Saturday, October 31, 2009
From stuff white people like:
When white people go away to college, they tend to study what are known as the Arts. This includes actual Art, English, History, Classics, and Philosophy. These can of course be broken down further into Film, Womyn’s Studies (yes the spelling is correct), Communications, Gender Studies, and so forth. It is important to note that a high percentage of white people also get degrees in Political Science, which is pretty much like arts, and only seems to have the word “science” in it to make white people feel better about themselves.
I don't think you can go wrong adopting the general principle that, in college curricula, anything that includes the word "studies" involves a minimum of studying and a maximum of feeling sympathy for the downtrodden of all races, genders, and income levels.
To generalize further, people who major in Communication cannot communicate in any language less rudimentary than smoke signals, and any field of study that is designated "Science," for example social science and political science, has no scientific basis at all.
From broadstuff, via Instapundit.
Posted by miriam at 11:07 PM
Monday, October 26, 2009
This is part of the display at my neighbor's house. There is more, but I don't want to stand in front of their house taking photos, so this was all I captured.
George--the neighbor--decorates his house for every occasion. He says he does it for the grandchildren. Yeah, right.
Posted by miriam at 10:39 PM
From an article about style:
Sally Singer, Vogue’s director of fashion news and features, who has the most sociologically and historically sophisticated antennae in fashion (honed by her fanatical childhood home sewing, her Berkeley-dropout stint as a beautician in Oakland, her graduate work in American studies at Yale, and her quasi-Marxian rigor as an editor at the London Review of Books)...
Posted by miriam at 11:00 AM
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Thursday, October 22, 2009
I just spent a somewhat harrowing hour plus driving home from New Jersey with the sun in my eyes. I could see some, part of the time, but at one memorable moment I got off a ramp onto a highway totally blinded. I guess my number was not up.
Living in Delaware has seriously impaired my ability to hold my own in New Jersey traffic. The trucks intimidate me, especially when they are on all sides of my puny little car. They could crush me like a bug. If all the 800,000 people who live in Delaware got on the road at the same time, Delaware traffic still wouldn't be as bad as New Jersey.
When I drive in Delaware, I listen to WRTI, which gives traffic reports from Philadelphia and New Jersey during rush hour. As I listen, I feel sympathy for those people who are stuck behind an overturned tractor-trailer that is holding up traffic for ten miles. But I also feel a little smug.
I was kept company by the woman who resides in my GPS. Really, it's almost like having another person in the car, and it's helpful. If the voice had not directed me I would have gotten lost, especially because of the fancy lane changes required. Sometimes I resent the voice, when she tells me to take a u-turn and I know a better way. Then I disregard her advice. Sometimes I wonder if she will get mad at me and give me false advice to get even. You may say that there is not a person residing in this device, but how come she led me to the Home Depot parking lot when I instructed her to guide me home? Doesn't this show some malice on her part?
I told my stepmother about my GPS voice, and it seems she has a woman living in her GPS also. She uses it when she drives, but when my father drives he totally disregards the voice. Being a much nicer person than I am, she hopes her GPS doesn't get its feelings hurt.
In related news, I managed to get someone to pump gas for me! Yes, it's illegal to pump your own gas in New Jersey. Now there's a law I can get behind. Much, much more useful than banning trans-fats. And the gas was cheaper.
Posted by miriam at 10:25 PM
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
Never thought you'd hear me say that, did you?
In a 2004 book describing his deployment to Iraq the year before, Mr Cash calls Islam violent, a faith that “from its very birth has used the edge of the sword as a means to convert or conquer those with different religious convictions”.
This chaplain is a preacher whose services President Obama attends with some frequency. The other day, I heard Sean Hannity droning on and on about him. It's a cheap shot. Unless Cash makes a derogatory reference to Islam in the President's hearing, it's not at all similar to the case of the Rev Wright. Wright was an intimate of Obama's, married him, baptized his children.
Besides, it's true: Muslims have "used the edge of the sword to convert of conquer." Christians have too. The entire course of recorded history is the story of the sword.
Posted by miriam at 4:28 PM
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Will Acorn make a comeback?
What interested me most about the whole child-prostitution-brothel-tax-evasion thing was how quickly and decisively Acorn acted. They fired the malfeasors. Bang, bang! and don't let the door hit you on the way out!
Clearly Acorn is not a union shop. There are teachers on "paid administrative leave" sitting around the board of ed's headquarters doing Sudoku because they have done something so heinous that the authorities dare not let them enter a classroom. The paycheck, however, comes regularly twice a month. These teachers are members of the teachers' union.
Nor are they civil servants. I know for a fact that it takes a year to fire for cause someone who has a civil service job in New Jersey. A case must be built, brick by brick, like a huge Lego tower. New York is the same, according to Mr Charm. The other 48, I don't know, but I suspect it is the same.
Not a union shop! Quel dommage! Why doesn't the SEIU organize these exploited workers? Because they are the people who are exploiting them? The poor masses, ground down by the evil rich--my heart bleeds for them.
Posted by miriam at 10:19 PM
When Glenn Beck aired a video of White House Communications Director Anita Dunn praising Chairman Mao — one of her “two favorite political philosophers” — in front of an audience of high school students, the conservative blogosphere lit up like a non-denominational sustainably harvested Kwanza tree.
The woman meant no harm. Anita Dunn didn't really mean that Mao was one of her favorite philosophers, I'm sure. I doubt she has any "favorite" philosophers. In fact, I doubt she has ever read anything by Chairman Mao or Karl Marx unless it was in the Reader's Digest Condensed Philosophy in One Easy-to-Read Volume. Maybe, just maybe, she's read about some of Lee Atwater's incendiary remarks. Or maybe one of her speechwriters has. I'm sure she's a know-nothing idiot who has benefited from an Ivy League education or equivalent or has majored in Communication, with a minor is Leadership.
What all these killjoys don't understand is that Mao is chic. He has a certain je ne sais quoi not appreciated by squares like Roger Kimball, Mark Steyn and all the rest who stayed indoors and plowed through these thinkers' work while the Anita Dunns of the world were out in the fresh air demonstrating in favor of _____________ (insert name of your favorite left-wing hero here) or going to Barack Obama rallies.
It's all about style. Mao might have caused a bit of trouble, but he is a Designer Name to the left. As is Fidel Castro. Ditto Che Guevara. Tossing off these names carelessly in a speech signify that the speaker is hip, cool and groovy and capable of deep thought.
The actual activities or writings of these iconic figures are irrelevant. Quoting them is as important as wearing the right kind of jeans, and has as much significance.
One of my friends was considering a vacation trip to Cuba. I protested: "Don't you know Castro puts poets in jail? And homosexuals into concentration camps?" Her eyes glazed over as she dismissed these irrelevant observations. A visit to Cuba was the in thing to progressives like her. The actual facts could not matter less.
Posted by miriam at 1:10 PM
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
I like to read. In fact, I prefer reading books to other, newfangled methods of killing time. But I am cranky and hard to please. I like very little of the popular fiction that is currently cranked out. Here are some stars of my hit parade of rottenness:
Mysteries with cats in them, particularly if the protagonist has chats with the kitty. For some reason, books with dogs in them are not quite as bad as those that include cats. Mysteries about people with unusual occupations-- window cleaners, home handymen, opera singers, or particularly cooks. Books about cooks that include recipes are absolutely beyond the pale and should be forbidden by statute.
I also loathe books which include picturesque dialects, and that goes for Thomas Hardy and Robbie Burns too.
I dislike books that, by the time you get to page 52, are still strongly hinting at something to be revealed later which the dumb heroine is clueless about. Or some secret out of her past that will explain everything, if the author could just get the descriptions of scenery out of the way.
Too many words. Too much psychological analysis. Long descriptions of mountains, fjords, valleys, rivers, or of the music our hero is listening to or the car he is driving. Or the food. Did I mention recipes?
In self-defense, I have taken to reading biography and history, usually American history.
Posted by miriam at 9:53 PM
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
I've been very lucky in finding good music here in Wilmington. Two weeks ago I heard a really good concert by the Delaware Symphony. The program featured Gershwin's American in Paris, which I've heard about as often as I've heard Barack Obama--that is, way too often. I thought I could not possibly get anything from hearing this piece again. I was wrong. I don't think I've ever heard it played live before, and the brasses were not to be missed. David Amado conducts with distinction. I think he is headed for bigger things.
Meanwhile, David's wife, Meredith, was also to be heard from. She has a new piano quartet, called the Pyxis Quartet, which played at a very special concert at the Delaware Art Museum. The concert took place in one of the galleries. I don't think I have ever heard music in a more intimate venue. The acoustics were excellent, and it was so nice to be so close to the performers, and in the presence of lovely paintings. The music must have sounded as it was originally meant to be heard.
Posted by miriam at 10:35 PM
For a limited time, everyone who comments on my blog will receive a chance to win a box of 48 AA batteries dated 2005--some of them might work!
Enter today! The first 100 smart, savvy people to enter the contest will win a reproduction of an original painting by an up-and-coming artist! Namely me!
Don't delay! Remember, this contest ends November 1, 2009!
Posted by miriam at 1:07 PM
Monday, October 05, 2009
No witness remains.
"We knew perfectly well that we had no chance of winning," he recalled. "We fought simply not to allow the Germans alone to pick the time and place of our deaths. We knew we were going to die. Just like all the others who were sent to Treblinka."
Only anti-semitism remains.
Posted by miriam at 5:04 PM
Sunday, October 04, 2009
Knicker Tickets™; are fun, easy to use additions for your favorite "date" panties. Stop giving out your number on matchbooks and cocktail napkins. This pack has 10 Assorted Knicker Tickets™.
Posted by miriam at 10:10 PM
Where are the advocates for young girls?
It’s weird that child advocacy groups (secular and religious) haven’t raised more hell regarding ACORN who, on tape, in multiple locations, and on our dime, were perfectly peachy with the potential sex trafficking of little 13-year-old El Salvadoran girls. That’s what’s weird.
This, together with the Roman Polanski defense, leads me to think that perhaps child prostitution is considered not so very bad by liberals. Not for our own daughters, of course. But woman's advocates have been agitating for recognition of prostitution as a valid professional choice, like being a nurse. We call them "sex workers" nowadays. We view movies like "Pretty Woman," and don't feel nauseated.
Underage sex is also accepted. Everyone "does it," don't they? It can't be stopped. Make sure the youngsters use condoms, of course, but otherwise, let 'em rip. If there is a chance of "being punished with a baby," there's always choice, aka abortion. The implication is that sex is as beneficial as aerobic exercise: in fact, it is aerobic exercise. Repression is harmful to people, isn't it?
So perhaps there is a perception that what Polanski did is not so bad. The kid probably wanted it, at some level. Anyway, she had to learn about sex some time, didn't she? Why not at the hands of a world-famous director, a "great artist"? It was probably a life-enhancing experience for the youngster, having sex with such a distinguished chap.
Rape is not so bad, unless it involves a college boy trying to talk a coed into having sex with him when she's had a few drinks. Even if she says yes, she's been exploited.
Posted by miriam at 10:16 AM
Saturday, October 03, 2009
I laughed when my daughter told me that you couldn't put a leaf of lettuce down the disposal. But when the plumber came to fix the thing, he showed me how the thing had met its match dealing with a piece of lemon. The plumber told me more stuff you can't put in the disposal, among them rice.
The plumber told me that the disposal is a delicate, exquisitely calibrated mechanism and gave me a list of things you can't put in it. Everything I mentioned was forbidden. I was starting to think that the only food congenial to the disposal was homemade chicken soup, maybe. If you strain it.
In related news, the ants are still having fun with their ant trap. They have invited their sisters and their cousins and their aunts to visit my house, along with their brothers and uncles. Quite a lively crowd.
Can you put ants in the disposal?
Also, the car has caught whatever virus is affecting the house, and now refuses to regulate the temperature in the car. I believe it will have to be dis-assembled piece by piece to fix the broken item, which costs 69 cents. Labor costs are estimated at an undisclosed figure.
Meanwhile, my camera and GPS have gone missing. I think they were stolen out of the car.
Posted by miriam at 11:13 PM