Gentlemen

I was raised to be a gentleman.

And before any of you raises an eyebrow, no that had nothing to do with my sex or gender, or my pronouns or whatever.

My being a woman of …. odd disposition, I think my parents decided I’d never marry when I was around 3, maybe 4. (They weren’t entirely wrong for that place and time. Any of you women who want to hold forth on the unbearable patriarchy in the US, let’s find a quiet corner where I can slowly beat you to death with a wet sock. Because you have NO idea. NONE.)

So, my parents decided early on that I’d most likely have to earn a living. Which is why dad trained me to be a gentleman. In business. In private life, I could be — and was — as feminine as I wished. Okay, most of the time I wasn’t because I fell in the broad category of “women who do carpentry” and “women who play with gears” so, stereotypically speaking, and in every other way as well I was …. odd. Not to say strange. But I loved (still do, though alas my hips disagree) pretty high heels, and I do crochet and embroidery. So stereotype by stereotype it kind of cancels out.

OTOH I sucked at the non-stereotypical parts of being a woman. The ones the culture doesn’t talk about. The politics of the serraglio: undermine the rival. Kick them while they’re down. Start character-tearing campaigns. Sleep your way to the top. Emotionally manipulate everyone.

I don’t know if I suck at it because my instincts are broken, or because I was raised to be a gentleman.

What I do know is this: “gentleman” mode is the mode to keep society functioning. Every company and institution that gets taken over by the politics of the serraglio subverts its own purpose and ends up unable to function. Because women in that mode don’t care about the shared purpose, and can’t be depended on. They do what AT THE MOMENT seems to help them. And they have no loyalty or honor.

Most of our society has gone that way. Even men operate in serraglio mode now, because it’s all they’re taught.

I have absolutely nothing against women working for a living, be it as janitors or as managers. But women need to be taught that in the realm of business they have to be gentlemen: keep your word. Pay back kindness and favors. Be generous to rivals. Be honorable. And above all, work for what you’re supposed to do/were hired to do. (Which falls under “keep your word.”

Teach yours sons, and especially yours daughters to be gentlemen. It’s inconvenient and troublesome, but it’s the only way civilization gets to come back.

Disjointed Observations

Not that I could do a jointed observation right now, because I’m not even in Colorado, and I am allergic to the stuff anyway….

So, whatever we’re doing, it’s working, in the sense that we’re not falling into traps. Of course, perhaps what’s working is that our idiot opponents are really and truly idiotic.

I mean, seriously look at it, they have identical sunglasses….

I mean, seriously. They think they’re smart, so they keep imagining we have the IQ of paste. Sigh. These are idiots-arrogants. They’re too dumb to figure out they stick out like sore thumbs, and smugly satisfied in their stupidity. How do they get like that? The left’s takeover of their field. They remind me of trad pub editors circa 1995. (Not that they’ve improved, but now most have the puzzled and vaguely malevolent expression of stupid people who suspect someone is putting one over on them, but know it’s impossible because they’re so smart. Or something. Not that the editors were stupid. Just smug and unchallenged. Same here.) And this ladies and gentlemen are the people we trust to ferret out threats in the world at large.

This is ultimately what is at the bottom of the Afghanistan disaster, what caused us to spend almost a century taking seriously the Soviet Empire and how well equipped they were as enemies, when these people in fact were doing things like driving trucks of tubes around, to pretend they were missiles.

At another level, these are the people who earnestly believe the real threat is global warming, that communism works, and that we’re all white supremacists.

The good news in this is that these people are not on our side. These complete and thorough idiots are in fact trying to destroy America in the name of some supra-national government which will be better. Or so they imagine.

What they’re actually trying to do, of course, is stay seated and apply spurs and not allow us to resist them. Because having completely subverted the elections, they think they are in power forever. (Which means these poor deprived adult children never heard stories like the goose that laid the golden eggs, or other stories of “F*ck around and find out.”)

Which is going to be really hard, since they have not a brain cell among them.

Sorry, but even if there are good field agents, our intelligence agencies were always a festival of fail that could only be more obvious if it wore a fruit hat and shashayed to samba in the Carnival in Rio. I mean, they believed the bullshit fed to them by Russia and China to the point they put them in the CIA world fact book. Including the blooming soviet economy. Bullshit a kindergartner wouldn’t believe.

And since Obama and his cronies took over the structure, their abilities have taken a nose dive. (Which must have involved a super-powered escavator with stainless steel blades.)

The bad part?

Some of the fields they’ve taken over are still vestigially performing some functions we need, if only to provide and “official” channel for something.

And don’t fool yourself it won’t hurt when it collapses (with an Earth shattering kaboom.) And I’d be surprised if that’s past the end of the year, given the world-class-brains we’re dealing with.

Be ready. Be alert. Keep your clothes and weapons where you can find it in the dark.

And get ready to take the weight when it falls. Because Atlas supports civilization.

And tag, you’re it, you’re Atlas.

The Mouse Sander And The Coffee Cup

The Mouse Sander and the Coffee Cup

“Quick. She went to answer the door,” the woman said.

He hesitated, by the blue glowing oval of the time portal “Are we sure we want to do this? She’s a minor author of no consequence, at the edge of the turmoils.”

The redhead, lifted her head from the time-scope. “Oh, come on, Bril, you know how hot all the antiques from the 21st century are. And the fact she was a minor celebrity helps.”

Bril sighed. Someday he would learn to say no to pretty women, but probably not today.

“Do the records show how long she is by the door?”

“Are you kidding? Most was lost in the turmoils. Just go.”

He hurried through the portal, shuddering as he crossed the time barrier. On the other side, he found himself in a small hall, filled with a bewildering number of boxes. The woman was at the door, speaking to a younger man.

He was so afraid she’d turn, he grabbed the first two objects he could reach and ran back.

Turned out what he’d brought back was a cup still filled with coffee — apparently King Harv’s Coffees Earth blend, if the timescope showed the package on her counter right — and a small sander.

The objects fetched a good price at auction, not the least for the possibility of recreating 21st century coffee, but also stray author-DNA on the cup’s rim. The sander fetched less.

But Bril and the girl got to watch the minor, irrelevant 21st century author wander the house cursing up a blue streak for losing her coffee and what she called the mouse sander.

“They sanded mice in the 21st century?” The redhead asked.

“I don’t know. The whole time was psychotic. That’s how we got the turmoils.”

“Yeah. Maybe. I’m glad I’m here with you now, instead, Bril,” the redhead said.

…. And that’s my story of what happened to my coffee cup and mouse sander yesterday morning, which we haven’t been able to locate no way no how. And we include a contractor who might have been sent as the answer to a prayer, so I don’t die doing this.

I’ll be going home for some portion of the weekend, to see my husband and cats, but I will try to post. This house will, unfortunately, probably take another week.

However a huge burden has been lifted from my shoulders and things look doable.

Supposing we don’t go over the edge in the next month, we’ll be okay. So, fingers crossed.

You guys behave, while I get this finished.

Genies and bottles; Tigers and tails; and other Good Ideas that Bite – a guest post by LawDog

Genies and bottles; Tigers and tails; and other Good Ideas that Bite – a guest post by LawDog

In 1998 a record-breaking settlement was reached against the tobacco companies for providing a still-legal product to consumers.

Shortly thereafter, and citing the tobacco settlement, litigation started regarding ETS (Environmental Tobacco Smoke, or “Second Hand Smoke”). This boils down to: Joe smokes; Frank doesn’t. Frank decides that Joe’s smoking has harmed him in some nebulous way, so Frank sues the tobacco companies.

Let me state that again: Frank sues the tobacco companies for providing a perfectly legal product to Joe. The end game is clear: some folks don’t like tobacco. They can’t get this legal product made unlawful, but they discovered they can litigate it to the point that the producers can’t afford to supply it anymore. Voila! Banning a product, without the cumbersome, uncertain process of making it unlawful!

Anyone following the gun debate in this country knows that the current hotness is suing the gun manufacturers. Joe acquires a gun, does something tragic with it. Frank gets a case of the hips, fails to sue the critter, you know, who pulled the trigger, instead he sues the gun manufacturer for providing a perfectly legal product to someone (someone, not Frank).

Again, the endgame on this is clear: the gun banners can’t get guns made illegal, but … if they can litigate this perfectly legal product to the point that the gun makers can’t afford to make guns anymore … well, they don’t have to try to get politicians to make them illegal, do they? Voila! Banning a legal product without, you know, banning it.

If you’re following the watermelons, you’ve no doubt heard of the lawsuits being filed against the petroleum companies for “Global Climate Disruption”. Several dozen, as I write this, filed by various and sundry individuals and politicians.

As above, it boils down to the fact that fossils fuels are not going to be prohibited. However, if it becomes too expensive to produce this perfectly legal product …
So, several hundred million Joes are driving their cars around, or flying in planes, or heating their homes with dinosaur squeezins, or using plastic products, so Frank sues the petroleum companies.

As is the case with the examples above, the desired result is not any recompense for damages to Frank, the desired end result is to litigate the petroleum industry out of business, and thus ban perfectly legal petroleum without, you know … banning it.

Got a feel for lawfare now? You think a legal product/service shouldn’t be legal. You don’t have enough votes to convince politicians to make laws against the product/service, but if you sue enough, sooner or later a sympathetic jury will make it too expensive for the product/service to be provided. It’s a nifty little legal end run around American lawmaking.

Now let us cast our eyes to Texas, where some State lawmakers decided that “Sauce for the gander being sauce for the goose and all that”, hauled off and made it official that Francine could sue the legal provider of a service used by Jo-Betsy.

Cue the wailing, the vapours, and the rending of garments. And more than a bit of teeth-gnashing.

Sigh.

One of the juvenile traits of the American Left that tends to stick in my craw is their tendency to gleefully go for the political/legal nukes against the “loyal opposition”, but then squalling like kicked pups when those same nukes get used against them.

Case in point: The Democratic Party holding multiple solemn press conferences when they did away with the 67% of the Senate to approve a Presidential nominee; replacing it with a simple majority. The worm turned, and the Republicans stated approving nominees with a simple majority, and the Democrats screamed bloody blue murder. Y’all set the damned precedent, quit whinging.

I’m here to tell you that the Venn diagram of folks who think the gun makers should be sued out of business; and those who think that the petroleum companies being litigated out of business is perfectly okay is damned near a perfect circle with the “My Body My Choice” crowd.

Y’all grabbed this tiger by the tail and used it to savage people you didn’t agree with. Now it’s biting you. I find myself completely unmoved by your protestations. You uncorked the genie and used it against the politically icky, and now that it’s at your door, you’re screaming about how unfair it is. Wah.

Y’all set the damned precedent for this law, and continue to do so. I have no sympathy.

This is your wakeup call: Stop using the courts to get around Congress.

Idiots.

Living on our feet

I woke up at almost four am with horrors. In this case it was an infinite sense of grief and loss, like I’d just seen a loved one die before my eyes. And it wouldn’t dissipate. It just wouldn’t.

Eventually I picked up the computer and started poking around. Anything not to be alone, with that sense of dread. Which considering how tired I am… (And yes, I have thought it is a mercy of the Lord that I’m in this endless project right now, kind of like being laid down with a fever when you’d otherwise go berserk. Though the fact Dan is moving tomorrow and we will follow when this is done (there are reasons) doesn’t help. This is no time to have the family separated.)

I think — hope, rather — it was just the date. That’s bad enough.

But the events since January have left us open to a lot of other attacks that are similar or worse. I won’t list them. You’re political junkies. You know.

Though the sheep on the street might not get it, our government is acting in a way that will bring attacks on us in a thousand ways in the next ten years. Children playing today will die because of this idiocy which they won’t even be aware of.

Even the first nine eleven shouldn’t have happened save for institutions that consider Americans the real enemy.

For me? I can’t believe it’s been twenty years, or the friends — entire circles of them who went insane in this time.

They went crazy. I reported (in the sense of reporting for duty.)

Even if my stand didn’t make them froth at the mouth, our views of the world would be too different.

There is a world in which 9/11 never happened, and I’m writing my stories, and no one has any clue what my politics are. It’s not the world I have to live in.

Perhaps better, perhaps not. To quote the song linked above “I wouldn’t know; I’m just holding the fort. Since that day they wounded New York.”

But where we are twenty years in, it’s time to remember we’re Americans. Sure, our government is worse than poisoned wet kleenex when it comes to protecting us, and we might have to protect ourselves from it.

But we’re Americans. Land of the Brave, home of the Free. Not because our government and laws make it so, but because we are.

Remember that.

Remember we have heroes in whose footsteps we can follow, too.

To the Eternal Glory of the US of A, shines the name, shines the name of Colonel Cyril Richard “Rick” Rescorla!

As he performed his duty, 20 years ago, in the face of death he sang two songs. Let his memory guide us with them today.

Remember you’re Americans. Americans aren’t afraid. Oh, some of us at times, but not Americans as a whole. we’re the ones who bite and kick and fight back. We’re not tame.

And we will not be tamed or cowed. Come what may, even if that sense of grief in the night was a premonition be right. Come what may.

Quo usque tandem abutere, Bidentia, patientia nostra?

WE THE PEOPLE. WE. WE THE PEOPLE OF THESE UNITED STATES, having suffered a long train of abuses and infringements, Biden Junta, are at our wits end with your fuckery.

WE.

But your FICUS (Fraud in chief of the US) is not a we. He’s probably not even an I, being an empty shell of a depraved, self-serving, immensely stupid, bizarrely short sighted, blatantly corrupt, insanely malignant piece of shit man. Which is why I’m not in the least chagrined that you’re using him as a demented meat puppet who mutters and mumbles about having his butt wiped. It’s like a Victorian play where bad people come to rotten ends.

BUT YOU malignant Junta of a malignant pretend-president installed by China over our fair land are NOT a we. Not unless you’re a we in the sense that you’re a hive creature, full of malice and evil and with no resemblance of humanity. If that’s what you’re saying, then let us hear it. Because we know how to deal with hive minds. We’ll bring DDT back into use!

Or in other words — and in case you can’t tell my fingers are almost shaking too much to type — get a load of this bitch:

“Our patience is wearing thin?” Our, you scrofulous bitch of a Xi dog? OUR?

Who the holy fuck do you think you are, you evil bastards?

WE THE PEOPLE ARE SICK AND TIRED of your shennenigans. You hell hounds, you filthy spawn of the ass of Mao, you disgusting magots on the corpse of communism. Get back to the hell that created you, before we send you there.

To quote a friend in chat a few minutes ago:

“Yes, yes. Strife, death, societal collapse. If my options are those things vs a fascist or communist, I’m on board with strife and death. Hell, I’ll invite Death to tea and serve him fancy cookies.”

I might even serve him the fancy store bought cookies.

Do not threaten Americans. Do not threaten Americans when our patience is already thin. OUR patience.

You’re not our father, you’re not our mother, and you’re most certainly not our president.

You are at best a demented and corrupt despot manipulated by overgrown children who don’t know they’re playing with nuclear fire.

DO NOT THREATEN US. DO NOT TALK TO US. LEAVE. DEPART FROM OUR SIGHT, before we make you.

We suggest China for your (very brief) retirement.

You leave us a terrible mess, but Americans will cope. We always do. Which you would know if a single one of you were Americans in your minds and heart.

Now go. While you can.

We the people have had it with you.

The Mysteries of creation

I was talking to Thomas Kendall (Yes, I know, I should give it up, it just makes me think and we all know where that leads) and he was on a lovely rang (just before he sent me the lovely rant that took up yesterday) and he blew up to the tune of “the problem is that the establishment– well, all of the establishment — got rid of our kind, if they could find us, and now they’re trying to replicate our creativity. And what we get is fifty seven genders and a dog named Binny, all of it so boring you fall asleep after the first two paragraphs.”

When I was done laughing, I joined the amen chorus, which is par for the course, but also part of a thesis I’ve expanded here in the past.

Look, creativity is weird.

No, I mean, really weird.

If you can create — really create, not just make the same thing but in black, or with more post-modernism, or more irony or whatever — and particularly if you have to create, you are by definition an Odd.

This never occurred to me, till I was in my teens, because of the family I came from. Part of the reason we might have been “poor as Job” (to quote my brother) but never noticed it, is that the family was creative. By which I don’t mean we were artistic. Oh, sure. The art was there, and some generations would go that way. My mom’s parents met on stage. My paternal grandmother’s father was a sculptor and also a singer (besides being a cattle drover in between. Don’t go there. Yes, Great grandfather was a proto-hipster.) And there painters, and poetry reappears again and again, like a recursive genetic illness. BUT–

But mom designed (and often made) clothes, and dad wrote (or declaimed off the cuff) poetry, and grandma made up stories to tell me, and both my grandfather’s were carpenters, but more importantly and above all else, we were good at “making.” Which meant if someone had an expensive whatchamacallit and we couldn’t afford it, and either wanted or needed it, we took scraps and bits, and a ten cent of nails, and we made it, by gum. Like mom seeing an expensive rack/shelf set to store fabric and thread, and making herself one from used cheese crates begged from the merchant across the street. Or the fact that my crafting as a kid often involved hand tinted paint, from discarded leftovers someone was throwing away. Or– You get the point. The family’s way of getting by was: get creative. Spending money only came if the creative didn’t work.

I was used to people extemporaneously creating whatever was needed, sometimes to imitate what we couldn’t afford, and sometimes dreamed up out of whole cloth. I THOUGHT all humans were that way.

Then when I was in middle school, we were given an assignment, to write a made-up legend. And all my classmates did was retell the last legend we’d read. AND THE TEACHER DIDN’T NOTICE. Worse, she looked at what I’d done, and accused me of plagiarism. Because it was so different from everything we’d studied and yet so well written/plausible, that she couldn’t believe I created it.

Took me some years to figure out that some people are not just stunningly non-creative. They don’t believe that anything new CAN be created.

Then there was the writing, where I had to reign in and bring it back to “what people expect” before I could sell. Not complaining about that. writing exists within certain boundaries.

Of course, when I did that, I felt like I was being stunningly uncreative, until a friend in the field told me I couldn’t write normal Urban Fantasy because I couldn’t create normal ANYTHING.

Took me even longer to figure out what she meant was that I was creative in a way she didn’t get. Which since this came from a creative professional was…. weird.

But most creative professionals aren’t that creative. Yes. Most of them are leftist too.

In fact, the fact leftists and “progressives” took over creative fields means that it’s almost impossible for really creative people to get in.

The idea that creative people are leftists, or primarily leftist is deranged. It’s born of the idea that leftism is somehow “rebellious.” Only of course, it’s not. Hasn’t been since FDR. In fact, that entire fable is one of those long-running-cons society has accepted.

Am I saying that politics flow from a certain political viewpoint?

Well, no. But I’m saying that creatives aren’t in general conventional anything.

Some of them are “leftist” in the sense they haven’t thought about it, and they get all their news from the MSM. Not in any other sense.

Those who parrot or ARDENTLY follow the ever changing party line can’t be creative. They can’t be creative because if they were they would occasionally accidentally create something that got them cancelled.

So, the creative fields, in the hand of the totalitarian group-thinkers, has slowly blackballed and pushed out any creatives.

Yes, there are exceptions. I might have found one of them in mystery. I’m listening, stunned they haven’t been blackballed. (They because it’s a team effort.) But they’re very rare.

Mostly, having run out all the Odds, and everyone consumed by the fires of creation, they’re left with people who have no idea what “creating” means, and dutifully invoke all the shiboleths of the sacred writ of Marx, then run it by the sensitivity reader. Yes, indeed. Fifty seven genders and a dog named Binny.

I mean, we’re talking about people who can make hot and heavy erotica BORING.

And now they’re in charge of everything else, including our economy and government.

This is bad. Of course it is. It’s very bad.

They don’t believe in creation, which is part of their devotion to redistribution.

But it is also an opportunity.

You see, they can’t create, they hate creation, but most of all, they don’t realize that people can create, or use things for …. um… off label uses, shall we say? And I’m not talking drugs.

We can. We Odds can’t avoid doing it. Kind of like my family when I was growing up, we create with careless largesse and without realizing it.

The hard thing is to stop us from creating.

…. they’ve tried. Oh, Lord they’ve tried.

Only it hasn’t worked. And we keep…. slipping through my fingers.

Therefore my friends, in this lethal pause between boxes? Let’s get creative.