Every survivor now grieving knows the hollowness of “honest talk” about gun control.

France and Paris have very strict gun control laws — even the police are unarmed — which seems about as “honest” as every gun-grabber expects the U.S. to be about gun control: Just get rid of guns.

Let’s have that honest conversation. I prefer the honesty of meeting evil force with like force, quickly and decisively. I prefer the honesty of protecting those we love with the hard promise that we will kill, decisively and quickly, anyone who aims to harm them. I’d prefer to let my child know that, like the President, she deserves nothing less than vigilance and protection afforded by good citizens armed with equal force to meet the bad ones. Everything else is a political agenda full of sound and fury, signifying nothing but a surrender of beautiful Reason for cheap, feel-good superiority.

Every survivor now grieving knows the hollowness of “honest talk” about gun control. If they’d had a gun at that moment, they would have owned the conversation and the outcome.

Click on the pic below for a link to see how some scared rabbit on Upworthy wants it to wring my heart with tears of impotent rage, and wishes that a Unicorn could make all the guns disappear.

See the sad face in the picture below? Were she my child, she would know beyond any doubt, any law, or any “honest” rhetoric that I have no vision of strewing a street corner with flowers and candles in her memory but would destroy ANYthing that sought to make her one.

adorable

Confirmed, Life-long Pirates. Every One Of You Guys.

Errol Flynn[Re-posted from August 2013]
In my daily work, I have opportunity to meet with two or three couples in a day, with the intention to advise them on a life-changing shift in their circumstances and how best to handle the details. It’s a stressful situation, to move from point A to point B with your life still more or less intact. So I’m kind, genial and helpful, striking up the sort of patter that eases stress and imparts a sense of connection.

Most times, the couples are older, much older. They are down-sizing to move into an adult community or assisted living near their kids in some other state. Sometimes they’re mid-career, mid-family, mid-life, but in all cases they are well supplied with the necessary financial means to make the changes, up or down. In other words, people far above my station in life. They have more than they can say grace over. They have things up to their ears, or very large things, or very old things, and always expensive things.

So believe me when I say that their lives are complicated by all.that.stuff. Be it the wife’s furniture, art, or collectible figurines, or the guy’s workshop, electronics, toys and tools. It’s antiques from family members long since buried, or just a collection of family memorabilia with no significance beyond the outposts of the family branches. It can own you, you know; make you build bigger barns to keep it. Make you pay big money to have it follow you.

“We’re downsizing, I swear! It’s just too much stuff. And our kids don’t want it, and it’s too nice to just give it away. Do you have any idea how hard this is?” It’s a common, daily remark heard in my line of work, and it’s filled with stress.

“Yes,” I reply, “We, too, just downsized considerably. We’re living on our boat!”

And then I see it: the Pirate Glint. It’s the twinkle in the ancient eye, or the grim jealousy in the mid-life eyes, narrowing into my own, burning with intensity, “Really! On a boat! I’ve always wanted to live on a boat! Do you like it? Wow! It’s a lifelong dream for us, how did you make it happen?” Of course the wives have other reactions bordering on murderous intent, or bemused love for her life-long-boy-pirate Peter Pan. But the stress fades, the man is engaged now in the process so often left to the missus.

It does make for some pleasant conversation when easing people into big changes. I don’t play that card every time, but it never fails to hook the imagination of the man of the house; the captain of a different Fate than he likely imagined. I see him reach so far back into his soul that the little boy, that perfect little boy inside, comes out to play Pirates and Indians.

Ladies, you married a Pirate, I guarantee it. Not that fey, foppish Johnny Depp kind, either. Errol Flynn derring-do is what he’s all about; sails and water and freedom. Be sure to remember that when the hustle of obligations and things get up around his soul. Men are the true romantics. And they never, ever out-live it.

Never doubt it.

Another Bedtime Story

We outgrow our bedtime stories
trading monsters and fair maidens
for the hard-won moment’s glories
of an evening’s relaxation

Now we numb our thoughts and passion
give ourselves to faint blue light
let the subtler monsters rush in
selfish ogres, aging plights

Yet awaits a land to dream in
good and rightness there prevail
gentle lull of moonlight beams in
as she arcs the sky full sail

Take the hand of your moon maiden
dream of dragons, deeds and fame
you’re a ship with treasures laden
a fell pirate without shame

Cutlass-garbed and burden free
say goodbye to lesser mortals
venture into that bright sea
dream of lands with shining portals

bedtime stories never leave us
we just give them diff’rent frock
time for bed now, oh my darling
let us dream away the clock

-Joan Varga

******

Many thanks to you Cappy Cap, for the Cappy-lanche, and welcome to your readers!

Christmas Card

Virgin Birth. [Smirk goes here.]

We think we are so wise to scoff at a fairy tale and hoot at the simplicity of a gullible people who would accept the premise of a virgin birth; as though in Biblical times there was no such thing as a cynic; no winking, clucking crones who knew better than be taken in by that ruse. Or, as is more likely, we’d like to conveniently forget that in those times even disobedient children were stoned to death, so greatly did fear rule the hearts of men.

We live in a day where we can now easily witness a real stoning on our iPhone if we choose: A real woman. Solid stones. Yielding bones. For us, a horrible snuff film. For the zealous of Islam, a righteous lesson and stern warning to the unbeliever.

Such zealots fear Christmas for their own reasons. I’m more interested in why we do, too. We’re not afraid to recite the story in the safe surroundings of the adjunct scenery: makeshift stables and glittering cardboard stars made by neighbors and friends, whose children giggle at Harold Angels.

But we don’t really, really want to contemplate what it means to believe it. What it costs. It’s bothersome. Maybe to ourselves, our own sense of tradition and sentiment we’ll admit a smattering of transcendent notions about some one, or some idea, or angels, and light feelings, and—

But not really, really. . . not. . . well, really? A virgin birth?

It’s so stupid. A virgin birth. *snort!*

Half a world and not so far away, angry, cowardly Islamic men stone women so that they can uphold the darker fairy tales of their own goodness and purity. But we all have attempted something similar in thought if not in deed. In some way, it’s a story as old as life itself:  the shifting of blame, the shedding of blood, the scapegoat of our fears sent from our camp of awful reality– and so we are made good again. A fractured fairy tale of life as we seek a way out and up.

We live in a world of elites who tell us far grander fairy tales about ourselves, and we, being so wise in our fear of being stupid, we’ll follow any star as long as we don’t have to leave the couch. Vague comfort and diaphanous joy is all we seek. No need to saddle up and risk everything for more than that.

I’m curious. Is there some dark harm in believing in a virgin birth at that time, in that place, in those inconvenient circumstances? In believing in such a thing, am I inspired to fear and loathing, or might I share in an utterly unlikely miracle that makes me doubt my own goodness– and to look up for answers instead of around for a stone?

So, did a young girl, paralyzed with fear, have nothing to lose by telling a stupid lie? Or did she give birth to Life while under the shadow of death? What man of Joseph’s day would stand with such a woman, and not take up a stone, but instead take a wife?

I mean, c’mon, really?

Yes, really. It’s all Good.

(From Christmas 2010.)

Stupid.

Chris Rock has famously said that nobody wants to be a Black man. I’ll go him one further: no Black man wants to be a white man if it means he has to bear the label, “stupid.”

“Stupid” is the lasting, stinging shame that the Left has successfully deployed against the Right. Never mind that accusations once flung reveal the arsenal from whence they came; not so much projectiles as projections.

“Stupid” is the atom bomb of the philosophical arsenal. It’s much easier to lob it over the field of ideas than to critically pinpoint a weakness or flaw. Best to glass it over with an instant sun of scorn.

Andrew Breitbart’s Badge of Honor

It’s not everyone who gets to leave this world amid a flurry of insults across the Twitterverse; insults that are infinitely repeated with cheerful, albeit heavy hearts by one’s fans.

But it’s what Andrew Breitbart would have wanted.

Many are stunned, myself included, and yet the inevitable Thought Heard ‘Round The Blog World is, “An Army of Andrew Breitbarts.” Many will and already have paid better tribute than I can possibly hope to muster. It’s everywhere. And beautiful.

But as the accolades pour in from every corner, one especially should make Andrew especially proud:

I started my own blog today, because of him.

You know, if you have a blog and haven’t earned any direct targeting from the enemy in a while, do yourself and the world a favor and go into the enemy camp and earn some respect for yourself, if not from the enemy. Take a few jabs. Toughen up. And if you get as good as you give, wear it like a badge of honor. Andrew certainly did.

. . .run to where the noise of the battle is, get in there land a few verbal punches of your own. More importantly, please aim them at the opposition.                                        -Joan

R.I.P. Andrew Breitbart.

Get Loud!

Many thanks to the BlogFather for the comment nod: [And to Ed Driscoll] : “The biggest mistake we can make at this juncture is to go back to waiting around for the next Whoever to ride in and save us. Because that’s a strategy full of FAIL.”

 

I Take Exception To Mr. Sowell’s Targeting of Ted Cruz

It pains me. I think I can completely sympathize with where he’s coming from. He’s feeling the heartbreak of our current state of affairs on the Right, and has made a case for the importance of unity above all and against all. It’s a heartfelt piece, even to the point of carefully choosing his corollaries in history for maximum impact:

In the German elections of 1932, the Nazi party received 37 percent of the vote. They became part of a democratically elected coalition government, in which Hitler became chancellor. Only step by step did the Nazis dismantle democratic freedoms and turn the country into a complete dictatorship.

The political majority could have united to stop Hitler from becoming a dictator. But they did not unite. They fought each other over their differences. Some figured that they would take over after the Nazis were discredited and defeated.

And that only after he alluded to Ted Cruz as Obama; as one promising all sorts of things that sound pretty. As if we on the Right are no better at evaluating an ideal from reality than the mascots of the Left. I take strong exception to that aspersion. I’m listening to Ted Cruz and find him interesting in that he seems to know what it will take to grab attention in a Media stronghold, not that his ideas leave me breathless. He has moxie and he has solid values and he’s unafraid. Will he be a good leader if given the chance? Ah, there’s the rub.

Now, I’m as reasonable as the next person, even willing to be shown a better way, but if Mr. Sowell is asking me to seriously consider the possibility that Ted Cruz is promising me things that appeal to the same crass envy that Obama gleefully cultivates in his own followers I must scratch my head and wonder if his disconnect with his own supporters can be so vast. It may simply be an emotional ploy, wrought by an old man’s fears. If so, I share them and sympathize. But either way, it’s obvious that the GOP hit squad is starting early with the Palinization of Ted Cruz. Instead of being cast as an air-head, they’ll demonize him as dangerous to their plans. Those “plans” that will work this time, they swear!

Moreover, Mr. Sowell is forgetting that Conservatives did not divide the Republican Party. It fell apart like a 9-yard cement pour without a catalyst. I can draw an equal corollary to the fact that, just by doing nothing, many people on the Left found themselves on the Right, so swiftly has the cultural shift taken place. The Left’s strategists in this modern era apparently didn’t whine to their candidates that they had to appeal to a “moderate” demographic. They lost voters and kept right on grabbing power in every place that the Right ceded it. And there is where his casting a jaundiced eye on Sen. Ted Cruz falls short of reality. It’s not “differences” that divide the Right, there’s no bonding agent to keep us together.

The Establicans have rushed to the Left out of fear, self-interest, or for whatever reason. Conservatives in the hinterlands have not shifted their core values for the sake of “getting along” or “being reasonable” in the face of massive pressure to conform to political correctness. Conservatives may see the Left as the enemy to all they hold dear, but they also see the paucity of conviction and the lack of a tangible core value within GOP leadership. Conservatives cannot break apart a spiritually undefined mass.

The Progressive Left’s policies are disastrous, but you don’t see them vilifying the proponents of such policies. Why? Because their vision is clearly defined: grab power. And it’s heartily underwritten with largesse. From there, they own all the definitions, erase all the absolutes, and decry history as the handmaid of Satan.

But here we have a GOP Right that runs willy-nilly after whatever news network they think will validate their social worth. [Spoiler: none of them will.] They go seeking unity while providing a fractured core for us to rally around. They hunger after the mysterious “moderate” or “undecided” because they fear, and fear greatly, the perception that having a definable value, an uncrossable absolute, will telegraph “radical” to their Media Masters, thus sealing their fate.

The GOP has a weeping, airbrushed caricature of a compromised man for a leader who turns and, seeing no one behind him, finds no fault in himself but rather blames the reluctant Right for being fractious. And Mr. Sowell, a venerable and true Patriot only sees division. He doesn’t consider that it’s the lack of a gravitational core that leaves the GOP powerless to attract or hold anything within its influence.

It’s dead, Jim. Ted Cruz isn’t waiting around for the funeral.