Saturday, March 14, 2009

Dear Dan . . .

. . . Earlier today, I was working on a post about something else, and saw (via Cold Fury) your post expressing extreme discouragement about the current political prospect. So, because of its relevance to the subject I was writing about, I quoted and linked it. That post was forward-dated, and is scheduled to go online Sunday morning, when I'll still be asleep. (I do this a lot.)

Forgive me if, while trying to do what I could to encourage some newbies, I have neglected our long friendshp. You were one of the first guys on the blogosphere to link me when I was at the Zero Hour on my first blog waaaaaay back when, and have been steadfast in your friendship toward me. You have forgotten more about blogging than most people will ever know, and helped me when few others would.

So if I have been thoughtless, neglectful and disorganized, if I have let my e-mail inbox overflow to the point where I can't keep track of what's going on anymore, my apologies if this has in any way contributed to your discouragement. It is all my fault, and I will try to make it right, if I can.


Broadside of Breitbart

by Smitty

Here is a set of short clips featuring Andrew Breitbart, (hat tip to burghnews) on Red Eye.
First up is the standard ACLU trope "person X protesting tradition Y via asinine behavior Z". I guess if the ACLU would file lawsuits against the Federal government on 10th Amendment grounds, I wouldn't feel the ACLU could be replaced with a button marked "Crap".

Here he reveals how Mr. Flinging Footwear of Fury will pocket a few dinar while in the big house. Won't spoil the jape, but I do look forward to the increase in quality.

Here Andrew enjoys a private moment in a public way. As a safety tip, do not think of either half of the Doltish Duo when you watch this.

Last and possibly weirdest is this bit on Clooney Tofu. Not exactly a peanut butter and chocolate situation. Good taste would have argued against including anything mentioning PETA, but Rule 5 demands a wider audience for Amy Schumer.

Quote of the Day

"When a 14 year old kid can blow up your business in his spare time, not because he hates you but because he loves you, then you got a problem."


by Smitty

In keeping with the Navy tradition of thrashing unsuspecting words, the post title has been given the DICNAV treatment. Still, the Rule 2 tradition of paying tribute to those who've noticed us goes on.
  • Obi's Sister leads off, for noticing our post about Ari Fleischer returning fire to a "personal lapdog" wannabee. Chris Matthews was rather on the rabid chihuahua end of the lapdog scale, no?
  • Dan Collins over at PW seems to appreciate the local equestrian, Brooksie Frumdreher* III. Joining that crowd is The Chapomatic One.
  • American Power Blog (oh, the shocking Exceptionalism in the name!) echoed RSM's disdain for "progressive Republicans" in APB's Michael Steele roundup.
  • Good justice from the Griffon's Lair. I think the whole "Lord and Messiah" thing has been safely nailed down.
  • Pb'n'Au were golden as they linked that hammering of leaden leftism: How to Hate Feminism.
  • The retro hat tip to Napoleon XIV worked for What'd I Say?
  • Reaching across the aisle, Freedom Democrats level the dreaded "jilted conservative schadenfreude" accusation over The Luxury of Liberaltarianism. It's their party, and they'll cry if they want to. But will their output reach sufficient levels to launch ships? Megan McArdle, lead lamenter, weeps wobustly.
  • "Gimme" Moe Lane found a theological angle on Douthat's new gig.
  • Caught the eye of The Liberty Papers for ripping Brooks. Just because a target is relatively easy does not negate the aerobic exercise value of ripping it.
  • The lovely S. Logan admires this blog, as well. Her plea for attention packaged as a cry for solitude is a tour de force. However, as the driver of an '02 PT Cruiser, I take umbrage at having the car in the background of a commode photo. Ms. Logan, couldn't we stage the shot with a 1967 Oldsmobile Delmont 88 next time?
  • Fausta enjoyed the Camille: Shush post, but one minor detail bears correction: RSM isn't the balding old squid. That would be me. She's no less beautiful for having linked the post, however.
  • Taking things in a metaphorically cannibalistic direction, Jenn Q. Public alluded to this post in her summary of the red-on-red action.

*Not all of the genealogy has been explored (or will likely ever be made public), but it appears that dreher is German for "lathe operator", whereas "frum" means something akin to "moron working the wrong end of the material" in the Schwäbisch dialect. Stay tuned to this blog for occasional installments of the basketball-esque rise and fall of the Frumdrehers, that great American political dynasty.

The re-education of David Brooks

P.J. Gladnick at Newsbusters has the story of how the White House dispatched a team of four operatives to persuade David Brooks to back off his threat to lead an army of moderates to oppose the Obama agenda. Gladnick observes:
So either the four overseers of the White House were masters of manipulation or they had extremely pliable material to work with . . .
Indeed. And now the useless idiot has returned with a new column singing paeans to Obama's education "reform" plan. The Toady-in-Chief's latest column includes this:
Thanks in part to No Child Left Behind, we're a lot better at measuring each student's progress. . . .
Most districts don't use data to reward good teachers. States have watered down their proficiency standards so parents think their own schools are much better than they are.
As Education Secretary Arne Duncan told me, "We've seen a race to the bottom. States are lying to children. They are lying to parents. They're ignoring failure, and that's unacceptable. We have to be fierce."
Oh, those "fierce" reformers! Like President Clinton before him, President Obama sends his kids to private schools. Public schools are for Other People's Children, and the endless promises of "reform" have never been fulfilled, nor will they ever. America's schools are arguably worse now than they were when No Child Left Behind was passed in 2001, and they are certainly no better.

Obama's "reform" plan will not improve the schools, either. To a Democrat, the policy object of school "reform" is full employment and higher pay for members of the teachers' unions. Hire more teachers, pay them more money -- it's a constituent-service model of policy. The Democrat who says anything else is lying, and yet Brooks takes Obama's professions of "caring" at face value:
The Obama approach would make it more likely that young Americans grow up in relationships with teaching adults. It would expand nurse visits to disorganized homes. It would improve early education. It would extend the school year. Most important, it would increase merit pay for good teachers (the ones who develop emotional bonds with students) and dismiss bad teachers (the ones who treat students like cattle to be processed).
Of course, "merit pay for good teachers" is just code meaning, "higher pay, period." Whatever standards are used to measure "merit" will be manipulated by administrators to reward their favorites. Just as the chief result of the student-testing requirements of No Child Left Behind was wholesale fraud in standardized testing, so will the lure of "merit pay" result in bogus attempts to fake "merit."

One wonders if the White House's favorite columnist even believes what he writes anymore. Certainly no one familiar with the bureaucratic reality of how American schools actually operate can believe Obama's plan will produce genuine "reform."

Becoming one of The Republicans Who Really Matter -- of whom Brooks is a leading example -- requires acceptance of a fundamentally false premise, namely, that Democratic politicians act in good faith. This is the Big Lie to which all other liberal lies are ancillary.

The Democratic Party is a conspiracy whereby liars advance the cause of evil with the assistance of fools. Republicans who "reach across the aisle" to cooperate in the implementation of the Democratic agenda are therefore agents of evil. (Whether Republican enthusiasts for "bipartisan compromise" are conscious of their agency in the cause of evil is moot, but they don't call them The Stupid Party for nothing.)

The reason David Brooks is the White House's favorite columnist is because, by the fraudulent pretense that he is a "conservative," Brooks provides key assistance in the Democrats' most essential mission: Obscuring truth.

Hit the tip jar.

UPDATE: Let's have a contest: Describe the Democratic Party in 20 Words or Less.

UPDATE II: A 'Lanche this way comes. Thank you, Professor, and welcome Instapundit readers. While you're here, feel free to poke around and check out the links -- it's Full Metal Jacket Saturday, and Monique Stuart would appreciate your traffic. You can also add me on Twitter or Facebook or your RSS feed. And, of course, your generous contributions to the David Brooks Fisking Fund are deeply appreciated. (It's For The Children!)

UPDATE III: When it rains, it pours: Also linked at RedState RedHot, Liberty Papers, Right, Wing Nut, Tom Maguire at Just One Minute, Ed Drisoll, Little Miss Attila and Moe Lane. Welcome all! And please give generously to the David Brooks Fisking Fund, because I don't know how much longer the ACORN protesters can keep the repo man away from my 2004 KIA.

Friday, March 13, 2009

The Sharkpit of Mood

by Smitty

Fausta reports on the Shark Pit of Doom:
Today is National Iowahawk Day. In the spirit of the day, here’s one of the spectacular events relating to the legendary life of Iowahawk
She then boldly relates how fortune favored her with a visit from the 'hawkish one.
So as to avoid spoiling Fausta's brief, intense tale, let me use her post as an excuse to share a tango. This one is doused in something inflammable and set on fire. Now, this is completely SFW, and rated G, but if it doesn't leave you feeling just a little in the mood, you're probably dead.

Elizabeth Roe is totally Rule 5 material. Greg Anderson merits mention for the leather trousers, but we'll leave any serious appreciation to Fausta.
Oh, and here's that blistering duo's site. Because this is a full service blog.

Headline of the Day

Will Everyone Named McCain
Please Leave the Republican Party!

Well, don't you just wish, a$$hole? (And hey, Don't Blame Me, I Voted for Bob Barr!)

I started this blog and named it with the specific idea of distinguishing myself from the short, old, bald, grumpy geezer who -- exactly as I said from the get-go -- (a) was not conservative and (b) could not win in November.

This is clear proof that Crazy Cousin John's RINO ways have imparted a stain to the family honor -- and let's don't even talk about Meghan and "stain" in the same sentence, OK? A long-serving U.S. Senator and war hero has now become more of a disgrace to our name than me, perhaps the most notorious right-wing journalist in America.

I long worried that all the moonshine runners, snuff-dippers and bar brawlers in the Alabama branch of our family tree might feel I had failed to uphold our ancestral honor by working in the disgraceful racket that "journalism" has now become. Yet the two-faced, backstabbing, open-borders, bailout-endorsing crapweasel, Crazy Cousin John, has brought such odium upon our name that no one even pays attention to me.

Rush Limbaugh won't even mention my American Spectator articles on his radio show, because the very name "McCain" has become an epithet among conservatives. If it weren't for The One Thing Crazy Cousin John Did Right, I could never forgive him for the shame and embarrassment he has cause me.

And I should mention, BTW, that this Fox Forum article was sent to me by Atlanta's lovely Carol Purdy Fields, whom I had a crush on in third grade, fourth grade, fifth grade . . .

'Mamas, Don't Let Your Daughters Grow Up to Be Downloads'

Some very helpful advice for mothers and daughters from John Hawkins, telling the "sad, sad story" of Jesse Logan, who committed suicide at 18, after her high-school (ex-)boyfriend humiliated her by making public the nude photos of herself she had sent him.

Keep in mind that Hawkins is no prude. Every day, his Conservative Grapevine aggregrator features not only a selection of political news and commentary, but also a couple of links to cheesecake photos of lovely starlets in bikinis. This was the subject of a debate among conservative bloggers in which I framed the question, "Is Babe-Blogging a Sin?"

My conclusion was that it is not, and the joys of babe-blogging were enshrined as the popular Rule 5 of "How to Get a Million Hits on Your Blog." However, if you disagree, please don't click over to John's site. (BTW, John, you've got a broken link on the Denise Richards bikini pics at CelebSlam.) Having been an artist since youth, my aesthetic enjoyment of beauty has at times been a snare and a stumbling block to me.

There is a line between flirty and trashy, between alluring and indecent. At times, I'm not very good at figuring out where that line is, but am deeply thankful that digital media didn't exist in 1978, when I was 18 and -- believe it or not -- even less responsible than I am now.

(Thanks to Frequent Commenter Smitty, from whom I outrageously stole this one.)

'Unfortunately . . .'

". . . the whole employment situation is really cramping my blogging style."
Go Galt! Just rattle the tip jar. Grateful blog readers give generously so I can not only afford to blog for myself, but can also support my beautiful wife and six wonderful children. Not to mention paying blood money to Frequent Commenter Smitty and hiring distinguished online correspondents like Brooks Rossington Frumdreher III (The Republican Who Really, Really Matters) and our new round-up guestblogger, Dr. Freaking S. Goodblog, Ph.D.

If you're a part-time blogger who is weighed down with the burdens of Working For The Man, wondering why you can't be a famous successful blogdaddy, ask yourself these questions: Or . . . A Jedi must study the Force to grow strong, my young Padwan. I am your father, Luke. And hit the freaking tip jar. People pay me good money for this kind of advice, and you never know where that first 'Lanche will come from, do ya? Well, do ya, punk?

Hawkie! Old boy!

Guest post by Brooks Rossington Frumdreher III

Damn swell to see you again, fellow! Do you know . . .? Well, yes, of course, you and Kathleen are old friends, aren't you? How silly of me to forget! Kat, remember when you told me how you, Hawkie and Coddy met at the Newport Junior League Regata Cotillion? . . . Yes, now, you be a darling and go get us a couple of gin and tonics, Kat, while I catch up with your old flame, the Burgemeister. . . .

Splendid soiree they've thrown for you here, Hawkie. Sorry Kat and I couldn't make it earlier. Fashionably late and all that. Let the riff-raff arrivistes clear out first, she said. Is that nice young Collins fellow here? He invited us. . . .

Well, actually, one of Kat's assistants saw it on that Facebook thing and told her about it and . . . Andy! Andy Rosenthal! Yes, yes, that's right. . . . No, no hard feelings at all, Andy. I appreciate your letting me know. That nasty man I hired to shovel our walk at the pied-a-terre must have let himself into the house and gotten onto the computer my major domo uses, and . . . .

Oh, absolutely, Andy! Fired him on the spot! Let him and those snotty-faced urchins of his go starve in the street. He'll be causing no more trouble for you and our friend David, I assure you. . . .

But congratulations on the new hire, Andy. A Harvard man! Of course, you know, my people have always been Yale, but I understand your new lad grew up in New Haven, so it isn't as if he were some sort of barbarian rabble. . . . Yes, well, someone told me he is a regular whiz with research. Used to spend hours and hours on the intertubes at the Crimson office, they say. . . . Same thing when he was at the Topsider, I hear. The boy was always on the computer researching all the time, Coddy tells me. Not so much for the writing, but lots of research. Coddy said they had to buy a new computer for him because he filled his up with so much research. . . .

Oh, of course, Andy, pal! Muffy and I would love to have you down at the club. Any day you like, just let me . . . Tuesday? Oh, Tuesday's bad for me, but give me a call and we'll try to set it up, OK? Well, Hawkie and I have some catching up to do Andy, so if you'll excuse us . . . Right. Wednesday might be better, but call, OK? . . .

Ah. . . . Yes, Andy's fine, but . . . so pushy, those people, aren't they? Like I was telling young Collins the other day, I said, "Dan, if you think this blogging business is what you want to do, I understand. All the young people are doing it, but must you work for that Steingold fellow?" . . .

Meghan! So glad you could make it! Saw that piece you did for Tina, darling. Excellent! That Coulter woman is just so tacky, isn't she? . . . Oops, careful there, you've spilled your drink! Fetch a boy to clean it up, Meg. Run along now, and if you see Kat while you're at the bar, please tell her to hurry back with my gin and tonic. . . .

Too bad for little Meg, Hawkie. She's drunk again, and the luncheon's just started. John and Cin have had such a time with her, you know. . . . Yes, right. . . .

Well, I'm glad to hear you are doing well with the innertubes thing, Hawkie, and I'd love to invest in your little project but . . . Honestly? We've been hit hard by this thing, Hawkie. Really bad. I've even had to let go some of the help at the pied-a-terre. As a matter of fact, that's why I rode up here with Kat, because we had to let go our weekend chauffeur, and Muffy couldn't make it, so Kat offered to drive. . . .

What? Oh, Muffy! Yes, yes, I was about to tell you why Muffy couldn't make it. Trust me, I know she'd love to see the old Hawkster, but we were heavily invested in Citibank and GE and AIG, and . . . Muffy's taking it hard. Taking it real hard. Especially when I said we'd have to cut loose the pool boy, Matt. You should have seen the tears well up, Hawkie. It almost broke my heart to see it . . .

Muffy's always been so patriotic and this pool boy of ours, he used to be a Marine. So after Muffy met him at the Republican Ladies Youth Outreach Conference in Santa Barbara, she insisted that we hire this Matt fellow as our pool boy. And he's certainly kept busy with that job. Muffy says he's really good at working the deep end . . .

What, Hawkie? . . . Yes, that's him, Sanchez, Matt Sanchez -- did Muffy tell you? . . . Ah, coincidence, I suppose. But now the market's so bad we finally had to let Matt go, and Muffy insisted that she tell it to him in person. She said, "These Puerto Ricans are so emotional, Brooksie! Matt might take it hard." And I said, "Well, Muffy, sugar-dumpling, I know it's going to be hard on him," and she said, "You can say that again."

So Muffy's back at the pied-a-terre today, handling the business with Matt. He's got other contracts to service, so he'll be OK, I hope. And he's got another one of his Puerto Rican friends who's volunteered to help Muffy with the pool. Nice young fellow, and a Republican, too. Very convenient for us, because when I told Muffy we'd have to let Matt go, she insisted we must have another Puerto Rican to replace him. Only a Puerto Rican would do, because Muffy told me, "Brooksie, once you've had Puerto Rican, you never go back!" . . .

Kat! About time you brought me that gin and tonic, girl! Did Megan find you? . . . Ugh! Did she, really? Did any of the vomit get on you? . . .

Never mind, Kat, I was just telling Hawkie about Matt and Muffy . . . Yes, Kat, very good with the deep end, that's exactly what I was telling old Burge here. See, Hawksie, young Matt's been cleaning Kat's pool, too. . . .

UPDATE (RSM): Thanks to Mr. Frumdreher for his contribution. (Young Dan says: "Really, the chap’s incorrigible!") Some of you young people may not know it, but Mr. Frumdreher -- "Brooksie," as he is known to his small circle of influential friends -- has long been a mentor to The Republicans Who Really, Really Matter:
  • In 1951, Mr. Frumdreher catapulted to fame as a recent Yale grad with his book, Things Are Just Swell in New Haven, Thank You, a carefully reasoned rejoinder to a disrespectful screed by an impudent new-money Catholic arriviste. This earned Brooksie the "Young Alumni of the Year" award from his alma mater. The faculty, who had voted him Most Promising Senior in the Class of '51, appreciated Mr. Frumdreher's advocacy of a modern curriculum emphasizing Freudian psychology, abstract-impressionist art, anthropology, jazz criticism, and other "relevant" topics, as opposed to tedious drillwork in obsolete so-called "classics."
  • In 1952, Brooksie led the "Stop Taft" Committee, gallantly fighting to ensure that notorious right-winger Bob Taft did not get the Republican presidential nomination.
  • In 1953, he published an op-ed column in the Washington Evening Star, "Really, Who Is This McCarthy Fellow, Anyway?" This column was widely credited with bolstering GOP opposition to irresponsible Red-baiting smearmongers.
  • From 1954-60, Mr. Frumdreher served as ambassador plenipotentiary to the Organization of American States, where he sought to promote international harmony by undermining Latin American support for the brutal Batista regime in Cuba. . . .
Those are just a few of the early milestones in Brooksie's legendary career, as he has striven tirelessly to ensure that only well-bred and sophisticated intellectuals who went to The Right Schools excercise influence in the Grand Old Party.

Among The Republicans Who Really, Really Matter whom Mr. Frumdreher mentored during his recent Young Centrist Leadership Conference is a young cyberspace activist rapidly gaining prominence on the Internet with his blog, Moderates for Mitt (motto: "We Can Go Either Way On That Issue").

Meghan McCain in 'Friday 13th. . . .'

". . . Part XVIII: STFU, Ditzy Bimbo From Hell!"

'Increasingly significant doubts'

(BUMPED; UPDATES BELOW) Doug Schoen and Scott Rasmussen in the Wall Street Journal:
It is simply wrong for commentators to continue to focus on President Barack Obama's high levels of popularity, and to conclude that these are indicative of high levels of public confidence in the work of his administration. Indeed, a detailed look at recent survey data shows that the opposite is most likely true. The American people are coming to express increasingly significant doubts about his initiatives, and most likely support a different agenda and different policies from those that the Obama administration has advanced. . . .
Mr. Obama has lost virtually all of his Republican support and a good part of his Independent support, and the trend is decidedly negative.
Read the whole thing. And remember: It Won't Work. Did I mention that yet another Obama appointee at the Treasury Department has pulled out? Or that Americans have lost 18% of their net worth?

Liberals should just relax. Keep bashing Rush Limbaugh. Focus on important issues like gays in the military and pandering to union bosses. Don't let the vaunted Right-Wing Noise Machine deceive you. Obama still has the support of The Republicans Who Really Matter: David Brooks, Meghan McCain, Arlen Specter, David Frum, Kathleen Parker, Olympia Snowe . . . uh, I'm sure I can think of some more. Just give me a minute.

UPDATE: Carin in the comments suggests adding Andrew Sullivan to my list of The Republicans Who Really Matter, but Sully's an immigrant and I'm a xenophobic nativist, so . . .

UPDATE II: Lots of The Republicans Who Don't Really Matter are now commenting on this poll, as well as on Obama's new it's-not-really-that-bad flip-flop.

UPDATE III: Why do I always get wisenheimers in the comment fields? Thirteen28 wants me to count "Mr. The-Grassroots-Needs-Elites-Like-Me" among The Republicans Who Really Matter. Having sworn a Lenten vow, I can't punk-smack the kid again until Easter, although my Catholic friends tell me that one is released from such vows on Sunday. Since my family is Seventh-Day Adventist, that means I'll be gritting my teeth until sundown Saturday (7:17 p.m. EDT, to be exact), at which time I can offer further hearty congratulations to Ross for his recognition as a Republican Who Really Matters.

BTW, am I correct in guessing that "Thirteen28" is an allusion to the Treaty of Edinburgh in 1328 A.D., whereby Edward III recognized the independence of Scotland? (Blogger Jeopardy!)

UPDATE IV: Young Dan Collins is a Republican Who Doesn't Really Matter. Splendid fellow, young Dan. Organized the big shindig for old Hawkie, you know. I'm busy blogging (no time for "research" today), but I understand one of The Republicans Who Really Really Matter is on his way to the luncheon soiree for the old Burgemeister. Frequent Commenter Smitty -- of the Alexandria Smiths, you know -- says the sharpest, most innovative heterodox thinker of his generation, Brooks Rossington Frumdreher III is supposed to file a report soon. Assuming he's not already too heavy into the gin and tonics . . .

UPDATE V: Commenter Carin at Is This Blog On? gets linked by Kate at Small Dead Animals, a Rule 2 that qualifies them both as Republicans Who Don't Really Matter.

Just Exactly What You Wanted

by Smitty

It really is too easy to heap abuse upon Obama voters. And momma told me not to pick on females of the opposite sex. But really, Megan:
Having defended Obama's candidacy largely on his economic team, I'm having serious buyer's remorse.
I'll post a video URL here. It's SFW, although rather on the crunchy side. Listen to Page Hamilton preach it:
I'm not so good realizing
Who I can or cannot trust
It's best to keep what matters vague
With harmless lies I can adjust ...
I let you down again
What's another harmless lie between friends?
Now you can be disappointed
I thought I gave you just exactly what you wanted

They Say 49 Out of 50 Liberals Don't Understand Statistics

by DJ Smitty (1 ea.)
That is the startling conclusion of the Political Castaway Blog.
PCB picks up the thread on a CNN "Report: 1 in 50 U.S. Children Face Homelessness." Homelessness isn't a joke, but you might not say the same of the methodology in use.
Apparently, some people are much more happy with math as a qualitative thing. The idea that it should be, you know, quantitative, just hurts their feelings to much.

Now, what good is a DJ if he doesn't drop some ear candy?
You are free to substitute "Liberal" for "Lover" in the following:

Dr. Freaking S. Goodblog's Happy Hour of Hot Sweet Pink Rule 2 Linky-Love

Greetings, dear reader. Important business has summoned the Illustrious Mentor away for the evening, so he has provided me, Dr. Freaking S. Goodblog, Ph.D.*, with his login and password, and told me to give you the tasty goodness of thick, hot links. If the man has been been riding your tight linkage, let's see if we can't make your tiny little SiteMeter t-t-tingle with traffic. Get ready for your Rule 2, Sugar Hips, 'cause here it comes: All right, there's the first round on the house, folks. It's half-price on house brands until 9, cold draft Schlitz is 50 cents, wine $1 and, of course, it's always Rule 5 Ladies Night at the Blog Where the Hotties Drink for Free (I've been drinking since lunch, so you all look like hotties to me).

Once you've hit all those links, check the Rule 3 at Memeorandum. And please, everybody link up, send the URLs to your DJ Smitty, and we'll update to be sure you get the FMJRA just the way you like it -- and you'll like it any way we want to give it to you, Private Cowboy! Don't forget to tip your bartenders and waitresses!

Rock on, chilluns!

-- Dr. Freaking S
* (Ph.D. = Pretty hot Dude.)

Thursday, March 12, 2009


A brilliant point, expressed concisely:
[C]onsider the Bristol Palin story, that she and Levi whatsisface have called off their engagement. That breaks on the same day that it's reported that John Edwards has reared his silky little head to lecture the nation on poverty at Brown University. One of these babies has a father and was born to a teen out of wedlock. The other one doesn't, and was born to a crazy lady hired to film the candidate (rather than boink him) as he jetted from campaign event to campaign event while his wife's cancer was in remission. I don’t want to belabor the point, but one of these pairs of biological parents screwed the pooch more bigtime than the other.
Dan is an educator, and when he aims to teach a lesson, he whomps the mule in the head. I unjustly trashed Bristol Palin yesterday, and heard many arguments to the contrary, but Brother Dan knows how to whomp a mule in a loving, Christian manner.

Therefore I acknowledge my injustice to Bristol, and hope only good things for her henceforth, that she may walk in the ways of righteousness in the blessings of the Lord. And to the brilliant Dan Collins, a tip of the hat for his educational excellence. One a mule gets smart, he only needs to see the stick.

UPDATE: Conservatives4Palin:
His writing is so good that I would probably still read and link him even if I loathed him.
Yeah, my sister-in-law Ericka says the same thing. After 23 years in the news business, and 20 years of marriage to Ericka's much-sexier older sister, there are two things I'm very good at. One of them is saying, "Yes, dear." Because there's a drawer full of knives in the kitchen, and I've got to sleep sometime.

Fellows, if you want to succeed in life, the trick is to marry a mean sexy woman.

UPDATE II: Speaking of my sexy wife, here's a photo of her when she was 27, and already a mom:

If you'll click that picture, you'll see a picture of Mrs. Other McCain when she was a smokin'-hot 25, in the hot lingerie I bought her for Christmas.
As a home-schooling dad, I'm an educator, too. For the benefit of you newbies, that's a variation of blogospheric method called a "Rick Roll." Pay attention, this will be on the final.

How to Hate Feminism (And You Must)

From my latest Taki's Magazine column:
American women today, as a class, are the most privileged women in the entire history of humanity. No women anywhere have ever enjoyed more wealth, more leisure, or more opportunity. And yet they are not grateful, nor do they give American men any credit for their good fortune.
All we ever hear from them is bitch, bitch, bitch -- especially when a man dares call attention to their faults. Gentlemen, you are guilty of cowardice for not speaking out more strongly in your own defense, and in defense of your fellow men. . . .
Go read the whole thing, then come back and let's talk. There are principles involved here.

Months ago, when I first coined the motto, "Equality Is For Ugly Losers," some of the ladies took umbrage. What was I saying? What was the point? And, even if my point was valid, why would I choose to express it in such a potentially offensive manner? Isn't it better to "draw more flies with honey," so to speak?

Whomping the mule
Mild and accommodating rhetoric, the pleasing niceness of polite discourse, is a fine thing to practice in one's personal life, and I attempt to do so. Taki's editor Richard Spencer can tell you of the CPAC cocktail reception where he struck out with Suzanna Logan in part because he insisted on provoking rather a fierce argument with a Republican political operative. (Dude, we've got to work on your game. Seriously.)

However, the engaging habits of deference and humility, so requisite to success in interpersonal relationships, can become a deadly poison when applied to political and intellectual combat. The ability to bite one's tongue and make amiable cocktail-reception chatter is a useful skill, but when it is time to fight, it's time to fight, and a different skill set must be applied.

First, an argument cannot be influential if no one reads it. There is an old joke about a farmer training a mule. The farmer begins by taking out a stick and whomping the mule upside the head. "What'd you do that for?" asks the city slicker, to which the farmer replies: "Well, the first thing is to get the mule's attention."

Wishing to make an argument against feminism, an argument that could not be ignored or mistaken for any mild anti-feminist critique, I whomped that mule upside the head: Equality Is For Ugly Losers.

'Winners' in girly-land
One observes in our intellectual life persons who are eminently respectable, influential and successful while also being plainly and fundamentally wrong. Chris Matthews immediately springs to mind, and this is not Tuesday, so we will not digress to discuss David Brooks, but you see the point. Such people are always the best targets for Rule 4 ("Make Some Enemies"), the intellectual emperors whose nakedness must be exposed.

How do these people operate? How does a transparent bankruptcy of intellect gain respect, influence and success? And if one wishes to undermine such a person, how best to go about it?

Given that we are "An Army of Davids," as Professor Glenn Reynolds of Instapundit fame says, I take it for granted that many will engage in the point-by-point refutation of the errors and lies in any 2-minute YouTube clip of Chris Matthews, or the latest David Brooks column. (As Mary McCarthy said of Lillian Hellman, "Every word she writes is a lie, including 'and' and 'the.' ") Yet if the wrongness of such people is so evident that any blogger in his pajamas can spot it, how do they get away with their fraudulence?

To answer that question, let me ask you another question: Why do Ace, Allah and Rusty insist on maintaining their personal anonymity? (NOTE: This is not intended as a slight to these three fine bloggers; see Update IV below.)

By slow and imperceptible degrees, like a vine climbing a wall, a stultifying artificiality has crept into American intellectual life, which is governed by a set of unspoken rules that prohibit engagement on terms that are honest, honorable and manly. Our discourse has become dishonest, dishonorable and effeminate, in the manner of vicious third-grade schoolgirls on the playground, whispering behind each others' backs.

This nasty girlishness is the reason why David Kuo could get more than a million dollars to waste on Culture11, why Ace fiercely guards his privacy, and why I am out here shaking the tip jar (please give today) instead of composing columns for National Review. Am I the only one who remembers that, when Ann Coulter got axed from NRO, she denounced Rich Lowry as a "girly boy"? And am I the only one who knows exactly what she meant?

Capital climbers
When I arrived in Washington from Georgia in 1997, I was immediately struck by the stifling falseness of the place. The source of this falseness, however, was not immediately apparent, and it took me many years of careful observation, painful experience and lonely contemplation to discover that source.

In Washington, reputation, image, status and prestige are everything, for these are the means by which one acquires that most precious of commodities, influence. Here, a man can be a clueless fool, a two-faced liar and/or a porn-addicted closet homosexual in a sham marriage, yet as long as he has influence, he will be praised and treated with courtesy as if he were a gentleman.

The all-important factor of influence in D.C. means that the smart operator carefully calculates everything he says or does. He learns to be circumspect and obsequious, to fawn and flatter with those who can help him, to backstab and undermine his potential rivals, to ignore those who are inconsequential to his ambitions, and to carefully accumulate a curriculum vitae of senior fellowships, contributing editorships, board memberships, et cetera, ad infinitum, ad nauseam.

Ordinary Americans do not operate by such methods, nor even attempt to understand them, because the Ordinary American happily lacks the quality essential to success in Washington, namely the ambition to be a success in Washington. And the reason the successful Washington operative is so insultingly arrogant is because he is so consumed by his pursuit of influence that he cannot distinguish between ambition and ability.

The press secretary to a Senator vainly imagines that he holds that job because he possesses such vast intelligence and skill that there is no one else in this nation of 300 million who could possibly do it so well. Yet if Tom Coburn fired his press secretary tomorrow -- this is a name-out-of-a-hat example and I don't even know Coburn's press secretary, much less have any desire that he should be fired -- the resultant job opening would attract a dozen or more applications from persons equally suited to the job. And never mind all those who might be qualified for the job, but have no interest in such work.

Such, however, is the role of influence in Washington that Coburn's press secretary is treated with a measure of deference and respect. He exercises, by proxy, senatorial prestige, and those who seek favor with the senator will cultivate the press secretary's friendship and admiration -- though not nearly so much as they cultivate that kingpin of congressional bureaucrats, the Chief of Staff.

There are 535 chiefs of staff in the Capitol, and let the curious outsider inquire what terror the Chief of Staff wields over the lesser functionaires who are dependent on his good favor for their continued employment and hopeful advancement. No court eunuch in ancient Persia ever so jealously guarded his prerogative as does the congressional Chief of Staff.

Means of ascent
What is true on Capitol Hill is true at the White House, in every agency and bureau, in every think tank, policy shop, advocacy group and media organization in Washington. A young man or woman does not graduate from a Top 50 university with a degree in political science, public policy or communications, go through a series of internships and leadership seminars, then hire in on a lower rung of the Washington power establishment with the career goal of moving up one or two rungs before turning 65 and collecting a pension. Oh, hell, no.

When a fellow out of Penn or Stanford comes to Washington at age 23, he means to claw his way to power and wealth, if not also to fame, By Any Means Necessary. Influence is the objective, and ambition is the fuel, and woe unto he who is perceived as an impediment or obstacle to the success of the ambitious young Washingtonian.

To understand the culture of the place, you must understand these organizational dynamics, and with such an understanding, you then see how David Brooks gets away with his scam. David Brooks has friends in Washington, and all of his friends are influential friends, for the likes of him never cultivates the friendships of people who are not relevant or useful to his ambitions. He has kissed all the right asses, and the recipients of his tender ministrations are grateful to have their pliant toady occupy that precious slice of editorial real estate, a column at the New York Times, where -- whatever useless idiocies he may spew -- his patrons can be sure of one thing, and one crucially important thing: He will not attack them.

Ah, but today is not Tuesday, so we must leave aside this amusing digression and now return to our main theme.

Portrait of an Idea
The girlish artificiality of discourse in Washington, a byproduct of the game of ambition and influence which is the daily bloodsport of our nation's capital, is manifested in any other arena of endeavor where similar organizational dynamics prevail. What is true of the senatorial Chief of Staff is therefore true of certain prestigous and respectable ideas, because the ambition/influence dynamic exists there also.

Falsehood cannot withstand truth, so long as truth is accompanied by courage, and therefore the practicioners of falsehood always seek to discourage the friends of truth. (Ask Kathy Shaidle or Rush Limbaugh about this.) One effective means of discouragement is to make truth a career liability, so that habits of honesty become an impediment to employment, promotion and success.

This is why our university faculties are dominated by bullshit artists. An honest man must remain silent for years to gain tenure at an American university, and after practicing silence as a necessary means of survival for so long, it is rare that any man recaptures the courage to speak out once he acquires that sweet reward, the Full Professorship. After all, once a man begins speaking truth in the Museum of Modern Bullshit that is American academia, he forfeits forever any other reward or honor that academia can bestow on its membership.

To bring one's career to a full stop is a painful thing to contemplate, since the desire of advancement is natural to the man of ability and thus, in academia, few are so bold and manly as to denounce and repudiate feminism.

Like David Brooks, feminism retains its respectability because it has influential friends, including lawyers and judges. Speak out strongly against feminism, then find yourself the target of a sexual harassment accusation, then ask your attorney whether one thing has something to do with the other. (The feminist historian Elizabeth Fox Genovese was a victim of this at Emory University.) When you denounce feminism, you are attacking an idea that upholds privilege, and those who possess that privilege will do whatever it takes to maintain the intellectual fiction necessary to their status, their influence, their cherished prestige.

Therefore, however much effort one expends on a detailed forensic disproof of the tenets of feminism, the ultimate target of the attack is the prestige of the idea. People were once proud to call themselves Whigs, when being a Whig loyalist would gain them prestige among influential Whigs. And there were once many who proudly called themselves "liberal Republicans," so long as there were liberal Republicans who could reward their comrades with jobs, awards, contracts, and other emoluments. But once being a Whig could no longer qualify a man for a patronage appointment at the post office, and once calling yourself a "liberal Republican" meant foreswearing any hope of high elective office, those who had once called themselves such things began to call themselves something else. But this is not Tuesday.

The Kleagles of feminism
Consider the example of Robert Byrd, who now weeps womanly tears for his dear friend Ted Kennedy, but who was once a Kleagle in the Ku Klux Klan. What motivated Byrd to join the Klan is the same thing that motivates him to demonstrate by his Teddy-loving histrionics his devotion to the liberal Democratic cause. Byrd is a weak and vain creature who craves nothing so much as to belong, to be cherished and praised, to be one of the popular and pretty girls on the third-grade playground.

When his contemptible ambition could be served by becoming a Klansman, Byrd's cunning earned him the honor of being a Kleagle. When that ambition could be served by demonstrating his devotion to segregation, he filibustered the Civil Rights Act. But once he realized the enormous opportunities for praise that awaited the outspoken liberal, Byrd became a disgusting toady of liberalism. Whatever his political peregrinations, the constant factors of Byrd's career have been his overweening ambition, his shrewd opportunism and, above all, his enormous vanity.

We know in our hearts that liberalism is doomed precisely because it attracts the likes of Robert Byrd, unworthy weaklings who are more dangerous to their friends than to their enemies. When a man tells me that he is a liberal, he might as well tell me he is either a liar or a fool, because liberalism is nothing but a conspiracy whereby liars advance the cause of evil with the assistance of fools.

Why, then, do some women who call themselves conservatives insist on claiming that they are also feminists, since feminism is nothing more than the Ladies Auxilliary of Liberalism? The answer is simple: Because conservative men surrender to the fearful cowardice that they have been taught in the Museum of Modern Bullshit.

You will never meet a man working as a carpenter or truck driver who does not laugh to scorn the idiocy of feminism. The blue-collar man works a man's job for a man's pay, and his career ambition is not dependent on his ability to pretend he believes respectable nonsense. But if the working man's son goes off to college, he must beware of becoming indifferent to the daily insults to his intelligence that academia inflicts. It is only too easy to acquiesce in silence, and thereby allow the boldness of falsehood to discourage the friends of truth.

Let the insult be returned in kind, and repaid with interest. Aim directly at the solar plexus of feminism's bogus prestige, and when you are ready to take your shot, son, hit it with everything you've got: Equality Is For Ugly Losers.

And that, my friends, is how to hate feminism, as you must. The tip jar is open for business.

* * * * *

UPDATE: Linked at Protein Wisdom (compare and contrast) and I just got off the phone with my new most favorite blogger, Cynthia Yockey, who likes the large package. I owe Miss Yockey an apology, but that will come later. (Note to self: Resist temptation to brilliant double-entendre.) At this point, I would just suggest that the reader ask, "Why would a lesbian hate feminists?"

UPDATE II: BTW, among my regular readers is a fellow who is an associate pastor in a church attended by the girl I was in love with in third grade. And fourth grade. And fifth grade.

By sixth grade, I moved on to unrequited pining over others, but you cannot imagine what joy there is in knowing that Sunday morning, that Christian minister will say to that girl, "Oh, did you see what Stacy wrote this week? It was f---ing awesome!" (Yes, even ministers of the gospel are inspired to such vehement modes of expression when they encounter genuine, first-class lunatic gibberish.)

UPDATE III: A blogger who worked for five years on Capitol Hill: "I can't begin to express how true this is. If the nail had been hit any more squarely on the head, it would have split an atom."

UPDATE IV: The main text of this post (not including the column excerpt or the updates) is 2,400 words, written between 6 a.m. and 11 a.m. this morning. Do the math and figure that if David Brooks is paid $300,000 a year to produce two 750-word columns a week . . . well, the tip jar is open for business. It's For The Children!

To compose original English prose at the pace of 480 words an hour means that the resulting draft will include errors and typos, and so when I wrote "Ace, Allah and Rusty," I did not stop to include links, nor did I bother to answer the question I left hanging so ponderously in the air.

The reason those three bloggers jealously guard their anonymity is that they know how the enemy operates. When a cowardly character assassin comes to put the knife in your back, he will quite often do so by a vicious personal smear, accusing you of some vile thing -- e.g., racism, adultery, failure to make timely payments on your 2004 KIA Optima.

So if you wish to blog with impunity, to deal out the punk-smacking goodness without fear or favor, then anonymous blogging is the way to go. You can ask Jeff Goldstein or Michelle Malkin about the professional and personal hazards of being a name-brand conservative blogger. The Left recognizes no standard of justice or decency. They will attack By Any Means Necessary, and if you are ever important enough to draw their attention, you had better pray that you are living right and have lots of good friends to defend you when the attack comes.

You will notice that at the top right of my page is a link to a new book by Sam Childers, Another Man's War (which I urge everyone to buy). One of the things Pastor Sam talks about in the book is the role he played in bringing relief supplies to the South Sudanese during their long war to win their autonomy from Khartoum.

The South Sudanese were led by John Garang, a man of the Dinka tribe who deserves to be mentioned with reverence whenever the word "liberty" is spoken. During the fiercest battles of that war, the frontline was at a point on the Juba-Yei road called "Mile 40."

Pastor Sam introduced me to some veterans of Garang's Sudanese People's Liberation Army who had helped hold the line at "Mile 40," men who stayed and fought when others ran away. And there were many others who died fighting to hold that line, in what seemed at times a hopeless fight, so that their children could be free. And it occurs to me that at the Last Judgment, many soldiers of the SPLA will answer that trumpet call. The gates of heaven will swing wide, and the angels will gratefully sing welcome to those heroes, the Men of Mile 40. (And you should definitely order Another Man's War now.)

Well, Ace, Allah, Rusty -- these guys have spent years in anonymity, blogging to defend that which is right and good against those who are wrong and evil. All three of them have advanced degrees. They are men qualified for high professions, who have risked much and suffered much to do what they believed to be a duty in defense of liberty. Yet circumstances require them to remain anonymous in service to this great cause.

What if, however, some day freedom wins such a great victory that these anonymous bloggers should finally be recognized by name? Won't you, dear reader, be proud to say then, "Hey, I used to read his blog!" And won't you be even prouder when you say, "Hey, I hit his tip jar!"

You should be grateful for these men's service in the blogosphere, because they have stuck with it when the tip-jar wasn't jangling and the blog-o-bucks (to use Ace's term) weren't exactly rolling in. They were diligent in their work, a phrase I use with emphasis. Because if you buy my book -- don't do it now, buy Another Man's War instead -- and you ask me to autograph it, I will include below my signature "Proverbs 22:29," which is:
Seest thou a man diligent in his work? He shall stand before kings . . .
A proverb with a promise, as they say. Like many of my posts, this one went off on some unexpected tangents and digressions. The one thing I meant to do when I got up this morning was not to get back into metablogging (i.e., blogging about blogging), but when Dan Collins gave me a little love tap this afternoon about Bristol Palin, it caused me to realize with sudden horror that I had not clarified the meaning of my question about Ace, Allah and Rusty, who have held the line online for so long.

God deals justly with man, and requires of man but two things: That we acknowledge Him, and that we deal justly with our fellow man. Sort of a divine Rule 2, you see. So . . .

Follow the links (right-click and choose "open in new window"), hit their tip jars, too, and please do yourself a huge favor and order Another Man's War now.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Ari: Thank You

by Smitty
I can't stomach MSNBC in general, or Matthews in particular. Ari, your capacity to speak truth to jackass far exceeds my meager powers.

May fortune smile upon you, sir.

CWCID: Protein Wisdom

'Ever get the feeling . . .'

". . . the world exists just to annoy you personally?" Thomas J. Marier writes in an e-mail, sending along happy news that Andrew Rosenthal of the New York Times sent to his staff:
Some exciting news. We’ve hired Ross Douthat, currently of Atlantic. Ross will be joining the Times staff in mid-April and will be based in the Washington bureau. He will start out primarily online, but will soon be writing with increasing frequency, and then regularity, on the Op-Ed page, in the Monday slot opposite Paul. At some point, he’ll also resume his work as a blogger, which I highly recommend.
If you don’t know Ross, you’ll find him funny and smart and sharp. He’s going to be a great addition to our team. I know you’ll make him welcome.
(Gritted teeth.) Congratulation, Ross! We're all so excited for you!

Now excuse me while I go swallow a bottle of sleeping pills, wash it down with a quart of Chlorox, slash my wrists, get in the car, drive to the Bay Bridge, shoot myself through the head, and crash through the guard-rail to the water below.

How long until Easter?

UPDATE: Rod Dreher is giddy like a schoolgirl.

'Faux outrage and moral exhibitionism . . .'

". . . they're as much a part of the urban lefty's wardrobe as a backpack and a water bottle."

'Now you own it, Mr. President'

At Reason magazine, David Harsanyi concludes that the Obama administration's policies (or lack thereof) have worsened the recession:
Obama can do anything, apparently, except properly staff the Treasury Department. Aren't those guys supposed to be "fixing" the economy or something?
Then again, it also should be noted that if Treasury Secretary Timothy Geithner, whose gibberish-infused explanation of the administration's bank bailout non-plan knocked the Dow Jones down 4 percent in one day, is indicative of "staff," maybe Obama is doing us all a favor.
The Dow Jones industrial average, actually, has reacted to Obama by plunging nearly 20 percent since he became president. That's an obliteration of wealth that no stimulus bill will recoup. Since Election Day, the market has lost nearly 30 percent of its value -- trillions of dollars, not from CEO bonuses, as you may have hoped, but from your 401(k) and the private sector.
Three words: It Won't Work.

Mourning the Death of Feminism

Feministing's Jessica Valenti submits to patriarchal heteronormative oppression.

The date of the wedding ceremony Death of Feminism has not yet been announced, but the lucky guy misogynistic exploiter is Andrew Golis, deputy publisher of Talking Points Memo.

We learned of the news via Ace of Spades, whose feminist street-cred is legendary. Ace has admired Ms. Valenti's impressive rack ideological commitment to gender-neutrality ever since Ann Althouse published a photo of Ms.Valenti displaying her awesome tatas devotion to social justice at a Soros-funded droolfest policy discussion between Bill Clinton and BDS-afflicted moonbats the Progressive Netroots Community.

Given Ace's firm ideological commitment to the women's movement mantra, "Feminism is the theory; lesbianism is the practice; video is the art," the revelation of Ms. Valenti's conquest by an agent of the imperialist phallocracy was a crushing blow.

"I've always believed myself to be a lesbian trapped in an Ewok's body," the blogger was heard to say, as he ordered another round of champagne in the chic five-star Manhattan restaurant where he and his comrades gathered to mourn the Death of Feminism.

Raising aloft a chilled flute of the finest Dom Perignon, Ace was visibly moved as he gasped his heartfelt cri de coeur, "Here's to Andrew Golis! Better you than me, pal!"

'A Tammy Bruce Republican'

So does blogger Jenn Q. Public describe herself. NTTAWWT. She linked me (not in a laudatory way) in a roundup post about Meghan McCain, which also includes:
There's also the ever popular insult levied at right-leaning women that all she has going for her is her shapely backside.
See there? Once again Jimmie Bise's unverified assertion is cited as if it were a fact. This is how the blogosphere undermines journalistic standards. Until I have personally observed the phenomenon at issue, professional ethics forbid me from offering my neutral and objective assessment.

Jenn Q. settles on the label "Tammy Bruce Republican" after rejecting as too restrictive the labels conservative, moderate, South Park Republican and pragmatist.

Me? When it comes down to what really matters, I'm a Sir Mix-a-Lot Republican.

Well, I mean, she brought it up . . .

Update: by Smitty
RSM may not be aware, but, as an '87 graduate of Franklin HS in Seattle, I am honor-bound to link some Mix-a-Lot upon mention of the man.

(Aside: Whatever happened to rap that understood the 11th Commandment: Thou shalt not take thyself seriously?)
My buddy and I rolled across country in an '82 Chevy Citation. 74 hours, because we were afraid to shut the engine down for longer than required to gas and pour oil in that leaky thang. The whole scene was right out of Anchower. Sir Mix-a-Lot Republican, Hooptie Division.

'Compassionate Conservatism,' R.I.P.

Diana West blames the woes of the GOP on George W. Bush, with a hearty endorsement from Michelle Malkin.

Me? I blame David Brooks. I blame everything on David Brooks. If I stub my toe, I blame David Brooks. If a sparrow falls, blame David Brooks.

It's sort of a Unified Field Theory.

Bristol Palin calls Baby Daddy Levi 'white trash'

Well, this little bit of tabloid gossip is helpful, isn't it? A source says Bristol broke up with the teenage sperm donor Levi "Sex on Skates" Johnston two months ago, won't even let him see the fruit of his loins, and has denounced the entire Johnston family as "white trash."

I love Sarah Palin, but Bristol's judgment is questionable. Really, Bristol: What do you expect people to call a girl who gets herself knocked up by white trash? This does not reflect favorably on you.

UPDATE: Noting the negativity of some of the comments, but didn't realized I'd been linked on this by Videmus Omnia at Conservatives4Palin:
As a final note, I am very disappointed in our friend R. S. McCain. Do all McCains like to stick the knife into Palins when their backs are turned?

Sorry, I'm not wired that way. I support Sarah Palin. But if Bristol Palin is conducting herself in such a hideous manner, I'm not going to turn a blind eye and pretend it's not happening. I've got three teenagers of my own, remember, and if they act disgracefully, my judgment would be quite harsh indeed.

Read what I wrote about the role of lax discipline in the apparent decline of evangelical churches. I am not a violent or brutal person, but neither do I believe that indulgent condescension is an appropriate way to instill character in the young. In sharing some unsavory details of my own tragic adolescence, I should hope I made it clear that I understand the potentially disastrous consequences of wrong choices and bad companionship.

It is not kindness to a wayward child to shelter and protect them when they are doing the wrong thing. While the full circumstances of the situation are of course not known to us, doesn't it seem that Bristol is going out of her way to bring shame and disgrace to her parents? And what about Levi Johnston, the hockey stud? Am I the only one who thinks that his role in all this has been of a selfish, shallow cad?

I would call to your attention the difference between Michael Reagan, older son that Ronald Reagan adopted with his first wife, Jane Wyman, and Ron Jr., the natural son of Reagan's second marriage to Nancy. If you talk to people who knew the family, the cause of the difference between the two sons is obvious.

As a boy, Michael felt somewhat "second best," and had a deep hunger to win his father's admiration and acceptance. Michael went through some wild years, but in his maturity, he was a respectful, dutiful son. By contrast -- and Reagan admitted this privately to friends -- Ron Jr. was treated with too much favoritism as a child, and thus grew up arrogant and disrespectful.

A child's misconduct always reflects poorly on the family. I'm sure that Bristol is breaking her parents' hearts by her shoddy behavior. But I'm thinking back to some TV interview Bristol did, and if she demonstrated an attitude of humility and remorse, it didn't stick in my mind.

Why would anyone think it was helpful -- to her, to her parents, to the GOP or to the conservative cause -- for conservatives to pretend that everything with Bristol is just hunky-dory? If my kid was acting like that, would a true friend ignore it?

And since Videmus Omnia brings up the subject of Crazy Cousin John, how do you think his daughter Meghan got such an impudent attitude? Way back years ago, when I was a single fellow, there was a type of girl I labeled "Daddy's Little Darling."

Maybe some of y'all know the type -- snooty, stuck-up, cliqueish, insufferable demanding, with a high-handed and disdainful way of dealing with people beneath her status, having a self-important attitude.

Once, after I'd been covering sports in Calhoun, Ga., a few years, I was at the season-opening high school football game. Before the game, I was talking to a group of non-football athletes -- baseball, basketball, wrestling -- who were hanging out by the end zone. This girl comes walking up, apparently attracted magnetically to a cluster of high-status students.

So she managed to find an opportunity to introduce herself, "I'm Heather So-and-So." Yes, OK, fine nice to meet you, but there wasn't any recognition on my part, because the only kids I knew were the ones who played sports. Seeing that I wasn't impressed, the girl then repeated her name, "Heather So-and-So. My dad is Jim So-and-So, he owns So-and-So Carpet Outlet."

If that wasn't the tackiest thing I'd ever heard! But that's the "Daddy's Little Darling" attitude, and it's always a source of misery. Whether that has anything to do with the original subject from which I have sadly digressed, you be the judge.

Suzanna, Insty, Obama and Monique . . .

.. . are killing me today. Having blogged all night to respond to Cynthia Yockey, then stunned at developments among the Newbie Duo, I managed to get to sleep sometime around 10 a.m. this morning.

At 11:30 a.m., the phone rings: "Uh, Mr. McCain . . . Well, sorry to wake you, but I was checking my SiteMeter, and there was about 50 hits. But then when I checked back, there were like 1,200 . . ."

Bolt upright: "The Lanche!"

"What? Anyway, when I checked, I found out that Instapundit guy, you know the one you told me to put on my blogroll, well, he linked me and now it's going crazy and I don't know what to do."

A blog consultant has to be on call 24/7, and now my client was in crisis mode. Try to remain calm. "OK, Logan, what did he link? The Jello wrestling or the Big Sexy?"

She sighs in exasperation. "That's just it. He linked the very first post I did a week ago."

Groan. "Dammit. . . . OK, you've been 'Lanched. . . . Never mind. The first thing to do . . ."

So then I ran her through the drill, explained she must first acknowledge the honor of her first 'Lanche, which is always more granted than deserved, with an update to the post. Mumbled curses. "It took Jammie Wearing Fool six months to get his first 'Lanche, Logan. Make sure you acknowledge Monique. You guys have got to be a team. . . ."

After I'd finished mumbling more, I tried to go back to sleep. But the TV was on MSNBC, and there was an Obama press conference at which he lied through his teeth, telling America that passage of his budget was a necessity. But as Monique has been saying for days, the federal government can auto-pilot on continuing resolutions indefinitely. There is no emergency, and the Obudget is the Mother Of All Crap Sandwiches.

No hope of sleep. Monique just switched over from Blogspot to a custom URL, but hasn't set up SiteMeter at the new site, so she can't even measure her traffic now. Minions Gone Wild, and now I've got Obama to blog.

When the going gets weird . . . hey, my Samoan attorney won't even return my calls. No justice. No peace. No sleep. No Ibogaine. Who to blame? Richard Spencer. If he hadn't struck out with Michelle Lee Muccio . . .

UPDATE: Little Miss Attila, kharma queen of the blogosphere, finds amusement in the virtual menage between me, Yockey and Insty. If we could just get an Ace-o-lanche, we'd be rolling.