This and That

When this writer was a sprite people (usually men) who wrote news stories for newspapers or reported the news on television and the radio were called either "newspaper men" or "news reporters." The word journalist was reserved for writers who had done a bit of research after an event and generally took the long view of a story or issue. Newspaper men wrote the first version of a story. Journalists usually looked at the story after the dust had settled.

Nowadays every damn one who can wield a pencil, pound a keyboard or text-message and get their scribblings published on paper, broadcast over the air or appear on an Internet site thinks that they are a journalist and are cultural descendants of Richard Harding Davis, Jack London or Heywood Broun. Of course they are not. They are akin to people who perform in pornographic films and then call themselves "actors." And the present day "journalist" sees him or her self as brave courageous and true and consider themselves akin to Ambrose Bierce covering the Mexican Revolution or Ernie Pyle covering the Battle of Saipan i.e., telling the truth in spite of danger for the sake of getting the story out to the reader. But when push comes to shove, the present day scribes are really not as brave or heroic as they claim they are. Is there really anything brave about questioning the President's statements or positions. It's not like the Secret Service is going to arrest the scribe for asking the One about why he didn't adopt a shelter mutt instead of getting a purebred as a gift from that paragon of morality Ted Kennedy (more on him later).

Most journalists claiming to try to get the scoop from closed societies end up modelling Walter Duranty, who spent the 1930s reporting from the Soviet Union that Stalin was a pussycat and that the average worker in Russia was living better than the average worker in the US. For an example of the children of Duranty just read any mainstream media story about Cuba, Vietnam or Mainland China. If the stories were printed in Excelsior in Mexico City or La Opinion in Los Angeles there would not be an illegal alien problem in the Southwest. All the wetbacks would be running to Cuba, Vietnam or China.

Recently three journalist with more ambition than sense have found themselves under arrest and, in one case, convicted of espionage while attempting to report from nations that are hostile, not only to the Western way of life, but to almost everyone except themselves:

Big Hollywood » Blog Archive » Why is Hollywood Silent on Roxana Saberi?

US journalists to face criminal trial in North Korea | World news | guardian.co.uk

All three women involved probably got into the situations they find themselves in for what they saw as the best of journalistic intentions; they wanted to report a truth from Iran or North Korea and they seem to have thought that their jobs as journalists would protect them from the bad intentions of the nations they hoped to write about. They forgot that in some nations a card stuck in the hatband of a fedora reading "Press" means to some people that they will report what the host country wants. Wielding a pen and notepad doesn't do much when one is in handcuffs. Refugees from Korea and Iran have told many stories about life in those two nations and none of them have been good. One wonders why these reporters decided that it would be a good idea to run to a place that other people risk their lives to escape. They did not seem to realize that not all oppressive governments are as friendly as Cuba.

But the lack of wisdom on the part of the three reporters is no reason for arrest and/or conviction. The reporters are now being used as tools by the Norks and the Iranians. And the only comment that your faithful correspondent has heard from the Obama administration concerned the case of Roxana Saberi ; "This is troubling." That's all. No outrage. No statements about the sanctity of the free press. No loud protests about the illegal arrests of American citizens. The lack of a strong stand on the part of the administration is troubling and makes one more convinced that our Chief Executive is a soft man willing to ditch three reporters in an attempt to make nice with our enemies. Even more troubling is the lack of coverage of the stories by the mainstream press. But the press has, for years, shown themselves to be the whore that we all knew they were.

The other day our Dear Leader declared that from now on September 11 will be federally recognized as a National Day of Service and that the signing of the proclamation would be known as the Edward Kennedy Act. The idea behind the proclamation is that every September 11 all citizens should volunteer to do something to make life better for the nation, whether it be cleaning a vacant lot, feeding the homeless, painting over graffiti, et al. It's a nice little bubblegum factory thought arrived at by a nice little bubblegum mindset. The problem is that the declaration of a National Day of Service come damn close to a mandatory volunteerism (an oxymoron if ever there was one) burdened upon the citizens of the United States. And the declaration shows a great lack of understanding of what the United States and the Constitution is all about. Historically, the citizens of this great nation have not been loath to volunteer to help their neighbors or the nation. But this volunteerism has been voluntary. It has not been mandatory. No one, in the past, held the threat of jail or a fine over some one's head to make them shore up a levee or work in a soup kitchen. Volunteerism is a matter of conscience, not law. Or at least it used to be. We are entering a new world with newspeak.

For some reason the One named the volunteer act after Edward Kennedy. Those of us of a certain age know that Mr. Kennedy is not exactly a paragon of virtue or morality. He has been in the past at least partially responsible for the death of a youth woman he is suspected of having an affair with, a drunk, a liar an, adulterer, a spender of other peoples' money while he sits on his own, a hypocrite and a bad Catholic pretending to be a good Catholic. Ted Kennedy is a living example that if one has the right name and lives long enough a scoundrel can become a saint in the public eye. One wonders how Errol Flynn would have been regarded if he had lived into his seventies. So, if you plan to live a long life and behave badly, don't bother to reform. You'll become known as a sweet old man or old woman with a past, and thus a colorful character like Charles Bukowski. Or Ted Kennedy.

This writer is a man and is able to write only from a male point of view, so if any women are unable to relate to the following he apologizes in advance.

Have you ever been walking or driving down the street and seen a pretty young woman walking down the street? In your dotage you say to yourself something like, "What a lovely young woman." Then she reaches into her back pocket or purse, pulls out a cellular phone and starts yakking on the damn thing, either receiving or making a phone call. For your faithful correspondent this particular action turns a lovely young woman into a yakker. Even worse is when she starts texting. And the reason is that such actions show that the young woman has no interior life. She is a person who feels the need to be "connected"n with her friends to such an extent that she is unable to go more than a couple of hours without telling her pals something like: "M @ Nordies lking @ shus" or hearing that her friend is at the library studying Pride and Prejudice. Can you imagine being married to such a woman? She feels that she has to share everything with her friends and share everything from her friends. God help the man who marries this woman. One can almost read the text message to her friends on the wedding night: "Had sex w/ Brad. Premature ejaculation! Again! LOL!"

Grumpasauris

Have you ever awoken one day in a bad mood and the bad mood seems to go on from day to day to day? After awhile the people you live with and work with start commenting that you are a grump and that you willfully refuse to see the good side of anything.

Let's face it. No one wants to be known as a grump or a curmudgeon for more than five minutes because to exceed the five minute limit is to pretty much close one out from invitations to lawn bowling parties, quiz nights at the local pub, and the attentions of young lovelies wearing tight sweaters and tight skirts (the latter does not apply in France where the young have been indoctrinated into Sartrean Existentialism, and thus a state of depression lasting from the ages of eighteen to twenty-eight). One finds one's self sitting in the corner of the local King's Head with other grumps and joykillers, both male and female, in an aura of too many too strong beers and pipe tobacco smoke talking to one another like the Finnish Debating Society i.e., "The world is going to hell." "Uhm." "Ah." "Ja."

No one wants to spend time with a grump, especially jeune filles wearing tight sweaters and tight skirts, and it ends up for the grump being a pretty lonely life filled with the conversations of other grumps. One becomes known as a "character" or an "eccentric." Truth to be told, one would probably be much happier and more appreciated by the public at large (especially by the local jung freulien wearing a tight sweater and tight skirt) if one decided to try to spool knit the longest spool knitting piece ever known to man or if one donned tan tights and leotard with brown hood and cape and called oneself Captain Beano: Super Hero.

It must be admitted by this writer that some thirty years ago he woke up one day in a bad mood and it has since that day thirty years of grumpiness. It hasn't been easy being the wet towel on the party, but, after so many years of the disease, this writer has finally realized that there is a value to being a grump. That value is a damping of irrational exuberance. Exuberance is fine when the dawn arrives with rosy fingers promising a fine day, but more often than not there are storm clouds that the optimist refuses to see. It's not the grump's fault that the optimist is soaking wet and cold by noon. The grump gave his warning. The grump realizes that in front of every silver lining is a cloud.
Burt Prelutsky, a writer this correspondent has read on and off for many years, seems to appreciate the value and the state of being a grump much better than the average Pollyanna:
Big Hollywood » Blog Archive » We Should All Be a Little Cranky

And if any lassies who like wearing tight sweaters and tight skirts and who ride Raleigh 3-Speed bicycles should read this entry, please do not hesitate to ride by the Manor to comfort an old grump. The fragrance of lilac or lavender on a woman has always managed to soften this writer's sharp edges.

Links Galore!

Here are some links from people how know more than your faithful correspondent does:
Big Hollywood » Blog Archive » You’ve Been Warned

Big Hollywood » Blog Archive » Apocalypse Near? Liberal Actresses Line Up to Star in ‘Atlas Shrugged’

Big Hollywood » Blog Archive » Are We a Nation of Serfs?

Regarding the second link, this writer's grandfather, Baron Bill of Talequa, was a man who liked women. He was a shameless flirt and asked every waitress. nurse or shopgirl he ever met for a date even after he was married, though it has been assumed that he was faithful to his wife. He just liked women and enjoyed talking to women. But one type of woman he had no use for was actresses. He liked movies and liked looking at actresses on the screen, but he had a low opinion of the species. When asked why he had such a low view of female thespians his reply was, "Because they're whores. They care for nothing but money."

Baron Bill was not an educated man, but he knew the score.

Marooned Without a Hope (But Lots of Change)

In the 1930s the character actor made a couple of films that took place during the Age of Sail.
The most famous film was Treasure Island co-starring Jackie Cooper as Jim Hawkins in which Beery played the part of pirate/mutineer Long John Silver. The second film was called Slave Ship co-starring Mickey Rooney.
In one of the films the character played by Beery, in describing when he and several other sailors were castaway or marooned, said, "All they left us was a bag of salt and a little black boy."
It is the opinion of this writer that, since the inauguration, we, the working citizen of this great Republic, have been left with a bag of salt and a little black boy. To make matters worse, our elected leaders have deigned to tax away our bag of salt and the little black boy has somehow taken command of the lifeboat.
As you faithful correspondent has written previously, we are a nation now led by children. Do you remember the student council elections in grade school. During those elections the students running for student body president promised that, if elected, they would have Kool-Aid squirting out of the drinking fountains. Our Dear Leader came close to promising the same thing and the result was that the voting population drank the Kool-Aid a'la Jonestown. Why wait for the Second Coming of Christ when we have the first coming of The One? What the Hell? We might as well party like it's 1999 and let our kids and grand kids pick up the tab.
Now O has decided that the nation is ready for "mandatory volunteerism". If the preceding phrase seems an oxymoron consider the fact that modern politics is a concrete oxymoron. Just prepare yourself for the sight of thousands of brown-shirted youth (more likely rainbow-shirted youth) coming into your neighborhood insisting that they help you even if you don't want the help. And all the time they will be chanting something to the effect of, "We're from the government and we're here to help you by the kindness of the Messiah whether you want it or not."
You have two choices: Build a deep moat and fill it with piranhas or pretend that you're not home when they knock on your door. There is one other option, if you're not willing to submit to the benevolent dictatorship of President Hopeandchange. Buy a sailboat and head to the Marquesa Islands.
Be afraid. Be very afraid.