And that’s not a good thing. Simon Black on food, revolutions, and other matters. (Nothing you don’t already know, but some good reminders, nevertheless.)
The main difference is that Westerners have been brainwashed into believing that the civilized people voice their grievances in a voting booth rather than doing battle in the streets.
It’s a false premise. Unfortunately, so is violent revolution.
As my dictionary so perfectly defines, “revolution” has two meanings.
First, it can denote an overthrow of a sitting government, whether violent or ‘bloodless’.
But in celestial terms, ‘revolution’ denotes a complete orbit around a fixed axis. In other words, after one revolution, you end up right back where you started.
He’s taking the long look at Remington’s just-announced decision to open a plant in Huntsville, Alabama.
Remington has been identified for nearly two centuries with an otherwise unheralded burg in upstate New York. Ilion. That’s where a man with the marvelous name of Eliphalet Remington designed his first gun. And since 1816, apparently not much else has ever happened in Ilion other than … Remington.
The company says it has no intention of abandoning its plant or employees there; it’s just expanding (and good for Remington). Furthermore, a Cuomo spokesthing waves its arms and frantically shouts, “New York isn’t losing any jobs! New York isn’t losing any jobs!”
But this is how it works. Even a union official (member of a crowd that tends to be oblivious to ways in which actions produce consequences) understands.
SAFE Act … general nannying … high costs of doing business … crushing regulation = eventual goodbye.
I try not to be paranoid. I really do. I laugh at Alex Jones-style alarms and snort haughtily when I see that a story originates with InfoWars.
I believe myself to be above all that. I really do. I consider much alarmist “news” to be on par with reports that lizard-brained aliens are secretly running the country. (Human-brained aliens are quite sufficiently awful, thank you.)
“The repentant informant.” This article on liberty’s former friend Stacy Litz was published last year. The reporter (whose name really, truly is Jason Nark) interviewed me but forgot to tell me when the story hit, which is why I’m late with the news. I’m not quoted, but he does reference the booklet the Commentariat collaborated on: Rats! So pat yourselves on the back. You’re famous. :-)
Cops do the usual no-knock dawn raid. On the usual word of a lying informant. Resident, believing he and his pregnant girlfriend are in danger, shoots and kills a deputy. Cops find pot. A grand jury refuses to indict. Even a blogger cop says it’s the right decision. And you thought there were no such things as miracles.
Unfortunately, the usual *&^%$ still goes on. But you know … credit card fraud was involved. And somebody in the house had a concealed carry permit. So of course any amount of coppish violence is totally, absolutely justified. If you don’t think so you must be a domestic terrorist or something.
Uh oh. Tricksy, buggy Adobe Flash now carries malware that can infect even Linux machines and Macs. Guess the good old days are truly over.
Here’s more on Freespeechme.org from MWD. For nerdstuff, this is pretty lucid. And he very kindly tells me he’s snagged me a clairewolfe.bit domain name just in case.
And never forget, no matter how weird the world gets, we can always enjoy the puppies. So here, via MLS, are big dogs who don’t realize they are.
Watched the SuperBowl last night. First football game I’ve seen in 20 years. But I used to love pro football and with “my” Seahawks playing (not to mention this being the Stoner Bowl), I had to tune in on the computer.
Funny how the game seemed pre-ordained to go the Seahawks way from its first seconds. The instant that flubbed first snap flew over Peyton Manning’s head and the ‘Hawks fell on it for a safety just 12 seconds into the game (earliest score ever in a SuperBowl), the Broncos seemed out of focus, off their game — and doomed.
And sure enough, from then on, the Seahawks could do no wrong and the Broncos could do no right. Or rather, even when the Broncos weren’t making awful mistakes, even when a Manning pass hit its intended receiver smack in the gloves, Seahawk defenders were right there to knock the receiver down. Manning actually passed for more yardage than Russell Wilson,IIRC, but you’d hardly have known it by watching the game. The Seahawks pwned the Broncos.
Of course, the doom could have reversed any time in the first half. Or during the half-time break. But it was sealed when — just 12 seconds into the second half — the Seahawk’s Percy Harvin returned a kickoff 87 yards for a touchdown (and made it look like a perfectly choreographed bit of football ballet).
If I were superstitious, I’d even note that Denver’s doom came with two 12s. The Seahawks are so famous for their “12th man” (their ever-faithful and very loud fans) that before the game they even charged onto the field waving a giant blue flag with nothing but a white numeral “12″ on it. The fans love their Seahawks and the ‘Hawks know the fans are part of their team.
Yep, Denver was dooooooomed.
—–
But of course, nothing was pre-ordained. It looked to me (I could be wrong) that, while they were also just overplayed by a team that was totally “on,” the Broncos doomed themselves by getting rattled. Every closeup of Manning’s face, from the get-go, showed consternation. I’m no football expert, obviously, and maybe Manning just looks that way all the time. But consternation often goes before destruction and a nervous spirit before a fall.
—–
My point (and yes, I have one aside from merely yakking about football) is that there are so many things in life that seem destined to have happened — but of course only seem that way because they’ve already happened. In reality, things could have turned out radically different, and not just last night at the SuperBowl.
There are many things that seemed destined to happen — that didn’t. For instance, the “success” of gun control. Back in ’93 and ’94 some of us were the ones with the consternated faces. But our nobler fellows got a second wind. Doom averted.
Currently, a whole boatload of bad things seem destined to happen. Privacy seems doomed to be slain by the combo of technology and big institutions. Freedom seems doomed to fall under waves of ignorance, apathy, and powerlust. The U.S. economy appears doomed in the long run by fiscal and political folly.
But we don’t know. We can’t know. All we can know is that that crisis presents opportunity. As can new technology, black swan events, and … well, a butterfly flapping its wings in Brazil.
And what we can do is keep breathing, not get ourselves too consternated to function, take a break now and then — and hope to fly like a Seahawk when the wind is right.
It could become a crime in Washington state to help the NSA. Government contractors or workers providing electricity or water to an agency violating the Fourth Amendment would be criminals. (They ought to do this in Utah, where that hellish data center gobbles millions of gallons of precious dry-state water.) H/T PT
Clever or creepy? Yeah, depends on who (or which alphabet soupers) get their hands on these snake, worm, and otherwise creepy-crawly robots. (H/T O)
One might wish that the charming soul who monkeywrenched the ATF booth at last week’s SHOT Show had a better command of spelling. But his (her?) heart was certainly in the right place. View one. View two. (H/T JB)
Another Officer Friendly. Yes, another Beloved Hero in Blue, protecting and serving in the style that’s become so reliable lately. Why this creep isn’t a) in prison and b) on the sex-offender registry for the rest of its days is a wonder to me. Oh, but she was “disciplined.” I guess that makes it okay. (Corrected: There were two officers, both female, and both apparently “corrections officers,” not cops. Both were involved, though apparently only one did the worst deed. Personally, I’m still going with “Officer Friendly” because IMHO, there’s a distinction, but not much of a difference, between cops and COs. Thanks, G. for the heads up.)
Did hackers recently perform the first malicious act utilizing the “Internet of things”? That is, did they turn everything from “smart” refrigerators and home camera systems into a bot net? So said many reports. Borepatch doubts it.
There are five finalists in the Doritos “Crash the Superbowl” ad contest. “Cowboy Kid” is the clear winner. If any of the other four beat it, I’m suspecting bribery, collusion, and all manner of other evil. This may be one case where v*ting is okay. As long as you vote my way, of course. ;-)
This is so short and so delightful I’m reprinting it in full. If you wrote this and object to my reprint, please let me know. It’s been getting around a lot.
—–
Empathy Test
By George R. Shirer
The assessor is attractive in a button-down kind of way. Blonde hair, pink jumpsuit, digital makeup set to minimal. Her face is a sculpt, something from one of the mid-level catalogues. Attractive, but not too attractive. The same face you see on a thousand other people. Only her eyes, brown and liquid, are original.
“You failed your empathy test, Mr. Clawford.”
Her tone is carefully modulated. No condemnation there, none at all. Just carefully presented curiosity.
“I know.”
“You haven’t been taking your dose.”
It isn’t a question. I shrug.
“No.”
“Why?”
The assessor leans forward. Her pink uni-suit tightens slightly, emphasizing the shape of her breasts. It’s a cheap trick, meant to distract one, make your interviewer more susceptible to the subharmonic pulses they use in these interview rooms, to make one more compliant.
“Compassion fatigue,” I say.
The assessor arches her brows. “Honestly?”
“Honestly. I’m tired of being chemically forced to care for my fellow man.”
“Are you experiencing nausea? Fatigue? Some people develop a sensitivity to the pills over time.”
“No, nothing like that. I just decided not to take my dose.”
Her carefully modulated expression becomes one of concern.
“You are aware that refusing to take your dose is illegal?”
“It’s a class two offense. I know.”
“Will you take your dose now?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I sort of like feeling like a bastard. Does that make me a bad person?”
“It makes you . . . atypical,” says the assessor. She shifts in the chair. “This is the second time you’ve failed an empathy test, Mr. Clawford.”
“I know.”
“There are three options at this stage,” says the assessor. “You can take your dose and agree to daily monitoring for the next three months.”
“No. I won’t take the dose any more.”
She nods. “Fine. The second option is isolation. You’d be placed under house arrest and not allowed to leave your residence until you resume taking your dose.”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t think so. I think, miss, I’ll go for option three.”
She frowns. “Exile to the Cold Isles?”
“Yes.”
“You are aware that if you choose exile, Mr. Clawford, it’s a one way trip?”
“I know.”
“And that is what you want to do? To go and live among the callous and the unfeeling?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I’d rather be an authentic bastard than a fake nice guy.”
Her grin surprises me. She stands and her suit tightens, turns matt black.
“Good answer. Come with me. We can be in Christchurch within the hour.”
I’m confused. “We?”
She laughs. “What? You didn’t think the fuzzies would trust one of their own to do these assessments, did you?”
“You’re one of the cold?”
“No, Mr. Clawford.” She gives me a look that I’ll get from lots of people over the next few weeks, part condescension, part genuine sympathy. “I’m one of the free.”
Living boldly is not flinging yourself randomly at every injustice or every cause. That may be bold. But it ain’t livin’. And it’s not effective at creating freedom. (To paraphrase the great trickster Abbie Hoffman: Random action produces random results: Why waste even a rock?.)
Living boldly is not being obedient while waving your arms and ranting about how bad everything’s getting. (Not even if you rant really, really forcefully and get lots of hits on your blog and have lots of followers on Twitter.)
Living boldly is not flipping off cops just to show you’re brave and defiant.
Living boldly is also not being forever strong and fearless. You can live boldly and still have weak moments, emotional meltdowns, failures, self-doubts and plenty of 3:00 a.m. fears for the future. (Ask me how I know.) Living boldly is what you do in spite of all that.
Living boldly is creating your own life in your own way, even if you’re depressed, discouraged, defeated, and downtrodden. Even if you fear — or are downright dead-solid certain — that the whole damn world is doomed.
