilots’ ever breaking much of a sweat.

Ahh, but is the A10 durable? Don’t even go there.

Air Force Pilot Landed Damaged A-10 Using Only ‘Cranks and Cables’

DAVIS-MONTHAN AIR FORCE BASE, Ariz. (AFNS) — Maj. Kim Campbell, an A-10 Thunderbolt II pilot here, shared her story with Women’s History Month luncheon guests about a mission in which her A-10 was hit by enemy fire over Baghdad.

While deployed in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom, then Captain Campbell and her flight lead were flying over downtown Baghdad during a close air support mission April 7, 2003.

“We were originally tasked to target some Iraqi tanks and vehicles in the city that were acting as a command post, but on the way to the target area we received a call from the ground forward air controller or FAC, saying they were taking fire and needed immediate assistance.”

The FAC ultimately turned out to be a member of the captain’s squadron. Once over the target area, they descended below the clouds to positively identify the friendly troops and the enemy’s location.

“We could see the Iraqi troops firing RPGs, or rocket propelled grenades, into our guys,” she said. “It was definitely a high threat situation, but within minutes my flight lead was employing his 30 mm Gatling gun on the enemy location.”

The two-ship formation of A-10s then made several passes over the enemy location, employing 30 mm bullets and high explosive rockets.

“Yes, there was risk involved, but these guys on the ground needed our help,” Major Campbell said. “It’s what any A-10 attack pilot would do in response to a troops-in-contact situation. That’s our job; to bring fire down on the enemy when our Army and Marine brothers and sisters request our assistance.”

After her last rocket pass, the captain was maneuvering off target when she felt and heard a large explosion at the back of the aircraft.

“There was no question in my mind,” she said. “I knew I had been hit by enemy fire.”

Yes, there are pictures, all of which serve to confirm the doughty MAJ Campbell as a true master of understatement. Mind, hers is but one of many stories of ragged, chewed-up, shot-to-hell-and-gone A10s nonetheless bringing their pilots home safely.

It may very well be true that the battle-proven A10 Warthog’s moment in the sun has at last flitted on by, and that it should therefore be mothballed with all the honors and respect it has so richly earned over its storied career. That’s an argument I’ll gladly leave to others to make. Whatever the case may be, the A10’s retirement will stand as a marker of something sad and depressing: one of the last reminders of America’s faded glory, its atrophied military muscle, and its bygone ability to engineer and produce war matériel of unparalleled quality, toughness, and worth.

The A10 Thunderbolt II is quite simply the very best CAS aircraft ever built, by anybody. The F35 Turducken as its replacement? Yeah, right.

Update! Just remembered another personal A10 experience I had all but forgotten about, involving the now-defunct Myrtle Beach AFB.

The Myrtle Beach base used the A-10 Warthog jet, and Pat McCullough of the Base Realignment and Closure Commission said the Air Force considered the jet “limited to a low-threat environment”, while the Army believed it was “a very powerful close-air support asset.” The Air Force chose to phase out the A-10, which led to the base’s closing, but the Army wanted the A-10 to continue flying; the decision to keep the A-10 came after the decision to close had been made.

The base closed 31 March 1993.

Now, when I was a kid we always took our summer vacation down at MYB every year, where the fam would often sit on the beach watching those A10 squadrons practicing attack-weave patterns low and slow out over the water, not terribly far from our ocean-front perches. Being but a callow stripling, I just assumed those Warthogs were lowly training jets, not really worthy of a whole lot in the way of notice. It was not until years later that it finally hit me that what I was witnessing was in fact one of the most badass warplanes ever built, swooping and diving around amongst the seagulls no more than a couple hundred yards away from where I sat.

Ahh, youth.

Hot brass update! Another personal A10 memory, this one from Big Country.

No bullshit, I was actually showered with fucking 30mm brass from a close air support mission in Iraq back in the day. Thank Christ I was wearing a helmet bro…Them fucking brass shells are a fucking heavy motherfucker when they’re falling from the sky.

Heh. Yeah, I imagine so. Just the same, I bet you were glad of ’em at the time, though.

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1
1

They never learn

The feel-good video of the year.


Gee, kinda reminiscent of a confused Pedo Joe, facing the wrong way with his unrequited paw out on the sidelines of any of a number of receiving lines, innit? But as with the late, unlamented Juanny Mav, Bipartisan Fusion Uniparty stooges like McConnell and McCarthy can suck up all they like, but the humiliating snubbings from their masters will continue as before.

(Via Ace)

1

And YOU are there

Weasel links to a riveting helmet-cam vid shot from the cockpit hot-seat of a bona fide classic: the legendary P47D Thunderbolt Mk II (ie, the prettier, more elegant bubble-canopy version, not the razorback). When, at around 2:50 or so, the pilot turns the engine over and that Pratt & Whitney Double Wasp finally catches and comes rumbling and grumbling to life, I confess I wet myself just a little.


That tandem takeoff roll is pretty damned schweet too, as are the simulated attack runs on some kind of boat or barge in the river. The pilot proceeds from there to really put the Jug through its paces, albeit at relatively low altitudes (many of those who flew them in both the European and Pacific theaters held that the P47 performed best above 30,000 feet, despite its great success in the ground-attack role), and it’s great fun to watch as he does it.

From the looks of the river and the nearby city skyline, I suspect this was filmed at the annual Thunder Over Louisville airshow, which I was fortunate to kinda-sorta attend several times from a hotel room when I was there for the Knob Creek Machine Gun Shoot. See, the hotel we always stayed at was on the glide path to the airport nearby, which to my boundless delight also happened to be where the various planes staged from, before heading down to the river to do their fly-by passes for the show.

Any red-blooded American male with an ounce of affection for military aviation in his soul is bound to enjoy this video as much as I did myself, I’d imagine; it’s 44 and a half minutes of pure flyboy enjoyment, shot from a perspective that leaves you veritably gasping for breath at times. Mucho, mucho thanks to Weasel for hipping us to this.

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1

Problem: HANDLED

In some situations, there just ain’t no substitute for direct action.


That right there is how it is fucking DONE, people. Two things about this vid that I just can’t help but love: 1) The way the big dude so casually swipes the douchenozzle’s legs out of the way at :015 in with his foot, and 2) the fact that the fucking retards all so conscientiously donned their orange, reflective-taped vests—for SAFETY, one assumes—before going out to lie down in the street in front of a whacking great mass of oncoming traffic.

Idiots.

4

Broken

Methinks Tablet editor in chief Alana Newhouse and her correspondent Ryan are definitely onto something with this idea.

At one point last year, Ryan said something that struck a nerve. “I don’t know what I identify as these days, because everything has gotten so scrambled,” he noted. “I’m not a Democrat or a Republican, I don’t even think I could define myself narrowly as either a liberal or a conservative anymore. The one thing I know that I fundamentally do believe is the premise of your piece, that the dominant institutions of American life—in education, in the arts, in politics—are either totally broken or so weak or corrupt that they’re becoming irrelevant. In a way, the only thing I know that I believe in is…brokenness.”

Ryan went on to explain that, when he gets into political debates with friends and acquaintances these days, those on the “other side” aren’t all liberals or all conservatives or in fact all from any other previously recognizable camp. Instead, they are the people in his life who, regardless of how they vote or otherwise affiliate, remain invested in the institutions and political ideologies that now leave Ryan cold. Many of them acknowledge that there are problems, even serious ones, with universities, newspapers, nonprofits, both political parties, what have you, but they see these as normal, fixable challenges, not signs of fundamental brokenness. To them, the impulse to consign weighty institutions to the dustbin of history feels impulsive and irresponsible—like arson. To Ryan, staying committed to decrepit structures, and insisting to others that they are fundamentally safe when they’re clearly not, is what feels reckless.

Most Americans don’t fall squarely into one of these two camps. Around 40% don’t even vote. But among the people who do engage in debates about this country’s future, the ones doing it most compellingly are not those still stuck in the battle between “Democrats” and “Republicans,” or “liberalism” and “conservatism.” The most vital debate in America today is between those who believe there is something fundamentally broken in America, and that it’s an emergency, and those who do not.

…Many people understandably see our current moment as a wave of change that can be ridden successfully—without overblown diagnoses or radical solutions. These are status-quoists, people who are invested in the established institutions of American life, even as they acknowledge that this or that problem around the margins should of course be tackled. Status-quoists believe that any decline in quality one might observe at Yale or The Washington Post or the Food and Drug Administration or the American Federation of Teachers are simply problems of personnel, circumstance, incompetence, or lack of information. Times change, people come and go, status-quoists believe—this outfit screwed up COVID policy, yes, and that place has an antisemitism problem, agreed. But they will learn, reform, and recover, and they need our help to do so. What isn’t needed, and is in fact anathema, is any effort to inject more perceived radicalism into an already toxic and polarized American society. The people, ideas, and institutions that led America after the end of the Cold War must continue to guide us through the turbulence ahead. What can broadly be called the “establishment” is not only familiar, status-quoists believe; it is safe, stable, and ultimately enduring.

On the other side are brokenists, people who believe that our current institutions, elites, intellectual and cultural life, and the quality of services that many of us depend on have been hollowed out. To them, the American establishment, rather than being a force of stability, is an obese and corrupted tangle of federal and corporate power threatening to suffocate the entire country. Proof of this decay, they argue, can be seen in the unconventional moves that many people, regardless of how they would describe themselves politically, are making: home-schooling their children to avoid the failures and politicization of many public and private schools; consuming more information from YouTube, Twitter, Substack, and podcasts than from legacy media outlets; and abandoning the restrictions, high costs, and pathologies of the coasts for freer and more affordable pastures in the Southeast and Southwest.

Brokenists come from all points on the political spectrum. They disagree with each other about what kinds of programs, institutions, and culture they want to see prevail in America. What they agree on—what is in fact a more important point of agreement than anything else—is that what used to work is not working for enough people anymore.

Worse, the people for whom it IS still working are the selfsame nefarious wreckers who broke the whole damned system in the first place, intentionally and with malice aforethought.

(Via WeirdDave)

4

Facts: FACED

On Gab, Fran just comes right out and says it.

We must accept…
That the Constitution is a dead letter.
That the last two elections were fraudulent.
That the edifice in Washington is hostile to us.
That we cannot trust anyone who holds public office.
That “movements,” so called, are mostly a trap for enthusiasts.
That no explicitly political undertaking will restore our rights or our nation.

These are not happy pronouncements. I’m distressed by the need to make them. But reality is not a matter of opinion. Today we have a government of Usurpers who mean to rule by force, and with no particular regard for our rights. They will not yield to anything but massively superior force.

So what then?

I don’t know. I don’t have the answers. I’m an old man who’s seen too much and has no stomach for yet another fight. But what is must be frankly faced. America is now a nation ruled by an unelected oligarchy that selects its own successors, much as the Kremlin did. And as bad as its oppressions and exactions are today, present trends continuing, they’ll get worse.

How do we prevent “present trends” from “continuing?” And please, nobody say “Vote harder!”

I could never possibly say “ditto!” enough times to do the above justice, not in a million bazillion years.

5

Happy birthday

To one of the greats, a true American original.

Berry Gordy: The Visionary Who Made Motown

A company that was started with a loan of $800 went on to help shape the sound of the 20th century. We could only be talking about Motown Records, founded on January 12, 1959 by Berry Gordy Jr, who was born in the city he helped make synonymous with soulfulness, Detroit, on November 28, 1929. Unfailingly spritely, just ahead of his 90th birthday, Gordy announced his retirement at the Hitsville Honours ceremony, safe in the knowledge that his achievements will last forever.

Gordy built his empire on his early success as a songwriter, notably of “Reet Petite,” “Lonely Teardrops” and others for perhaps the pre-eminent black music entertainer of the late 1950s, Jackie Wilson.

“Of the late 1950s”? RUFKM? Try: of all time, it’s a much better fit. Don’t believe me?



Jackie was so incredibly, unbelievably good that a young Elvis Presley, on his first time seeing him perform in Vegas, was so blown away by the show he asked to come backstage to visit with “Mr Excitement” in the green room, to which request Wilson graciously acceded. Elvis made his obeisances to a man he recognized as one of the most awe-inspiring vocalists the world has ever seen or ever will see before solemnly swearing that he would never, not EVER, willingly follow Jackie onstage.

Smart fella, that Elvis.

The two nascent legends shared a few laughs and hung out awhile just shooting the familiar old road-dog breeze, then Wilson explained one of his own stage tricks to Elvis: gulp down a bunch of salt tablets and drink a gallon or two of water before going out onstage, so as to make oneself sweat profusely during the show, something any audience just loves to see from a singer; as Wilson told E at the time, “the chicks love it.”

Elvis used the trick forever after, there being but one minor little problem with the technique—it’s just liable to kill ya from a heart attack or stroke eventually. In fact, it was almost certainly a contributing factor in Jackie Wilson’s own debilitating heart attack a few years on down the road, a setback from which he never really recovered.

On September 29, 1975, Wilson was one of the featured acts in Dick Clark‘s Good Ol’ Rock and Roll Revue, hosted by the Latin Casino in Cherry Hill, New Jersey. He was in the middle of singing “Lonely Teardrops” when he suffered a massive heart attack. On the words “My heart is crying” he collapsed on stage; audience members applauded as they initially thought it was part of the act. Clark sensed something was wrong, then ordered the musicians to stop the music. Cornell Gunter of the Coasters, who was backstage, noticed Wilson was not breathing. Gunter was able to resuscitate him and Wilson was then rushed to a nearby hospital.

Medical personnel worked to stabilize Wilson’s vital signs, but the lack of oxygen to his brain caused him to slip into a coma. He briefly recovered in early 1976, and was even able to take a few wobbly steps, but slipped back into a semi-comatose state.

Wilson’s friend, fellow singer Bobby Womack, planned a benefit at the Hollywood Palladium to raise funds for Wilson on March 4. Wilson was deemed conscious but incapacitated in early June 1976, unable to speak but aware of his surroundings. He was a resident of the Medford Leas Retirement Center in Medford, New Jersey, when he was admitted into Memorial Hospital of Burlington County in Mount Holly, New Jersey, due to having trouble taking nourishment, according to his attorney John Mulkerin. Elvis Presley covered a large portion of Wilson’s medical bills. Wilson’s friend Joyce McRae tried to become his caregiver while he was in a nursing home, but he was placed in the guardianship of his estranged wife Harlean Harris and her lawyer John Mulkerin in 1978.

Wilson died on January 21, 1984, at the age of 49 from complications of pneumonia. He was initially buried in an unmarked grave at Westlawn Cemetery near Detroit.

So sad. But all this got me to revisiting a few of my personal all-time Motown faves on YewToob, a list which would necessarily have to include this slice of pure musical genius on it.



Pay especial attention to what the aptly-named Miracles are doing behind Smokey here; it pulls the entire song together in a way most non-professionals will never even notice at all—a thing often striven for by tunesmiths, but seldom achieved except in the verymost brilliant compositions.

And yes, Smokey Robinson and the Miracles were also on Motown, of course. Actually, Robinson himself was the label’s VP from 1972 until 1990, two years after the company had been sold.

So yeah, happy 93rd birthday to the great Berry Gordy, who brought us so very much wonderful, wonderful music on the Motown label. Thanks for that, sir, and God bless you.

8

The lesson of Thanksgiving

Very simple, very easy: eschew socialism.

Turns out, you can’t just ignore economics and human nature.

Socialism really does sound good on paper though, right? We’re all going to own everything together and take care of each other. “From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs.“

It sounds so nice. And we all want to be nice, right? People are emotionally drawn to socialism because it sounds so good. It sounds fair. It sounds — nice.

But do you know what’s not nice?

Corpses.

That’s exactly what happened the Pilgrims got when they took a stab at socialism.

Most Americans don’t know that the Plymouth colony was originally an experiment in socialist utopianism and were it not for a complete 180 a couple of years in, we probably wouldn’t have enjoyed the bountiful feasts most of us will indulge in today. There would have been no Thanksgiving because there would have been nobody left to give thanks.

It just wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without including Rush Limbaugh’s classic recounting and analysis of the true meaning of the day.

“On August 1, 1620, the Mayflower set sail. It carried a total of 102 passengers, including forty Pilgrims,” now known as Pilgrims, “led by William Bradford. On the journey, Bradford set up an agreement, a contract, that established” how they would live once they got there. The contract set forth “just and equal laws for all members of the new community, irrespective of their religious beliefs,” or political beliefs. “Where did the revolutionary ideas expressed in the Mayflower Compact come from? From the Bible.

The Pilgrims were a “devoutly religious people completely steeped in the lessons of the Old and New Testaments. They looked to the ancient Israelites for their example. And, because of the biblical precedents set forth in Scripture, they never doubted that their experiment would work.” They believed in God. They believed they were in the hands of God. As you know, “this was no pleasure cruise, friends. The journey” to the New World on the tiny, by today’s standards, sailing ship. It was long, it was arduous.

There was sickness, there was seasickness, it was wet. It was the opposite of anything you think of today as a cruise today on the open ocean. When they “landed in New England in November, they found, according to Bradford’s detailed journal, a cold, barren, desolate wilderness. There were no friends to greet them, he wrote. There were no houses to shelter them. There were no inns where they could refresh themselves.” There was nothing.

“[T]he sacrifice they had made for freedom was just beginning. During the first winter, half the Pilgrims — including Bradford’s own wife — died of either starvation, sickness or exposure.” They endured that first winter. “When spring finally came,” they had, by that time, met the indigenous people, the Indians, and indeed the “Indians taught the settlers how to plant corn, fish for cod and skin beavers” and other animals “for coats.” But there wasn’t any prosperity. “[T]hey did not yet prosper!” They were still dependent. They were still confused. They were still in a new place, essentially alone among likeminded people.

“This is important to understand because this is where modern American history lessons often end. Thanksgiving is actually explained in some textbooks as a holiday for which the Pilgrims gave thanks to the Indians for saving their lives, rather than what it really was. That happened, don’t misunderstand. That all happened, but that’s not — according to William Bradford’s journal — what they ultimately gave thanks for. “Here is the part that has been omitted: The original contract” that they made on the Mayflower as they were traveling to the New World…

They actually had to enter into that contract “with their merchant-sponsors in London,” because they had no money on their own. The needed sponsor. They found merchants in London to sponsor them. The merchants in London were making an investment, and as such, the Pilgrims agreed that “everything they produced to go into a common store,” or bank, common account, “and each member of the community was entitled to one common share” in this bank. Out of this, the merchants would be repaid until they were paid off.

“All of the land they cleared and the houses they built belong to the community as well.” Everything belonged to everybody and everybody had one share in it. They were going to distribute it equally.” That was considered to be the epitome of fairness, sharing the hardship burdens and everything like that. “Nobody owned anything. It was a commune, folks. It was the forerunner to the communes we saw in the ’60s and ’70s out in California,” and other parts of the country, “and it was complete with organic vegetables, by the way.

“Bradford, who had become the new governor of the colony, recognized that” it wasn’t working. It “was as costly and destructive…” His own journals chronicle the reasons it didn’t work. “Bradford assigned a plot of land” to fix this “to each family to work and manage,” as their own. He got rid of the whole commune structure and “assigned a plot of land to each family to work and manage,” and whatever they made, however much they made, was theirs. They could sell it, they could share it, they could keep it, whatever they wanted to do.

“For young men that were most able and fit for labor and service did repine that they should spend their time and strength to work for other men’s wives and children without any recompense,’” without any payment, “‘that was thought injustice.’ Why should you work for other people when you can’t work for yourself? What’s the point?…The Pilgrims found that people could not be expected to do their best work without incentive.

“So what did Bradford’s community try next? They unharnessed the power of good old free enterprise by invoking the undergirding capitalistic principle of private property. Every family was assigned its own plot of land to work and permitted to market its own crops and products. And what was the result? ‘This had very good success,’ wrote Bradford, ‘for it made all hands [everybody] industrious, so as much more corn was planted than otherwise would have been.’…

“Is it possible that supply-side economics could have existed before the 1980s. … In no time, the Pilgrims found they had more food than they could eat themselves. Now, this is where it gets really good, folks, if you’re laboring under the misconception that I was, as I was taught in school. So they set up trading posts and exchanged goods with the Indians. The profits allowed them to pay off their debts to the merchants in London.

“And the success and prosperity of the Plymouth settlement attracted more Europeans and began what came to be known as the ‘Great Puritan Migration.’” The word of the success of the free enterprise Plymouth Colony spread like wildfire and that began the great migration. Everybody wanted a part of it. There was no mass slaughtering of the Indians. There was no wiping out of the indigenous people, and eventually — in William Bradford’s own journal — unleashing the industriousness of all hands ended up producing more than they could ever need themselves.

So trading post began selling and exchanging things with the Indians — and the Indians, by the way, were very helpful. Puritan kids had relationships with the children of the Native Americans that they found. This killing the indigenous people stuff, they’re talking about much, much, much, much later. It has nothing to do with the first thanksgiving.

The first Thanksgiving was William Bradford and Plymouth Colony thanking God for their blessings. That’s the first Thanksgiving. Nothing wrong with being grateful to the Indians; don’t misunderstand. But the true meaning of Thanksgiving — and this is what George Washington recognized in his first Thanksgiving proclamation.

No wonder shitlibs loathe and despise this quintessentially American holiday so intensely. The Thanksgiving story revolves around gratitude; humility; pluck; human fallibility. It is a glorious confirmation of human resilience and adaptability. Above all else, it stands as a resounding condemnation, in the most practical and readily comprehensible of terms, of their preferred ideology: socialism. For your typical, garden-variety shitlib, what’s to like?

12

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