baldilocks

One of the Good Guys

My cousin, Christopher, recently came to visit, along with his mother, my mother and our grandmother. The last time I had seen Chris, he was an average-sized elementary school student with a cherubic face and sweet, if mischievous nature.

Well now he’s sixteen, and while the mischievousness is under control, the sweet nature remains. Additional in the transformation, the small boy's body has been replaced with that of a 5’11”, 230 pound high school football team lineman that he is.

He’s a great kid, though not perfect. He let his grades slip a bit and lost one of the scholarship offers that he’s received in this, his junior year. My aunt, most assuredly, is making him pay for his transgression and minimizing the chances of a repeat.

Watching him assist our grandmother, who is a near invalid, gives me hope for at least one member of American youth, however. Also, he put up with five ornery old ladies for six days—my great-aunt and I included—with admirable patience and diplomacy. No mean feat, that.

Out of the Mouth of a Babe

Chris told us of a conversation he had had with some of his teammates. The teammates had discovered that on many college campuses, women outnumber the men by some given ratio. They were relishing these numbers. Chris’ response was classic: “You know what it means if the women outnumber the men? It means that the men aren’t going to college enough. How you gonna get to be around those women if you’re not there?”

My cousin, the genius. Chris will make some lucky girl a great husband someday.

Where's the 'Love?'

Will, in his blog, takes issue with my characterization of events during a dead-cell excising of the other day. Arguably, some of his comments regarding those who commented on the post have merit. However, here are some excerpts to which I felt the need to respond:

"SwampWoman" says:
"I used to have a construction company and hired a variety of folks. What I thought was odd was that the whites and hispanics did not have a problem with the Caribbean blacks, but the American blacks would make their lives a living hell until they left."

So, categorically, every white and hispanic person who worked for the construction company had no problem with Caribbean blacks, and, categorically, every American black made their lives a living hell? And more importantly, what does this have to do with college admissions?

Of course all Carribeans aren’t hard workers, nor does every black American make “their lives a living hell.” Considering that SwampWoman was referring to her particular company, the word "some" is implied. It’s called anecdotal evidence—just like, admittedly, my post. SwampWoman's story, however, is a symptom of the problem.

Here are a couple of definitions of the word "prejudice" from my trusty Webster's dictionary:
preconceived judgment or opinion
an adverse (emphasis mine) opinion or leaning without just grounds or before sufficient knowledge
an irrational attitude of hostility directed against an individual, a group, a race, or their supposed characteristics.

Here's a quote from Juliette: "Heck, I don’t even like every black person. In fact, I don’t like most of them." Since I doubt that anyone knows "every black person, " how can you dislike people you don't know?

As I mentioned in your comments, you quoted me out of context. Read my post again. I’m not too fond of most people that I have met—which apparently must be spelled out for some--regardless of their ethnicity or persuasion. A post-conceived notion, to be sure, if I may coin a word.

My question concerns whether African-Americans can air grievances and be taken seriously. I'm growing tired of the kneejerk dismissal of minority grievances. It's come to this: if an African American complains about anything, it's perceived as a desire by the person to maintain victim status.

Crying “wolf” at every preconceived slight will cause that to happen. Legitimate grievances will get caught in the mire of the whining. Complaining about how much paperwork is involved to apply to college and using it as evidence that "they don’t want us there” falls into that category.

What I'm completely sick and disgusted by are people who attack African Americans for no legitimate reason or who criticize them for sport.

Am I doing that?

Six days ago, while walking to my car after work, I was repeatly [sic] called a "nigger dog" by a raving lunatic. Now, the man's speech is protected by the Second Amendment [sic] and, since he didn't threaten violence, he didn't commit a hate crime. But he certainly was trying to send a message.

Should I not be upset about this? Should I not hope for a world in which people of any race, gender or sexual preference are allowed to live free of irrational hatred?

In traffic, I have been called an “ugly nigger b****” while in military uniform defending this person’s right to piss me off. Ugly? It’s a matter of taste. Glad this cretin thought so; I suppose it’s because I’m not a Halle Berry clone.

B****? You’d better believe it.

Then there’s that other word. Had the…man…been brave enough to call me out without running away, I might have shown him that I take my Second Amendment rights seriously. (I know you meant the First Amendment.)

In the aftermath, I will admit to temporarily avoiding my (mostly white) friends/co-workers/comrades-in-arms. Were they calling me that word behind my back, I emotionally asked myself. Such an incident does little to induce rational thinking. However, reason, once again, did take over.

Of course, you have the right to be upset about such a thing (as did I). Are the types that we apparently have both run into--and, regrettably, not over--stopping us from achieving?

Here’s a relevant analogy: In the early and mid parts of the last century, Jewish Americans were not exactly welcome on many college campuses. Yes, they complained about it, but it didn’t stop many of them from reaching their goals. Not all, Will, not all, but a larger portion than can be said of black Americans since, say, 1964.

Shouldn't a student be allowed to voice a grievance without being kicked out by a kneejerk dismissal of his concerns?

Do you know what "compassion" means?

compassion: sympathetic consciousness of others' distress together with a desire to alleviate it

Should we only have compassion for non-whiners?

And what in the name of (insert name of your favorite deity or philosopher) is wrong with love?

Having love for another or a group does not imply an implicit or explicit approval of everything which that person or group does. Example: a relative of mine has two illegitimate children by different fathers. Did my vocal disapproval of this state of affairs imply that I don’t love her? You make the call.

I learned long ago that you can't win an argument about race, because we're all prejudiced. No one can distance themselves far enough from their own feelings and perceptions to be rational about this issue.

I'm not arguing a point of view. This is a rant. I'm not trying to win an argument, and since I truly believe you can't argue about race, I rarely discuss race on my blog, and I probably won't respond to any comments.

Well, Will. I understand your ambivalence toward discussing this subject. However, since you did post parts of my rant on your blog, a response from me was inevitable. Cause and effect, you know.

Peace out.

Back at you.

UPDATE: Here’s Will’s response to my attempt to engage him in constructive dialogue. I asked him a question in order to answer one of his questions to me. I did this in order to avoid making any assumptions about the meaning of his question.

How much "context" would satisfy you?The entire paragraph? Your entire entry?

Not answering my question is a blatant way of showing your unwillingness to engage in argument and to defend your own words.

What we have here is yet another blogger who only responds to commenters who kowtow to her point of view. Goodbye, Juliette.

Sigh. Sometimes people won’t let you give them the benefit of the doubt regarding their intelligence. And Will wonders at my misanthropy.

UPDATE: The above comment was mistakenly attributed to "Chris in CT." The error has been corrected, has its correct author, "SwampWoman," and the correct gender references.

Love Has Absolutely Nothing to do With It

Yesterday, I went to make sure that my head remained relatively dead cell-free. Any place where hair is being styled or shorn is a great place to get into all sorts of stimulating conversations and top-of-the-lungs debates. Yesterday was no different.

My barber, Mario, a huge—as in fat—guy, has a lot of children. Some of them work for him as barbers, beauticians and manicurists. One of the girls, a seventeen-year-old senior in high school, is about to send out her college applications for the 2004 fall semester/quarter, she informed me. I’ve been going to this barbershop for a few years now and I’ve watched this young lady grow up, so I was thrilled.

This led to a discussion about loans and scholarships. The daughter is applying to Cal State and University of California schools, along with private schools like USC and Pepperdine. Mario tried to dissuade his daughter from applying to private schools because of the costs involved, but I told him not to do that. She should apply and then apply for scholarships, I told him. If she doesn’t get enough to cover costs, she can go to a UC or a Cal State school. All they can do is say ‘no,’ I told him. He was convinced.

(Like many people over fifty, he is ambivalent about computer use, so I clued him in about the various ways of winning scholarship money through the Internet.)

While this conversation was going on, there was an older man and his grandson waiting their turn. At an opportune moment, the man interjected with this:

“You gotta jump through too many hoops just to get an education! They don’t want us there anyway!”

Why did he have to say that in front of me? (Answering my own rhetorical question: so I could blog about it, of course.)

This is what it’s all about. They don’t want us there. Those hoops are just there to discourage blacks and latinos from applying to college. Yep, that’s right. No other group of people has to follow the same route when applying for college, according to this man.

So, because they allegedly don’t want us there, we should just forget about going to college.

Isn’t that the most stupid pile of feces you’ve ever read in your life? After all the Affirmative Action, the 20 points for melanin, the black-only dorms, the black-only graduation ceremonies, they don’t want us there. Even if it were true, so what? Getting a college education isn’t a popularity contest—although the Looney Left Liberal professors make a good impression of it being so (which, ironically, would work in a victicrat black person’s favor.)

This is the crux of the problem with too many black Americans. It’s not about jobs, education, money or housing, not really. Black people want you to like them, every last one of them; from Al Sharpton to Condoleezza Rice (okay, maybe not her).

Heck, I don’t even like every black person. In fact, I don’t like most of them. (Don’t start feeling smug, others. I don’t like most of you either.)

Some Jamaican and African immigrants I know have even said as much. The man who owns the cleaners that I frequent, an American born in Jamaica, put it this way: “You [native-born black] Americans care about things that most of us don’t. Trivialities. You want everyone to love you.”

When black (and other) immigrants come here from places where most don’t have adequate housing, in-door plumbing, food, health care and opportunities, they make the most of it and worry about people liking them later, if at all.

Arrgh!

(Calming down.) Well, for my black brethren who still want unconditional love from white people, I submit for your approval a white brutha and sista who really know how to show some love to the race! Heh.

What's Your Battle Cry?

This one is making the rounds. Amazing how accurate these things can be.

What Is Your Battle Cry?

Hark! Who is that, running amidst the mountains! It is Juliette, hands clutching a meaty axe! And with a vengeful bellow, her voice cometh: "I'm going to pummel you all the way to Old Bonny Scotland, and trade you for a candy bar!!!"

Find out! Enter username: Are you a girl, or a guy ?

created by beatings : powered by monkeys

Snort

For a rip-roaring good time, check out Allah. A Fatwa be upon him for making me nose my coffee.

(Thanks to LGF)

Like Mike

Yes, it’s the anniversary of the day I was born. My forties are coming along nicely.

I normally wouldn’t do some as incredibly egotistical and rude as to troll shamelessly on my own website for gratuitous happy birthday wishes. I'm only mentioning it to point this out: back in the day, I used to brag about sharing a birthday with this guy:

Now, every year, I am burdened by the fact that I happen to share a birthday with this guy:

What else do we have in common? Well, we both can sing, we both wear make-up and we both like boys—except I like mine considerably older than he does.

And, I too would charge 2500 bucks a head for people to visit my house as well, if I thought I could get any takers.

(Thanks to Magical Mike!: All Da Fax and All Michael Jackson)

The Indians Ain't Havin' It

Here's a post from Native American Dr. David A. Yeagley's site on MEChA and its aims: "I Don't Need a Great Brown Father."

(Thanks to LGF's DL)

Is He or Isn't He?

Is California Lt. Governor Cruz Bustamante a racist? Does his ‘accidental’ use of the n-word in front of a group of black Americans have any bearing on his gubernatorial candidacy? Does his youthful membership in the organization, Movimiento Estudiantil Chicano de Aztlan (MEChA), disqualify him from representing all of the good citizens of California?

From the San Francisco Chronicle’s web version, SFGate.com:

Bustamante, the state's highest ranking Latino, was the keynote speaker at the Coalition of Black Trade Unionists annual awards dinner and scholarship fund-raiser. About 400 people attended, said Marshall Walker, who served as the master of ceremonies at the event.[SNIP]

His speech focused on civil rights leaders, including A. Philip Randolph, an early African American labor leader. Throughout the remarks, he referred to the leaders using the term "Negro," which was not considered offensive given the historical context. At one point, however, Bustamante used the n-word.[SNIP]

"I was appalled he would even say it as a slip," said Gwendalyn Bello, who attended the event. "You don't make a slip like that unless it is something you say normally. It simply shouldn't have been said. In any context, it shouldn't have been said."

I’m inclined to agree with Ms. Bello. Racial slurs don’t ‘accidentally’ come out of one’s mouth, unless one is used to using such words on a regular basis.

But there was no uproar in most of California’s black community when Lt. Gov. Bustamante made his little slip. Why not? Bustamante isn’t white and he isn’t a Republican, that's why. On top of that, he’s Latino, and any group would have to tread lightly in an attempt to demonize the highest Latino elected office-holder in California. So it is that California’s black residents let him off the hook for the gravest of racial slurs.

A few weeks back, I even heard shock and surprise among the (black) DJs on an LA R&B radio station, when a self-identified black caller expressed his intent not to vote for Bustamante in the upcoming California gubernatorial re-call vote for this very reason. Just a little mistake, right? We’ll take a little verbal abuse from our elected officials and not make them pay on election day, so long as they’re Democrats. Being called a nigger is better than having those evil Republicans in office. Sure.

About MEChA: I looked at some of its various sites, which spoke of harmless concepts such as self-determination and economic independence. There’s nothing wrong with those concepts; I believe in such things myself.

However, this is MEChA’s motto: “Por La Raza todo. Fuera de La Raza nada (For the Race, everything. For those outside the Race, nothing).” Hmmm. Is that like, “Ein Volk, ein Reich, ein Führer?" It would fit in nicely with this charming missive from an "Aztlan" site.

Here's another nugget on the University of Oregon’s MEChA site: “Where we are a majority, we will control; where we are a minority, we will represent a pressure group; nationally, we will represent one party: La Familia de La Raza!”

Now, I don’t hold a person’s youthful indiscretions against him/her. Lord knows, I’ve had enough of those myself. However, in light of Lt. Gov. Bustamante’s verbal faux pas and his radical past, wouldn’t it be prudent to repudiate this past in no uncertain terms?

The only reason that this...um...gentleman would not do so would be if his membership in such a group is not in the past.

UPDATE: Well. I guess he is.

(Thanks to Charles Johnson and his Lizard Minions)

Gratitude

I’d like to thank all of you who e-mailed me, made comments and blogrolled me. You sure know how to make a girl feel welcome in the blog world. And I’m now up to my assets in fun and interesting opinions from fun and interesting people.

I’d like to send special thanks to the beauteous and hardware-laden Acidman, who saw fit to add my missives in his “Blogs I Read Every Day.” Through him, my writings have received a lot of exposure. What more can a girl ask? (Heh.) Hail to the King, Baby.

The Immigrants

I don’t watch Oprah Winfrey’s show regularly, though, unlike many, I admire her greatly. Being the Capitalist Running Jackal that I am, I can’t help but admire Ms.Winfrey for working hard and being duly rewarded for it and then some. Though I sometimes disagree with her take on topics, she can be right on target in just as many other cases.

Today, I tuned in and Oprah’s subject moved me to tears many times. Her guests were immigrants, born in mostly Third World countries, who became Americans. Mirroring her personal transformation from a poor, abused Mississippi girl to one of the richest people in America, she reminded us native-born Americans, especially women, just how blessed we are to have been born in this country.

Americans born in diverse places such as Ethiopia, Cambodia, Guyana, Afghanistan and Ireland told their stories of mortal peril, disease and near starvation in their countries of origin. They told of places where women were forbidden to learn to read, forbidden to speak their minds, forbidden to dress in a manner of choosing. A Cambodian woman told of living with the fear of being gang-raped to death as political revenge against her family.

One young man—a recent Harvard grad--whose family had escaped from chronically war-torn and starvation-ridden Ethiopia’s refugee camps when he was a small boy, told of his first encounter with an American supermarket. He said that there were so many varieties of cat food alone that he thought “cats ran the world.”

Irish-born novelist Frank McCourt, of Angela’s Ashes fame, told of never having had enough food to become full enough to leave some on his plate; he spoke of bitter laughter when reading of Americans going on diets.

Me? This native-born American with an American-educated, Kenyan father who rails against America in his newspaper on an intermittent basis, thanks God regularly that I was born and raised here. I can blog about my opinions, my life, and my right-leanings to my heart’s (and my wallet’s) content.

If the worst thing I ever have to worry about is a troll ‘knocking’ on my virtual door, all while living in a nice house, making a decent living and having more than enough to eat, I can say that God has definitely blessed me, indeed.

Poetry and Narcissism

One of the denizens of the Network 54 Forum, whose link I got from my referrers page, asked what Republicans were doing to make the world a better place. “Where’s the poetry,” he asked. Now I realize that this might have been one of those dreaded rhetorical questions, but I like to take such things literally, just for fun. So I pointed him to my own poetry, amateur efforts though they may be.

I wasn’t going to post any of my poetry here, deeming that blogging about my opinions was a narcissistic enough venture as it is. But I figured what the hay? If you’re going to be a narcissist, you might as well be the best one you can be. Enjoy, or throw things. (Enter my name.)

Endless Booty Call

Bet that title got some attention.

I used to be a regular reader of liberal and leftist sites like Salon and Alternet. But, as my rightward conversion progressed, I began to find them rather annoying. The main thing that annoyed me was the obsession with sex. Now I like sex as much as the next girl, but, after reading or hearing too much about it, there’s a point at which I will say, “well go f*** somebody, and come back when you want to talk about something interesting.”

(About the time Salon was starting to make me regularly yawn, the site’s proprietors started charging for the privilege of reading their offerings. That was the end of that.)

Back to sex. Some Jewish and Christian commentators, like Dennis Prager, have great takes on the subject, which, of course, is couched in Jewish/Christian teachings. If God made us higher than the other beings on the Earth, made us in His image, gave us the ability to be like Him, then He gave us the ability to control our lower instincts with our higher, God-given reasoning.

Even separating this teaching from its moorings, this ability is undeniably present, in greater or lesser degree, in individual cases. However, when this ability is ignored, underdeveloped or scorned, chaos reigns. Exhibit A: the Catholic priest scandal. Exhibit B: the treatment of women in Islamic cultures. Exhibit C: the high percentage of illegitimate children born to black American women. And there are exhibits D through Z and back again through the alphabet too many times to mention here.

Now I could quote some biblical scholar or some social psychologist here but I’d just be skirting around my point: sexual obsession turns us into animals. It causes us to “sexualize everything” as Prager puts it in the article Judaism’s Sexual Revolution…, listed on the right side of this blog. We become dogs in heat or fish who have to swim upstream and spawn or die. And you know what? A lot of us are already there.

Sexual obsession suppresses higher reasoning functions. Don’t think so?

How else would you explain those who get involved with the spouse of a cherished friend?

What about pedophiles? Do they know that if/when they act on their urges that they will all but destroy a given child?

With HIV and other STDs rampant, why would anyone, especially homosexuals, have anonymous, unprotected sex?

Why would a guy like Kobe Bryant, a man with a beautiful wife, risk everything for a quick one with some girl he’d never seen before? (One could ask the same thing about King David.)

I had a friend of mine--one who claimed to be a Christian--tell me that it was unnatural to go without sex, even when one is single. Not very Christian of him, obviously. (And, yes, he was trying to get laid.) I countered that it was unnatural to relieve one's self in the receptacles that are generally used for that purpose and that the ‘natural’ thing to do would be to ‘go’ right where we sit or stand. He had no answer to that observation—and he didn’t get laid, at least not by me.

It’s as if sex were just invented during the so-called Sexual Revolution. This ‘new’ invention now has focus groups, lobbies, organizations, etc., for whatever way one wants to blow one’s socks off. I screw, therefore, I am.

Prude I may be, but it’s boring and tiresome to endlessly obsess over that which is a part of life. When it’s good, it’s very good, but it is not the be-all end-all of life, and, by itself, without a mental, emotional and spiritual connection to the other person involved, it’s a mere bodily function.

Yes, you too, can occasionally keep your pants on.

A Tribute

My matrilineal great-grandmother, Magnolia Stockstell Jenkins Mayes, was born on this day in 1889. She died from complications of a second stroke when I was four years old, but I remember her. She was born to William Stockstell, a man of black and white heritage, and to Sarah Watts Stockstell, a Cherokee Indian.

Granny married twice; first to Lucius Jenkins, Sr., with whom she had eight children, the youngest of which is my grandmother. Lucius was murdered long before my mother’s birth, and many years later, Granny married the man I knew as my Gramps, K.W. Mayes.

She and my great-grandfather had been born and raised in Mississippi and had migrated to Oklahoma with their three oldest children. In Oklahoma, in spite of the Depression, they thrived as pig and cattle farmers. My great-aunt, born in 1921, doesn’t remember having to suffer through much privation when growing up in the 1930s. She also says that her white neighbors called my great-grandparents “sir” and “ma’am” or “mister” and “missus,” a bit unusual for those times. It might have had something to do with the six-shooters that my great-grandfather and his sons carried openly wherever they went.

Granny’s heritage is a snapshot of the heritage of most black Americans. Many wonder why we’re so varied in skin color and hair texture. All I have to do is point to a picture of Granny. I remember seeing her nearly white, pale, aged, Indian-featured face looking down at me from the hospital-type bed that my great-aunts had bought for her after her stroke. She couldn’t speak, but she’d reach down with her good hand and touch my hair. I remember her long, black and grey braid and her kind, loving, light-colored eyes.

From all accounts, she was a tough, smart cookie. Having suffered through the violent deaths of her first husband and two of her sons, she had to be tough to survive whole.

My great-aunt and my grandmother were still kids when their father was murdered and, many years later, my great-aunt asked her mother why she waited so long to remarry. Granny said that she didn’t want to expose her two remaining minor children to a man who may or may not have had honorable intentions toward two pretty, teenaged girls.

She put the protection of her children before her own needs. What a concept.

My great-aunt says that I’m a lot like her: straight and to-the-point, impatient, willful, and tough. I’ve had few compliments that I’ve cherished more.

So Happy Birthday, Granny. There are many people here on Earth that still remember and love you.

Love,
Juliette

Why I am a Republican (part two)

Baldilocks get a collage edumacashun (that's for you, Acidman)

While my neighbors and tenants were beating me with a cluebat™ at home, I still wasn’t quite ready to let go of the old notion of Democrats being the saviors of democracy. Leave it to a college professor, however, to put the icing on my conversion cake.

Actually, the professor in question was as leftist as they come. In his class, Speech Communications, he advised his students to listen to Pacifica Radio’s KPFK in Southern California in order to improve our critical thinking skills and to get a balanced view of national and world events. Yes, he really said this last part.

My professor was half right. Listening to KPFK did improve my critical thinking skills. The ‘progressive’ radio station’s slant toward all things anti-military and anti-American—in spite of receiving a big hand-out from Uncle Sam every year--had a big effect on my thinking. Its embrace and promotion of everything deviant and support for any program that infantilized minorities had a large effect on my thinking.

It made me think that I ought to go see what guys like Rush Limbaugh, Larry Elder and Dennis Prager were thinking.

In the meantime, still hoping for the best from the Democrats, and without a viable or inspiring alternative, I voted for William Clinton in 1996. I still bought the Oxford education, the condescending kissing ‘up’to black Americans and the pretty words that covered a craven heart.

It took the devastation of 1998 to wake me up to what he was and to what the Democrat Party had allowed him to do to them and to this country.

The Lewinsky Scandal, you say? Whatever. I couldn’t care less.

I’m talking about how we elected a man to the Executive Office, who swore twice to protect this nation against enemies foreign and domestic. And that man broke his oath, over and over and over and over again.

And people like me, who were sleeping, who knew how to put two and two together, but failed to do so, let the Devil in the door.

This president fiddled and diddled, while terrorists plotted our demise. With every action of terror, there was an opposite non-reaction from the president. Osama bin Laden stated in plain language that he wanted to destroy us, but when the Sudanese offered him to the Clinton administration on a silver platter, he said thanks, but no thanks.

His punk-ass punked out.

Tangent coming...

Some will say that Clinton gave us a good economy in the nineties. I have two responses to that assertion. 1) An individual, group or national economy is the result of actions that have happened in the past to create conditions for that good economy.

2)What good is a fine and wonderful economic profile going to do if WE’RE ALL DEAD?

Sorry. Got a little riled up there for a minute. Talking about Clinton’s fat ass does that to me.

Taking a critical look at Clinton and his political father, Jimmy Carter, both seem to be demonstrably intelligent in certain areas. One doesn’t graduate from Oxford or the US Naval Academy, in Carter’s case, by being a Short Bus-rider.

So, if I received a little dab of critical thinking guidance in an area community college, you’d think that the above-mentioned big dogs would have likely received a healthy dose of it during most of their sojourns in the elite schools.

You’d think that they would have been taught that one plus one equals two in a far more in-depth manner than I was.

Well, you know what? I think they did learn that lesson and learned it well. The only excuse for two intelligent, well-trained critical thinkers, such as Carter and Clinton, to have actively endangered this country in the manner that they have is this: they did it on purpose.

Back on topic, the Cole bombing was the straw. There was no way I was going to vote for Clinton's faithful servant, Albert Gore, Jr., and watch him continue to put us all in mortal danger. In the 2000 presidential election, I voted for the Republican candidate for the first time in life and registered as a Republican right after President Bush's inauguration.

I did my small, insignificant part, but it was too late. Those who would destroy us and who only understand strength/power wielded ruthlessly--don't they teach Arab history at Oxford?--judged us to be patsies after their first half dozen ruthless attacks. And, guess what? They're half right, too. The Democrats are patsies, as they've proved time and again since 1992 (at least).

I'm proud to no longer be among their number.

If They Had Some Real Cojones

Just once, just one time, I’d like to hear about these creeps tossing some paint or acid on P-Diddy’s Lincoln Navigator™ and learn that Mr. Diddy pulled out one of these on the clowns.

Why I am a Republican (Part One)

Why am I a Republican? Many liberals/leftists/Democrats, especially black ones, have asked me that question, some politely, some not. It’s a long story that I’m only able to tell correctly in written form, because it's the only time I can tell the story without getting shouted down and/or bombarded by a parade of logical fallacies.

In 1980, the first year I was old enough to vote in a presidential election, I voted for Jimmy Carter. (Stop throwing things at me! He didn’t win!) It wasn’t for any overwhelming ideological reason. Voting for the Democratic presidential candidate was just what black Americans did back then (and still do, for the most part). In subsequent presidential election years, I did the same thing, all the way up to 1996, all without too much thought. However, by that year, the transformation was already taking place.

From 1981 to 1994, I was an active duty Air Force member and, while most of my Air Force friends and colleagues were Republicans/conservatives, I remained a Democrat. It wasn’t something we discussed too often. We just agreed to disagree on things political—not that I knew that much anyway--and let it go at that. The odd thing I didn’t notice until later was that these conservative colleagues were often the most conscientious workers and the most generous and trustworthy of friends, in contrast to most of my liberal acquaintances.

In 1994, after I exited active duty--I entered the AF Reserves in 1995—I came back home to Los Angeles to keep an eye on my great-aunt, then in her mid-seventies. I moved into the duplex that had been in my family since the 1940s and began to take courses at one of the myriad community colleges in LA.

Keep in mind that, in spite of my middle-class upbringing and having been immersed in the equality of the US military of the eighties and nineties, I still had unfocused notions that black Americans were somehow being held back by white racism and the ‘system,’ whatever the heck that meant. While partying in Germany and Japan, I hadn’t had time to ponder concepts of personal responsibility, pride of community, capitalism and patriotism, seizing opportunity, etc. I was out there defending the democratic republic, not holding a seminar about it.

Then I came home and faced reality.

Baldilocks Comes Home

My tenant in the other part of the duplex was a welfare mother with three children. One of her daughters—a seventeen-year-old who weighed roughly 300 pounds--told me, after an incident involving the police, that nothing that went on in their part of the house was my business.

My tenant’s oldest child, a young man, decided that he would “move” into the garage—without my consent--and make his domicile there. Since the electricity from the garage was on my bill, my electric bill doubled as a result. I informed his mother that the garage’s electricity would be switched over to her bill and why. When she balked and said “no,” I explained to her that she had no choice in the matter. She claimed that her son had his own money and his own “apartment” and that I should deal with him! When I explained to her that a garage was for cars and gardening equipment and that I did not have a contract with her son to squat in my garage, she promised me that she was going to move out. A couple of days later, she sent me a letter informing me that she was moving out in 30 days. (She didn’t do so until five years later, when I sold the house.)

My neighbors in the duplex next door were also welfare recipients, living on the largess of their father. They would party all night, all during the week, while, I, working two jobs and going to school, attempted to get some sleep on occasion.

My tenants constantly threw trash on our lawn and my neighbors constantly threw trash on their own lawn and mine.

Two of my cars were hit while sitting in front of my house. No note was left in either case.

Let’s not even discuss the shootings.

In other words, I, Miss Black Middle Class, finally got an up-close and personal view of my poor, downtrodden brethren and saw who exactly it was that was keeping them poor and downtrodden. Hint: it wasn’t white Republicans.

(continued…)

Robbin' Hood

As I was walking into the Vons Supermarket on Manchester Blvd. in Inglewood, I noticed a table outside of the entrance with several petitions on it. The petition was to repeal the “Corporate Income Tax Credit,” or so the sign informed me. I got to thinking about this as I walked through the store.

Now, I’m no expert on tax law, but, from what I know from reading the IRS site—and having been the proprietor of a home business--businesses are cut a break on taxes just for being businesses. At minimum, a business provides employment and income for its owner and provides some sort of product or service for consumers. It seems to me that a tax break would put money into the pocket of an entrepreneur, which he/she would plow back into the business, spend at someone else’s business or put into a savings account at his/her bank. It seems to me that, with our economy in recovery from a recession, a tax break for businesses would assist the recovery process. Who would have a problem with that?

The jealousy minions, the income redistribution monsters, the government hand-out whores, that’s who. Larry Elder refers to these types as victicrats: the types that think that their every misfortune is the fault of those who have educated themselves, worked hard and become successful. The types that don’t have the smarts and/or the gumption to start their own business look at those who do and say to themselves, “they’re getting rich on my back.” They think that, by getting rid of the corporate tax breaks, they'd hurt big corporations like unlamented Enron or Halliburton. Wrong. They'd hurt the cleaning business up the street, owned by hard-working Jamaican immigrants or the interior design business on Crenshaw Blvd., owned by four older black American women, from whom my great-aunt bought her new carpet and drapes.

Contrast the corporate tax credit with the Earned Income Tax Credit (EITC). To qualify for EITC, you must make below $29,000 (single) a year and have at least one child. You have to be broke and have to have reproduced. Now, I’m not totally against the EITC—there are some people who’ve fallen on hard times that it will likely benefit--but I don't wonder what the reaction of some of the Vons shoppers would have been, had the petition advocated the repeal of the EITC. There would have been a riot outside of that store, what with all of the unwed mothers around here pocketing the taxpayers’ money—assuming any of them file tax returns at all. They need that money, dontcha know. Never mind that if they were so damn poor in the first place, they shouldn’t have been popping out pups in the second place. (And let's just say that I know most of them couldn't afford a kid before they got pregnant. Trust me on that one.)

So, the petitioners want to punish those who contribute to the health of the economy, but give no thought to those who are draining the taxpayers’ pockets dry through their trifling behavior.

All of the above went through my mind like lightening while I was shopping. When I walked outside and passed the table, I couldn’t restrain myself. “You wouldn’t be signing that if you had a business of your own,” I said over my shoulder to the man bent over the table, signing to the fact that he’s jealous of the productive members of this society.

Dyn-o-mite!

Wow. Not only is Jimmy “JJ” Walker of Good Times fame still alive, kicking and not drug-addicted, but he’s a raging, blogging conservative. Too cool.

I'm an Ireland

Heh. From the Country Quiz:

You're Ireland!
Mystical and rain-soaked, you remain mysterious to many people, and this
makes you intriguing.  You also like a good night at the pub, though many are just as
worried that you will blow up the pub as drink your beverage of choice.  You're good
with words, remarkably lucky, and know and enjoy at least fifteen ways of eating a potato.
 You really don't like snakes.

That's about right, except for the blow-up part. I have been known to crack a beer bottle over the head of an overly amorous suitor, however.

God, I had fun in the Air Force.

Frying Pan to Fire

Family has been visiting for a week, so I’ve been busy.

Today the adherents of the Religion of Peace had quite an impressive body count: 20 dead (so far) in Baghdad and 17 dead (so far) in Jerusalem, with a good portion of the latter being children. Yes, that’s a religion worth joining. Nothing like bloody body parts to attract worthy converts. /sarcasm

My family used to be members of the Nation of Islam, back when none of us had actually read the Koran (or the Bible, for that matter). Now I view converts to Islam, especially black ones, as either blithering ignoramuses or as sociopaths (likely ex-felons). Either, like the southern white male who says, “watch this,” is to be avoided.

I know many black people who are Muslim converts. The standard rationale goes along these lines: they want to shake off the "chains" of the American slave master, starting with the name(s) and the religion. Thus, a black Christian man named Joseph Green becomes a black Muslim man named Malik Muhammad, eschews pork, makes his wife, Anita, become Ayesha, makes her cover herself from head to toe, begins to pray five times a day, etc. Hallelujah! (Oh wait. Malik can’t say that anymore.) The chains of the (long-dead) slave master are broken!

But because Joseph/Malik hasn’t opened up a book and done his homework, he doesn’t know that Muslims were/are the biggest slavers of black Africans in history, bar none. Because Joseph/Malik doesn’t pay attention to what is going on around him in the world, he doesn’t know that Muslims are still brutally enslaving black Sudanese Christians and animists.

And even if Joseph/Malik does know these things, he doesn’t care. All he cares about is shaking off the trappings of the hated white man, never considering that the white men who enslaved his forebears are long dead (as are Joseph/Malik's forebears). Deep down in Joseph/Malik’s psyche, he thinks that he is taking revenge for the enslavement of his forefathers; he thinks that his repudiation of all things Judeo-Christian is a way of getting back at the slave masters and their progeny.

So when Muslims rape, pillage and torture the black Sudanese, when Muslims blow up and dismember black Kenyans and Tanzanians in Nairobi, Mombasa and Dar-es-Salaam, when Muslims gun down respectable black (and white and other) Americans in Maryland and Virginia, Joseph/Malik ignores it or refuses to see it.

Joseph/Malik must ignore the fact that he has wrested himself from the hands of dead slave masters and put himself into the hands of living, breathing ones.

In other words, Joseph/Malik is a fool.

Black Men Behaving Badly

Is it asking too much to expect the vast majority of black men to behave? I think not. But one wonders why there are so many black men in prison for murdering (mostly) each other. One wonders why such previously well-regarded famous black men, such as O.J. Simpson and Kobe Bryant, are charged with heinous crimes like murder and rape. One wonders how a once-promising boxer, such as Mike Tyson, becomes a walking cautionary tale in crime and waste of money. One wonders why so many black high school seniors are functionally illiterate. One wonders why black parents will blame the state if their children can’t pass the third grade.

How did the illegitimacy rate for black children become so high? When did it become the norm for black men to abandon their children to be subsidized by the state, by solely women or by grandparents?

And how are the misbehavior of black men and the illegitimacy of black children related? Answer: black women. The government has become their husband. Government programs have lured many black women into the short-sighted belief that they need no real man to support themselves and their children, but that is just the tip of the iceberg. The whole iceberg is this: black women allow black men to behave in any fashion, believing (correctly) that there is a shortage of black men and believing (erroneously) that any man is better than no man at all. He may be a drug-addict, an ex-con, a gang-banger, or a down-and-out type with no money, no job, no home, no education and no prospects, but he’s “better than nothing.”

This phenomenon even stretches to famous black men, like Bryant and Simpson, who have not married black women—and, in Simpson’s case, insulted black women as mate material: “I don’t shovel no coal.” (Note: I have nothing against people marrying with whom they wish. Simpson could have simply married Nicole Brown or whomever and left it at that; without murdering her, of course.) A black man may be rich and successful and may look down on black women in general, but black women will support him if he gets in trouble with the law. A proxy black man is better than no man at all. “Even if you stray, you can always come home if you get in trouble.” Yeah, sure.

As a result of this astounding leniency, a lot of black men have begun to believe that they can behave in any manner. They think that they’re this highly prized, rare commodity that is so valued, that they are exempt from the standard of real manhood. What’s a real man? A real man is the faithful husband of one wife, the father of legitimate children, the teacher and disciplinarian of those children, the companion for that wife and the provider for that wife and those children. Of course, there are good men of all races who fall short of these ideals, sometimes, through no fault of their own. But when such a large portion of a group falls so miserably short, there’s a problem.

The problem is circular in nature. Were there not so many fatherless black children, there wouldn’t be so many black men that think that it’s okay to abandon their responsibilities as fathers. There wouldn’t be so many black men who--having grown up without the manly guidance of fathers--believe that it's acceptable, even expected, to have illegitimate children. Were there not so many fatherless black children, there wouldn’t be so many black women who--not having had fathers themselves--would think that their own children need no fathers.

Somebody has got to stop this cycle and I vote for: black women. We have to say, ‘enough.’ Outside of the nutcases, a man will only behave in a manner that a woman allows him to behave. If enough black women stop complaining about ‘no-good black men,’ all while spreading their legs and reproducing for them, this shit will come to a screeching halt. If enough black women would stop making excuses for their trifling sons and their wayward daughters that are already here, there will be some hope for the black American generation to come.

About real men: there’s nothing that makes me shake my head in disgust more that a ‘girly-man.’ No, I’m not talking about homosexuals. I’m talking about “men” who think that their every misfortune is someone else’s fault. I’m talking about “men” who leave their responsibilities for others to take care of, whether it be children, debt, etc. I submit that the men who drop babies hither and yon, who have allowed the state to raise their progeny, and who refuse to marry the mothers of their children are girly-men or ‘punks’ in the ghetto meaning of the word.

Whose fault is it? Ours. Who can stop it? We can. The big question is: when?

My First Fisking

Here’s my first fisking of an article. I picked an easy target, a raging nutcase named Mark Morford, who writes commentary for the San Francisco Chronicle’s online edition. He can’t seem to make an argument anywhere in this steaming pile of detritus without gazing at his own phallus, such as it is. It was difficult to get through the entire commentary, which is filled with stupid metaphors, mostly involving Morford’s orgasmic fantasy life. It appears that he has a crush on the president and is so angry at the fact that he could never get a voluntary piece, that’s it’s driven him mad.

I look in askance at people who are so preoccupied with sex that they filter everything through it. It’s as if orgasm has taken over all higher functions. I’d guard anything with an orifice around someone like Mark Morford. Maybe God was onto something when He set down guidelines and boundaries for sexual conduct. (Dennis Prager has a great commentary about this subject. Compare his sober musings to the wild and wooly illogic of Mr. Morford.)

Now about that Fisking…

Go ahead, ya smirkin' Texas lug, stumble around all scrunched and blank eyed and pseudo-manly, shove this country into a bloody unwinnable war and lie about all the reasons why, gouge the economy and ruin the schools and embarrass the nation every single day as you mangle grammar and meaning and truth. It doesn't really matter.

Judging by what this cretin writes later on in this commentary, were I George W. Bush, I wouldn’t get too worked up about Morford’s adjective ‘pseudo-manly.’ Let’s just say that Morford’s idea of manly might be different from that of Bush’s. Let’s just say, in Morford’s case, bush or Bush would likely not enter the picture.

Hello! Earth to Moonbat! The war in Iraq is already won. The dictator is deposed; his maniacal, genocidal sons disposed of. What the military is doing now is what the president said it would do: restore order and lay the foundation for democracy in that country. Other than allowing Morford’s drug-driven drivel in a major American newspaper—albeit only in the on-line version--how, exactly, is the nation being embarrassed?

Go ahead, toss those useless $400 rebate checks to the depressed and jobless populace as some sort of bogus humanitarian gesture as you quietly force an increase in their property taxes to pay for your record-breaking deficit brought on by the tax cut no one wants. Ha. You are so cute.

$400 is useless? Well I guess I’ll go toss that 400 I have in my purse in the trash. And since when did the federal government have anything to do with property taxes? Here in LA, it’s a county function. BTW, if the poor are so poor, how were they able to buy the houses for which they’re paying those phantom federally-mandated property taxes? I wonder if Morford figured that only those too ignorant to know that property taxes are levied at the county level would read his spew? Oh, but it gets better (and weirder).

There is so much more going on than you know. There is so much deeper understanding and wider knowledge and higher winking and you can't touch any of it. Do you know this? You need to know this.

What is this line of nonsense? Don’t they have editors at the Chronicle?

You and your brethren are like this sticky toxic mist. You will burn off in the sun of awareness and orgasm and breath.

With these people, it always comes down to orgasm, doesn’t it? (No pun intended.) You’d think they had just invented sex forty years ago and all those who existed before this wondrous invention just popped up out of nowhere.

This is what makes it so fun to watch, so magical and visceral, such a divine circus, a rich tragicomic pageant. Do you sense it? ...Slam gays and women's rights and call everyone in the country a "sinner,"

When did President Bush slam homosexuals or women’s rights? You’re posting your ‘commentary’ on the web. Show it to us. Ever heard of Google?

The president didn’t say just everyone in this country were sinners, genius, but everyone. That’s part of the Christian religion. The president is a Christian, or did you think that the First Amendment's promise of free exercise of religion did not apply to the occupant of the Executive Branch of the Government? It is his right to think that way and to say so.

The universe is so very proud. Do you hear it laughing? You're not even making a dent.

If you hear the universe laughing, it’s time to changing you medications. Or your dealer.

See, you cannot touch us. We are inured. You are merely hollow and sad and quickly, effortlessly forgettable the minute we step outside or get into bed with our lovers or laugh with friends or scream to the sky the lyrics to "Ballroom Blitz," always, always striving to taste the intense flavors of the collective dream state.
What, too vague? Too namby-pamby new-age tofu-licking pro-sex liberal? Too bad.

Dang, Morford. To quote you, get over yourself. Nobody, including the president, cares if you screw your lover, your cat or your keyhole. Just don’t act like it’s something normal or try to make me believe this. That’s what you seem to miss.

Because there is more meaning and content and depth and significance in a lover's moan and in a drop of wine and in a dog's wag than in anything you can conjure in your homophobic faux-cowboy Lynne Cheney-thick dream, honey. Get over yourself. We are on to you. We know you are made of nothing but spin and frantic gesticulations and scowls. Poke a finger into you and out pours only sawdust and sighs.

Ewww. Sounds like Morford’s been having wet dreams about President Bush in his flight suit, swooping down to Morford's house to….nevermind. It’s just too gross to even type. Guard your anal orifice in Morfordland, Mr. President!

Hello, Senator Lott. You want to stick it to the environment, do you? Lick the tailbones of your corporate cronies in the auto industry and kill that recent bill that would've mandated a reasonable increase in fuel efficiency for thuggish belching SUVs in about 12 years?

Morford’s got a point here. Most of the guys I see rolling down the street in SUVs are my bruthas, bumpin’ Jay-Z and lookin’ thuggish. Why don’t you go up to one of those homeboys and tell them how much they’re ‘hurting the environment,’ Morford. You might get a date, though, perhaps, not the kind you would prefer.

Here is my porn collection. Here are my divine sex toys and my lubricants and my leather strappy things and my collection of happy open-minded perversions and my active account at Blowfish.com and my tattoos and piercings and love of massage oil and vibrators and things that go ooooh in the night. Come on over, Mr. Ashcroft, I have something to show you.

Yep. He’s dreaming of a GWB-Ashcroft threesome.

You see, I know you're there, all of you. Sour politicians and conniving Wal-Mart execs and desperate reality-TV creators and gluttonous SUV manufacturers and poisonous garbage-food purveyors and all-'Murkin homophobes and the dumbed-down lowest common denominators and lip-twitching hyper-religious crusaders and anti-everything GOP lizard people, Rummy and Rove and Rice and Ashcroft and Dick, et al. I see you. We see what you are trying to do.

Dick always comes up. Heh.

Okay, I give up. What are we trying to do?

We feel you seething and churning and eating away at the soft rainbow underbelly of the culture, feeding on the weak and the poor and the ignorant, doing your utmost to lower the collective vibration and thinking you are somehow all-powerful and significant and invincible, the center of the sociocultural universe, when in fact you are but a strange and banal rash on the ass of time.

I wonder how many buttocks rashes this guy has had. I haven’t had any since infancy.

I know you want to shut us down. I know you would love nothing more than if all resistance was mowed under and all perversions were bleached dead and all nuanced questioning of your malicious antihumanitarian agenda was numbed to the point of blind flag-waving psychopatriotism, one born of fear and misinformation and photos of the bloody mutilated bodies of Saddam's demon sons. Damn, you try so hard.

Now I see. You’re mad because the military killed Uday. Sounds like he had a better sex toy collection than you do. You could have traded tips. (Gawd, I crack myself up.)

I have news. I have a revelation. It is timeless and ageless and nothing new and I hold no claims to it, but it needs to be repeated and shouted and deeply felt again and again and again, because sometimes you get a little out of control.
Here it is: You are immaterial. You are of zero nutritional value and are indigestible like corn and just pass right through. Do you understand?

The president's value as a nutritional supplement is a moot point. I don’t the president is going to let you eat him--except in the metaphorical sense—anyway. Just a hunch. Speaking of metaphors, here’s a Stephen King-created one ( a feces one, so I know you'll like it): diarrhea of the word-processor.

Strange how all your myriad metaphors involve orgasms, penises and defecation. One or two is fine, but, please! Your playtime fantasies mixed with metaphoric overload just aren't that appealing, except in the car wreck sort of way.

The rest is just a long, boring incoherent rant, filled with sexual innuendo:

"A richer sensual mother lode"

"We know that no matter how much you pule and spit and hiss and spank and crack down,"

"at the heart of meaning and sex and divinity"

"your testes wither and weep" (Maybe your testes weep, Morford. There are treatments for that.)

"Maybe this makes you feel all phallic and handsome and virile"

"and your sexless wife" (Morford likely imagines this in his hot, fevered GWB fantasies. I wonder if he makes his boyfriend put on a Dubya mask.)

"You are the tainted oyster in the vast ocean of time and sex and love"

"what to methodically purge" (Ah, a back-door reference.)

"have yet to make any sort of splash in the calm lake of open-thighed soul" (Snort. This one was actually funny.)

"But it's OK. We understand. After all, as the saying goes, the graveyards are full of indispensable men. And the divine only smiles, licks its lips, and shimmies on" (I can't imagine the Divine shimmying, but whatever blows your skirt up.)

Whew! That was fun. Almost like...well nevermind.

Multitasking

I'm trying to create, design, and put frills on this blog all while trying to actively listen to Mike Gallagher's radio program, write a 700-word essay on critical thinking and read LGF's latest (thousands of) missives. So if my nascent blog looks amateurish, it's because it's being composed by an amateur.

Third graders being held back protest FCAT near Gov. Bush's office

WTF? Now parents in Florida are blaming Jeb Bush because their little darlings are too stupid to pass the third grade! And this quote from Florida state Senator Frederica Wilson (D; what else?) is priceless: "They can read as well as me--I've had them reading for me all summer." Hey, Frederica, if the little retards have you for a teacher and can speak/read/understand English only as well as you can, then that explains why they are unable to pass the Get-Out-of-Third-Grade-Free test. Oh and, by the way, here's an English grammar tip, Frederica: after "as well as," in your sentence, you should use the first person singular pronoun (I) and a verb.

I'm of the perfectly appalling opinion that the reason there are so many stupid kids cluttering up the schools systems around the nation is this: too many dumb adults are screwing and are too stupid--or stoned--to figure out the vast complexities of birth control (unlike childless geniuses such as myself).

Then, when the progeny of these morons enter grade school and are unable to learn the basic foundations of education--reading, writing, and computing--the morons think it's someone else's fault. It certainly isn't their fault. Oh, sure, they made a couple of trips through the third grade themselves or maybe 'baby daddy' is functionally illiterate or perhaps 'baby momma' smoked crack all during her pregnancy, but that has nothing to do with Junior's lack of mental faculty. Lakeisha can't read because "Jeb Bush is a racist just like his big brother! He be stoppin' ma baby from gettin' a edumacashun!"

I wonder if any of them thought that procreating when stupid might have something to do with little Jamal's inability to grasp the idea that a c-a-t pisses in a litter box. Oh, wait, I forgot. They're morons. They can't see past their own bad choices. I've never known a moron able to understand the mind-blogglingly simple relationship between cause and effect.