California Drivers Punished Incentivized

Well, Arnie's finally done it. He's finally shown his true Kennedy family allegiance by appointing a tax and spend Democrat to the head of this state's worst bureaucratic nightmare. Joan Borucki, a longtime official with CalTrans ("Keeping Our Highways Unusable For Your Own Good") sees a way to pour more money into CalTrans' coffers and, at the same time, punish those idiots who clog her highways every day with their cars.

Borucki first makes the ludicrous claim that she wants to transform the Department of Motor Vehicles into a "customer-friendly, service-oriented unit of our government." Well, more power to her. It's already less popular than the Franchise Tax Board, so it can only get better from here, theoretically.

Making bad news worse is Borucki's innovative new idea: Instead of making Californians pay $.18 per gallon at the pump (which is supposed to encourage us to buy fuel-efficient hybrid vehicles), Borucki wants to put devices in our cars that tell Big Brother Ms. Borucki just how many miles we're driving on her precious highways. Better yet, those same devices will tell Big Brother Ms. Borucki which roads we're driving on at which times so she can levy higher taxes on those hard working individuals who just want to get home as quickly as possible to spend some (so far) non-taxable time with their families.

Hey, I think that's a terrific idea. All in favor?

[Unanimous support from state transportation experts and budget analysts]

Opposed?

[Every driver in the state of California]

Hmm. Perhaps we didn't explain the benefits of this tax-and-spend proposal. Did we mention that those of you idiots who insist on purchasing hybrid and fuel-efficient vehicles are taking money away from critical highway repairs? Well, here's how you can atone for your greed and avarice. You'll have the peace of mind that comes from knowing that Big Brother Ms. Borucki is watching your every move, and will tax you for it. Brother, you just can't buy that kind of security today.

Still not convinced? Neither am I.

Three years ago my company transferred me to another location. I moved from moderately expensive Ventura County to ultra-expensive Orange County. I insisted on moving to a home within a reasonable driving radius from my new work location. When we found one that was only five miles from the office, we were thrilled. I could drive to and from work in ten minutes or less, give or take traffic. One year later, the company transferred me to another location some twenty two miles away from home. So, under Borucki's plan, I would be punished twice: Once when the company increased my commute time, plus wear and tear on my vehicles. A second time because I would have to pay that much more in taxes because my commute miles effectively quadrupled. Plus I have to use freeways now unless I want to take forty-five minutes to travel the twenty-two miles from home to office, so that means a higher tax rate under this proposal.

And if that isn't incentive enough, don't forget the penalty you'll get to pay when you dare to take a vacation and have to use Big Brother Ms. Borucki's highways! Welcome to California! Pay up and leave!

What a benefit! I can't wait for this woman's confirmation hearings.

I plan to wear black.

A Cage-y Problem

The problem with understanding (or, at least, being acquainted with) someone like John Cage is that when someone tries something similar in another medium, we immediately suspect plagiarism.

A Problem With Glenn's Argument

Instapundit is always a must-read. He's not on my daily roll, but I look him up a few times a week to get a balanced, usually fair assessment of pressing topics. In this post, Glenn provides a legal opinion related to this post by Jonah Goldberg at the Review.

Jonah asserts that TV shows, especially those espousing traditionally liberal values, never allow their female characters to have an abortion, even while supporting a woman's right to by-golly to so whenever she darn well pleases. Glenn threatens (probably an empty threat, he readily admits) to submit a legal review on this topic, and points out that it is possible for someone (like Glenn, dern him) to both support a woman's right to abort, as well as hold her criminally liable for subjecting the unborn fetus to medical dangers like alcohol abuse and tobacco. An interesting conundrum, but one which, I think, misses the actual point.

Glenn points out that under common law, there is no "duty to rescue." This means, to use his example, that if a baby insists on drowning itself in an inch of water, you are under no legal obligation to rescue that child. Of course, he continues, there's always the moral obligation, but legally you're clear. It's only when you actually attempt to assist the baby that you'd better be ready to see it through to its logical conclusion, else be prepared to suffer the consequences.

Here's the problem I see with Glenn's argument. While factually correct, it asserts that a man's duty is legal first, and moral second. Or, in other words, anyone with a spiritual conscience may feel compelled to act, but in the "real world" that moral compass is really just a tool. A means to an end.

So what happens when we reverse that assumption?

Let's take Glenn's example of the man passing by a drowning baby. For a person who has that moral compass - especially in the form of a religious upbringing or training - the first instinct would be the protection of that baby. This person, legally, then becomes subject to the legal "duty to rescue." Naturally, anyone who first undertakes to rescue this child would want to see it through to its conclusion. That's what the moral compass provides.

By making that moral compass subordinate to legal requirements, the instinct is stifled. Fear of legal reprisal makes us wary of wanting to offer assistance to anyone, infant or adult. It dampens our resolve to help others who require help, in any form. If there's no legal payoff, we don't play.

And that's a shame.

The Founders knew that their constitutional government was not, by any means, perfect. Because they could only address so many things from a moral perspective, they wrote copiously about the need for men to keep their moral compasses fully charged. Stay true to your Creator, they insisted, and He will guide you through all difficulties. Ignore Him at your peril.

When God gave Israel its laws, he made the legal requirements subordinate in all things to his own eternal law. The moral compass was to rule in all legal matters, and the law was both temporally and eternally binding. Men feared the consequences because they feared (in theory, anyway) the wrath of their Deity.

Will we ever learn that lesson?

Bush's Political Capital Already Strapped For Cash?

The phone rang just a few minutes ago. I'm working at home this morning (recovering from a "team building" experience yesterday... I've never been so sore!), and Mrs. Woody noticed that the call was labelled as "Political Call." Bless Caller ID. The purpose of this call can only be one thing: Someone wants my money. Well, it's either Bush or Streisand.

Mrs. Woody answered the phone, but handed it over to me. "They asked for Mr. or Mrs. Woody," she said. I took the phone.

"Good morning, Mr. Woody. Would you consider yourself to be pro-life, pro-choice, or somewhere in between?" Ah. It's Bush. Streisand would've said "anti-choice," not "pro-life."

I could've written this script myself. Done a better job, too.

"Oh, I'm very much pro-life," was my reply.

"That's wonderful to hear, Mr. Woody. [KA-CHING!] As you know, abortion and, especially, partial-birth abortion is a serious issue that requires everyone's help. President Bush [KA-CHING!] needs your assistance to fight this problem. If we send you an envelope [KA-CHING, KA-CHING!] in the next few days, would you be able to help with a 75 or 100 dollar donation?" [Sound of cash register crashing to floor in excitement]

"Not a chance. Don't have the money for that."

"Oh, I understand, sir. [Sound of cash register being placed back on table] Perhaps in another week or two we could send you that envelope..." [a few rather dis-spirited, half-hearted ka-chings in minor key]

"Nope. You guys need to take care of that with legislation, not more of my money."

[Sound of cash drawer closing until next call]

"Thank you, sir, for your time. Have a wonderful evening."

Huh? It's 10:00 in the silly morning! Need to change scripts. Oh, wait. Telemarketers live in India, don't they?

Look. I understand that abortion is a pressing issue. I'm all for eliminating Roe v. Wade permanently from our lexicon. I think anyone who aborts a baby to erase a "mistake" needs to be removed from the reproductive flow.

But.

Money won't solve this issue. A return to moral high ground and ethical fortitude will solve this issue. If President Bush wants to cash in his political capital, he needs to keep his hands in his own pockets.

Just sayin'.

By the way, for those aristodemocrats who cling to their moonbat stereotypes, I consider myself to be a reasonably loyal republican. In over twenty-five years of adult life, however, I've never been able to capitalize on that membership. I'm still poorer than a church mouse and will likely stay that way for the foreseeable future. I'm not complaining. I just don't think money will ever solve any problem faced by this country today. Not abortion. Not poverty. Not civil injustices.

Wanna change America? Use someone else's capital.

Another Reason Why...

...I fell in love with Mrs. Woody.

My helpmeet is under the weather big time today. She's getting one of our change-of-season colds that seem to disrupt our entire routine hereabouts. This is the painful-to-swallow, fever, negative-integer-energy kind of cold that really knocks her off her feet. Tomorrow would be a terrific time for Daddy to stay home and give Mum an assist.

Except, Daddy was just informed that his boss will be escorting our entire team at work to a day at Disneyland tomorrow.

As guilty and somewhat depressed as I feel (what's a trip to MouseHaus without my fam??), it's even harder for my sweetheart. She feels bad that I feel guilty, and that I'll be spending what should be a fun day worrying about her having to take care of herself and two loving but rambunctious girls.

Here's the kicker, though. After assuring me that they will be alright tomorrow, and to not worry and enjoy myself, she allowed me to provide some TLC and soothe her own feelings.

She had me read to her about the Savior.

This is vintage Mrs. Woody. In our home, reading out loud is counted as one of our treats. We have read the entire Harry Potter library to each other multiple times now. In fact, when Book 5 came out, she read it to me while we drove up to Washington to vacation with our friends. We also read more significant literature as the mood indicates.

Lately we had begun to read a rather hefty series of books written by late LDS apostle Bruce R. McConkie, all related to the mission of the Messiah. It's heavy stuff. Takes me about a solid hour to read a single chapter out loud, but we've enjoyed it tremendously.

This is the book that my Missus asked me to read to her to help her feel better.

That's why I love her. She's good for me.

Rusty Impales Himself on Lucas' Sword

Well, brother of mine, it looks like our redoubtable professor has taken leave of his senses. See his missive on the new Star Wars EpIII trailer.

Bring TUMS.

Commissar Declares 'Sphere DOA

The Commissar bemoans the loss of any real blog fodder now that victory has been acheived by nekulturny capitalists.

I find this a fascinating dichotomy. Is it possible that the blogosphere suffers from its own flexibility? Can it be true that we are, just as old media tries to protray us, nothing more than pajama-clad gossip-mongers?

The adjustments to the 'sphere that we will see over the next few months are, I think, only natural. Our favorite Commie notes that several political blogs are meandering now, having spent themselves on the 2004 election. All dressed up and nowhere to go.

On the other hand, some of us look to the future (beyond the next four years, even) and see plenty of memes to keep us busy.

Take, for example, the anti-religious tonality of the left. While the Commissar may still feel that religion is merely a capitalist lap-dog, those of us who prefer religion to the alternative are feeling some genuine concern. This country was founded on principles that were decidedly religious in nature, and the left-facing attitude toward religion means long fights ahead.

The protection of traditional marriage (also, not coincidentally, a religious theme) will once again be put to the test here in Californicate. A (surprise!) gay assemblyman has plans to introduce a challenge to the constitutional amendment implemented via Proposition 22 several years ago. He will, of course, be closely watched and the same resources that were marshalled to ensure Prop 22's success will again be brought to bear.

Names are already being floated to see who will headline the 2008 elections. Dare we ponder another Kerry candidacy? Can we stomach the possibility of one more Clintonista White House? Will McCain sit this one out? Will Nader attempt another spoil? Deaniacs taking over the DNC? I see troubling times ahead, and more fodder for the blogilantes.

Old media will not simply shrivel up and fade away. They still do not understand the real power of the blogosphere to engender public debate. The 'sphere is much more responsive to the participants' need for instantaneous feedback than old media ever will be. We will be continuing our close monitoring of the DNC party apparatchik and fisking whenever challenged to do so. Get used to it, fellas. You're on our nickel now. I don't care how many battles you've covered in your career. This is a new war, and you've become the enemy.

If Charming Charlie is worried about a lack of blogfodder in the near future, he needn't be. The world is still plenty messed up. We'll still have lots to talk about.

Elsewhere in the World

With our return to the somewhat mundane post-election life we've all craved since the Iowa caususes, we find a few tidbits of information that had been tucked away somewhere while we cogitated about how best to keep Bush in office this year.

However, across the Pacific at Camp Zama in Japan, a drama played out in a court martial for Sergeant Charles R. Jenkins, who defected to North Korea rather than face combat in Vietnam. The court sentenced him to 30 days confinement, reduced him in rank to Private, revoked his right to back-pay for his near 40 year absence, and gave him a dishonorable discharge.

After the 30 day sentence is served, private citizen Jenkins will be free to return to the United States to be reunited with family he has not seen since 1965.

The New York Times (hey, I only read it because the hotel gave it to me this morning!) made much of the political angle. By only sentencing him to 30 days, Japanese public opinion would be softened somewhat toward the United States. This is critical because the U.S. wishes to move the Army First Corp from Washington to Camp Zama, and will need a favorable impression for the Japanese public to accept such a move. Recent debaucles in Taiwan have raised Japanese concerns in recent months over any such U.S. military presence in their country.

All that aside, the more significant story for me is the story of a defector who found out the hard way (as they nearly all have) that life is never as rosy elsewhere as it is in the good ol' United States.

Jenkins and his wife recounted their experiences together in a hostile and socially backward country. Their marriage was arranged, and tightly controlled from the beginning. They were rarely without the "companionship" of their Political Advisor. Jenkins was forced to study and memorize the writings of Kim Il Sung, North Korea's vicious and delusional founder and dictator. Kim's son and current NK leader, Kim Jong Il is described as an evil man who runs an evil system.

I do not wish to sound harsh, and I certainly don't know what I would expect had I made the same choices Jenkins made forty years ago. Still, Jenkins made those choices. Rather than Canada, he made North Korea his hiding place of choice, and suffered serious depravations as a result.

I cannot agree with those who may wish to demonize this man, especially since he has seen the error of his ways and more than understands the benefits of citizenship in the United States. Still, great care must be taken to use Jenkins' story as a means of teaching people what citizenship in this country means. Expecially in the context of the tremendous responsibility we have to participate in our republican processes in order to maintain those freedoms we enjoy.

Life here may not be perfect. Certainly the liberals of this country may not have much joy in their hearts after the election, and I'm certain we've not heard the last of such issues as gay marriage and abortion rights. But people need to be glad that we still, after more than two hundred years, have the ability to keep talking about it. Even in angry tones.

God help Mr. Jenkins and his family in their new life together. And God bless America.

Please.

The Promised Halloween Report

On Friday of last week we took the girls Trunk or Treating at the church. We do this every year, because it feels safer than going from house to potentially dangerous house. Then we take them to their cousins' house to do precisely that. In a safe neighborhood, of course.

This year the girls dressed up as a dragon and Tinkerbell. The dragon was far too cute to be accused of breathing fire, and Tinkerbell had golden brown hair, but Halloween is all about suspension of disbelief.

Just the previous year, I had wondered when my girls would "get it." You know... when would they begin to understand the concept of marching up to someone's door, say "Trick or treat!" and wait for the payoff?

This was my older girl's year.

First, a little background. My daughters are blessed with certain genes from both parents. At times, these genes come into conflict. For example, anyone who knows me understands that my two girls can both be complete crackups. They are hilarious, when they put their minds to it and aren't too cranky to enjoy each other. On the other hand, if you look at the photos of my daughters with Santa every year of my younger daughter's life, you will see a steady progression from scream, to cry, to abject terror, to severe pout. This year we're hoping to have at least the absence of a frown. The truth is, my girls are horribly shy.

Second example: My girls attend something called "Primary" at church, which is our equivalent of worship service for kids. Every year, the Primary kids get to do a program in our main Sacrament Meeting. They give kids speaking parts and have them sing, oh, about three hundred songs. It's always adorable. Unfortunately it's also extremely traumatic for my two youngsters. The older one simply refuses to open her mouth. She'll stare, stone faced, while the rest of the kids are yelling at the top of their lungs in any ol' key that comes to mind. The younger one actually looks like she might sing, but generally changes her mind as soon as she stands up. They are adorable, though!

Such is the shyness of my two young ladies. My wife and I have coached, cajoled, and even attempted bribery to get them to speak up. Or even speak. In public, that is. When they're at home, I often try the same methods to get them to clam up for awhile. No, they're shy, and they get it from family.

Sunday night was our night to go out with the cousins. They live in Ventura county, and the two younger twins are only a year behind my little one. My older one dressed up once again in her not-so-scary dragon outfit, and we drove everyone over to the neighborhood that we visit every year.

Imagine my shock and pleasant surprise when my incredibly shy older daughter marched boldly up to the first door on the block, knocked on the door, and shouted "Trick or treat!" to the suitably impressed occupant. They had to pick me up off the street. She did this, house after house, street after street, until it got too tiring for the adults to keep up. In fact, she outlasted her younger sister, who seemed to lose steam after about a dozen or so houses and went back to the car with Grandma. I was astonished. A couple of times I mildly protested to my daughter that she needed to wait for the other kids. "But, Daddy! What if I get to the next house and there's no candy left??"

Later, in reviewing it with my wife, I made the comment: "You remember last year when we wondered when our girls would get it? Well, they get it now."

Indeed they do.

Random Post-Election Musings

1. Kerry conceded. Wonderful!

2. Pete Coors shows how a gentleman graciously accepts defeat. All except for that part about making beer being the best job in the world. Got a good laugh, though.

3. Eleven - make that one hundred percent - of the states with pro-traditional marriage (or, if you prefer, anti-gay marriage) amendments on the ballot came through and passed every one of them. God bless you all.

4. Thank goodness Kerry conceded.

5. I echo my brother: Subjecting oneself to (in my case) eight straight hours of election coverage, even with Fox News, is not a good thing. I'm having a dickens of a time focusing on this whaddayacallit, computer thingie.

6. Nothing stinks quite like being a Republican in a Democrat-ridden city (which, by the way, resides in a state that voted for Bush) away from your wife while it's raining cats and dogs outside and having to go to sleep after being stuck on "Bush - 269, Kerry - 207" for three solid hours. Except, maybe, malaria.

7. Of course, there's always waking up the next morning and hearing that the "official" count is now "Bush - 254, Kerry - 252" because no one has the beans to call Ohio and we begin to realize that we're quite possibly in for another thirty seven day Cirque du Solicitors in Ohio because Edwards made some cretin speech about making sure every vote counts and every vote will be counted. That stinks, too.

8. Then trying to navigate around a city that I now have documentary proof was designed by drunken fur trappers in the early 1700's. (Hey, if there were French fur trappers living in the bayou, you'd better believe they were drunk!) Not real crazy about that, either. Nor with the TWENTY-TWO FLIPPIN' DOLLARS A DAY VALET PARKING AT THE HOTEL. Not that I'm bitter.

9. Did I mention how happy I am that Kerry conceded? Better not look happy in public today, though. A few Huey Long holdovers may just introduce me to the bottom of the Mississippi. You wouldn't believe the lecture I got last night from a taxi driver in this town. If he sees me again he might just help with the introduction.

10. In another thirty six hours I will be joyfully reunited with spouse and offspring. I can't wait. Neither, thankfully, can they.

Canada Provides a National Service

I've always admired Canada. Even though their socialist policies scare me, they are a friendly people. Their country is large, green, and wide open (relative to the U.S., of course). I've always wanted to visit there, but there's still so much of my own country that needs checking out first.

Of course, my desire to visit may become tempered somewhat with news that certain celebrities may move there if Bush is re-elected.

Others - those with money - are also looking into such countries as Ireland or (hah!) France.

While I'm sure this will not sit well with certain of their fans, many of the rest of us will gladly hold the door for them whilst they make their exit. Sayonara, dudes. Enjoy your new freedoms.

There's nothing new about Hollywood types running away from their country of birth to make a statement. Heck, even Sean Connery left Scotland because he didn't like England's oppressive rule. Or something like that. Fact is, I've never really cared.

More to the point, I've never been able to respect someone who would cut and run, rather than stay and be a participant. But, you say, they have participated, and the rest of the country just won't cooperate! This is true. I, personally, think it's absolutely ludicrous to spend more money and legislation protecting dogs and cats than we do protecting unborn children. If that makes me insensitive, then thank goodness for numbness.

When I was growing up, I deeply feared being sent to war. We had one, then, and it was nasty. It hit home when one young man that Dad was giving french horn lessons to tried to get into one of the military bands so he wouldn't see combat. Dad knew, in his heart, that the kid wasn't quite good enough to make it into the band, and tried to dissuade him. Sure enough, the kid was assigned to a combat unit and was killed in Vietnam. Broke Dad's heart. That was the only time in my life when I even considered running to Canada after graduation.

As graduation loomed larger, however, I began to see the futility of running away. What would it accomplish? Sure, I'd be alive, but I have an incredibly guilty conscience, and I knew, deep down, that I would hate myself for a lot of years to come. As it turned out, both the war and the draft were history the very year I graduated, so I'll never really know.

And so, to the celebrities I say, "Fare thee well." Perhaps you'll find a fruitful field in your new homeland. Maybe you'll find people who will by god listen to you for a change. Maybe you'll find someone who'll care about your expatriation.

I don't. Maybe if Hollywood loses enough of you, they'll start putting out family-quality material again.

Aw, who am I kidding?

UPDATE: Gerard at American Digest suggests a helpful packing list for KOS' pending relocation to the Great North.

Speaking of Geeks...

So here I am at the Macromedia MAX 2004 conference in beautiful (I mean that, even given my updated previous post) downtown New Orleans. I am surrounded by geeks. The remarkable thing is, they all look perfectly normal. Well, ok, maybe not that kid with the two-tone hair and nose rings. But most everyone else looks like the sort of people I'd expect to see at church, or Main Street.

The illusion ends once we open our mouths to speak. For instance, some fellow just asked me if there was a trick to hooking into the wireless net here, and I was able to answer him. Coherently. For a geek, that is. Worse yet, he understood me. I'm sure this violates several natural laws, which I'll look up some day when I have time.

Time, however, is not ever available in the geek world. Not only does time equal money (yes, I just heard that one in a presentation), but we're clearly wasting it by being here listening to the presenters, when they really want us out there right this minute, putting into practice what we just learned. Then come back for more, I guess. These people drink way too much caffiene. Or maybe they just seem fast to me because I quit drinking the stuff. Been on the wagon for a full year this month, if anyone cares.

Somehow, magically, I managed to program myself a three hour break for lunch. So I get to take a few minutes and visit my friends in the 'Sphere today. My thanks to all those fellow geeks who are more dedicated to the political process today so I can get my election updates. I do appreciate it.

Perhaps later I'll post about my daughter's first real Halloween. Yeah, I know she's seven, but trust me, it was her first. I'll explain later.

Light Blogging Alert

It's off to the original Sin City this week. I'll be in New Orleans at an ubergeek conference for Macromedia. I may or may not blog, depending on how useless my brain is at the end of the day.

I voted early, so that's off my checklist. Irks me, though, that I'll have no one to endure Election Night with. The kids have trunk-or-treated at church already, and they'll get a bit more tonight with their cousins. Gotta let the Grandmas see the cuties in costume. The house is a disaster, but the kitchen is clean. Much easier to come home to a clean kitchen and messy house, than a messy kitchen. Period. In our house, as the kitchen goes, so goes the day.

I'm really not looking forward to this trip because I've reached that age (I actually reached this age when Mrs. Woody and I began to get serious about each other) where I don't like travelling without my lifeline. She makes travelling fun, because I have someone with me who appreciates the same things I do. For this trip, my travelling companion is a youngster from a whole different generation who probably looks forward to trying out some Bourbon St. hospitality while plugged in via cell phone to his girlfriend du jour. I'm wondering how many museums I'll have time or energy to check out.

The best part about this trip is the total lack of Mardi Gras at this time of year. At least I won't have to endure revelry.

Now if I could just do something about this separation anxiety.

UPDATE: Still have separation anxiety, but at least my travelling companion has proven to be an able navigator. This is good because this town (with apologies to Sobek) appears to have been designed entirely by drunken French fur trappers. It's one of those old, narrow-streeted cities that have lots of atmosphere, which is so dense I haven't had a full breath since stepping off the plane last night. Otherwise, we're in geek heaven here.

Civil Discourse - Continued

Goodness. Yet another display of civil reasoned discourse related to politics. This time, a young man attending Fort Lewis College in Durango, Colorado, was wearing a College Republicans sweat shirt that said "Work for us now... or work for us later." In an expression of disagreement, a part-time college instructor kicked him in the leg at a restaurant and said she should have kicked him higher and harder. Another educated opinion.

I'm guessing the instructor got herself a good talking to by campus administrators, because she quickly wrote a letter apologizing to the young man, followed by an apology from the college itself.

This is all well and good, but the young man is pressing charges. He will also file a formal complaint with the college.

I guess there have been a lot of negative ions in the air this year. Far more than any previous election of which I've been a part, and I'm a veteran of California's Proposition 22 battle of several years ago. For some reason, these ions have been far more attracted to liberals than conservatives this year. Take, for example, John O'Neill. How many times have we seen him interview on some show or other, staying calm and collected while hosts and abusive guests tear him limb from limb. Michelle Malkin, no stranger to hardball interviews, was subjected to a spittle-emitting Chris Matthews. Matthews, a devotee of the Jerry Springer "You Don't Have to Know What You're Talking About" interviewing technique, was quite pleased with himself after his embarrassing performance, and Keith "Just an Old Sports Hack Reporter" Olbermann was beside himself with glee on Matthews' behalf. Bill Maher considers patriotism to be cowardice.

The instructor, in her apology, attributed her behavior to a "knee-jerk" reaction. Well, that same "knee-jerk" attitude has been responsible for more vandalism, political terrorism, and threatened civil disobedience than this country has seen since the era of Civil Rights abuses in the South. It's as if we can expect another Watts riot to break out if Kerry, heaven willing, doesn't win on November 2. The ions are that heavy this year.

Maybe the conservatives are feeling them, too. Maybe that's why we refuse to listen to this man who would have us believe how honorable it was to come home and accuse other veterans of being, essentially, war criminals. Or that he'll be more than happy to destroy bin Laden, if only he can talk to him first.

It's gotta be those danged ions.

Can't be anything he's said.

UPDATE: Yep. She got a talking to. Follow this link for information related to Ms. Spero's "resignation."

Variations on a Theme

This one made the rounds at work this week:

A teacher in a small Vermont town asks her class how many of them are John Kerry fans. Not really knowing what a John Kerry fan is, but wanting to be liked by the teacher, all the kids raise their hands except one boy. The teacher asks Little Johnny, who had not raised his hand, why he has decided to be different.

Johnny says, "I'm not a John Kerry fan."

The teacher says, "Why aren't you a John Kerry fan?"

Johnny says, "I'm a George Bush fan."

The teacher asks why he's a George Bush fan.

The boy says, "Well, my mom's a George Bush fan and my dad's a George Bush fan, so I'm a George Bush fan!"

The teacher is kind of angry, because this is Vermont and she is a liberal, so she asks, "What if your mom was a moron and your dad was an idiot, what would that make you?"

Johnny says, "That would make me a John Kerry fan."

I have no idea why this one tickles my funny bone. I suppose it has to do with the fantasy of some elementary school-aged kid having this kind of conversation with their teacher. Especially a liberal teacher. Yeah. I like that fantasy...

Harkin Speaks for Whom?

Drudge points to this tidbit from the Cedar Valley Daily in Iowa. Sen. Tom Harkin, campaigning for a local House candidate as well as John F. ThereIsNoGodButKennedy Kerry makes the extraordinary statement that Kerry's perceived rise in the polls is "what God wants."

Hm. Need to check my facts. Let's see: Paper boy; construction worker; bottling plant worker; pilot in the Navy and Naval Reserves; Congressional staffer; attorney; Congressman; Senator. Impressive resume, but no, nothing about being an ordained minister...

Oh, wait! He graduated from a Catholic law school! That must be it.

Well, I guess I'm just a tad skeptical. Last time I checked with one of God's reps, we were told to study the issues and make an informed choice. Wise and honest people we should seek. Oh, and need to protect the family unit while we're at it. I didn't see Kerry's name in there anywhere. Or any other candidate's name, for that matter. Granted this advice came four years ago, but neither did I see Bush's or Gore's name anywhere in that advice. I'm assuming He's not greasing the skids this year for Kerry, either.

No, any way you slice it, I suspect God has nothing to do with the polls. If anything, the polls only measure how much attention we as a people may be paying to God. Or not, as the case may be. If the polls are going up for JFK, I can only reason that people are paying less attention to more important matters.

Like their souls.

Teaching - The Noble Profession

My wife is a teacher. She's a teacher by nature, and by choice. For eight years she taught as a special resource teacher, mostly at the junior high level. Some might say this automatically qualifies her for canonization. I might say, been there, done that.

Even when she was no longer teaching, she worked in education for a once-prominent publisher. When we started having kids, she gave up on work outside the home, and began to concentrate on working in the home. Today she's a teacher again.

I always knew that teachers put in a lot of planning time away from the classroom. This is, perhaps, why I never considered teaching as a career path. I am not a good natural preparer. My idea of preparation is finding matching socks in the morning, even if they don't necessarily match my clothes. My wife compensates for this by buying me two colors of socks; white and black. Hard to miss with white or black. Anyway, watching my wife go through her preparations for teaching only serves to justify my lack of a teaching credential.

Much of her preparation involves our computer. We have a pretty decent home computer in our family room. This is the machine on which I've done a few Tim Allen-like adjustments, and it roars. It may look like an eMachine, but this baby has teeth. Occasionally I get visitation rights.

Since we homeschool, my wife networks. I don't mean mere social networking in the sense of staying in touch with other teachers and sharing ideas. I mean networking in the Cisco sense where our computer communicates directly with about a jillion other computers around the world and swaps materials back and forth. Some people have eclectic music collections on their CDs. We have out-of-print-but-still-useful workbooks, textbooks, teacher guides, student guides, Tibetan Sherpa guides, you name it. Our computer has enough material on it to open a library.

My wife is also big on themes in her teaching, especially since our girls are both so young. Harry Potter is our theme right now, and my wife is compiling literally books full of information. She's creating a science curriculum based on the boy wizard which she will print and bind for the girls to use while Daddy spends next week out of town. I'll be attending a Macromedia conference. I'll bet they don't have a Harry Potter science curriculum! By the time I return the girls will both know more than I ever did about frogs, unicorns, and thestrals. Among other things.

I sometimes say Daddy gets taught just as much as the girls. Daddy has already sacrificed for this current theme. The girls receive letters via owl post in which they are given lessons from various Hogwarts teachers. Snape, of course, being the most dangerous. One day on my arrival home after work, I was accosted by two very excited little girls who needed a taste tester for their Hydra Vomit potion.

Excuse me? Did you say Hydra Vomit?

Yes we did, Daddy! And you get to taste it!

So I did. It was actually pretty good with carrots, but looked like an old practical joke my high school choir teacher once told us about involving a thermos, a concoction of vegetable soup, cottage cheese, and oatmeal, and a movie theater balcony. You don't want to know.

This is the sum total of my contributions to date in the education of my little sweeties. Taste Tester of Dubious Delights. Of course, I take my job seriously. When they do these lessons, they're supposed to interview me and write down my answers. "What do you think of the name?" "It's gross." This sends them into peals of laughter and makes the interview last three times as long as it might otherwise.

I suffer for my family. But what dedicated Dad doesn't?

Of Hollywood and Kennedy

Two seemingly unrelated thoughts today, but I think I can thread them together. Bear with me.

First, I am not a gushing fan of Hollywood. I've lived all too close to "that town" pretty much all my life. It doesn't really have anything that I need. I am especially disenchanted with most of what Hollywood touts as "stars." One year I had an opportunity to sing for the Hollywood Bowl's annual (at least, it was annual back then) Easter Sunrise service. As a twenty-something year old male, I fully expected to be dazzled by Hollywood's version of feminine pulchritude. I made two observations having seen these ladies fairly up close:

1. They are short. Seriously, if it weren't for the hair and heels, most of them would only make it to my chin. I'd gotten used to the camera tricks of shooting at a slightly upward angle to make everyone, women included, appear taller. Sheesh.

2. Makeup generally only covers the face. One starlet came out in a stunning gown that was nearly backless. This showed a) courage in the face of near-freezing temperatures, and b) a back that was heavily freckled when compared with a face that had been made up to a porcelain-quality glaze. I have nothing against freckles, but my dominant thought was, "facade."

That marked the end of my twenty-something lust for Hollywood actresses.

I've never really been an admirer of most Hollywood actors, either. Let's face it, when the Golden Age of Hollywood ended, we lost most of the best talent that this town ever offered. I was born too late to enjoy most of them except through TV reruns, and I've always somewhat resented that. That said, it's rare when I come across an actor who has qualities that I actually appreciate.

One such actor is Mel Gibson. First, though, the caveat. Much of what Mel has done in Hollywood I would never watch, even with powerful tranquilizers. However, the work he's done that I have watched, I generally enjoy. His performance in "Signs," for example, was fine work. Similarly, I thoroughly enjoyed his Hamlet, even though it took me nearly half the movie to get into the Elizabethan language.

Most of what I admire about Mel, however, is his personal integrity. He knows (and freely admits) that he's probably not the greatest actor in the world, and many of his movies are of questionable quality and taste. But he also has become a powerful voice for standing up for one's convictions in a world where such stances are becoming increasingly anachronistic.

He recently came out in opposition to California's Proposition 71 which would clear the way for embryonic stem cell research. He based his opposition largely on his Catholic beliefs, citing "unethical" research methods. He's calling Arnold to task for supporting it, and is patiently waiting for a call from the Governator to discuss the issue. Any man who would make a movie about the Savior, flying in the face of convention, and then backs up his beliefs regarding such a controversial issue deserves (and has received) my respect.

Which brings me to Kennedy. (See? Told you this would sound disjointed. Sit tight.)

Yesterday, Caroline Kennedy Schlossenguggenheimer, or whatever her married name is, took Bush to task for "invoking her father's name" in his campaigning. Which meant, of course, that John F. Wannabeakennedysomuchitreallyhurts Kerry is more than free to do so.

Except.

Kerry used his idol's worst possible political fiasco to compare to Bush in a stretch that Las Vegas would never have put odds against. Even Jimmy the Greek would never have touched it. Well, maybe the Greek would have. One never knew with Jimmy.

Still, the idea that Bush's performance in Iraq in any way compares to Kennedy's fiasco with the Bay of Pigs is ludicrous, at best. Cap'n Ed has the goods here.

The point is that Kerry is guided by a religion that is, in his mind, far more powerful than the Catholic one he professes to follow. This is the religion of politics, and it has become Kerry's god. It is the golden idol that he worships, at the expense of all other considerations. It represents, I think, the ultimate insult to religious worship to stand in a church - any church - on a Sunday when our thoughts should be turned to the Savior, to hear instead the political rantings of a neotheistic man who wishes we would ignore the Good News long enough to get him elected.

In the religion of politics, one always uses history taken out of context to define an opponent's behavior. In Kerry's heart, the idea that the Bay of Pigs was a complete disaster, while the war in Iraq has largely succeeded in its goals is meaningless. It is fodder, to be used as he sees fit. If denigrating what the troops have fought hard to achieve will get him elected, then so be it. He can always apologize later, and tell them he really had their best interests at heart.

An actor who is not afraid to vote his religious beliefs, and the politician who wishes his religion would shut up about his political "ethics." Which one should I agree with?

Come to think of it, I once voted for an actor who followed his religious convictions. I'm still glad I did.

Mrs. Woody's Wimpy Chili

or, What to Do Until You Grow Another Gall Bladder

In the Woody household, we've been making our own chili for years. It began when we started our food storage program. We had some room in the garage. Rather than clutter it up with a car, we decided to buy some bulk foods, can them, and store them where we might otherwise have parked our car. Later, about a year before we ended up selling the townhouse, I built shelves to store the food because, darn it, we wanted to park a car in there.

One of our stored food items was pinto beans. Lots of pinto beans. Enough pinto beans, I would estimate, to feed roughly two thousand generations of weevils. That's a lot of beans. Of course, once you've begun to store this food, you also have to make plans to "rotate" it. Rotation is the act of consuming the food so you can buy more to replace it and always have it on hand. I blame the burgeoning Food Storage industry lawyers for cooking up this scheme.

One obvious use for pinto beans - in fact, the only use we've discovered so far - is chili. The trouble is our wimpy Woody palates. Mrs. Woody is allergic to onions and not a huge fan of fresh garlic. As for me, I'm so out of practice after more than eight years of wanting a goodnight kiss, that onions really don't help me much. Also I'm missing all of my officially expendable organs now. Those come in really handy when you're eating spicy food. So, we cheat a lot.

Fortunately, if we can't use fresh onion and garlic in our food, we can and do use powders. About five years ago now, Mrs. Woody perfected our Mrs. Woody's Wimpy Chili recipe. We soak our own beans, toss in some ground meat, tomatoes, and all the spices we can handle. It's been a big hit among some of our friends and family. They always ask us for the recipe. The trouble is, we've never written it down.

Really. Mrs. Woody began this recipe as a grand experiment. We had no idea how it would come out, and every pot is virtually a surprise. Also, instead of using ground beef (too fatty!), we typically use ground turkey. This surprises folks who sample our chili because they can't really tell the difference. We happened to use ground beef tonight. I didn't get that much of a taste difference out of it. Go figure.

Today one of Mrs. Woody's friends stopped by to deliver clothes. Some day I'll post about our Underground Clothes Connection. Anyway, she smelled the chili cooking in the kitchen and asked my wife for the recipe. "I'd love to," she said, "but I've never written it down!"

It's really something to watch, especially when we cook it together. The basic recipe really isn't all that complicated. Six cups of dried beans are soaked overnight in water and two tablespoons of baking soda (helps with the, um, methane problems later on). After the beans have cooked and are tender, Mrs. Woody takes about four cups out to be made into refried beans later. We cook up one and half to two pounds of ground meat and stir it in. Two cans of diced tomatoes come next. Then the spices. When I'm helping, Mrs. Woody and I stand in front of the pot shaking and squeezing various spices into the mix. Our kids generally stay in their room.

This is the part we can't write down. Every time we come up with a successful blend, we can't for the life of us remember exactly how much we used. For one thing, when using our powders, we just shake 'em right out of the bottle rather than use measuring spoons. Also, mustard plays a prominent role in our chili. How do you write down "one good squeeze of mustard, to taste" and have it make sense?

For what it's worth, here are the spices we use in no particular order. If you can get them to taste good, terrific. Write it down and consider yourself published:

Yellow Mustard. I prefer the squeeze bottle variety myself.
Salt
Pepper, occasionally
Onion powder
Onion salt
Garlic powder. We use something called "California Blend" ("NO MSG!") from Ralphs.
Chili powder.

To taste.

From our kitchen to yours. Enjoy. I know I will.

A Real Promotion!

Wow. Don't blink in the Blogosphere, or you miss stuff. Way Off Bass not only sports a new look (sharp!) but has promoted Yours Truly to his Hourly blog roll. Thanks!

Just one question, Bro: "oongowa?"

Vampires!

Being close to Halloween, I visited the vampires the other day. It's been awhile and I had some extra blood that was just laying around looking bored, so I gave it something to do. Years ago, this would never have happened without heavy sedation.

I strongly suspect that, as a child, I suffered from trypanophobia. This is the fear of injections, and it ranked number one on my hit parade of things I would much rather have someone else suffer through. This is why I could never become a drug addict back when it was cool to be a drug addict. Once I found out that aside from one or two things you can just smoke, there were also things you could inject directly into your veins, that cured me of any potential drug addictions long before "intervention" ever entered our vernacular. Not counting Pepsi, I mean. Pepsi required intervention.

Then I served my mission for the Church. As I have mentioned before, I happen to be LDS. LDS young men and women serve missions for up to two years in various parts of the world. I served in Guatemala. Guatemala is considered by many to be a "third-world" country, on par with, oh, Tonga, Rwanda, and Berkeley. It is also where my Pepsi addiction began, but that's another story. In third-world countries, medical care is (or was, twenty five years ago) interesting. It could be difficult finding a doctor that spoke either English, or very slow Spanish.

It was in Guatemala that I developed walking pneumonia. I probably wrote home that this was just a bad case of bronchitis so as not to worry my mother. I used to get bronchitis every year. It also sounds better than pneumonia. In any case, I needed to see a doctor, which meant brushing off my atrophied Spanish skills. I was working with one of the local Mayan tribes, and Spanish was not their long suit. Having been x-rayed, the doctor explained to me that I needed penicillin. No problem, I thought. Been there, done that. I asked where I could get the pills and the doctor stared at me. "Pills?" he asked. "No, no. We don't get pills down here. You need injections." The Spanish word for injections is close enough to the English that I didn't need my dictionary.

To make a long story short, not only did I need ten daily injections, but my junior companion got to give them to me. Junior companions would pay real money to have this opportunity to inflict pain on their senior comps, and I would have been no different. Being on the receiving end was not something to which I looked forward.

To reassure me, on my companion's first attempt he started the javelin thrower's warm-up wherein you jerk the needle up and down over the target before finally letting go. The problem was, he didn't let go. The needle went in ("ouch!"), the needle went out ("oops!"), the needle went back in ("OUCH!"). It was the hokey-pokey of injections. My companion thought this was great fun. I was mentally calculating how much time I would have to serve in a Guatemalan prison before I could pay my intended debt to society.

The follow up to this story is that we were getting our mail just a few days later. My companion was still giving me the injections, but I was getting used to them by now. At the post office ("Any mail, Francisco?" "No, but your mother's cookies were delicious!" "Thanks, Francisco.") we met a Peace Corps nurse who was working her way down to El Salvador. Being a nurse AND a certified gringo we struck up a conversation about my injections and told her about my companion's first attempt. She laughed herself into a mild choke and managed to sputter that in so doing, my companion had "contaminated the field." Ha, ha, I thought. That Guatemalan prison was looking better with each passing minute.

Well, that experience cured me of any perceived trypanophobia. Over the years I've been injected in various regions for various reasons, a few of which would make most guys wince in agony just thinking about it. I'm not saying I'm a big fan of the needle, but I can handle it now. Which is why I was visiting the vampires the other day.

The "vampires" are, of course, the friendly American Red Cross volunteers who work blood drives throughout the world. I've been on the receiving end of their services, and I'm grateful they were there. I've not been a consistent donor over the years, but I always feel good when I do. I always feel like I'm making a real contribution to society, as opposed to this incredibly self-serving blog stuff I write.

The Red Cross gave me a donor's card last year, and it says "Type O Hero" right on it. Given my history with needles, I feel a little like a hero.

Please donate. Call 1-800-GIVELIFE to find out where and how.

Political Mobsters

"Just put that vote in my husband's column, and no one gets hurt."

Chilling words from a crazed lunatic? Perhaps. But that's what this world has come to.

Apparently the campaign office break-ins and vandalism coupled with threats of voter intimidation just weren't doing it for the would-be Veep's wife. Sensing somehow that her dream of becoming First Lady-in-Waiting was slipping away, she resorts to a desperate ploy to win votes: Vote for us and we'll leave the baseball bats and Molotov cocktails at home.

How refreshing! A politician who finally speaks her mind.

Hat tip: Drudge

Blogroll Growth

Reciprocal linking lives! It appears I've been added to Opinion8's blogroll (Patton having left a comment or two here), and I'm more than happy to return the favor. He does have a way of cutting to the chase, which I'm certain just aggravates the Moonbats no end.

Thanks, Patton, and welcome!

Another Child Scarred

Drudge links to a disturbing story out of Macon, Georgia.

Having already taken CBS to task for their ad hominem attacks characterizing all home schoolers as child abusers, it's altogether too easy to fall into the same trap and accuse all public schools of scarring children for life.

In this case, most of the abuse was actually heaped on a parent, but allegedly the child and 18 of her classmates witnessed the horrific beating.

Given the sketchy details, and assuming the reports of the severity of the incident to be true, there can be no excuse for this behavior. The teacher sits in jail, while the mother of the student recovers in the hospital. And the student? Well, one can only guess that since she screamed for her teacher to cease and was then herself made a target of the violence, the child will be scarred for some time to come.

Principal Karen Konke sent letters to parents about the incident.

"Let me assure you the school is safe and that our students have been involved in appropriate instructional activities throughout the day," Konke wrote.

Well, yeah, except for that little free-for-all in one of our classes. But don't let that worry you! Business as usual! We have things well in hand!

Sorry. If my child brought home a letter like that, and I read this same story in the local news, my child would not be returning to that school any time in the future. Period.

I freely admit that I have no answers to this dilemma. No, I lie. I do have an answer that meets my own needs (and, by extension, those of my family). My children will not be subjected to public school. I will not take a chance that some seemingly responsible adult will have one of those days, and take it out on one of my sweet daughters. I refuse to allow them to be indoctrinated with the humanist arrogance of the system.

My children will continue to pledge allegiance to a flag belonging to a nation under God. They will not only pray in school, but will memorize scriptures. They will understand that Darwin was a clever man, but was only right to a point. They will learn that respect is more important than attitude.

And they will likely teach me those same things.

We pray for the child and her mother. We even pray for the teacher, whether she wants us to or not.

With Friends Like These...

British fish wrap, The Guardian. Single most persuasive argument against the One World Order.

Seen numerous places, but credit Power Line for this one.

Cam Is Back!

Cam returns to the 'Sphere after a thankfully brief malaise. In the process he extols the virtues of our friend Gerard at American Digest, then churns out a complete fisking of some Bad Poet's bad poetry. Hmm... following the link...

Ah. Of course. A Cal Stater. Long Beach, no less. 'Nuff said.

Welcome back, Bro! Missed ya!

Our Country 'Tis of Us

From the boys at Power Line comes this nugget:

One of the perceived benefits of being a sovereign nation is that we can do things the way we like. On this side of our borders, theoretically, we establish our own laws, enforce them, and participate in our representative government by voting. This is the beauty of a republic.

Occasionally we do things that our neighbors in the world do not appreciate. I can certainly understand this, because occasionally our neighbors do things that I'd much rather they didn't. Of course, being a freedom-loving people, this also means that we can both express (and receive) opinions regarding just about any topic you'd care to name. This can be incredibly annoying at times, but it is (we argue) a right ordained of natural law. We expressed this opinion to King George, oh, a couple hundred years ago. He expressed his disagreement, and we showed his redcoats the way home.

Earlier this month, one of our neighbors thought we could use some neighborly advice. We have become international bullies in their eyes, and our leaders are reprehensible monsters. They would like for us to elect John Kerry. Somehow, this will fix everything. We will no longer be bullies, and our esteem in the world will soar.

To this end, the British newspaper "The Guardian" encouraged its readers to send letters to Clark County, Ohio. Clark County was chosen because it had a high number of "undecided" voters, and the helpful Brits wanted to tell them how Great Britain would love for them to vote.

One problem: It won't work.

Whatever perceived benefit these helpful neighbors thought to bring, dissipated letter by letter. These so-called "undecided" voters have firmly decided one thing and one thing only: They don't want your advice. Period.

Oh, sure, you'll find a few Democrats who think it's a wonderful idea. These are the same people who feel the need to apologize profusely to Iraq for getting rid of Saddam for them and killing their innocent citizens. I haven't yet seen posters saying how stupid we were for having people in the World Trade Center when the planes hit, but I'm sure they're coming.

But the rest of Clark County would really rather the Brits kept their helpful advice to themselves. Thanks for the thoughts, folks, but we're fine over here. Really. We can decide this one for ourselves.

The Brits are likely to sniff and express their regrets that we refuse to see the light. Fine. We see a light, but it's a much brighter light than the Brits (at least, the letter-writing variety) are ever likely to see. It's the same light that persuaded us to secede from the mother country in the first place. It's the same light that enabled us to rebuild our nation after the bloodiest war in our history. It's the same light that has helped us realize where the real fight is, and take it to them. Terrorists. Not "insurgents;" not "dissidents;" but terrorists. The same ones that are just as capable of destroying Big Ben as they did the WTC.

Let's match lights, neighbor, then you can tell us how to vote.

Long live the Queen.

Feeling Smart Today

Ok, I had to do it. I actually forced myself to take one of those cheesy IQ tests that are relentlessly advertised on numerous commercial web sites. Shame on me. In my defense, it was a slow afternoon and I was waiting for one of my DB processes to crawl to completion.

I have avoided this for years. This is mostly because of my lifelong fear of the "P" word. You know, "potential." The word parents use when trying to understand how on earth such an intelligent kid can fail to find a simple thing like a classroom for weeks on end.

Toward the end of my dubious high school career I remember taking a battery of tests, some of which were ostensibly to provide us near-graduates with "career guidance." I can't tell you how many of those tests I took over the course of my schooling, only to have the computer spit out that I was best suited for "Physical Therapist." Huh? Didn't I say on those tests that I hate people? Didn't I indicate that I hate exercise even more? How does that make me a good Physical Therapist (these careers were always capitalized)? I strongly suspect that the Dilbert Principle, wherein morons are promoted to remove them from the productive flow, began with those tests.

At some point, in discussion with a Guidance Counselor, I was shown my then-IQ score. I believe it was 122. This, according to at least one web site, would have classified me with: School Teachers; Pharmacists; Accountants; Nurses; Stenographers; or Managers. No sign of Physical Therapy, hm?

The funny thing is, even when I was doing my level best to ruin my academic career, I knew deep down that I was smart. I also knew that I was scared to death to be smart. Smart people are supposed to be ambitious, after all; to live up to their potential. This was anaethema to an under-achiever like me.

Now the years roll by, and I have long since understood that smart people get paid more. Ironically, marginally intelligent people with college degrees get paid even more, and smart but less educated people can often be left in the dust, career-wise. I try, every once in a great while, to regenerate my college education, but once you enter the real world it has a funny way of impeding progress. Gotta push myself.

So, today, I took said cheesy test. You know the kind... "A is to B as C is to...?" "Which of these things does not belong with the others? (Sesame Street IQ tests?? Oy.)"

There were, oh, 25 or so questions like that. After the test, you get a nice little summary like this:

The Classic IQ Test
What's Your IQ?
Congratulations, Woody!
Your IQ score is 131
This number is based on a scientific formula that compares how many questions you answered correctly on the Classic IQ Test relative to others.

Your Intellectual Type is Insightful Linguist. This means you are highly intelligent and have the natural fluency of a writer and the visual and spatial strengths of an artist. Those skills contribute to your creative and expressive mind. And that's just some of what we know about you from your test results.

Really? "Insightful Linguist?" Wow. That explains a lot.

(By the way, the full 15 page report using actual quotes from actual experts would have cost me $20 a month, plus all the annoying advertising I can handle. No thanks.)

Then I wondered where, on someone's chart, that would put me career-wise. Turns out I now compare with: Physicians and Surgeons; Lawyers; and Engineers (Civil and Mechanical).

Nice cheesy test. Wonder if I can leverage a raise with it? After all, according to this chart, at least, I am smarter than my manager.

UPDATE: Ok. Smart as I am, I am still capable of bad spelling. "Insightful Linguist" was, until just now, "Insightful Linquist." I have no idea what a Linquist is, but I'm pretty sure that wasn't on the list.

Today's Money Quote

Lileks comes through again. He offers yet another take on the "Laura Bush Had a Job?" gaffe by Teresa Heinz Ketchup.

Aside from the well-crafted response regarding parenting as a job, I sincerely hope the First Couple get a chuckle out of this fantasy bedroom quote:

Do [Democrats] actually fantasize that she stays up late reading subversive literature?

“What’re you reading, Laur.”

“Oh, the Vagina Monologues.”

“Don’t bother. We’re gonna win Vagina and West Vagina this year ZZZZZZ.”

That, to me, is funny. Even the President realizes that he's a little out-classed by the English language.

I wonder, though, how the West Vaginians will take it?

Not Funny, Dave...

*Link may require registration

Dave Barry has announced his intention to step away from the Herald for awhile. I wish I could say I was making this up.

Being as conservative as I am, Barry and I sometimes don't agree. But when he writes about something I can appreciate (nearly anything but beer, in my case) I almost always come away with more than a few belly laughs.

I wish Dave well on his semi-retirement, but will be one of those hoping it doesn't last long. Look for Dave to begin his Farewell Tour with Cher by June of next year.

'Nother Commie Show Trial

The Commissar places women on trial now (in the rhetorical sense, of course). Da, Komrade. Put them back in the kitchens where they belong. Pregnant and plotting your overthrow!

With deepest free market wishes,

Capitalist Pig Woody

Crack That Vote!

In the pantheon of Stupid Election Stories, this one ranks pretty high on the Stupidometer.

Background: A woman in Toledo recruits a young man to get people registered to vote, and pays him with cocaine. Thus, people like Mary Poppins, Jeffery Dahmer, and Janet Jackson show up on the rolls in a county where none of them (except, maybe, Ms. Poppins) are known to live.

This kind of shenanigan belongs in a TV movie, not in American politics.

No matter how often we've seen this sort of thing in the past, it is very evident that stupid people continue to think they can influence the system for good or bad by doing stupid things. I've already seen two spins on this affair:

1. Democrats are so desperate to win this election that they'll stoop to paying people with cocaine to register people to vote. The assumption being that only crack-heads would vote for Kerry/Edwards in the first place.

2. This is yet another Republican dirty trick (Karl Rove, of course, has unlimited access to cocaine supplies via his good buddies in Colombia) designed to smear Democrats and discredit their campaign. By this same logic they also vandalize their own signs, storm and rob their own campaign offices, and burn swastikas on their own lawns.

My spin: Just another example of stupid people doing stupid things for stupid reasons.

I don't, of course, know the woman who allegedly hired Mr. Staton. It's tempting, though, to imagine a crack-head being given the opportunity to support her habit by coordinating a get-the-vote drive. Since she's making good, why not use that to her advantage? Get a few fellow crackers to help her out, pay them with some of her bounty -- what could go wrong?

It's a fanciful story. On the other hand, I absolutely refuse to chalk this up to one campaign's bag of tricks, or any of their special interest groups. Even my esteemed opponents would understand that they have the entire election to lose.

I'm not saying it's impossible. Just improbable. It was obviously a slow news day, guys. Color me disinterested.

UPDATE: Of course, having said all of this... there was that little problem with a break-in at the DNC headquarters in 1972... Little building called "The Watergate." Hmmm...

Flash! Pot Calls Kettle Black!

Courtesy Drudge:

Here's a shocker: Al Gore says Bush governs from love of power.

Isn't that a little like the Pacific Ocean accusing Lake Tahoe of being all wet?

Answering Hewitt's Call

To answer Hugh Hewitt's call for reasons (in 250 words or less) why we should vote for Bush and not Kerry, I present a heavily edited version of a post I made last week (click here to read the original):

Like many others, I've been less than charmed with the idea that we have troops in Iraq... Unlike others, however, I support what the troops are doing and why they're doing it today... Looking into the future, our wars will have two prongs: Terrorism still commands the front page, but don't count the hard-line communist nations as down and out, either.

Unlike Kerry, I just don't see getting much support from Europe in shutting down these threats.

And, so, Bush is the man for the time. Domestically it was never even a close call. Kerry took care of that. Any man professing Catholic beliefs who isn't willing to fight for them will likely compromise other values to fit his political schema. Not a good mix.

Bush has already demonstrated to my satisfaction that he will stay the course against terrorists and other enemies of this nation and our freedoms. Kerry has demonstrated that he will act only if he thinks it will make him look good to the French and the Germans.

Bush still has shortcomings, to be sure. I am no fan of No Child Left Behind... Neither am I enchanted with this country's response to environmental problems, particularly global warming... I just don't see Bush taking the lead here. Still, I don't see Kerry as doing any better. The wastefulness of this country is just too entrenched for any one administration to make the needed corrections.

All that said, the balance still tips in favor of Bush. God protect him and us.

CBS Explained

We've all lost precious time scratching our heads over this whole Rathergate affair. The answer to it all was just too obvious for our hard-wired blogbrains. Of course, it took a cartoonist to ferret out the answer.

*sigh*

Another mystery solved. Whatever shall we do now?

Another Year Richer

It's Sunday, October 17, 2004. Tomorrow I turn forty-six. Forty-six is not typically a milestone year, and yet this has been a milestone year in many respects. Since Sundays are a favorite day for reflection in the Woody household, and since my tradition is to do a (sorta) yearly birthday essay, this seems to be as good a forum as I'm likely to get.

Birthday years that coincide with elections are always tough, because I have to temper my celebrations with upcoming opportunities to vote and speak my voting mind. This year is no exception and seems to be tempered even more by the rancor of this campaign season. Looking back, it's been a doozy. From the Democrat-du-jour primaries, to the conventions, to the debates, I'm certain that this election year will be forever seared -- seared into my memory.

In the meantime, I ain't getting any younger. Things that seemed incredibly important to me twenty years ago now only serve to remind me just how young I was back then. Twenty years ago I began working for Rockwell International in Palmdale, California, manufacturing B-1B bombers for Reagan's defense initiatives. That seemed incredibly important to me back then, although I sometimes wonder whether that was primarily because cancellation of the program would have meant a reciprocal cancellation of my paycheck. Still, out of a hundred planes built for Uncle Sam, I helped build seventy-five of them before leaving the division one step ahead of the layoffs.

I also find that theater, which once occupied a huge part of my psyche, is no longer something that consumes me. Truth is, in my adult life I have only averaged one production every four years. That's not a large number for someone as ostensibly talented as I profess to be. Still, I once considered that I could make a career out of theater. Then, in my last big production (Mozart's Magic Flute) I began to notice that lots of the kids I was working with were vain, shallow bits of talent of the kind that seem to appear on reality TV a lot these days, and I realized that theater will forever remain a casual hobby for me.

Music remains, I am happy to report, an important part of my self-definition. We had a discussion in Church today that impacted me greatly. The topic dealt with music as a prayer of the righteous, a concept well known to Latter-day Saints, but inconsistently practiced by them. In fact, judging from the comments by the brethren in attendance today, many of them still don't get it. If you surround yourself with music of a questionable nature ("I never listen to the words...") on a constant basis, you will be negatively impacted. I chewed on my tongue for this discussion. Had I dared raise my hand, I would have alienated nearly the entire Ward by going into Boyd K. Packer mode. Dad would have rolled over in his grave (again), and my next message from a dead relative would probably give me nightmares for weeks. I actually kept my opinion to myself for a change. Also, my voice is at the top of its game now, but, ironically, I have little time to indulge it outside of Ward Choir. One's voice rarely stays at the top of that game for very long, so we'll see.

Speaking of dead relatives, mine have been giving me fits ever since Dad passed away over four years ago. Let me clarify: I have never seen a ghost in my life. I do not hear voices in my head, unless I owe someone money. I know the dangers inherent to a Ouija board. But they bother me all the same. Family historians will know exactly what I'm talking about. I'll be looking at an entry for one of my more obscure (to me) antecedents, and suddenly it seems that this individual has become the most important person to occupy my soul aside from my sweet wife. I become obsessed with finding out exactly where this person was living at the time of the 1850 census. I must know if this is the same shoemaker that lived in New York in 1840. Yes! It is! The data matches! He leaves me alone, finally, and I am free for the next possession. Genealogy. Gotta love it.

I have also reached an age where I can finally compare myself favorably with my Dad. Really. I remember my Dad at age forty-six. I was almost sixteen. I think I was personally responsible for approximately sixty-five percent of his gray hairs that year. My brother put the other thirty-five percent there. From my sixteen year old perspective, Dad was huge. Not literally, although he was definitely a member of the Horizontal Tie Club, if you catch my drift. No, he was larger than life. "Imperious" would have been a good description of Dad, if I'd known that word when I was sixteen. One must attend school to learn words like "imperious," and that's about thirty percent of Dad's gray hair, right there. I never thought I would be like my Dad was when I got to be as ancient as he was.

Well, guess what? I'm there, and I see it. I didn't see it four years ago, but I see it now. Why? Because I understand what Dad was going through when he was that age. I know about kids and how they can both exasperate you, yet make you incredibly proud of them. I understand about financial stresses, and career worries, and personal health concerns. I know what it is to have a loving wife, brilliant kids, and a good career. My teeth are falling apart, but life is basically good. I get all of that now. I didn't get it thirty years ago. I'm sorry for that, Dad. But you already know that, don't you?

I am one who has sorely tested the Lord's patience throughout my entire life. I know that, because my own patience (mostly with myself) has been just as sorely tested. I heard a wise man say, just today, that I can't point at others in life and think that they've got everything going for them, because no sooner will I say that than one of those self-same "privileged" people will walk into his office and tell him things that break his heart. Everything is relative.

My good wife, who deserves several medals just for putting up with me, is my ground wire. She keeps me from shorting out and going haywire. She tells me that things will work out just at that moment when I think things can't possibly get worse. And she's always right. They always do work out. She's amazing.

So, such are the rambling thoughts of a still-young forty-six year old male. I've been through my mid-life crisis (crises?). I've got maybe half of my life still ahead of me.

Things couldn't be better.

Representative Judgement

Edmund Burke was one of the great orators in Parliament during the constitutional crisis fomented by King George III. He it was who attempted to voice a rational and reasonable argument against the King's violations of the "spirit" of the constitution. The King was trying desperately to anchor more power in the crown, something the previous Georges had been unsuccessful in doing.

Burke presented a speech to the Electors of Bristol outlining his own views of what it meant to be a representative of the people. His remarks stand, even today, as a hallmark from which Congress would be well instructed.

Consider this sentence:

"Your representative owes you, not his industry only, but his judgment; and he betrays, instead of serving you, if he sacrifices it to your opinion."

This line was paraphrased in the movie "1776" by Dr. Lyman Hall of Georgia as he decided to swing his vote in favor of independence. When explaining his decision to John Adams, he quotes this line of Burke's. It is, for me, the actual climax of the movie. It shows the triumph of duty and reason over political considerations. Earlier in the movie, when asked what his views on independence might be he responds that "Georgia seems to be split down the middle on this issue. I am for it and the people are against it!"

Whether the incident is true I've not been able to ascertain. Biographical information related to Dr. Hall is sketchy at best, although he is one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence, and subsequently had his mansions in Georgia burned during the British occupation. He also served as Governor of Georgia.

To capture the true context of the Burke quote, of course, one should read the entire paragraph:

"Certainly, gentlemen, it ought to be the happiness and glory of a representative to live in the strictest union, the closest correspondence, and the most unreserved communication with his constituents. Their wishes ought to have great weight with him; their opinion, high respect; their business, unremitted attention. It is his duty to sacrifice his repose, his pleasures, his satisfactions, to theirs; and above all, ever, and in all cases, to prefer their interest to his own. But his unbiassed opinion, his mature judgment, his enlightened conscience, he ought not to sacrifice to you, to any man, or to any set of men living. These he does not derive from your pleasure; no, nor from the law and the constitution. They are a trust from Providence, for the abuse of which he is deeply answerable. Your representative owes you, not his industry only, but his judgment; and he betrays, instead of serving you, if he sacrifices it to your opinion."

Given the current tenor of Kerry's defense of abortion in this country, it is evident that he either has never read this quote, or, if he has, does not understand it. In fact, I rather suspect he would have stopped reading after the second sentence. Taken out of context, it would appear that, to that point, Burke was stating that ceding to his constituents' wishes was the whole duty of the representative. That would explain Kerry's entire career in a nutshell.

Let's assume for a moment that he actually has read something besides "International Politics for Dummies - How to Get France and Germany to Love You." He would appear to have misinterpreted the "sacrifice" of "his repose, his pleasures, his satisfactions" to mean that his religious beliefs should never be "legislated" against the people's will.

One of the primary purposes of religion, however, is to provide man with the ability to make righteous judgements. These judgements, or reasonings, if you will, have always been meant to guide our actions as well as our thoughts. For example, the law that prohibits us from shedding blood except of those who are themselves guilty of that crime has long been based on ancient religious law. We are enjoined from murdering our fellow man except in defense of our homes and liberties. I do not commit murder only partly because it is against the laws of the United States. However, my primary reason for not murdering is because to do so would mean separating myself eternally from my God. I wouldn't do it even if it were legal to do so in this country.

Abortion is abhorred by anyone who earnestly studies the judeo-christian laws. Given that life is precious, each life must be given its chance. Selective abortion denies that chance, usually for selfish reasons. Even when we make the caveat that abortion should only be considered under extreme conditions, we should also bear in mind that there have been women who would rather die themselves than deny their baby the chance to live.

I confess that I am not, and never would be in a position to determine the moral limits of abortion. However, I do not equivocate in stating that abortion solely to "erase" a selfish mistake can never be justified, no matter how legal we make it.

Most self-professed Christians would, if paying attention to scripture, agree. Which is why Kerry's arguments that his faith should never be "legislated" ring particularly hollow. According to Burke's thinking, by bending or (worse yet) denying his religious faith merely to satisfy political ambition, he has sacrificed his judgement to the opinions of those he would serve. His fear of offending women's rights supporters, gays, or athiests blinds him to the very things he supposedly learned as an Altar Boy in the Catholic church. He betrays his "trust from Providence." His abuse of that judgement will hold him "deeply answerable," and I don't just mean to the electorate.

In heaven, there is no separation of Church and state.

Getting in Touch With Your Inner Reality

As big a shock as I know it must be for you, Bush and Kerry are spending their last precious campaign days accusing each other of being out of touch with reality. Quel surprise.

One of the most laughable parts of this (or, really, any other) campaign is the idea that either candidate could possibly understand what, exactly, constitutes reality. Based on what I've seen through the past year, I would say that they both tend to define reality by what they've seen on TV. Kerry seems to prefer the Big Brother approach, while Bush favors Survivor.

I admit to a little wistfulness that neither candidate has tried to fumble their way through a definition of what constitutes the "common man." This, I feel, would be the most entertaining event of the entire campaign. I'm certain it's largely because their handlers won't let them: The stakes are just too high. They already between them do plenty to insult our collective intelligence, but not enough, apparently, to scare us completely away from the ballot box. Yet.

And so they are reduced to complaining that the other fellow is out of touch. The heck of it is, they're both right.

Neither Bush nor Kerry understands the reality of the average voter. They can't, because their wealth and political successes of the past automatically separate them from those voters. Let's take a look at what "average" voters define as their reality:

1. When was the last time either candidate had to deal with making ends meet? Based on the way they manage our tax dollars, I'm forced to conclude that they've never seen a checkbook in their entire adult lives. In my house we occasionally rely on food storage to get us to the next paycheck. At least we get a paycheck. Friends of mine are not as lucky.

2. Honestly, when was the last time either candidate had to worry about whether their HMO plan at work was going to cost them 55% more a month in the coming year? For that matter, when was the last time either one of them held an honest job?

3. Not to complain, Mr. Politician, but have you driven your own federal highway "system" lately? Care to come to Los Angeles without your chauffer? I didn't think so. Some of us get to spend between 10 and 20 hours a week on those highways. Got a plan? (What am I asking? Of course they have a plan. Maybe someday Kerry will actually tell us what his is. Bush is still trying to remember what a highway is. Highways are in short supply in Crawford. Nader will only tell me that they're unsafe at any speed. Gee, thanks.)

4. Two words: "Self-serve." Your reality? No? Just asking.

I had a friend call me the other day that I haven't been in contact with for several years. He moved to the other side of the country just about the time my wife and I were getting married. He asked if we were still a DINK or a SITCOM?

Huh?

His explanation, which I admit I'd not heard before: DINK stands for Dual Income, No Kids. SITCOM stands for Single Income, Two Children, Oppressive Mortgage.

Direct hit.

No, Mr. Politician, you're not in touch with reality. Not mine, anyway.

One Good Thing About Kerry!

Finally, it can be reported that we can say something nice about John Kerry! Really!

American Digest (a well crafted blog and highly recommended read) has posted Kerry's accomplishments in the Senate over his twenty year career, and I must say they are impressive. I, like countless others during this campaign, have wondered why Kerry always looks so tired. You know... old before his time. In my naivete I assumed it was all those manly outdoorsy activities that did it. I mean, one can only make lateral passes from between one's legs for just so many years before one begins to look like a used vacuum cleaner bag.

Gerard comes through, though, with a listing of all of Kerry's actual accomplishments as a Senator. I must say I sleep better at night knowing how hard Kerry is working for the good of his state and, ultimately, my country.

Read the post at the Digest. It's very instructive.

As I say, this speaks well of the good Senator. With an average of one bill every four years, and one resolution every five years (no wonder the man is exhausted!), that means that even if he served two terms as President, we would only be subjected to, what, two or three new laws of his own devising over eight years.

I could live with that.

(Hope I won't have to, though!)

Ready to Vote!

Having listened to or read about these bozos for the past year or so, I find myself ready to vote. Nationally, that is. Locally I am in a deep, deep, pea-soup fog. But that's another post.

In a very real sense, my vote has already been cast. Not literally, mind, but in personal terms the election was decided the moment Kerry floated up to the top of the Democrats' short list. You may have presumed, from other posts, that I would have been a Bush "ringer" from the get-go. Not necessarily.

Like many others, I've been less than charmed with the idea that we have troops in Iraq. In my heart of hearts I suspect we were led there under false (or, at least, grossly misunderstood) pretenses. Unlike others, however, I support what the troops are doing and why they're doing it today. The war has become more defined in terms of global terrorism, rather than merely the toppling of one or more idealogues. Looking into the future, our wars will have two prongs: Terrorism still commands the front page, but don't count the hard-line communist nations as down and out, either. We still have North Korea to keep a wary eye on, and Cuba still hates our capitalistic guts, too. Iran straddles the border by harboring both terrorist organizations and its own blossoming nuclear proliferation.

Unlike Kerry, I just don't see getting much support from Europe in shutting down these threats.

And, so, Bush is the man for the time. Domestically it was never even a close call. Kerry took care of that. Any man professing Catholic beliefs who isn't willing to fight for them will likely compromise other values to fit his political schema. Not a good mix.

I can forgive human foibles to a degree. This is why the whole Vietnam/National Guard meme just didn't resonate with me. Whether or not Kerry really did what he says he did in Vietnam didn't really concern me. I found it far more bothersome that he came home and immediately began making a political hash of the war for his own gain. At the expense of those who served honorably. Bush may have capitalized on opportunities created for him, but he hasn't denigrated those who served with him, either.

Bush has already demonstrated to my satisfaction that he will stay the course against terrorists and other enemies of this nation and our freedoms. Kerry has demonstrated that he will act only if he thinks it will make him look good to the French and the Germans.

Bush still has shortcomings, to be sure. I am no fan of No Child Left Behind. It's a poorly designed program that puts undue pressure on kids to perform at levels that many will not be prepared for at any given age. One size of education does not now, nor ever will fit all kids. Give it a rest and create a program that really works.

Neither am I enchanted with this country's response to environmental problems, particularly global warming. I suspect this one will catch this country (and many others) with its collective pants down. The fix will be enormously expensive, but could be softened by planning for it now. I just don't see Bush taking the lead here. Still, I don't see Kerry as doing any better. The wastefulness of this country is just too entrenched for any one administration to make the needed corrections.

All that said, the balance still tips in favor of Bush. God protect him and us.

Political Jihad

The scenes are disturbingly familiar. In one city, car windows are smashed. In others around the country, campaign offices are stormed and at least one staffer is injured. Anonymous death threats are made to candidates running against incumbents, one such threat even made while hanging a sign out of a car and then zooming off before an indentity can be established.

Thanks to Michelle Malkin for pointing these incidents out. I've been reading elsewhere about campaign signs being stolen (this is a frequent occurrence), mutilated, or set ablaze. The symbol of the swastika is burned on at least one lawn.

From my perspective, it matters little whether these acts were committed by democrats or republicans, liberals or conservatives, blondes or brunettes. They are, in fact, the acts of desperate, cowardly people who must use intimidation (or worse) to make their point because they are utterly incapable of articulating it in open debate.

Elsewhere around the world are reports of car bombs, resorts destroyed, hostages taken, tortured, and beheaded. We live in a world where we must now constantly look over our shoulders, lest we become the next 9/11 victims. Terrorists win when they strike fear in our hearts - hence their name. Terror prevents otherwise rational beings from living ordered and productive lives. It causes paranoia that paralyzes people and causes them to withdraw into a shelter - real or imagined - in order to escape. When others refuse to back down and hide, the terror increases.

It may well be a huge stretch to call acts of intimidation as practiced by political extremists in this country "terrorism." But not to me.

No, I think "terrorist" perfectly describes anyone who would "storm" a campaign office and even unintentionally (which they, of course, claim) inflict bodily harm on another person. Only a terrorist, acting under the motivation of cowardice, would make death threats against someone who is exercising his or her right to run for public office.

Political extremists in this country do not understand the real effects of their actions. Terrorists bred in other parts of the world are blinded to those effects by their zealotry. Terrorism itself, wherever and however practiced, only stiffens the resolve of all but those who are, for their part, more cowardly than the perpetrators.

Think about it: Is President Bush likely to back away from the global war on terrorism simply because more hostages are taken or attacks are stepped up? No. The war will continue until the terrorists are either wiped out, or no longer have the means to carry out their jihad. Is President Bush any more likely to agree that overtime laws must change simply because union members ransack campaign offices? Of course not.

There's an old parable about the wind and the sun having a discussion to decide who was the mightier. After bragging back and forth, a man walked by wearing a coat. It was decided that whoever could force the man to take off his coat would be declared the mightiest. The wind tried first, and blew with all his might. (Of course these were men. Can't you feel the testosterone?) However, the harder the wind blew, the more tightly the man wrapped that coat around himself. When the sun tried, he gently warmed the man until, shortly, the man removed the coat and the sun was declared the winner. The moral, of course, is that gentle persuasion may succeed where force cannot.

I realize that someone will try to apply that parable to the war in Iraq. My response is that we've spent decades trying the gentle approach, and the foolish terrorists didn't take the hint. This war is a consequence of that stubbornness. The real application of the parable makes more sense when applied to this election. If you feel the only way to get my attention is to ruin someone's car, you've already lost your argument. You can only stiffen my resolve and make me wrap my coat tighter around me. If, on the other hand, you engage me in a rational debate without histrionics, I can at least agree to see if a compromise can be reached.

The gentle art of politics. That would be a beginning.

UPDATE: Score one for the terrorists. A senator closes his office and skips town.

UPDATE II: Michelle's column goes into greater depth on this disturbing trend.