If you don't know about this case--if you do not understand how the attempted legal frame up of three Duke Lacrosse players on rape charges strikes to the deepest core of race/class/victimhood/entitlement and the end of Western Civilization as we know it, well, you'd better educate yourself:
Reade's video testimony
History, analysis, and commentary on the case can be found at: Durham in Wonderland
Anonymous Bosh said...
RE: Manning up and controlling the tears.
I used to be a tough SOB, loved my career in the military, hunted for pleasure, poor as dirt (but no longer).
I have posted maybe twice on this case (and I have been following since the very beginning). Lemme tell you something:
I had to close my office door during testimony so my freakin' subordinates do not see my crying.
This whole g-dd-mn case strikes to the heart of being a man, of the danger we face in a time when roles are changing, when "classism" and victimhood trump individual effort and initiative.
Among nightmares for a man, being attacked by a woman (and then by "the authorities") ranks right up there. When a woman strikes you, you can't strike back; hell, you can't even explain yourself without looking foolish.
Why did Reade cry? Because the whole thing is absurd, overwhelming, and damn frightening. You will note he did NOT cry when confronted with the New Black Panthers--fear does not make us cry. Emotions become overwhelming when you force a man to ADMIT and EXPLAIN his fear (rather than confront it), to REVEAL his vulnerability, what we sometimes call "weakness"; THAT is what is just too much for the action-oriented, non-introspective, somewhat-less-sensitive half of the population.
Reade was attacked in a way that left him unable to respond. In re-telling the story, in sharing his helplessness (utter humiliation for a man--not just a male but a MAN), the only outlet--in the formal courtroom context--for the resulting psychic turmoil was through his freakin' tear ducts!
Mine too, g-dd-mnit.
Reade is more man than most of us can ever hope to be--and some males really resent that.
God bless you, Reade Seligmann.
[ed. note: where I wrote "Reade is more man than most of us can ever hope to be--and some males really resent that," I should have said "certain elements--males among them--really resent that." I was referring to, e.g., academic Feminism, socialism, marxism, entitlism, victimism, communism, and the general undermining of Life as we know it.]
Friday, June 15, 2007
"Blessed"
First up: [cue caveat] I am not a religious guy (indeed, the church to which I belong is about one step removed from Unitarian-Universalism, the non-church church people...), but I am blessed (or whatever would be the Darwinian equivalent) nonetheless. To What Powers That Be: Thanks!
Tangent: that old chestnut regarding infinite monkeys + infinite typewrites x infinite time = the works of Shakespeare was bugging me on my run this morning. Point is, it has been proven. Once you allow for change (and Darwin), monkeys + time indeed DOES = Shakespeare. Proof? Uh, we have his works. That is, we monkeys evolved (if you believe in that sort of thing) enough for one of us to produce (admittedly, sans typewriter) Romeo + Juliet.
Tanget the Second: speaking of running--these days I am up to about 60+ miles per week, not even enough to start Pfitzinger's marathon training (recommended minimum of 70 mpw). Sheesh. Lemme tell you something: 60 mpw takes a LOT of time (and effort). While I am sufficiently blessed (see point the first) to, if I wanted, have enough flexibility to go up to 100 mpw (hey, sleep is over-rated, really), I am not sure that I am really that committed. To those of you mortgage-carrying, children-rearing, family-loving folk pushing upwards of 60+ mpw (or below 2:50 for a marathon) I say: bravo!
Main post: I was laughing a bit today at a quick memory. I was a geek in high school (popular among the "band rats," "TAG fags," and, believe it or not, certain elements of the "burnouts," and, absurdly, certain girls in classes ahead of me...). When I showed up for track sign-up in the tenth grade, the coach (my trig teacher), said "Can I help you?" I said, "I'm here to sign up for track." He looked around, then said, "You?" To his credit, he recovered and quickly added "That's great, great, really great. Okay then."
What I was laughing at though was the first day I wore my varsity jacket. All eligible athletes had earned their jackets the prior evening at an awards ceremony. In the morning, the hall was lined on either side with football players all proudly displaying their jackets. And I in mine.
I started down the hall, saying to the first locker-leaner, "Hey, nice jacket!" He shoved me completely across the hall, into a locker-leaner on the other side. As I righted myself, I winked at him, gave him my best Fonzie finger-point, and said, "Hey, nice jacket!" In this manner, I made my way down the entire length of the hall, being shoved from one football player to another, complimenting their jackets. Not one football player succeeded in knocking me down, or even, really, messing my hair.
Have I mentioned that I am blessed?
You are too.
Tangent: that old chestnut regarding infinite monkeys + infinite typewrites x infinite time = the works of Shakespeare was bugging me on my run this morning. Point is, it has been proven. Once you allow for change (and Darwin), monkeys + time indeed DOES = Shakespeare. Proof? Uh, we have his works. That is, we monkeys evolved (if you believe in that sort of thing) enough for one of us to produce (admittedly, sans typewriter) Romeo + Juliet.
Tanget the Second: speaking of running--these days I am up to about 60+ miles per week, not even enough to start Pfitzinger's marathon training (recommended minimum of 70 mpw). Sheesh. Lemme tell you something: 60 mpw takes a LOT of time (and effort). While I am sufficiently blessed (see point the first) to, if I wanted, have enough flexibility to go up to 100 mpw (hey, sleep is over-rated, really), I am not sure that I am really that committed. To those of you mortgage-carrying, children-rearing, family-loving folk pushing upwards of 60+ mpw (or below 2:50 for a marathon) I say: bravo!
Main post: I was laughing a bit today at a quick memory. I was a geek in high school (popular among the "band rats," "TAG fags," and, believe it or not, certain elements of the "burnouts," and, absurdly, certain girls in classes ahead of me...). When I showed up for track sign-up in the tenth grade, the coach (my trig teacher), said "Can I help you?" I said, "I'm here to sign up for track." He looked around, then said, "You?" To his credit, he recovered and quickly added "That's great, great, really great. Okay then."
What I was laughing at though was the first day I wore my varsity jacket. All eligible athletes had earned their jackets the prior evening at an awards ceremony. In the morning, the hall was lined on either side with football players all proudly displaying their jackets. And I in mine.
I started down the hall, saying to the first locker-leaner, "Hey, nice jacket!" He shoved me completely across the hall, into a locker-leaner on the other side. As I righted myself, I winked at him, gave him my best Fonzie finger-point, and said, "Hey, nice jacket!" In this manner, I made my way down the entire length of the hall, being shoved from one football player to another, complimenting their jackets. Not one football player succeeded in knocking me down, or even, really, messing my hair.
Have I mentioned that I am blessed?
You are too.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Post-Nuptial Shutoff
One of the longest, funniest, and saddest threads on Let's Run:
Post-Nuptial Shut-Off
And, gents, I am proud to report I had nothing to say, that is, Life need NOT be that way...
Have I mentioned how freakin' LUCKY I am?
I. am. DAMN. lucky!
Post-Nuptial Shut-Off
And, gents, I am proud to report I had nothing to say, that is, Life need NOT be that way...
Have I mentioned how freakin' LUCKY I am?
I. am. DAMN. lucky!
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Things I Did as a Boy (and Shudder to Recall)
Got boys?
I believe myself, these days, to be a relatively upstanding fellow--never been arrested, always seen as a "good kid," fairly respectful of 'da man.' Let me tell you about my youth...
Age...9? My friends and I found some cars (probably '50s vintage). We liked the "diamonds" on the front seat (you know, shattered safety glass). We decided to make more. In the end, we had smashed all avaible glass... This theme returns, later.
Age...10? My friends and I spent the afternoon throwing rocks through the windows of a greenhouse (the old-fasioned kind, many-paned in wooden frames). I am horrified, now, by this memory.
Age...11? My friends and I found a whole parking lot of what seemed, to us, abandoned cars. Our response? More diamonds! LOTS more diamonds. Then for good measure we broke into (literally--we broke the door down) the adjoining garage. Stuff in there seemed a lot...newer. And, in retrospect, that backhoe we ransacked, maybe that wasn't as abandoned as we thought.
Age...11? My father caught me in my fort (under a trash heap), having just put out the fire I had been building. This turned out to be my final pyromaniacal exploit. You see, after the firedrips, the brush fire episode, the burn marks on my bedroom floor, the call from my friends' parents regarding the burn marks in their closet, and now, the trash heap, well, my father had had enough. For my own safety, he beat me with a stick. A big stick.
I never lit a fire again.
Which turned out to be a good thing, because my firebug friends were arrested the next week after having set an entire field on fire. (BTW, one of those friends is now a local newscaster in the MidWest; I wonder if he, too, is horrified by his boyhood vigor.)
My pals and I regularly broke into people's garages, barns, and other outbuildings, sometimes doing mischief (what we, today, call "vandalism"), sometimes not.
One of my friends recalls when he and his sister broke into someone's summer home and spent the afternoon gluing down all movable items: the phone, the dishes, canned goods, furniture. He shudders in the telling.
I have never, however, tipped a cow.
None of these acts were done maliciously per se (indeed, I would argue that "right" and "wrong" were as of yet a bit grey for me); all were done sober (indeed, alcohol and drugs have never played any part of my life or activities).
Believe it or not, there are other items that I simply cannot type (no harm to small animals, but difficult to relay nonetheless).
Sometimes, it is good to grow up.
Got boys?
I believe myself, these days, to be a relatively upstanding fellow--never been arrested, always seen as a "good kid," fairly respectful of 'da man.' Let me tell you about my youth...
Age...9? My friends and I found some cars (probably '50s vintage). We liked the "diamonds" on the front seat (you know, shattered safety glass). We decided to make more. In the end, we had smashed all avaible glass... This theme returns, later.
Age...10? My friends and I spent the afternoon throwing rocks through the windows of a greenhouse (the old-fasioned kind, many-paned in wooden frames). I am horrified, now, by this memory.
Age...11? My friends and I found a whole parking lot of what seemed, to us, abandoned cars. Our response? More diamonds! LOTS more diamonds. Then for good measure we broke into (literally--we broke the door down) the adjoining garage. Stuff in there seemed a lot...newer. And, in retrospect, that backhoe we ransacked, maybe that wasn't as abandoned as we thought.
Age...11? My father caught me in my fort (under a trash heap), having just put out the fire I had been building. This turned out to be my final pyromaniacal exploit. You see, after the firedrips, the brush fire episode, the burn marks on my bedroom floor, the call from my friends' parents regarding the burn marks in their closet, and now, the trash heap, well, my father had had enough. For my own safety, he beat me with a stick. A big stick.
I never lit a fire again.
Which turned out to be a good thing, because my firebug friends were arrested the next week after having set an entire field on fire. (BTW, one of those friends is now a local newscaster in the MidWest; I wonder if he, too, is horrified by his boyhood vigor.)
My pals and I regularly broke into people's garages, barns, and other outbuildings, sometimes doing mischief (what we, today, call "vandalism"), sometimes not.
One of my friends recalls when he and his sister broke into someone's summer home and spent the afternoon gluing down all movable items: the phone, the dishes, canned goods, furniture. He shudders in the telling.
I have never, however, tipped a cow.
None of these acts were done maliciously per se (indeed, I would argue that "right" and "wrong" were as of yet a bit grey for me); all were done sober (indeed, alcohol and drugs have never played any part of my life or activities).
Believe it or not, there are other items that I simply cannot type (no harm to small animals, but difficult to relay nonetheless).
Sometimes, it is good to grow up.
Got boys?
Monday, June 11, 2007
My Daughter The Geek (I am SO proud!)
My second-grader (who regularly reads WSJ articles out loud before dinner), sought out for her car-book (you know, the book to read in the car) "How to Think Like a Scientist."
My father did not want me to attend MIT (and I didn't); he wanted my socks to match (which they do, sometimes).
I think it is different for girls.
Why would I be happy were my daughter to attend MIT (yah, I know, gettin' way ahead of myself here--but tempus fugit, my friends)? Well, in addition to a top-notch education (and one that minimizes the chances of wasting time in, say, Sociology), I would argue that the men are gentler (smellier, to be sure, but gentler as well).
So, we segue now to my views of the world: boys are getting (even more) crass; girls, too. How do we reverse the trend? Engaging youth in pursuits other than music and popular "culture" might help. We are witnessing a tremendous bifurcation in society--forget "The Haves" and "Have Nots," forget race, we are seeing those who forego aspiration and those who aspire for...too much. Hyper-slacker vs. Hyper-Type-A (and resentment--and redistribution of wealth--are sure to ensue).
When I was a senior in high school, I spent much time discussing G-d and religion with some Apocalyptic Lutherans (as I called them...or sometimes "Apoplectic," whatever got more of a rise). They dressed plainly, were forbidden to dance or to listen to most genres of music, and got in trouble for talking to me (yes, it's true, they did). For them, Satan was in the radio, the TV, and, well, in me.
After years and years of contemplation, I think they were right.
Is it important that I am, at best, agnostic (at worst, atheistic, if "worst" is the correct direction...)? No. Mr. Satan need not be "real" to be real, i.e., to exert influence. Do I perceive Evil in radio, TV, the Intertubes, popular "culture," Paris Hilton? Damn straight I do! Redirectors of effort, tempters from the grindstone of success, attacker of physical safety, underminer of health. It's all there, it's all true. Satan is among us. Or whatever his secular humanist counterpart is.
Let's see: for G-d we have D-rwin; for Satan...um...Madonna? Heff? Hmmm...have to work on that one.
I no longer listen to popular music--my children can distinguish Sibelius from Copland (and delight in being able to identify composers when I cannot...). Oh, and they kick my ass in karate, too (the youngest already knows a few moves), so don't get on me about sports! Soccer, in my opinion, is bad for the knees (especially for growing girls), and my town has a way of recruiting top talent and then grinding them down into injuryland (another form of Satan...).
So, for those of you who come across this blog and want to respond "ur kidz r gonna be geekz!" or "poor babies" or "FREAK!" go right ahead--it's all right, it's okay; yours will work for mine someday!
As an aside--I had a chance to interview a very successful woman last week. She credited her parents' limiting (to the point of exclusion) exposure to television as one of the factors of her success (music lessons was another). I questioned her deeply regarding her mother's full-time status, whether that influenced her in a negative way (a common complaint of Feminists being that stay-at-home moms discourage long-term success in their daughters). On the contrary: she found her mother to be inspirational; further, she felt it important to reward her mother's struggle and sacrifice (her mother gave up a university career to stay at home for 18 years!) with success. Our interview was cut a bit short as she had to jet off for her youngest sister's graduation from law school.
As we say in Colorado: Face!
My father did not want me to attend MIT (and I didn't); he wanted my socks to match (which they do, sometimes).
I think it is different for girls.
Why would I be happy were my daughter to attend MIT (yah, I know, gettin' way ahead of myself here--but tempus fugit, my friends)? Well, in addition to a top-notch education (and one that minimizes the chances of wasting time in, say, Sociology), I would argue that the men are gentler (smellier, to be sure, but gentler as well).
So, we segue now to my views of the world: boys are getting (even more) crass; girls, too. How do we reverse the trend? Engaging youth in pursuits other than music and popular "culture" might help. We are witnessing a tremendous bifurcation in society--forget "The Haves" and "Have Nots," forget race, we are seeing those who forego aspiration and those who aspire for...too much. Hyper-slacker vs. Hyper-Type-A (and resentment--and redistribution of wealth--are sure to ensue).
When I was a senior in high school, I spent much time discussing G-d and religion with some Apocalyptic Lutherans (as I called them...or sometimes "Apoplectic," whatever got more of a rise). They dressed plainly, were forbidden to dance or to listen to most genres of music, and got in trouble for talking to me (yes, it's true, they did). For them, Satan was in the radio, the TV, and, well, in me.
After years and years of contemplation, I think they were right.
Is it important that I am, at best, agnostic (at worst, atheistic, if "worst" is the correct direction...)? No. Mr. Satan need not be "real" to be real, i.e., to exert influence. Do I perceive Evil in radio, TV, the Intertubes, popular "culture," Paris Hilton? Damn straight I do! Redirectors of effort, tempters from the grindstone of success, attacker of physical safety, underminer of health. It's all there, it's all true. Satan is among us. Or whatever his secular humanist counterpart is.
Let's see: for G-d we have D-rwin; for Satan...um...Madonna? Heff? Hmmm...have to work on that one.
I no longer listen to popular music--my children can distinguish Sibelius from Copland (and delight in being able to identify composers when I cannot...). Oh, and they kick my ass in karate, too (the youngest already knows a few moves), so don't get on me about sports! Soccer, in my opinion, is bad for the knees (especially for growing girls), and my town has a way of recruiting top talent and then grinding them down into injuryland (another form of Satan...).
So, for those of you who come across this blog and want to respond "ur kidz r gonna be geekz!" or "poor babies" or "FREAK!" go right ahead--it's all right, it's okay; yours will work for mine someday!
As an aside--I had a chance to interview a very successful woman last week. She credited her parents' limiting (to the point of exclusion) exposure to television as one of the factors of her success (music lessons was another). I questioned her deeply regarding her mother's full-time status, whether that influenced her in a negative way (a common complaint of Feminists being that stay-at-home moms discourage long-term success in their daughters). On the contrary: she found her mother to be inspirational; further, she felt it important to reward her mother's struggle and sacrifice (her mother gave up a university career to stay at home for 18 years!) with success. Our interview was cut a bit short as she had to jet off for her youngest sister's graduation from law school.
As we say in Colorado: Face!
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Coupla Articles (A & The?)
For you runners: I rarely laugh out loud when reading, but some of you (most of you?) will likely identify with the followingp>
And this I add merely to cement my reputation as a right-wing conspiracy theorist (which I am not, more like a "confluence" theorist...):
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Karmic Spark
Ah, I was afraid the spark had gone out...
I was assaulted on my way to the office today (yes, this pleases me in a perverse way). Littering really bothers me, so when I saw a couple drop their losing lottery tickets to the ground, I picked them up with a "lemme get that for ya; the trash is just up ahead." The guy went ballistic--chest to chest, in my face, his bad breath and spittle getting all over me. He explained all that he wanted to do to me, but when I invited him to make good on his offer he wasn't quite sure what to do. His lovely wife, with baby strapped to her chest, no less, dropped her cigarette in order to poke me in the chest demanding that I back of from her dear hubby (that part was a bit weird--clearly they were made for one another).
The guy then backed up, went to throw his $3.35 iced coffee at me, but Newton's laws being what they are, managed to get the bulk of it on his $100 Official MBA team shirt. Nice. As for me--I stand by my L.L.Bean "stain resistant" slacks--the coffee that made it to my leg beaded up and rolled off (although my socks got wet).
After their departure (never a cop when you need one), the skittish crowd that had, apparently, been cowering behind mailboxes and street lamps tsk-tsked the couple's behavior, touching my hand about how "you were right to do that," etc. Where was my back-up when under attack, I ask you? (Reminds me of the time in high school when, confronted by a few football players and refusing to back down, my band buddies--complete with heavy instruments--neatly dissolved; thanks, buds.)
The guy would've wiped the pavement with me, but no matter. Littering--especially blatant, mindless littering--really bugs me.
I was assaulted on my way to the office today (yes, this pleases me in a perverse way). Littering really bothers me, so when I saw a couple drop their losing lottery tickets to the ground, I picked them up with a "lemme get that for ya; the trash is just up ahead." The guy went ballistic--chest to chest, in my face, his bad breath and spittle getting all over me. He explained all that he wanted to do to me, but when I invited him to make good on his offer he wasn't quite sure what to do. His lovely wife, with baby strapped to her chest, no less, dropped her cigarette in order to poke me in the chest demanding that I back of from her dear hubby (that part was a bit weird--clearly they were made for one another).
The guy then backed up, went to throw his $3.35 iced coffee at me, but Newton's laws being what they are, managed to get the bulk of it on his $100 Official MBA team shirt. Nice. As for me--I stand by my L.L.Bean "stain resistant" slacks--the coffee that made it to my leg beaded up and rolled off (although my socks got wet).
After their departure (never a cop when you need one), the skittish crowd that had, apparently, been cowering behind mailboxes and street lamps tsk-tsked the couple's behavior, touching my hand about how "you were right to do that," etc. Where was my back-up when under attack, I ask you? (Reminds me of the time in high school when, confronted by a few football players and refusing to back down, my band buddies--complete with heavy instruments--neatly dissolved; thanks, buds.)
The guy would've wiped the pavement with me, but no matter. Littering--especially blatant, mindless littering--really bugs me.
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
My Money Blog
I love this guy: My Money Blog.
"Tricked a girl into marrying me in 2004 and combined all finances."
Heh.
Marrying up is a surefire way to turbocharge your investment savings; I recommend it!
Some more neat-o blog posts:
Choices
Strapped
Don't Be a Victim
"Tricked a girl into marrying me in 2004 and combined all finances."
Heh.
Marrying up is a surefire way to turbocharge your investment savings; I recommend it!
Some more neat-o blog posts:
Choices
Strapped
Don't Be a Victim
Monday, June 4, 2007
Some Stats: Gents Take Notice
It has been almost 10 years since I have seen a paycheck. No, that does not mean that I am unemployed--it means that since finishing graduate school, my wife has had control of the local finances (and she is welcome to it).
Haven't had a checkbook since 1996. Still don't have an ATM card (and you folks using a debit card--what is WRONG with you?!).
Brag: my credit cards pay me 5% for EDP (everyday purchases such as gas, groceries, and drugstore items); 1% for all else; 2% on the weekends (uh, yep). I ask again: you folks using a debit card--what is WRONG with you?!
One thing I loved about the military: stuff just "happened." I always knew what clothes to wear (and they were free), eating and sleeping accommodations were always available, and money just appeared in my account. Oh, and the harder I was willing to work, the more I was paid (in the military, this means volunteering for jump status, combat duty, that sort of thing...). I just needed to focus on my "job" (which I loved, really).
In my civilized, civilian life, I still want things to just "happen." My wife buys my clothes (she enjoys shopping--I despise it--and clothes are really just a uniform), stocks the food, and runs the household as she sees fit. She appreciates that I maintain the yard, vehicles, and machinery, as well as some of the longer-term assets (e.g., retirement savings, life insurance policies, and other items).
Men: when you got married, it was for life, right? Put your money where your mouth is: once you have a child or three, consider signing over all assets to the wife & family; it's quite freeing, really, and ensures that rough patches will be "worked through" rather than abandoned. Or soe I hear: I haven't really had a rough patch in this here marriage... But then, I am a right-wing atavist, right?
What other stats... Hmm... What do people really wonder about or want to hear with regard to men?
Haven't had a checkbook since 1996. Still don't have an ATM card (and you folks using a debit card--what is WRONG with you?!).
Brag: my credit cards pay me 5% for EDP (everyday purchases such as gas, groceries, and drugstore items); 1% for all else; 2% on the weekends (uh, yep). I ask again: you folks using a debit card--what is WRONG with you?!
One thing I loved about the military: stuff just "happened." I always knew what clothes to wear (and they were free), eating and sleeping accommodations were always available, and money just appeared in my account. Oh, and the harder I was willing to work, the more I was paid (in the military, this means volunteering for jump status, combat duty, that sort of thing...). I just needed to focus on my "job" (which I loved, really).
In my civilized, civilian life, I still want things to just "happen." My wife buys my clothes (she enjoys shopping--I despise it--and clothes are really just a uniform), stocks the food, and runs the household as she sees fit. She appreciates that I maintain the yard, vehicles, and machinery, as well as some of the longer-term assets (e.g., retirement savings, life insurance policies, and other items).
Men: when you got married, it was for life, right? Put your money where your mouth is: once you have a child or three, consider signing over all assets to the wife & family; it's quite freeing, really, and ensures that rough patches will be "worked through" rather than abandoned. Or soe I hear: I haven't really had a rough patch in this here marriage... But then, I am a right-wing atavist, right?
What other stats... Hmm... What do people really wonder about or want to hear with regard to men?
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