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January 25, 2013 - January 18, 2013

Thursday, January 24, 2013


Liberal Fantasies.

Where it all started. Diana Rigg was charming about her role as Emma Peel,
 master martial artist. "I push them and they politely fall down," she explained.

WOMEN TO THE FRONT LINES. The mistake we make is thinking they're naive. This latest move is as sick and twisted as it is cynical. But it's also classic liberal politicking and a demonstration of how accomplices in the mass media have spent a generation setting us up for this particular catastrophe.

Female warriors have long been sold to us in movies and TV as symbols of the feminist quest for equal respect. Initially, we may have understood that there was little or no reality to depictions of hundred pound women who can go toe to toe with two hundred pound men. We knew without being told that even an average schlub could break a woman's jaw with one clumsy punch. So when we saw movie heroines who could fight back successfully and prevail, it was mere fantastic allegory. But now we have a couple generations who have inhaled all these fictions drop by drop and now probably kinda sorta believe them. Emma Peel has been replaced by Lara Croft, and the special effects are so marvelous we actually can see it in our mind's eye.



Hell. It's been a long road of subliminal propaganda. The myth of the equalizing power of kung fu, exemplified by Cynthia Rothrock, Carrie Ann Moss in The Matrix Uma Thurman in Kill Bill, and most recently by 80-pound Kono in Hawaii Five-0. The artifice of "gritty." "realistic" films like Girlfighter, in which a female boxer defeats a male in her own weight class. The sensationalistic voyeurism of movies like G.I. Jane, in which a woman becomes a Navy Seal.


Isn't this the whole situation in a nutshell? She's not supposed to have a dick. And
she's not supposed to get raped to death either. Anything else is liberal fantasy.

Ridiculous, of course. But the liberal lie is laid down in the process. What stands in their way is merely chauvinism. On an equal playing field, they would prove themselves equal to any and every task. Just to drive the unpleasant;y contradictory reality home, here's what hand-to-hand violence really looks like.



Contrast this with the new female action star in Haywire,
who is a women's MMA champion. What we're seeing there
is not combat but sex. Conquest by cunnilingus. And a gun.
 
Why boxing, wrestling, and mixed martial arts are always divided into strict weight classes. The postulate? A good big man always beats a good small man. Where in the hell do women, with their negligible upper body strength, fit into this picture? They don't. They can't carry anything like the same weight of supplies and ammunition. They can't carry an injured man twice their weight to safety. Every one of them who is on the battlefield is a man who isn't. Their mere presence is an automatic diminution of force.

I'm reminded personally of the most bizarre conversation I ever had with a devout feminist in the mid-1980s. I was trying to point out to her that there were clear instances where physical differences between men and women were decisive. I used the example of Sandy Koufax and his hundred-plus mile per hour fastball. With a straight face she argued that there could be female Koufaxes if women were simply allowed to play. This was so absurdly not true that the conversation degenerated into a yelling match.

There are so many many ways that women in combat is a horrific idea. Here's actually the kindest one:

I served in the 2003 invasion of Iraq as a Marine infantry squad leader. We rode into war crammed in the back of amphibious assault vehicles. They are designed to hold roughly 15 Marines snugly; due to maintenance issues, by the end of the invasion we had as many as 25 men stuffed into the back. Marines were forced to sit, in full gear, on each other's laps and in contorted positions for hours on end. That was the least of our problems.

The invasion was a blitzkrieg. The goal was to move as fast to Baghdad as possible. The column would not stop for a lance corporal, sergeant, lieutenant, or even a company commander to go to the restroom. Sometimes we spent over 48 hours on the move without exiting the vehicles. We were forced to urinate in empty water bottles inches from our comrades.

Many Marines developed dysentery from the complete lack of sanitary conditions. When an uncontrollable urge hit a Marine, he would be forced to stand, as best he could, hold an MRE bag up to his rear, and defecate inches from his seated comrade's face.

During the invasion, we wore chemical protective suits because of the fear of chemical or biological weapon attack. These are equivalent to a ski jumpsuit and hold in the heat. We also had to wear black rubber boots over our desert boots. On the occasions the column did stop, we would quickly peel off our rubber boots, desert boots and socks to let our feet air out.

Due to the heat and sweat, layers of our skin would peel off our feet. However, we rarely had time to remove our suits or perform even the most basic hygiene. We quickly developed sores on our bodies.

When we did reach Baghdad, we were in shambles. We had not showered in well over a month and our chemical protective suits were covered in a mixture of filth and dried blood. We were told to strip and place our suits in pits to be burned immediately. My unit stood there in a walled-in compound in Baghdad, naked, sores dotted all over our bodies, feet peeling, watching our suits burn. Later, they lined us up naked and washed us off with pressure washers.

Yes, a woman is as capable as a man of pulling a trigger. But the goal of our nation's military is to fight and win wars. Before taking the drastic step of allowing women to serve in combat units, has the government considered whether introducing women into the above-described situation would have made my unit more or less combat effective?

The reality is much worse. Women taken prisoner in most parts of the world will be savaged sexually. Fact. It doesn't matter if women in uniform think they are up to that possibility. or even mentally prepared for it. The nation isn't. Which is the sickest part of the liberal "freeing" of women to subject themselves to such torment.

See, the libs who are in favor of women in combat know that neither they nor their own daughters will ever be engaged in combat or members of the military at all. They hate the military. This newest "reform" is akin to the darkest motives of Fast & Furious. They can't wait for a genuine atrocity against female soldiers in combat. Because then, they believe, we'll begin dismantling the military across the board. After 23 female troops are gang raped to death in a muslim country, we'll all start seeing the light and make sure the troops never leave our shores again. Heaven according to the gosepel of Noam Chomsky.

Because they believe so much in peace. And equality. No matter who gets killed and brutalized in the process. Deep deep sickness. Their fantasies are always destructive, murderous, and soul destroying in reality. Why we got Stalin, Mao, and Pol Pot when all they had in mind was fairness and sharing. I spit on them.

So take note of who is endorsing this insanity or protesting only mildly around the edges. I guarantee you it's too many for my taste.




Wednesday, January 23, 2013


Still in Shock

We're in the government's hands now. No use
 kidding ourselves about who has the power.

BUT I STILL INSIST YOU LISTEN. It's like a death after a long illness. The end was known well ahead of time. But the event when it occurs is still shattering. Ignoring the second inauguration didn't make it go away. The fact of it is shattering. It's so official, so final. All through the first term there was the hope that the damage could be undone. Two terms of this madness is probably something our beloved country can't recover from. We knew this on election night. But that was a knowledge of a death blow to come, not the blow itself. Now the blow has been delivered, and it's even more shattering than our imaginations could encompass. You're shattered. I'm shattered. The question keeps recurring. What are we to do now?

Prospects are bleak. For those of us who are older, the impacts will be direct, personal, near-term, and fatal. Palin's death panels are no fantasy. With ObamaCare, our fates in the event of predictable, old-age illnesses will be decided by bureaucrats, not doctors. I am almost certain the government will take my wife away from me prematurely or me away from my wife prematurely. Hell. we both smoke, which makes us evil in the post-Christian world where morality consists of  being an historically victimized minority or, well, anything but a relatively affluent white person.

I'm not whining, just reporting. All of you who believe that politics is not something discussed in polite company or held against those you otherwise like but disagree with politically need to understand that the second inauguration changes life for everyone. Everyday life. When Obama took the oath for the second time, your children's lives were dimmed and reduced. They will never experience your prosperity. They will live in lesser houses in worse parts of town. They will be brain-damaged by an educational system you cannot rescue them from. They will, at some point, cease to be your children and become instead generic soldiers of the state. They may live longer physically but probably won't, and likely their lives will not be what we would call lives at all. They will become prisoners of a malleable present whose changes they can't detect, much as George Orwell prophesied. They will be anonymous units in the cascade of a pachinko machine, jingling nothings whose only significance is statistical.



They will not see what is wrong or missing in themselves. They will look at you and wonder what it is that's wrong or missing in you. They will thank the government when you die and the burden of your old age is removed from their weak, indifferent shoulders. In other words, the government has become one of the most intimate and powerful influences within the family unit you once believed could protect and save your experience of life. What the loss of freedom means in reality.

I have just two talents as a person. Otherwise I'm not much. I can write. And I can see relationships between cultural elements at a very deep level. The way you look at a barn and see that it is red I can look at a newspaper, TV show, organization, institution, public (or private) person, or national moment and see its resonance, the sources and impacts of its slightest movements. Right now, at this precise moment in time, I am shattered.

I haven't commented much on current events since the election. Why? Because all I can see is non-current events. The future unfolding before us. Why I've been such an asshole of late that only my wife can stand me. I've lost all the friends of my youth and middle age. I've cut myself off from most family and near family. I have no room room for anything in my mind anymore but her, my dogs and cats (who remain lovely innocents), and the darkening vision of the end of western, Christian consciousness. I have no more patience for ego, jealousy, acquisitiveness, ignorance, willful blindness, or stupidity.I am adrift in the universe of piercing, rocketing interrelationships among all things, from the most trivial to the most complex. Cultural cosmology, comprising everything from particles to planets and beyond.

Not boasting. It's a curse. My physical energy is gone. Not that I'm physically ill. I'm not. Like Star Trek's Enterprise where Scotty diverts all power to the shields or the warp drives, my life force is diverted to my consciousness. Most of you can look at a TV show or movie and enjoy it (or not) on its own terms. I can't do that anymore. I see -- can I come up with an adequate term? -- always a matrix.Imagine a table in three dimensions in which every variable, from producer to scriptwriter to director to cameraman to FX designer to actor to soundtrack composer to film editor to lighting technician to extra, is part of a vast lattice of equations that add up to the end product. Each has a personal history, a worldview, a body of work, a theme, a message, a set of fantasies, a life being channeled into a succession of still frames we see as a "good flick" or a "turkey." Which definition also sits in a matrix of genres and competitors both ancestral and derivative. And on and on. Seeing the whole thing whole is my impossible obsession. I'm not saying I can see all the elements of the matrix. I'm saying that's the perspective from which I watch. When you chase infinity, you are doomed. You cannot know. All you can do is continuously ratchet down your expectations of what you might know. After years of pontificating, I have arrived at the summit of wisdom. I know nothing but a few elementary principles of right and wrong that obviate the matrix. Where I am. Shattered.

Commenters here have been waiting since the election for me to say something worthwhile, intelligent, or helpful. (That's not ego; they wouldn't be here at all if they weren't interested in my thoughts.) I haven't done that. Why Peregrine John, one of our reliably shrewd interlocutors, identified the common sense advice of Sara, who knows more than I do what we might be able to do next. Here's what she has to say. Read it. All of it. I mean it. Come back after you've read it. Meanwhile, we'll twiddle our thumbs.



What did you think? Pitiful, isn't it? We're not even going to be able to save our children. I don't doubt her resolve, but you know what's going to happen as well as I do. Read for pleasure? No way. She didn't even specify the most crucial requirement of that goal -- required memorization and recitation of great poetry. Forget it. It's all gone. Shhhhhhhhhh. Don't go any farther in this post..




Tuesday, January 22, 2013


déjà fool


For those who didn't see it, here's Obama's second inaugural address.
It reminded Chris Matthews of Lincoln's second inaugural. Of course.

NO SCORE AND FOUR YEARS AGO. I didn't watch it or any of the coverage of it. The closest I came was reading Drudge and Hotair headlines. The only one I followed was at Hotair, because it came from Redstate's Eric Erickson and was titled, "Congratulations, Mr. President, from the loyal opposition." Here's a sample:

Congratulations Mr. President on your second inaugural.
 
Saying that makes some of you really enraged. I said the same on twitter shortly after his official swearing in. Several of the replies were embarrassing and atrocious. Some accused the man elected by a majority of Americans of treason. Some accused him of willfully destroying the nation.
 
I believe the President’s policies are destructive and will harm our economy, our nation, and our sense of national self long term. I believe his policies have the effect of turning us into subjects of the government, not citizens in charge of it. Because of his expansion of the social safety net funded through class warfare, Mr. Obama’s policies will cause too many Americans’ fortunes to rise and fall with those of the government, unable to chart a course for themselves apart from government.
 
But I do not think the President means to do this maliciously. I do not think he is treasonous. I do not hate him. I am not outraged by it. The President has done what he set out to do. I cannot be outraged by him doing what he set out to do. I am far more outraged by the Republicans not doing what they said they would do.
 
We have too many outrage pimps on both sides of the aisle whipping the respective bases into a frenzy and fury against the other side. I don’t have enough time or energy to be outraged about it all. There are things to be outraged by, but not everything, and certainly not with full energy dedicated to every perceived slight and grievance.
 
What I am finding is that among conservatives there is too much outrage, piss, and vinegar. It makes our ideas less effective. We have become humorless, angry opponents of the President instead of happy warriors selling better ideas. We are not even selling ideas.

Conservatives, frankly, have become purveyors of outrage instead of preachers for a cause. Instead of showing how increasing government harms people, how free markets help people, and how conservative policies benefit all Americans, we scream “Benghazi” and “Fast & Furious”...

Be mad at me if you need to. Feel free to express your moral outrage and indignity at me. But then shut up and focus on convincing people not that the President of the United States duly elected by a majority of the American people is a traitor willfully trying to destroy the country, but that our policies will allow people to make the most of their lives and not be dependent on the rising and falling fortunes of Washington, D.C.

Be happy. The anger is unbecoming of the party of Lincoln and Reagan.

Be happy. Try to emulate the original "happy warrior," Abraham Lincoln. uh, sure. Think of all those daguerrotypes of Old Abe smiling.

My first thought on reading this was the adage, "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me." Because there is a deja vu moment or two here. We went through this false, deluded collegiality display last time, too. In November 2008, I took exception to a very similar rant by Glenn Beck:

There has also been a fair amount of the schizophrenic behavior I heard on Glenn Beck's radio show yesterday, when he wound up literally screaming at a caller that if he didn't "accept Obama as our president," he was exactly like the wingnuts at the DailyKos who argued for eight years that Bush stole the presidency and had no legal right to the office. This from a guy who has consistently characterized the 2008 election as "1860, the brink of civil war."

What's going on here? Is there an issue at all? If there is, why? If not, why not? I, for example, am already on record as saying that "I refuse to accept a president who thinks our constitution is fatally flawed and who sees nothing wrong with choosing a black racist as a mentor or a murderous terrorist as a partner in a conspiracy to radicalize school children rather than teach them to read and write. " Does this make me "exactly like the wingnuts at DailyKos?"

I would say no. I don't dispute the legality of Obama's election, and I doubt most of the people who agree with my statement above would either. After he takes the oath of office, Barack Obama will be the President of the United States. I have lost none of my respect for the office, and as the current occupant of that office, he is entitled to the official respect that was always denied George W. Bush by his fanatical opponents. If I were overseas and heard him criticized by a foreigner, I would defend him because I'm an American citizen and that is part of my duty as a citizen, as I understand it.

However. As an American citizen, I also reserve the right to believe that Barack Obama is not my president. The prigs and the screamers on this point seem suddenly to be forgetting that there's more than one kind of contract in force here, and all of them involve complex and sometimes mutual responsibilities. The president has an express contract with the Constitution of the United States; he swears a solemn oath to defend and protect it.. He also has an understood contract with the the United States as a nation, that he will subordinate his own interests to the welfare of the nation as a whole, and will make whatever personal and political sacrifices may be necessary to keep it from harm. Finally, he has an implied contract with each and every citizen individually, that he will repay our respect for the office and his tenure in it by remembering that he works for us, all of us, not simply those who elected him...

...I do not believe Obama is entering into any of the three contracts in good faith. I don't believe he intends to defend and protect the Constitution of the United States, but to engineer its rewriting from the bench. I do not believe he holds the interests of the United States as a nation above the interests of various constituencies and political factions around the globe. And I do not believe there is any definition under which he would repay my acceptance and respect by being my president as much as he intends to be the president of the aggrieved and vengeful...

...My last point on this subject concerns my grave disquietude about the meaning of the conservative rush to "make nice." I think everyone who does this betrays a naivete for which there is absolutely no justification. Do they really think that being gracious is going to slow down the juggernaut of a Democrat White House and congress? Fools. We are days, if not hours, away from an all-out declaration of war by Democrats on all things conservative and Republican. Taking time out to shake the right hand of the man who will immediately stab you with the dagger in his left is more than folly. It's contemptible.

It's especially contemptible given Erickson's historical condescension to conservative internet blogs that are not focused on political activism but the reactions, thoughts, and anger of individual voices in the unorganized blogosphere. In May of last year, for example, he pronounced his own personal superiority to the hoi polloi of righty bloggers:

As I’ve grown up online, I’m one of the uncommon few who has moved on to both television and radio. I have been blessed. Along the way, I find others who are making the transition too, but still others who have been toiling away in the blogosphere for years who have refused to make the transition, or been unable to despite their hopes, and they may look at me and others like me and think we’ve sold out or decided to go along to get along. But I look at them and think what a waste of talent and energy. Some don’t want to transition, but have grown up and matured in their style and interpersonal relationships. They want to have an impact and they do. Hats off to them. But there are others who are dragging those folks down and the rest of us too.

Sadly for them and the rest of us who get invited to nice places to meet nice people off the record, as long as the rest of us keep humoring them and their antics, those invites won’t come for any of us.

He's trying hard to justify the move he made from being an opinionated nobody to a Republican political activist with an agenda, seeking power. I responded (in part) thus:

Erikson is obviously aware of the problems inherent in being a politician. Why he's fearful that "they may look at me and others like me and think we’ve sold out or decided to go along to get along." It's also clear that he has trouble comprehending the possibility that anyone would invest so much time without wanting a political career of some kind. Those who don't aspire to that are merely dabbling in ways that might improve their "interpersonal relationships."

All of which suggests to me that he is missing the greatest possible boon of the Internet and the "blogosphere," which is the role of amateur citizens who watch and listen and comment from the perspective of those outside the political circus. We don't all want to be performers in the circus. Actually, we're the most important participants in the show -- American citizens. So easy to forget...

I don't claim to speak for anyone but me, but I can assure you -- despite having blogged as long and prolifically as Erick Erickson -- that I have never once considered attending a conference or convention of like-minded bloggers (if there were any), and I can't think of anything worse than being a designated conservative in a CNN segment. Wild horses couldn't drag me there. I don't want people whose political philosophies I despise to regard me as reasonable or affable. Why? Because I despise them. I'm not an activist, conservative or otherwise. I'm an outspoken citizen, and my amateur status is the solid gold credential that underlies everything I write in my blog.

The irony. This would-be "happy warrior" is doubly accusatory and doubly unhappy. He's furious at the political establishment he worked so hard to persuade, energize, and support. And he's equally furious at the uninvited commoners who no longer believe in the counterfeit coin of being accepted as the (eagerly) loyal opposition. He's clinging to a phantom. Having given away his own native voice and spontaneity in favor of calculated political-speak, he feels betrayed by both the hacks who used him and the peanut gallery that was laughing the whole time.

Are there lessons here? I don't know. Erickson may not have achieved the power and influence he wanted, but he did achieve a certain celebrity. I've heard him as a guest on Laura Ingraham's radio show, introduced with glowing praise. That's certainly part of what he wanted. What did he give up? Not much in the terms he claims to value. Though, as he relaunches his offensive on the Obama empire, I'm reminded by his fraudulent bonhomie toward the opposition of the fact that it's years since he's had the freedom to be go-to-hell irreverent, humorous, and fearlessly prescient.

I won't dwell on my own record as a prognosticator. But I will link to several posts I put up during the time of the first inauguration. Judge for yourselves how much I got right and wrong. And whether I'd have posted them at all if I were writing as a politico rather than a pissed off average citizen.


I suggest that what I got right was how rigged the game would be, particularly in terms of the media and Obama's own political tactics and priorities. I never had to lie to myself that I was some kind of player in a game that is bruising and winner-take-all but somehow inveterately the same and (quasi) Marquis of Queensberry in that everyone who participates must accept outcomes determined by the rules of the game. Why he wants to shake hands after the inauguration before he comes out fighting again. I get that. But I'm shaking no man's hand in this brawl. I'm reverting to my Guns'N'Roses days:


November isn't the pertinent point, no matter how achingly relevant it seems.
Rather, it's the GNR song architecture. Complete verse and chorus convention,
followed by over-the-top solo-slash-coda courtesy of one top-hatted Slash.

Guess you could call this whole virtual exchange between Erickson and me a combination of "deja vous" and "deja moi." I still know who I am. Does he know who he is?

I'll tell you who he is. Him and everyone like him who wants to congratulate this administration on its second term.

I've used the NFL analogy before. It should be fresh in a lot of minds. Imagine a Super Bowl in which the sports press has picked its favorite beforehand and written nothing but puff pieces about the anointed team (which has a 7-9 regular season record but the best backstory in NFL history) and nothing but exposes and criticisms of their chosen villain team, which hails from boring flyover country. The game is played at a neutral site, but somehow ticket sales have resulted in a huge homefield advantage for guess who? As the play proceeds, it becomes clear that all the luck is going only one way. One team lines up in the neutral zone on every play and is never penalized. Their defensive secondary interferes on every pass route and is never flagged. Helmets are launched at receivers and the quarterback, players are carted off the field, and there is no yellow flag thrown. Ever. Conversely, the other team is continuously penalized for being blocked into the returner and the quarterback, and for delay of game infractions caused by play clocks that tick mysteriously fast, stadium sound levels that rise precipitously in volume when the villain team is on offense, and for instances of chaos attendant to bottles and batteries flung from the stands at villain players whose pleas to the refs are waved away. Every challenge by the anointed team is successful. Every challenge by their opposition is defeated. The announcers in the booth never acknowledge any of this, contenting themselves with lauding the play of the anointed. Whenever there is controversy on the field, as when players pick up and display thrown bottles and batteries to referees, the cameras go to the sidelines, where all the most famous celebrities in Hollywood are cheering on their winning team. Late in the game, when the outcome is still in doubt against all the odds, refs begin to throw flags for penalties no one's ever heard of -- tackling impolitely, muttering under the breath about referees, objecting to the fact that the anointed's linemen are carrying sidearms and have members of their opponents' families held hostage under the stadium. The final, potentially winning field goal splits the uprights and is called no good. Official review confirms the call. The winners win. As everyone should have known they would.

Then the Owner descends from his gold-plated box to accept the trophy and all the credit. As he should. Who (and what) else could have pulled off such a triumph of "sport"? Shammadamma.

At the conclusion of such a "game," what does the loser do? If you say, "Oh well, they kicked our ass fair and square, and we'll have to do a better job next time, and congratulations to the winners," you're not a rational, credible source. You're a fucking fool.

Congratulations, Eric Erickson. You're a fucking fool. That doesn't solve the problem the rest of us have about what to do next. It only solves the problem of who you are.

As for me, Obama is still not my president. I and more than a hundred million others are united in that conviction. Maybe you should stop telling us what to think and start listening to what we have to say.





The Good News



INSISTENCE REDUX
. I had to comment on the inauguration. I've done so. But I want to end the day with something more important and lasting.

Commenters reacted with appreciation for the Philip Glass tour de force, The Hours. I listened to every piece recommended, and I thank everyone who recommended. They were all good, some extraordinary. Yet I found myself coming back to The Hours, which I remind you I found by accident, and in particular the video of its performance.

I keep watching it, and somehow the music, the performer, and the video have become one in my mind, a transcendent gestalt I may never be able to separate into component parts. Sorry. Not trying to be opaque. The music is genius. The pianist is inspired.  And the video of this performance is greater than the music or the pianist. It's a glimpse of perfection.

Why I'm redirecting your attention in the wake of yesterday's buffoonish celebration of empty self. Watch THIS thing again. And especially all of you who think I don't understand the unique strengths of womanhood at its best.

You have to watch it full screen in hi-def. That's when you start to feel her hands. Not young hands. Weathered but not old either. They've washed dishes, changed diapers, maybe darned socks, felt for where it hurts with exquisite sensitivity, rushed quivering to the face at awful news, plied the pen to do the books and write the checks, and most likely tended a garden or picked a crop.

We can't see her face. But we get to hear her heart. Everything has happened to her and nothing will ever make her stop.

We see her in profile. What is the piano? This grand Steinway is no phallic symbol.  Its curves are female, its voice mightier than sex. The insistence is not prayer, not mother love, not carnal desire. It's not even what we call vitality. It's the ferocity of life as we're supposed to live it, not in passive appreciation but in the hungry perseverant never ever subsiding passion which fills every hour with the life that IS what we mean when we speak of God.

So I keep looking at her hands. Where the music is coming from. Her frail bent back. Where the power is coming from. And Glass, presumably, is being channeled through her bun.

Regardless, none of this art will ever be brought to you by the collective action sponsored by the government.

All right, maybe I'm a little bit crazy right now. But if I weren't, I'd be concerned that maybe I'm a little bit crazy in the aftermath of a catastrophic proof that the country as a whole has gone completely batshit crazy.

Persevere nonetheless.

Here endeth my day.




Friday, January 18, 2013


The First InstaPunk
Book is Here




TOOK MY SWEET TIME, DIDN'T I?. I've been working toward this moment for months, and I still feel like I've been asked to give a toast out of the blue.

Regular readers have been expecting a Best of InstaPunk volume, and that still is in the pipeline. But a few months ago plans changed. I was inspired to dust off an older project, a book about the 2008 election, and revise + update it. Like I say on the back cover of The Indictment, my intent was to compile a kind of Berlin Diary about the Obama Administration. Quickly realizing such a compilation would probably exceed the phonebook length of Berlin, I tried to pare it down to the essential history of the period. It was somewhere around 650 pages. Even with only the good Sarah Palin posts (but all the good Sarah Palin posts) and the good election aftermath posts and that one really good Biden post from 2005, it was still too much. Finally I settled on a focused narrative: Obama. First the man himself, second the world that made him and the world he's made. A psychological autopsy, then a history.

So here it is. 350 pages. After many, many weeks of pouring over old entries, formatting for the printed page, Photoshopping, more Photoshopping, wrestling with the vagaries of fly-by-night knockoff PDF creators, and a very sparing use of spell-check, I think we've got something. The thing looks good, my friends. And you could mistake that cover I designed for a real cover, at a glance.

After almost 10 years online, InstaPunk.com makes it to print. You can buy it here. Sold and published by honest-to-God Amazon. Tell your friends.

It's cheap, if that helps. Price-wise I mean.




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