Link-O-Rama

Global warming is one of those topics that waxes and wane depending more upon what other items are in the daily news cycle than what the actual temperature is at any particular time. If there isn't a beer summit, talk about a "learning moment", a particularly gruesome murder or Megan Fox saying another stupid thing, then the Global Warming stories come out of the freezer of the news rooms and we are subjected once again to hair-on-fire stories about migrating whales not knowing whether or not to turn left or right when they get to the Equator because of the suspected rise in the water temperature or ducks not flying south for the winter because the weather in Canada at the beginning of winter has suddenly become a balmy 34 degrees.

Here are a couple of stories dealing with Global Warming. One taking a look at the theological aspects of the theory and the second having to do with the unintended consequences of legislative idiocy:

Global warming is the new religion of First World urban elites

Getting Around the EU Ban: Germans Hoarding Traditional Light Bulbs - SPIEGEL ONLINE - News - International

As our town-criers will never let us forget, Senator Edward Kennedy is a physically ill man. It is almost as if we have been put on notice that we should be on a death-watch and we should stand that watch with the same sadness and sense of the passing of a great fount of wisdom that Socrates' students had when they witnessed his death by hemlock. But we should not let this anticipation of the death knell for Senator Kennedy blind us to the fact that he was, and is not, a particularly good or wise man. His passing will be a sad thing for his family and friends, but the nation will have lost nothing more than an old-style Boston politician who was a bully, a shallow thinker and a man who took upon himself (and was granted by a fawning press) the characteristics of a Medieval
baron; a womanizer, a drunkard, a bellowing buffoon, a perpetrator of manslaughter. And like many of the worse barons of old, Senator Kennedy has never really done anything to earn his position except have the right family connects and the right name. If he had not been of the magic litter of old Joe Kennedy (much of whose wealth was made through boot-legging) he would have ended up as a local ward heeler at best.

If the above appears rough or cruel, just keep in mind Senator Kennedy's treatment of Judge Robert Bork. Mr. Bork has shown himself a good and honorable man, a much better than the man who destroyed his reputation in the public's eye.

Here's a link to a story recounting the Chappaquiddick affair that showed Senator Kennedy's true character:

Chappaquiddick Revisited by R. P. George and D. Quinn on National Review Online

Here is another story of the "My Husband is an Uncaring Lug Who Doesn't Talk to Me the Why I Want Him To, But I Love Him Anyway" type. What's different about this one is that it appears to have been written under the influence of something:

My husband is a snail and I can't whisper - CNN.com

So there you go.

Eric Sevareid

In this writer's last post regarding the passing of the news man Walter Cronkite, reference was made to the news man Eric Sevareid (who's name was mis-spelled due to this writer's ignorance of the spelling of Norwegian names).
Mr. Sevareid was not so much, in his later years, a news reader or news man as he was a televised essayist. He was one of Murrow's Boys and spent much of World War II as a correspondent in the Asian Theatre, and as a European correspondent in Europe after the War.
Mr. Sevareid was a literate man of the type not seen on television today.
Below are two links showing Mr. Sevareid. As you watch them ask yourself if any news man or woman would take for granted the literacy of the viewing public that Mr. Sevareid did.
YouTube - Eldridge Cleaver returns to the U.S.
YouTube - Eric Sevareid Farewell Nov 30, 1977
While watching and listening to the videos of Mr. Sevareid your faithful correspondent was reminded that at the time the broadcasts were first made there was talk of professional boxing in the United States dying out because of the lack of a fan base. Boxing was considered brutal and barbaric.
Nowadays boxing looks tame compared to Ultimate Fighting.
We did not know it then, but, apparently we were experiencing a breather before the barbarians crashed through the gates. Guy Grand (refer to the novel The Magic Christian) has proven his point and we continue to suffer for the media's appeal to the lowest common denominator. If the promise of the late 1970s had held truth there would be no such thing as the Jerry Springer or Maury Povitch shows except as local programs produced by local stations looking for the leftovers from the networks.
How far we have fallen. And we continue to fall.
When will we hit bottom?

Walter Cronkite

The television news reporter/reader Walter Cronkite passed away this week. The man lived a very long life. He died at the age of 92.
For some reason, the news organs of the nation have deigned him the "Dean of Television news", when, in fact, his real claim to fame was being one of "Murrow's Boys" during WW II. Mr. Cronkite's fame lies much with his longevity i.e., he outlived his contemporaries. John Cameron Swayze was, if anything, the Dean of Television News because he was there first.
But, a generation and a half grew up with Cronkite on the television at six o'clock in the evening, so he got the title.
And, while Mr. Cronkite was a good news reader, and ad-libber, he was, during his on-camera career, no more special than the new readers on the other television networks. Chet Huntley and David Brinkley, and Eric Severide were as good or better. Severide was especially good. He was a news reader who, in his reading, demanded some thought from his audience. Cronkite, on the other hand, appealed to the middle-brow who took his word for Gospel.
But, let's face it. What is a television news reader but a herald or town crier standing in a village public square ringing a bell and crying that five sheep have been stolen from Mr. Jones' field or that a footpad is abroad?
We here at the Manor hope that Mr. Cronkite rests in peace, but we do not feel that his death is the death of journalism.

Porkpie Hats

Your faithful correspondent has never been a big fan of the porkpie hat.
In modern times the porkpie hat has been indicated by two elements.
1.) The crown of the porkpie hat is round with a round crease around the top of the hat instead of a longitdutinal crease. In other words, the crease on a porkpie hat follows the crown. In other words, the crown of a porkpie looks much like, when looked at from above, the crust of a pie.
2.) The brim of a porkpie hat usually narrow. Occasionally the brim of a porkpie is wide, as is the case of Buster Keaton or the old comic strip character Hipshot Percussion, but mostly the brim is narrow.
Wearers of the porkpie have been Gene Hackman in his character of Popeye Doyle in The French Connection, Buster Keaton in many of his films, and Mickey Spillane.
Mostly the porkpie has been worn, in movies and television, by characters who are rather questionable in
morals, but not really bad. They have been men who have not quite figured whether they want to be real criminals or law abiding.. In other words, they are apprentices who haven't quite made up their minds whether to be bankers or three card monte men or zoot suiters.

What's Wrong With This Picture?

In the past few weeks the following events have taken place:
Iranians (many Iranians) have protested against the results of their national elections claiming that that the results, given by the government, have been bogus. The results of the protests have been the disappearances and deaths of more than a few protesters.
The validly elected government of Honduras decided to eject the president of the nation because the president was violating the Honduran constitution.
Uighers (natives of Turkmenistan which is in the area now known as Western China) have protested and have been victims of Han Chinese suffered under the anvil of Peking for the reason that they (the Uighers) have demanded fair treatment. The result has been the disappearance of more than 1,500 Uighers and the deaths of more than 150 of the same.
What's wrong is that out Dear Leader had protested the constitutional action of the Honduran congress and supreme court while ignoring the situation in Iran and in Western China.
In other words, The One seems to think that the overthrow of a nation's constitution is a more favorable action than the exercise of protest against violators of human rights.
Once again. Follow the money.

America's Loss

Some people consider the residents of the Manor as Luddites despite the fact that we regularly use computers. The reasons for these accusations may be due to the fact that this writer prefers to use manual typewriters or pen and ink for his serious writing, that we do not have an automatic dish-washer, our (by contemporary standards) overuse of commas, semi-colons and dashes, or the fact that we have neither cable nor satellite television.
Your faithful correspondent suspects that the main ground of accusation lays with the television matter. The idea of receiving television signals over the air and not paying for the "privilege" seems, to some, as quaint as the idea of sitting in the front room (called by those with aspirations of appearing sophisticated the "living room" or by others, mostly long dead, "the front parlor") listening to a Philco or Dumont radio waiting for John McCormick to start singing Ave Maria.
But, believe it or not, we here at the Manor at one time received cable television back in the days when we, and MTV, were young. We saw the first Michael Jackson music videos. In fact, this writer's brother The Honorable Mister Daniel, worked with Mr. Jackson as a sound editor on several of Mr. Jackson's early music videos. And to tell the truth, during our days being connected to the cable teat and thereafter, we have never been particularly enamoured of Mr. Jackson. He was a good dancer, but no Fred Astaire, a decent singer of his type (meaning of the frenetic hard breathing style) and an entertainer who depended more on technology than real talent. In other words, he was a busker who made a lot of money and fooled a lot of people.
Mr. Jackson died this past week and the world seems to have gone into the type of mourning that is saved for the trivial. The same type of thing happened when Diana Spencer, John Belushi and James Dean et al died. The logic behind this mourning seems to be based on the idea that the dead were mis-understood., when, in fact, the deceased were really not much more than parasites.
To paraphrase Bryan Suits, entertainers and celebrities are remora and the public is the shark. Celebs feed off the public and really never give anything of value back to the public and the culture. Celebs, including Farrah Fawcett, Ed McMahon and David Carradine, as well as Mr. Jackson, Elvis, Buddy Holly, Richie Valens and others, were nothing more than officially sanctioned court jesters, actors or talkers. They made us laugh, tap our feet or were nice to look upon and they expected money in exchange. Meanwhile, the guy or gal you work with who tells good jokes or stories that make you think or laugh five days a week gets nothing but a pat on the back; and the guy you work with is working at a job of work making something.
There was a day when professional entertainers were suspect by the public. And the reason is because entertainers fed off the lower desires of the public. Music and story-telling were a part of daily life among one's peers and done to pass the time, not something done to make more money than the audience.
It is a sad thing that Mr. Jackson died at a relatively young age. But the man was a pederast and a man who, probably without knowing it, strove to lower the datum of civilized behavior during a time when the criterion should have been raised. Not to put a religious bent on the matter, but Mr. Jackson, Mr. Carradine and Mr. Belushi were evidence of de-evolution. They appealed to the basest part of the human experience. Ms. Fawcett, while pretty and a sex symbol for some, was, in reality, on the level with Nell Gynne and Lillie Langtry.
Billy Mays, America's greatest pitchman, died today. If you do not recognize the name Billy Mays perhaps you might look in your pantry and find a bucket of Oxy-Clean, a bottle of Orange-Glo or a tube of Mighty Putty. Mr. Mays, with his solid body and square bearded face and cry, "Billy Mays here!" was the cause of a lot of scrambling for the remote control by certain segment of society, but his death, was, in fact, a much greater loss to the Great Republic than was the death of Mr. Jackson. Billy Mays was an example of a man who had come from nothing and had risen to a level in his various pitches in county and state fairs, and television that he had made for his various employers something to the tune of a half billion dollars. When one sent money to a phone number that Billy Mays announced for a product one could be assured that one would soon get a tangible thing in one's hand within as week or two. Billy Mays, whether the products he pitched were good or bad, Mr. Mays carried on a long, long tradition of medicine men in America in a way that Mr. Jackson did not. Mr Jackson sold himself. Mr. Mays sold something you could use.
So when the funerals of Mr. Jackson and Ms. Fawcett (at the Taj Mahoney: this writer did not know that she was a Catholic) take place this week, please remember Billy Mays. He was better, in his life, for the nation, than the others.

Men in Hats

Summer time is here, unfortunately, and the weather has gotten hot. What is the man man of style to do to find relief from the oppression that unrelenting sunshine presents to one without wearing a pith helmet?
The answer is: The Boater. Among the uninitiated the hat is called a "straw hat" (too broad a term) or a "skimmer" (a slightly different hat -- skimmers are worn by students at Eton).
Unfortunately, the boater has taken a beating from popular culture. It has become a vaudeville staple for hoofers, an institution (in its foam plastic incarnation -- a truly blasphemous creation on the level with the plastic green derby worn by drunks on St. Patrick's Day) at political conventions and pizza parlors, and a joke when the crown is punched out by a comedian.
But the boater is a serious and useful item of headgear for the man. It's lightweight, offers shade, and looks good when worn properly. When worn level and square the hat says that is a serious man not to be taken lightly, as in the photo above of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. When worn with a sideways tilt the wearer comes across as a bit of a rake or a joker. When worn tilted back one appears either young or as a sailor (the boater was based on the canvas and tar hats that sailors wore in the 1800's).
The boater is one of the few men's hats that women can wear and not look ridiculous. But a woman wearing a boater can only look not silly if she is either wearing a middie blouse and long skirt or a striped pullover and sailor pants. Preferably the ribbon on the hat should be long and drape over the back of the hat. Hot pants, Levis and mini-skirts never look good with a boater.
So, if you are suffering from the oppression of summer weather, consider buying yourself a boater. It's a great hat and works well.

Not Your Dad's ....

This writer is an occasional reader of blogs and websites containing reviews of beer and pipe tobacco.

The interesting thing about the reviews is the constant refrain of, "This isn't your Dad's beer". or "This isn't your Dad's pipe tobacco."

The unstated implication is that you Dad had no taste at all in matters of beer or tobacco because he drank Miller High Life instead of Hog's Head Summer Special Ale, and smoked Carter Hall in his pipe instead of Frog Morton or Three Noggins. In other words, your Dad was a dope and a philistine and a tool of corporate America and the blanding of beer and tobacco.

Well, guess what? You're wrong. Your Dad was a man. A real man. Your Dad was a Stoic in a way that you, the reviewer, aren't. Your Dad took what was there and made the best of it. He wanted beer and he chose Schlitz over Hamm's. He wanted pipe tobacco and chose Velvet over Prince Albert. His beer and pipe tobacco needs were satisfied by easily available products and he didn't pretend to be a connoisseur. Your Dad knew what beer and tobacco were for; relaxation and fellowship. He did regard beer and tobacco the same way that a Frenchman regards wine and cheese. Your Dad had no time for such nonsense. He was a working man and a family man, and any time he had left over was spent doing manly things like fishing, hunting or working on the car.

Your Dad didn't bother to spend the extra money to buy a six pack of St. Pauli Girl unless he was a German, or buy a can of Balkan Sobranine unless he was an Englishman. Your Dad drank American lager or pilsner, or smoked American Cavendish or Virginia blends. He didn't bother with the foreign stuff cost too much and the experience only lasted five minutes after the last quaff or puff. And he figured that the extra cost was not worth the experience.

Your Dad was a guy who helped build the nation. He wasn't a dilettante. He worked to make the highways or airplanes or buildings that you use to buy your fancy beers or tobacco. And he probably never has had the chance to engage in you little hobbies. You Dad drank Rolling Rock or Pabst and, smoked Sir Walter Raleigh or Prince Albert, and he was satisfied. He didn't bitch about the beer being "thin" or the tobacco having a bite.

Your Dad, probably without knowing it, was a student of the Roman philosopher Epictetus, while you seem often to be a student of Epicurus. Ask yourself which philosopher's teaching will result in a strong nation.

Next Sunday is Fathers' Day. If your Dad is still living call or visit him and tell him how much you appreciate what he has done for you and that you pray that you will be the man for your children that he was for you. And if your Dad has passed on take the time to remember him and thank the memory that you have of him. Crack a Bud and fill your pipe with Barking Dog and try to live up to what your Dad was.

And if your Dad was a jerk, an idiot and a rounder, make it a point to be a better man. Fancy beer and fancy tobacco will not make you a better man than your Dad. It'll just make you a snob.

Be Careful of "Students of History."

Have you ever run across someone who claims to be a "student of history" who makes stupid claims? The example of Dan Brown in his novels comes to mind. Not only are his contentions ridiculous, his history is awful. The most cursory study of the Knights Templar will show that the Templars were real Christian knights and not adherents of Gnostic "wisdom" or that the Italian sculptor Bernini could not have been a member of the Illuminati because he was long dead by the time Adam Weisphat concocted his scam.
Our Dear Leader (the One, the Anointed, the O), has several times in the past claimed to be a "student of history". One example that comes to mind is his claim that the automobile was invented in the United States. As any car head can accurately state, the automobile, as we know it, was invented in Germany by a man named Daimler (he also invented the motorcycle). The O also spoke, in a praising manner, about the Model T Ford as if the solution to America's energy and pollution problems lies with the Model T. Truth to tell, the Model T was, for its engine size, a gas hog, gross polluter and so unsafe in its construction and features as to be considered more a dangerous toy than a mode of transportation.
The One, in his bum kissing Cairo speech, spoke again as a student of history. And he either lied or showed his ignorance of history:
Pajamas Media » Obama Flunks History at Cairo U
And add to the false claims of the Muslim world the fact that chess was not invented in Iran or the Arab world. It was invented in India.

The Difference Between Then and Now

There was a time when actors, singers and such behaved with a modicum of class and politeness. Now it seems that now the sign of affection to the public by a professional performer is to give it the finger. Instead of the public giving the finger back by not buying the product by the performer it seems to crave a big "F--- you" from their favorite star.
What the heck happened? The actor, the singer, the performer, is coming to the public with a begging bowl held out. In a logical world the performer would be performing on a street corner or in a park and would pass the hat to get the reward for their labor. Instead, the performer feels owed and the public is insulted. The world has truly been turned upside down.
Consider this article about times past and times now:
Big Hollywood » Blog Archive » Hollywood, Music, and the Death of Class

What a Refreshing Ex-Athlete!

How many times have you read stories about ex-sports stars doing something really, really stupid? The answer is, too many times. Once out of their particular sport they seem to think that they are still, at the age of 40, the stars they were at the age of 24. For some reason their famous touchdown, goal, home run, et al is supposed to give them a cache to behave badly when they are middle aged men or women. One thinks of John D. MacDonald's charter, the Arkansas Tiger, who, after a pro sports career, carried on a 24 hour a day, 7 day a week party on his boat at the Bahia Marina in Florida.
Here's a story of an exception, and an exceptional woman:
Former Tennis Player Andrea Jaeger Shows Compassion to Cancer-Stricken Children - washingtonpost.com

Men in Hats -- Panama Edition

Above we have a photo of Sean Connery wearing a Panama hat.. Connery, in his films, was never known as a hat wearer except for those awful narrow brimmed atrocities he wore in the first two Jame Bond Movies. By the time the above photo was taken the great Scot came to his senses and bought a decent hat with a decent width brim.

For an older and more classic example of the Panama hat we have a still from the old movie Macao starring Robert Mitchum and the ever-breath-taking Jane Russell. Mitchum, coming from a generation of American hat wearers, wears his hat more naturally and casually than does Connery; it's tilted up, it's tilted down. It shades his eyes when needed and acts as an exclamation point when needed. Mitchum, coming from the last of the hat wearing generation, regards the hats as part of him. The hat IS him.
Now that Summer is near and the weather is warming it is time to bring out the straw hat, whether Panama, boater or cowboy and coolly pass the time in the shade and put the old fedora or homburg in mothballs.

What's Your Soundtrack?

Why Muslims Like Hitler, but Not Mozart | The Brussels Journal

You Owe Us and We Own You

As all who are regular readers of this journal are well aware, we at Bloody Nib Manor live pretty simply. Some would say on the edge. We've not managed to come up with the cash to clean out the moat for several years and the results is the growth of all sorts of noxious plants far too close to the house. And we've been forced to use standard-bred horses for our foxhunting instead of lurchers and thoroughbreds. Never mind the dogs. It was difficult to give up our kennel of proper English Foxhounds in favor of Shih-Tzus and mongrels. But, in the current economic climate sacrifices must be made.

The late Baron Nib, a great man in every way, and the still living Baroness Nib, always made it a point to impress upon their scions that to be in debt was to be in a form of slavery. In other words, if you owe a person money you are at their beck and call until you re-pay the debt.

We have, as far as practicable, worked to keep out of debt. Whenever possible we pay cash because we do not want some busybody from American Express or the bank telling us that we are living in a manner that they do not approve. We, the ever lovely Lady Nib and myself, desire freedom more than luxury. We try to be, a much as possible, self-sufficient and self-responsible. We are, in that sense, rather old-fashioned, despite the fact that we just had our Wolsley sedan re-painted with a rather shocking hot pink paint job.

The Baron's comment concerning debt has been proven true recently. Some American banks which had received TARP (in other words, bail-out loans) from the United States government have stated that they have the cash, right now, to pay off their loans. They have told the government that they want to pay off the loans. And the government has told the banks, "Don't bother. We'd rather control you and set your policies and salaries."

There are two things wrong here.

The first is that the government wants to control private institutions. The last time this writer checked, there was no such thing as a national bank outside of the Federal Reserve. Now we find that the federal government wants to run as much of the banking system as it can; not for the protection of the bank customer, but for the idea of controlling the economy because the federal government "knows best." It's a frightening thought and a frightening reality.

The second matter of concern is that the federal government would rather not be repaid a debt in favor of control of the banks. In other words, instead of the money that was loaned to the banks being repaid to the taxpayer and the treasury, the federal government would rather spend your money to control something that really means nothing to you. The idea of control goes beyond the idea of being responsible to the customer (the taxpayer).

He who owns the debt owns he who is in debt. There is something almost Mafia-like about the whole thing.

On a second front, consider this: Michelle paints herself as the queen of arts - Times Online.

We here at the Manor have always been leery about government supported arts programs simply because such programs put the impretuer of official approval on said art. What business does the government have approving one type of art over another or on artist over another? The answer is, in the United States, none. There is no,and should not be, any official art,whether graphic, theatrical, literary or spoken word. The very idea of a national poet laureate is loathsome. The only art that the federal or state governments should even be remotely involved in is the architecture of government buildings and monuments. Consider the fact that even during the age of kings in Europe the said kings used their own money for art projects. Not that of their subjects.

But now we have an administration that seems to hold to the Stalinist theory of art. In other words, the government says what is art and anything outside of that is trash.

Get ready for the new opera, The East is Obama.

Dick Cheney. Private Dick?

Those who may be unfortunate enough to be readers of this blog may be old enough to recall the great age of the Private Detective novel or Private Detective television series. Such names as Mike Hammer, Shell Scott, Lew Archer, Phillip Marlowe, Peter Gunn, Jim Rockford, Richie Brockleman, or Magnum, may tug at one's heart strings in mourning for the days when the P.I. was the example of traditional American enterprise and "get it done-ness".

The P.I. was an example of what America was all about. The P.I. was an entrepenteur, an independent operator, and a man suspicious of the the government. He was a cynical man. He was cynical of the stated mores of society and of the government. He searched for truth and justice; not the niceties of law. Often, during his search for justice he found that the law was inadequate regarding justice. And while he searched, and suffered, during his search for justice and right, he often showed his flaws and sins. His life seemed to be have been made up of nothing more than booze, babes and bullets. His needs were simple. His life was simple. He looked at a world he thought cracked and crazy and saw himself as a normal man; not a man in the throes of angst. His personal life was private except for the occasional fling with a female client, female suspect, or his secretary. His weaknesses were for a shot of rye and a well-turned ankle (actually, more often a heaving full bosom). Introspection and self-flagellation was for the client; not him. He was a man comfortable in his skin. And because he was comfortable in his skin he was able to focus his attention on the problem. He always found the root of the problem despite the fact that his reward was a few hundred bucks, a shot of leg, a shot of bourbon and a Lucky Strike. He got spat upon, beat up, drunk, screwed (in more ways than one). And he worked for himself and his client in the search of justice (not government justice, but real justice).

The P.I. was, in fiction, the knight errant. He was a man looking for a cause despite his own flaws and sins. And he did so despite rotten pay and a lot of beatings. His cause was justice. And when the law conflicted with justice he chose justice.

Things have changed.

Now look at modern crime fiction and crime related television. Almost every one features a cop working for a government of some sort: CSI: Whatever, NCIS, Law and Order: Whatever, Without a Trace. Each television program shares a common thing: they all represent government agencies. They, along with all too many current crime novels, appeal to the government for justice and righteousness. In other words, the government says what is right and wrong instead of the moral right and wrong. The idea behind the programs and novels is that the government knows what is best, and that one should rely on the government to right legal wrongs. Forget about moral justice. The government knows all and if your adult sister is missing, and there is no legally found evidence that she is working in a Nevada brothel against her will , there is nothing the government sanctioned cops will do about it to rescue her. The law trumps all. The law is codified. It's a blueprint and it gives the CSI, Law and Order crowd indications of what to do and takes the burden of defining justice off their shoulders. And despite not having the burden of defining justice, the characters in current cop novels and series are so psychologically screwed up that it's a wonder that they can function. They drink too much occasionally and feel guilty about it. They bed a co-worker and feel guilty about it. They don't spend enough time with their wife and kids and feel guilty about it. They do the jobs for which the state has hired them and they feel conflicted about it. And when they perform acts of justice in favor of acts of law they do not only not celebrate the triumph of right over wrong, they crawl under the covers of their beds and fight through depression.

How times have changed. The great fictional French police detective, Jules Maigret, was a simple man with simple tastes (a good beer and a good meal), who sought justice and right and wrong and never lost a wink of sleep over it. Even the Swedish police detective, Martin Beck, probably the first of the depressed detectives and the precursor of what we have now, was more interested in justice than his own problems or the niceties of the law. Both detectives occasionally worked outside the system and felt no guilt about it. The only suffering that either character experienced from drinking too much were hangovers. Most of their suffering, in the trade, was based on dealing with the governments the worked for.

What we have come to is the dearth of the P.I. or cowboy in favor of the government paid salary man. Every damn thing is based on what the government says is right instead of what is right. The search for justice has become a slogan among government officials. The searchers for "truth" are expected to have more empathy for the perpetrator than the victim. One's inner demons are things to be embraced in the name of being "genuine." Instead of listening to jazz and watching the ponies run at the track, today's crime fighter watches Oprah and drinks Evian water. Perhaps that's the problem. The modern government sanctioned crime fighter drinks so much water that he or she has become diluted in every way.

The only characters in modern fiction approaching the classic private detective are historical detectives such as Ellis Peters' Brother Cadfael, Elizabeth Peters' Victorian Egyptologist mysteries and Lindsey Davis' Marcus Dido Falco series of detective novels. The P.I. has become passe', a museum piece.

It's enough to gag a maggot. And this maggot is gagging. Hard.

So we come to Dick Cheney versus Barack Obama.

Dick Cheney is the P.I. Dick Cheney is a hard man in search of justice and he is willing to twist an arm to get it. Dick Cheney sees the world as a cracked and crazy place and the survival of the American experiment depends on seeing those you would do us harm as the Other; the dangerous Other. He regards those who would attack the U.S. as rabid dogs to be put down. Mr.Cheney is close to the old Patriots -- suspicious of those values and traditions that are not American. And in this way he is like the P.I. who saw a black and white and called things black and white.

Barack Obama, on the other hand, is the Without a Trace government guy. Mr. Obama is conflicted about his identity. Is he a citizen of the United States or is he a citizen of the world? Do the laws of the United States trump those of the World Court? Is there such a thing as justice? Is the idea of buying the world a Coke imperialist? Mr. Obama seems to think that naivete in the matters of dealing with those who would do us harm a good thing. The excuse, when something bad happens will probably be something like, "They (the perpetrators) were true to their values, which are not our values, but are still valid nonetheless." One wonders if a crime were perpetrated against him or his family if his empathy would be the same. Mr. Obama seems to take Stalin's view: One death is a tragedy; a thousand deaths are a statistic.

Who do you want to help you when things get tough? A guy interested in justice or a guy interested in the niceties of law?

There is a right and a wrong, and the codified law of the United States has nothing to do with it.

If, during a Thanksgiving supper, would you rely on the cranky uncle (Dick Cheney) or the smart-assed nephew (Obama) as to what action to take against your asshole neighbor? Who would you rather try to find your missing sister? Mike Hammer? Or the CSI crew?

It's For the Children!

How many times in your life have you heard the cry by a politician, union official, or general busybody that the passage of a certain law (usually involving a tax raise) or spending measure (usually involving a tax raise) that the bill or measure was, "for the children." The issues that "are for the children" range from free medical care, government paid pre-school, midnight basketball, computers for schools and on and on and on ad infinitum.

The current administrations of both the United States and the State of California are pulling out the "for the children" card in a big way. And if one were to look closely at the matter, what both those entities are creating for the children is a big. big debt. Some one has to pay for these programs and there is just not enough money flowing now to pay for them. The result is that the payments for programs "for the children" will be paid for by the children and their children and perhaps their children.

In California, because of the budget deficit, there is a movement afoot to raise taxes to pay for educational programs and give teachers (California teachers are the highest paid in the nation) a pay raise. They seem to get a pay raise every year while people in the private sector are now lucky to get one every two or three years. In Los Angeles a number of teachers mounted a demonstration protesting projected lay-offs by the school district crying that the demonstrations were "for the children." It should be noted that the demonstration was organized by the Los Angeles teachers' union (United Teachers of Los Angeles). In other words, the action as a union action and not a grassroots action.

Years ago the president of the Associated Federation of Teachers (a nation-wide umbrella union for teacher), Albert Shanker, said that everything he did and every action he organized was not for the children. It was for union members. He said, "I'll start representing the concerns of students when students start paying union dues."

Remember that. Remember it well and expand the thought. Most of the cries of programs and concerns "for the children" are really actions benefiting those who work with children.

In Japan the cost of educating students is much less than it is in the lowest spending district in the US, but the Japanese educational system produces a better product than the average American school district. If the rulers of this nation had any damn sense at all they would outsource education to Japan instead of putting up with the nonsense that the airy-fairy pedagogues that determine educational policy here.

When you hear the cry, "It's for the children!" just reply, "Who cares? It's not my kid. I take care of my kid and don't expect the stated to do it."

Men in Hats

It's been a while since this writer has offered a new edition of the Men in Hats feature. To make up for the neglect of this feature, he offers two photos of men from the Old West wearing hats.

The first image is of Wild Bill Hickcock -- scout, Indian fighter, lawman, gun fighter, gambler and some one you really wouldn't want your daughter to marry. He was killed by being shot in the back while playing poker. The poker hand he held at the time he was shot was Aces and eights; since known at the Deadman's Hand. The hat he wears in the photo is of the old sombrero type cowboy hat with a flat crown and very broad brim; a good hat to wear in the sun, though of questionable value in high winds.

The second photo is of the great William F. Cody i.e., Buffalo Bill Cody. Cody was an Indian fighter, buffalo hunter, scout and showman. With his Wild West shows he brought the Wild West to the East and Europe complete with Indians, cattle stampedes and shooting exhibitions. He, unlike Hickcock, died well-off and peacefully. The hat he wears in this photo is more of a dress/dude type of hat with the right side of the brim tilted up like an Aussie digger hat. It's not a bad hat, but the tilted brim makes it not much good for being in the sun. It does give clearance for the carrying of a rifle at shoulder arms, though.

Your Tax Dollars at Work

Your faithful correspondent takes no back seat to anyone in his love and desire for Asian women. After all, the every lovely Lady Nib was born and partially raise in Yokohama.
But this is really going too far: CNSNews.com - U.S. Will Pay $2.6 Million to Train Chinese Prostitutes to Drink Responsibly on the Job

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Consider this:
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And this:
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And finally, this:
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Men in Hats

It's been a while since your faithful correspondent has offered a Men in Hats post. So please consider the following. the above is of the popular Buffalo Bill (the lower photo). Note the rakish tilt of the brim. And if anyone should make a denigration of Mr. Cody, please remember that Mr. Cody was not only a buffalo hunter, but also an Indian fighter.
The top photo is Wild Bill Hickock. A killer, to be sure, but a killer of the right sort. He wears a broad brimmed sombrero proudly as a man should wear his hat. It's just too bad that he didn't die in bed instead of on a bar room floor.
Life just isn't fair sometimes.