Author: Sarah A. Hoyt

“I am in no mood to give consideration to drills that get their cords trapped under the fridge.”

“Shelves in a cabinet, who would have thought?”

“It’s okay to put the chipped board here.  The cabinet goes on top of it.  Lady Catherine will NEVER know.”

“I hate this varnish.  I send no compliments to its mother, it deserves no such respect.  I am most seriously displeased.”

Yeah, we’re still installing and refinishing cabinets. Should be done tomorrow.  Aka: the Tilening, this time it brings a wet saw.  Eh.

*And I blame RES.  I’m not gratuitously evil… much, but when he sent me a link to the book, saying he’d found it at Sam’s club, I was both bewildered and confused. What was this liberal wet dream of bullsh*t doing in a middle-America hub?  Then I started suspecting it was a really bad book, probably written by one of us under cover, to make money off the crazy – Amanda says nothing to dissuade me. The author might be under DEEP cover — his bio is a liberal wet dream — but I’d bet you under cover he is.  No one can be this bad by accident, particularly no one who has written more than one book. As for the people buying this, sucker, born every minute, etc. – SAH*

I Blame the Sarahs –  A Review of the Opening of Hope Never Dies, an Obama/Biden fanfiction by Amanda S. Green

Last week, I said I’d start a quick review series on The Coddling of the American Mind. That had been my plan until two days ago. By Wednesday, I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to do a post this week. Without going into too much detail, my 87-year-old mother underwent reverse shoulder replacement surgery. While she is doing remarkably well, it still means I am having to help her with every day activities right now like getting out of her chair, walking more than a few steps (the anesthesia did a real number on her), etc. Worse, I am now the one getting up at o’dark 30 because of the idiot dog. I was ready to beg off of a post this week when Sarah, the first Sarah, the evil but beautiful space princess Sarah, tagged me on Facebook all but daring me to snark Hope Never Dies: An Obama Biden Mystery. I didn’t even look the book up. My immediate response was not only “No” or even “Hell, no” but “There’s no way unless someone bought me the book and supplied much much booze.”

I should have kept my mouth shut. Or at least left it a “no”. I really should have turned off FB notifications. But I didn’t and Sarah the Second, Sarah C., started posting single quotes from the first chapter—I assume it was the first chapter. OMG, I didn’t know whether to run and hide, drink heavily or snark—or do all of the above.

In the end, instead of taking the week off, I needed something to point and laugh at and this book seems to be it. No, I haven’t bought it. No, I have no intention of buying it. I am completely opposed of putting any more money into anything associated with Obama than we as a Nation already have. So, with fair warning that there is no redeeming value to this book that I’ve found so far beyond being totally snark-worthy, here we go.

And we will start, not with the book but with the product page. The first thing you see after the title, versions, etc., isn’t the blurb for the book but this:

The New York Times Best Seller

“[Hope Never Dies is] an escapist fantasy that will likely appeal to liberals pining for the previous administration, longing for the Obama-Biden team to emerge from political retirement as action heroes.”—Alexandra Alter, New York Times

Now take a moment to wrap your mind around that. Mind you, I know comic books have been trying for “diversity” and would probably love to have a socialist superhero in the mold of BHO, but what would Joe Biden’s superpower be? Able to grope from far distances? Grope and flee in the blink of an eye? The mind truly does boggle, doesn’t it?

But let’s continue.

Vice President Joe Biden and President Barack Obama team up in this high-stakes thriller that combines a mystery worthy of Watson and Holmes with the laugh-out-loud bromantic chemistry of Lethal Weapon’s Murtaugh and Riggs.

Vice President Joe Biden is fresh out of the Obama White House and feeling adrift when his favorite railroad conductor dies in a suspicious accident, leaving behind an ailing wife and a trail of clues. To unravel the mystery, “Amtrak Joe” re-teams with the only man he’s ever fully trusted: the 44th president of the United States. Together they’ll plumb the darkest corners of Delaware, traveling from cheap motels to biker bars and beyond, as they uncover the sinister forces advancing America’s opioid epidemic.

Part noir thriller and part bromance, Hope Never Dies is essentially the first published work of Obama/Biden fiction—and a cathartic read for anyone distressed by the current state of affairs.

Oh, my.

Now remember, anything that happens after this is Sarah’s fault. She started this. She taunted me, challenged me to do this. Along with her cohort, Sarah C., they have forced me to read at least the free sample. I’ll warn you now, continue reading at your own peril.

From an editorial point of view, reading the first page (e-book edition) of a book subtitled “Obama/Biden fiction” and written in first-person, I should be able to figure out who the narrator is. All I know for certain is the author is trying really hard, too hard actually, to sound noir. We know the narrator is in a “black Irish mood”—and I won’t share my first thoughts on reading that. VBEG—and was apparently watching Youtube or its equivalent.

Then we get to this: “The camera panned down to the white-capped waves in the harbor. An impossibly long speedboat entered the frame, cutting through the surf like a buttered bullet.”

OMG. As someone on FB in the infamous thread that birthed this post commented, “Did Chuckie Wendig write this?” It reminds me of the opening scene of one of his Star Wars books where the ship (tie-fighter, X-wing?) weebled and wobbled. And now I’m going to have the theme song for “weebles wobble but they don’t fall down” in my head the rest of the day.

My second thought was that the narrator had to be Obama. He might have been Commander-in-Chief, but he never served in the military. I doubt he ever fired a gun. He might not see anything wrong with a “buttered bullet”. But, we’ll see.

Oh, wow, click for the next “page” and we finally find out, maybe, who the narrator is. At least we find out who it isn’t. You see, that boat isn’t alone in the shot. It is towing a parasailer behind it. “The camera zoomed in on the daredevil’s face, and I saw that my old friend Barack Obama was having the time of his life.”

Okay, so unless the author is really off on some sort of mind trip, we know the narrator isn’t Obama. Could Obama be the “friend” mentioned at the beginning of the chapter as having died? While my first reaction was to hope so, it would make for a short book since this is a bromance/mystery starring both Biden and Obama. Besides, remember, this is the fantasy Obama fans have been hoping for. So, unless they are going kill Obama off early and deify him and have him come back as a god to rule Earth, he doesn’t die off this early.

“Unencumbered by his dead-weight loser vice president, 44 was on the vacation to end all vacations.”

Well, I can agree with the author about the “dead-weight loser vice president”.

“Barack even had the gall to tell People magazine that we still went golfing together on occasion. To save face, I repeated the lie. The truth was, there hadn’t been any golf outings. No late-night texting. Not even a friendly poke on Facebook.”

Pardon me while I laugh. We know, probably, that the narrator is Biden but it still isn’t for sure. But, day-um, that last passage sounds like a pouting teen girl who wasn’t asked out on a second date. Still, that could be the former VP. He’s gotten the whine down pretty good over the years.

Without quoting, because I frankly don’t have the stomach for it, Biden’s sitting in his office and it’s getting dark. He glances outside and sees an orange pinprick of light. It doesn’t take him long to figure out it might just be a cigarette. So, talking to his dog, he goes to his safe where there are only two items: his Medal of Freedom and the Sig Saur he bought himself over his wife’s objections.

Now, here is where we go off into the land of make-believe again. He takes the gun out of the safe, tucks it under the waistband of his slacks and pulls his Polo shirt over it. Think about that for a moment. He doesn’t check to see if there’s a round chambered. He doesn’t even check to see if the magazine is in place or if there is ammo in it. Then there’s the whole putting it in his waistband and pulling his shirt over it. Not only is he risking the Sig falling down his pants unless that waist band is pretty damned tight but how in the hell is he supposed to get to the gun quickly if he’s pulled the shirt over it?

Well, no one has accused Biden in real life of being the sharpest tack.

Let me ask you this: if you are home at night with your wife and you suspect there might be a prowler—or worse—outside, do you go out without letting your wife know and suggesting she call 911? Well, our daunting narrator does just that. He calls out to “Jill”, who is in another room watching TV, that he’s going to walk the dog.

Oh, and where the HELL is the Secret Service detail? If he no longer has Secret Service protection, where’s his private security? Better yet, where is his common sense?

Of course, that assumes he ever had any.

It keeps getting better—or worse, depending on your point of view. The dog races outside but the motion detector light doesn’t come on. It’s burned out. The bulb is old and old bulbs are supposed to burn out. Yes, we actually get told that in the book.

Now, if this was a mystery and the narrator was female, I’d be saying she was too dumb to live. I’m screaming it right now at this noir wannabe. So far, the only thing separating this book from the slasher movies of the 1980’s is for our narrator to go running into the woods in high heels.

And we finally get the answer to where the Secret Service is. Our intrepid narrator comes upon a “vertically challenged man”. Then good ole Joe identifies him as Secret Service. Except then we’re told his detail had been dismissed several weeks before the opening of the book. So why is there a supposed Secret Service agent on-scene, much less flat out on the ground?

Instead of asking, instead of wanting to see ID, our narrator comments on how it’s a nice night for a walk and keeps walking. Worse, he walks in the direction the man he assumes is Secret Service indicates.

And there, deeper in the woods, he hears flint striking metal and instantly identifies it as a lighter. A moment later, he finds himself face-to-face with his good buddy (yes, I use that term loosely based on poor ole Joe’s whine earlier) BHO. An Obama who, even though they are in the trees/woods, is dressed in a “black hand-tailored suit” and his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar.

And, after telling us that Obama is never in a hurry, our author ends the first chapter and I no longer have to explain to my mother why I’m alternating between wanting to throw my laptop against the wall and laughing hysterically.

My eyes aren’t bleeding—yet. My blood pressure isn’t soaring. This is fiction, after all, and not the actual writings of either Obama or Biden. But damn, this book is bad. Worse, it is bad in that train wreck sort of way. You know you shouldn’t read more but you can’t help it. You have to see if it gets any worse.

All I know for certain is I want to know what the author was smoking, drinking, snorting, whatever, as he wrote it. I’m not sure if I want some of it or if I want to make sure to avoid it at all cost.

And, as much as I hate to admit it, this was exactly what I needed after this week. No, I’m still not going to buy it. So, if you guys want me to do more from the book, someone needs to loan it to me. Sorry, but that’s my price. VBG

Until later. Now to find the brain bleach so I can get back to my own writing and not have this novel infecting it.

(To cover Sarah and myself, all quotes not attributed to the product page on Amazon came from the first chapter of the book.)

(Help Amanda drink enough to keep snarking the left’s descent into madness.  We’ll collect for her liver transplant later. Hit her Pourboir jar now! – SAH)

Even though we’re routinely accused of being “angry” — I don’t see how anyone can look at the replacing of our constitution with the ideals of the French revolution, sometimes in its more Leninist or Maoist incarnations and not be outraged — I’ve very rarely seen real anger among conservatives and libertarians.  Outrage, sure, particularly when our civil liberties are invoked or when they try to bring here the policies that have failed everywhere they were tried, but not anger.  Not personal, seething anger that must find an outlet.

Honestly, the reason that hasn’t happened is for the same reason we’ve failed to do our own long march: libertarians and conservatives don’t tend to make politics their religion.  We already have a religion, thank you so much, and other, richer sources of satisfaction and fulfillment than politics.

We have family and work, hobbies, and a rich life beyond politics.

Or should I say we did?

In the relentless drive of the progressives for a totalitarian society, one that controls every aspect of your life (because they think that’s why their paradise has failed to materialize.  If only they can control everything we think, do, and every way we express ourselves, and all our sources of amusement or achievement, this time they’ll win for sure.), they have come for our families, our jobs, our hobbies.

I suspect I don’t need to expound on the hobbies, not with this crowd.  Sure, this is my job too, at least for now, but it is also my hobby.  I’m one of those weird people who don’t play games, don’t watch (much) TV, but read a lot, even while doing the other things I do, like furniture refinishing, art or sewing.  Often in audiobook to leave my hands free.

And we know what is happening to our hobby.  We’re not allowed to read (or write) unless we do it in a way that furthers the coming of paradise. And if we try to do anything about what is considered “good” or looked upon with respect in the field, all out war breaks out and we are vilified and our character destroyed in unimaginable ways via rumors and hate campaigns.

I understand it’s the same though, even in hobbies that though I engage in I don’t participate in fandom, like fiber arts.  And I know why I dropped out of my last art class five years ago.  It was an adult class, so a hobby.  We won’t go there.

Then jobs… I don’t need to expound on that, do I? the latest was the scientist who pointed out that talents and INTERESTS don’t have the same statistical distribution in males and females.

Any of us, particularly any of us who are statistical anomalies, know that.  I have always had mostly male friends because of my interests in space, politics (not of the females uber alas persuasion, but the individual freedom persuasion) and economics.  I don’t dislike females, nor do I avoid making female friends.  There are just a limited number of females who are interested in what I’m interested in.  I’ve always had women friends but usually one or two at a time.

Is it culture or genetics.  At this point, what difference does it make? The undeniable thing is that the distribution of interests and abilities is not equal across genders (or regions, or places of birth — science fiction readers were few and VERY odd in Portugal, even without adding in the female thing.)  It just isn’t.  To treat humans as though they were widgets and demand equal numbers (statistically) of everything is a form of insanity.

Sure, feminine interest in STEM — or lack thereof — could be a function of culture.  Though so far the scandinavian cultures who’ve bent more out of shape to be gender-impartial are also the ones in which more women are turning their backs on stem.  Because they can choose.

Is it a matter that can be debated.  Sure.  Is it a matter that should lead a scientist to be fired for expressing an unapproved opinion.  No.

We’ve in fact reached the levels that if you express an unapproved opinion, you might as well be a recusant in Tudor England.  They won’t tear you limb from limb and your entrails burned before your eyes while still living (yet) but they will make it impossible for you to earn a living (and have made it quite clear they’d do the other if they could.)

Families…  The new generations have been poised, men against women, and the women convinced that all their reverses are because of men.  The birth rate is plumeting, and gee, I wonder why. This is probably the most lasting wound from the philosophy that hates humans and wants us all gone.  They won’t get their way. Barbarism will come first.  But we don’t know how many people it takes to maintain civilization, and how many of those MUST be sane. They’re striking at both ends.

Then there’s the economy.  Yeah, we’re doing fine.  But how long can we continue improving and producing when companies all over have become convinced they have to hire statistically by exterior characteristics, because that’s the diversity that counts?  Never mind.  Every industry I know is teetering.

None of which means we’re going quietly into that good night.

Because we’ve awakened.  Not too early.  Probably not too late.

You see, there’s still more of us than of them.  And we look at the world and people as they really are, which, as they spin further and further from reality, is almost like a superpower.

We’ll find ways.  Like indie for publishing, other avenues will open.  Because we’re strong, we’re creative, and we’re not going to give up.

It would be stupid to give up in the face of people so blinkered that they believe humans are widgets or that silencing people changes their thoughts — instead of making them angrier and more determined than ever before — or that if only they can control every aspect of our lives everything will be paradise, when they’ve failed to bring about paradise in their lives, their jobs or their hobbies.  (On the contrary.  There’s ever more place settings at the cannibal feast.)

And yes, now I’m seeing anger on the right.  A lot of it.  It’s a quiet, determined anger of the “this is mine, and you can’t take it” variety.  It grows in the centers of our greatest loves in family and jobs and hobbies even.

The left is juggling lit torches near powder barrels and thinking they’ll somehow stay intact through the explosion.

And we’re trying to avoid the explosion, but also determined not to let them have their way.

This is ours. You can’t take it.  Besides, you’d just destroy it.

We’re bracing, digging down, getting ready for impact.  When it all falls down around our ears, we hope to have built enough around, over and under that things will go on with minor glitches.

This nation will survive.  Civilization will survive.

Because this is ours.  You didn’t build this.  And you can’t destroy it.

THE MENTAL STATE OF M. TODD HENDERSON- by Elaine Ashe

PART TWO

*Part one was published here.  I thought this installment was more appropriate to ATH than MGC. – SAH*

Todd Henderson is one of the only conservative law professors at the University of Chicago Law School. He’s the author of Mental State. This is an interview with freelance book editor, Elaine Ash.

Elaine Ash: What’s it like being a conservative at the University of Chicago?

Todd Henderson: There are just a handful of professors at the top twenty law schools who would identify as conservative. Almost all of those are libertarians—pro-choice, for open borders, and pro-gay marriage. Social or religious conservatives on law faculties are like unicorns. Americans are split down the middle. So too are America’s judges and elected representatives—the people who make the law—and yet nearly every faculty member teaching future lawyers what the law is are far-left Democrats.

EA: That’s kind of shocking to me.

MTH: I’m not the only conservative here, but I am the most outspoken. I like and admire my colleagues, and almost all our students are extremely bright, hardworking, and decent people—but my habit of saying what I think has gotten me into trouble on more occasions than I’d like to recount.

EA: What’s the difference between you and a left-leaning professor?

MTH: I approach law very differently than a liberal does. I believe in individual liberty and view government actions under a presumption of error. When a liberal looks out the world and sees something falling short of Nirvana, they want to remake the world to fix it. They imagine remedies for it in their own mind—as if a single human can design a system to solve our social problems. Amazingly, these solutions always involve more government power. People are hungry—the government should feed them. People are ignorant—the government should educate them. People are sad—the government should make them happy. I am skeptical of government power, because at its core it relies on violence.

EA: Violence? Please explain.

MTH: Every law and every government action works only when people are threatened with the loss of their liberty or their life. If you don’t pay your taxes, you go to jail. Something as trivial as parking tickets are ultimately backed up by the violence of the state—we could ask Eric Garner, but he was choked to death by officers who found him allegedly violating a law against selling cigarettes without tax coupons required by New York. Laws ultimately rely on coercion and violence.

By contrast, I have more faith in families, associations, and markets. These things are more likely to capture all the information we need to make the world as good as it can be. And, most importantly, they are not based on threats of violence. Liberal professors see the word as perfectible, while I think man’s ability to remake the world as largely a fool’s errand. I think these instincts seep into my book, just as the instincts of liberals do when they write fiction. But, at the end of the day, the book is entertainment. People want to enjoy themselves not be lectured at.

EA: Ah yes, your novel, a political thriller. Any pressure from UChicago regarding that?

MTH: Yes. Many people told me not to publish the book, claiming it would hurt me and hurt the University. These requests came after people apparently received an electronic copy of the manuscript from others. They wanted me to change aspects of the plot and the details of characters and scenes, all as the book was about to go to press. The bad guys in the book are not straight from central casting—a female Democrat president, an ethnic minority nominated to the Supreme Court, and so on.

EA: That must have raised some eyebrows.

MTH: University administrators are scared. They were worried about the backlash from the PC police. Barbarians are at our gates. I’m still getting worried glances and expressions of concern about how people might freak out at a work of fiction. Publishers told me the book was too risky. Agents told me the book wouldn’t sell—not because of its quality but because of what it says. These days the bad guys can only be on one side.

EA: What side is that?

MTH: The side that’s not the left. Based on my tribulations, anyone who tries to push back against the cultural hegemony of cultural and political leftism is going to have a tough row to hoe.  Don’t challenge liberal dogma if you want positive attention from the media. But, at the end of the day, the book is entertainment. People want to enjoy themselves not be lectured at.

EA: Tell me about the death threats.

MTH: On Twitter, I dared to compare Brett Kavanaugh, Supreme Court nominee, with Sonia Sotomayor, seated Supreme Court justice, in a discussion about how their personal lives and characteristics might be relevant. It didn’t go over well. I don’t get many voicemails at work anymore by virtue of email and mostly using my cell phone. And when the red light on my office phone is flashing, at most there are one or two messages—maybe from my mom or a reporter looking for a legal expert on a topic. So, when I went into my office a few weeks back and heard that I had nearly fifty messages, I knew something was afoot. I sat in my chair, pen in hand, and pressed play. They came like punches to the face. Message after message spitting hate, calling me vile names and wishing I were dead. Threats against me and my family—“You should die and your children too because you’ve probably polluted their minds with your racism.”

EA: Who were these people?

MTH: A Twitter-fueled mob so filled with hatred that they would try to rid the world of anyone who thinks differently than they do. Just imagine disagreeing with someone about something they said, then looking up that person’s phone number, calling them, and yelling obscenities at their answering machine. These are the minds of seriously disturbed people, and they are all ages, all walks of life, and all over the country, best I could tell from the messages.

EA: Are you going to shut up, then?

MTH: No.

Reviews:

“Exciting and compulsively readable, Mental State marks the entrance of a striking new talent on the thriller scene. Todd Henderson’s confident debut draws the reader into the unfamiliar worlds of academia, the law, and backroom politics, while providing a fresh take on more familiar thriller ground like the world of law enforcement. The Professor’s murder mystery delivers the rough and tumble goods, and it will leave readers wanting more.” —Kurt Schlichter, lawyer and bestselling author

“Mental State is fascinating, detailed, and a pure page-turner. It’s a must-read if you love the country, the Supreme Court, or just a book that will keep you up at night.” —Ben Shapiro, public intellectual, talk-show host, and bestselling author

“Todd Henderson has written a taut, suspenseful and powerfully entertaining legal thriller against the backdrop of a transformative Supreme Court nomination and baroque academic intrigue, which he describes with convincing details and an insider’s knowledge.  The novel moves at breakneck pace, as a rogue agent uses forensics, guile and not a little force to make sense of the mysterious murder of his brother.”

—Supreme Court Reporter, New York Times
“Try as I might, I could not put Mental State down. It’s terrific. At times hilarious, always interesting, and in parts truly disturbing. I loved it.” —Michael Seidman, Professor of Law at Georgetown University Law Center.

Elaine Ash edits the novels of career authors as well as emerging talent. A defender of the right to free expression, she serves writers of all political stripes. Her nonfiction book, Bestseller Metrics: How to Win the Novel Writing Game, is also a patent-pending software in development for the publishing industry.  http://www.bestsellermetrics.com

I’m one of those people who is shattered.  It took multiple impacts.  I can tell you when most of them happened, and how. Some are just a condition of when and where I grew up.  Some are personal and a consequence of who I am, which in turn made me who I am.

I don’t talk about them.  Honestly, I don’t think about them.  Unless you’re one of my closest friends and have the misfortune of catching me during one of my worst moments, you don’t know where the cracks are nor how carefully I paper them over.

I am aware of impact and damage ONLY insofar as I need to know how I work, and what is going to affect me in what way and also what biases are rooted into my perception, so I can think around them.

Because listen to me, since I’m about to say words you’ll rarely hear: you’re not defined by the damage you take.  Most of the damage you take is at any rate minuscule, compared to the damage people in the past took as a matter of course.  Sexual abuse?  Well sh*t son, the Romans thought that murals of monkeys having sex with human children were a great living room decoration.  You’re free to make inferences to what went on in people’s lives.  Women not giving consent to sexual contact? Good Lord, the idea you must give consent wasn’t really a thing, particularly if you were married.  And for much of history (though the Catholic Church fought against it for centuries) giving consent for your marriage wasn’t a thing either, so you’re free to infer what went on.

But more importantly, people were shattered in other ways.  I find it exceedingly bizarre that I’m 55 and I’ve never kept vigil at a death bed.  I’m not eager to do it, mind.  I am the world’s worst sick-room attendant being ADHD AND squeamish. But I remember when my mom was my age, she’d attended to half of our family’s elderly as they died.  And heck, it was old hat for her.

Death was so common for her generation, that as a child she and her friends made cloth dolls every year, and then had funerals for them at the end of the year and made new ones. This rang true to them, because so many babies in their neighborhood died in the first couple of years of age.  They also died later.  My mom remembered vividly the death of a friend when she was fourteen.  She said she realized he was dead because flies were landing on his eyes and he didn’t blink.

And heck, mom had it easy. In the norm of humans born centuries before her, her life was relatively protected.  No invasions, no blood on the streets.

Heck, if she’d been born say in London, she’d remember bombings during her early childhood, in WWII.

So why do we have any number of people running around “Shattered”by things that were relatively trivial?

I’m here to tell you that yes, being groped by strange males, particularly when you’re going about your normal business, is a horrible feeling.

First time it happened to me was fifth grace, when a totally unknown boy grabbed me in the playground as I was walking past, and felt me up very thoroughly before I could run away. I was eleven and completely innocent about sex, and had no idea why this felt “dirty” but it did.  The sense of wrong was so strong it still makes my skin crawl years later.

Do I count that in the number of blows that shattered me?  Oh, please. He was a cruddy little boy (probably 14) and I’m not about to give him that kind of power over me.

Would anyone have believed me if I complained?  Sure.  They’d have said “don’t go to that corner of the playground.”

Is that man a rapist now?  Possible.  The revolution happened shortly thereafter and in the confusion a lot of my generation went bad.

Is it likely?  No.  It’s likely that he’d just figured this out, and I crossed his field of notice shortly thereafter, so I was the lucky winner.  I doubt he could pick me — even a pick of me at that time — out of a lineup.  Hell, I doubt he remembers me.

Is that acceptable behavior?  No. If one of my sons had done that to any little girl and I caught him/was sure he’d done it, he’d not have been able to sit for a month, even if he were 14 when they were already taller and bigger than me.

But here’s the thing: all the women using #metoo to say that it should never happen to any woman and that every accusation has to believed, so this is stamped out… they’re crazy.  It will never be stamped out.  Humans aren’t widgets. No, men can’t cause all other men to be decent.  Anymore than I can cause every woman to not be a little idiot.  Because we don’t share a collective mind controlled by the sex organs.

Yes, in an ideal world no woman or girl would ever be afraid of walking anywhere alone or eve inebriated.  This is not an ideal world. Humans are not uniformly angels. In the world we live in, women have to be aware or their surroundings.  So do smaller men.  Hell, so do bigger men in some neighborhoods.  You’re never going to eliminate criminals, much less hooligans.

And in this non-ideal world, not only are teen boys not in full possession of their faculties because hormones do weird things to their mood.  They’re not being TAUGHT how to behave.  Telling them they’re toxic and have to stop being masculine doesn’t help them control themselves. If you tell someone they were born to be criminals they’re not going to fight very hard to be good.

And by the way requiring show trials in which there is no presumption of innocence and/or self accusation won’t make men behave better, or more boys control themselves.  If you don’t understand this you might want to study show trials in communist countries, as well as the long history of double-think.

You know what helped men control themselves?  The fact that good men could plant a facer on anyone acting like an ass where he could be seen.  But #grrrrrrlpower and “non violence” put an end to that. Considering humans are great apes and some responses are very old, perhaps that wasn’t the brightest of ideas?

Still and all, yes, there are shattering moments that have to do with sex.  They amount to a hell of a lot more than groping.  And even those…

Do you honestly think women in the past who went on to live functional, even good lives were never groped? That women even now in countries — like under Islam — where they have virtually no rights spend their time angsting because some other woman’s TOTALLY UNSUPPORTED accusation (which seems to have escalated from groping to attempted rape, maybe, but is not clear enough for anything) wasn’t immediately listened to? Do you think women brought up in harsher circumstances angst about every circumstance of groping? Are you really that protected?

Think of it this way: when you allow trauma to control your life — any trauma — you’re giving whoever (or whatever) traumatized you power over your life FOREVER.

Could I obsess about the guy who groped me in playground?  Sure. If I hadn’t had about a dozen more important things to worry about.

AND if I wanted a reason/cause to live for.

The problem is that #metoo and the idea that no woman ever should be touched with anything but extreme respect and possibly white gloves has become a cause.

Women whose lives are otherwise empty will gloam onto the one instance in which they were… who knows? felt up, maybe?as a reason to live.  They’re heroic, see, because they’re victims and victims are heroic.  And they’re living for the cause of “this won’t happen to any woman ever.”  It gives shape to their days.  It also traumatizes every child and a lot of the adults under their purview but never mind.

Yes, humans are different, and people are broken by different things.  My own shattering experiences are probably things many of you shrugged off.  And vice versa.

And I’ve known people, male and female, shattered by things that other people shrug off.  I know a man who became a communist leader, and hates freedom in society because his father abandoned his mother when he was five.  Which in the village environment was hard to take.

But you know, he had a home, a mother, and friends, and it shouldn’t have been that way.  For him it just was.  He wanted fathers to be irrelevant, which requires smashing family and replacing the state.

I know people traumatized forever because they were in a car accident and got scarred.

I’m not judging what traumatizes others.  As I said, some of my wounds would probably be laughed at by some of you guys.  They shattered me because I’m me, and yes, I was also incredibly protected by historical standards.

What I’m saying is, your wounds are not the most important thing about you.  And we’re never going to eliminate shattering events from EVERYONE’s life.  It would require everyone to be perfect, or everyone to be dead. (Or possibly both.)

Precisely because what shatters me won’t shatter you and vice versa, the perfect society where no trauma occurs is impossible.

And while devoting your life to being a victim of whatever shattering event is away of organizing your life and giving it meaning, it’s a stupid way.

Fools might think that you’re a hero for being a victim, but that’s not how the world works.  And devoting your life to anger and injury will make you a miserable human being and suck out the joy in life of everyone around you.  Not to mention twisting your children into pretzels.

It is better to take your cracks and mend them.  Become kintsugi if you can.  Patch over those shattered bits better.  Look at yourself as home improvement.  Don’t repair. Upgrade.  Now you know where your weak point is.  Make it strong.  And sure, help others along the way.  Help them the only way real people can be helped: one on one, volunteering, listening, sometimes with monetary help.  Do not “help” them by demanding the world be made perfectly safe.  It can’t be.  Even a total police state can’t keep boys from groping girls, or men from looking at a woman with lust in their eyes.  What it can do is f*ck up normal relationships between men and women.

Stop social signaling.  If you want to work for a better world, work for it in the only way it’s done: one on one, person by person.

And stop being a victim.  Sure, horrible things happen to everyone.  It is giving them power over you for the rest of your life that makes you a victim.

Don’t be a victim.  Be an adult.  Take the shattering events and integrate them.  Learn your weak points and patch them over.

And then go on. No one ever promised you a perfect world.  Of if they did, they’re liars or fools.  You’re not perfect.  Why would anyone else be.

Live well. It’s the best revenge.  It’s also the only way to make the world better.

Sorry that I didn’t put up a post yesterday, but we were installing a kitchen isle to add to the counter space downstairs.

It was sort of a lesson in the differences between men and women.

Myself and accomplice, neither of us fainting maidens, first went to the cabinet store, and found that cabinets we could barely move with much effort between the two of us were hefted around effortlessly by teenage employee who probably weighed all of 90 lbs and therefore less than either of us, and had arms like boiled spaghetti, but who had the blessings of testosterone making him much stronger than either of us.

I first ran into this with younger son, who at fourteen looked like a twig which I could have broken over my knee (he’d just grown two feet over the previous year, going from a foot shorter than I to a foot taller.  This was also the year in which I was unreasonable and would turn around when he came in the room and say “shower, now” even though he’d already showered twice that day.  I.e. to quote our old neighbor “that poor boy is being beaten with a stick made of testosterone.  Mothers of boys will get it.  At least mothers of boys who went through growth spurt from hell.) We went to the store to get cement to repair a crack in a garden path.  The bags were 100 lbs.  I tried to lift it and (partly because it was at foot-level and was an awkward floppy bulk) just couldn’t budge it.

Younger son gave the theatrical teenage sigh, reached past me, grabbed the bag and threw it into our shopping cart, leaving me open-mouthed in surprise.

So every time 90 lb girl beats a 300 lb trained fighter on TV remember that.  And for the love of heaven explain to your daughters that it’s play fantasy.  The daughter of old friends of ours has fallen for this hook line and sinker and was telling older son she could beat him.  Older son actually has muscles (he was the one who helped me renovate two Victorians from the ground up and build two balconies.  He also does all the sawing by hand.) He’s six one but projects taller.  He also happens to be built like a brick ****house, as the men on my side of the family are.  (As a little girl I keep insisting my cousins were wardrobes.  If you think of the old fashioned wardrobe, seven feet tall and six feet wide, that’s the impression they projected.) That poor girl is five five and skinny for her height.  She coudln’t even push older son back if he decided to stand still.  She MIGHT be able to fend him off long enough to run away, if she fought like a cornered cat and gouged eyes and bit (I’ve done something like that in similar circumstances, but there’s a reason I’m never without a weapon.) but that’s about it.

Watching her brag to my least excitable, very patient son who just sighed and didn’t even bother contradicting her, I thought how lucky she was in her choice of male to annoy.  But if she keeps it up, sooner or later her luck will run out.

We shouldn’t lie to the young, and all our fiction and most of our movies lie about what women can and can’t do, all in the name of “there is no difference between men and women.” (“Except men are defective women” is implied.)

Look, when I was young and in shape I might have been able to match that radically deconditioned store clerk.  It would have taken effort but I might be able to.  I’m 55.  My accomplice is 28.  Neither of us lifts weights (the guy doesn’t either) so not a hope.

Sure, some women can be stronger than some men, but that’s not the way to bet.There is a reason from time immemorial men and women don’t compete on the same teams.  It’s okay, if they’re all pre-adolescents, but after that there’s not a hope.

In the same way when time came to make the installation permanent, we had to go get husband from his tax-work to come and help, because neither of us could visualize in three dimensions.

Now I KNOW that’s not all females.  I know females who are engineers and artists and can “see” the back of an object in their minds.  But that’s one of the few things (that and the propensity to find writing characters easier than writing plot) in which I’m wholly feminine, and alas, so is accomplice.  Without husband (who was grouchy at being rousted from his numbers) the poor isle would obviously be made of three separate elements, each pointing in a different direction, poor things.

Again, it’s not all females.  But it’s a majority of them.  One of the things we consistently find across all cultures and types of tests is that men are better with spacial relationships and women are better with language.  This is most obvious at a very early age.

Sure, you can train the visual/spacial side of your brain.  I started out near abnormally low, mostly because I think that’s the part of my brain that got affected by being premature.  At least my coordination was messy too.  I also suspect — there was no one around to diagnose it — that I had central processing disorder as a child.  Younger son did, and his problems were the ones I had till about 14, the ones paternal grandfather had (which caused his family to take him out of school and apprentice him as a carpenter), the ones oldest uncle had, and a more severe version of the ones my brother had (which finally caused him to write all in print, because even he couldn’t read his own handwriting.)

I am much better since I took up art and particularly DAZ 3D.  But the ease with which husband handles spacial and visual stuff makes me sigh.  The ease with which sons handle it too.

At the same time, this morning female accomplice and I were remarking on how hard it is for them to explain themselves, to the point we sometimes laugh because it sounds so silly.

She said they probably find us silly too.  I’ll be honest, this type of “merry war” between men and women is how I grew up.

In my earliest years, mom and grandmother would sigh and mutter over how “men are like children.”  Mostly when dad plowed into the kitchen right after it had been mopped without even noticing, and left muddy footprints throughout.  Or when grandad would upend an entire sinkful of dishes, removing the ones that were soaking from their place and mixing dirty and clean in search of his favorite coffee mug.

And I heard dad and grandad laugh at the women in the family (sometimes also mildly exasperated laugh) when they upset the men’s long range planning or ideas, or just refused to acknowledge the sovereign importance of knowing soccer statistics.

Men and women are different.

If men and women weren’t different, what would be the point of transexuality, or transition, or any of that.  If it’s all the same…  Well, I guess that’s when people decide they’re a different gender every day.  Never mind.

Men and women are different.  Impossible not to be when our hormones, and the separate pressures of selection have molded us so.

On the other hand no one is exactly what it says on the can.  Sure, I can’t visualize the relationship of three objects on a plane without physically wrestling them into position.  When we were young and moved more, I had 3-d paper models of all our furniture, which I’d place in the plan of any prospective apartment or house.  (And then sometimes missed the obvious, which is why we once stayed up till four in the morning, maneuvering an 8 foot sofa past two doorways placed at the worst possible angle.) Other women can.  Sure most women aren’t as strong as most men.  Some women are.  But with my being utterly feminine in those two things, I still like playing with power tools (husband is sure I’m going to take out my typing fingers.)  I don’t mind getting dirty and sweaty and in fact rather enjoy heavy, violent work.

When younger son was young, he was once heard to lament that mom refinished pianos and daddy played them and “I want to have a normal family.”

This is okay for pre-teens, who are looking at models and trying to figure out where they fit.  But adults who insist if you aren’t exactly what THEIR image of a woman or a man is you must be “gender fluid” or whatever is just zany.

Men and women as two vast groups are different, on the average.  But any individual woman is not the archetypal “woman” either.

We are individuals first.  And if women find it difficult to understand men sometimes, and find it much easier to talk to other women… well, that makes sense.  Women’s experiences are often at least somewhat similar.  Those of us who are odd in particular often share the experience of not being a particularly gregarious woman in a sex that — mostly — runs to liking groups.

And that’s okay.

This morning female accomplice and I agreed that all men are zany and it’s a good thing we love them.  We’re fairly sure they think we’re zany too.  And it’s a good thing they like us.

Believing men are “defective women” and women are ideal humans is as crazy as the opposite.  All it does is destroy society.  And men and women with it.

*Sorry — mostly to Amanda — this is so late.  Have been out of house: cabinets. Making apartment downstairs self-sufficient… stuff. -SAH*

Taking on the Culture of Safetyism by Amanda S. Green

I don’t know about the rest of you, but a very large part of me wishes I’d been hiding under a rock, deep in the back of a cave. The media, which long ago forgot it was supposed to report the news and not frame it, much less try to make it (up), worked overtime to help destroy a man willing to step up and serve this country as a member of the Supreme Court. But that’s not what this post is about. More than enough has already been written on what a kangaroo court the Dems tried to make of Judge Kavanaugh’s confirmation hearing. I may have more to say on it later—hell, you know I will—but not this morning.

As I noted in my last post, I’ve been trying to find a book to read and comment on here. I needed a break from the crap I’d been reading. As much as I love snarking most of the books I review here, there comes a time when I have to step back and have a mental cleanse of sorts. I’ll get back to the snarking but even I, the masochistic book reviewer, can take only so much.

So, I’ve been trawling Amazon and other outlets looking for something to read. It needed to be something I could enjoy. It needed to be fairly well-written. It didn’t need to be completely in line with my own political or social beliefs. I’m adult enough to be able to read and consider other ideas. That’s part of learning. But I also didn’t want to be preached to. I can get that Sunday mornings by going to church—or by listening to Michelle Obama, et al.

I think I finally found the book. I’ve seen it mentioned a couple of times by friends but hadn’t had a chance to look at it until this morning. Life this week has been hectic, especially the last few days. That’s why this post is a day late.

Anyway….

The book I’m going to be covering the next couple of weeks is The Coddling of the American Mind: How Good Intentions and Bad Ideas are Setting Up a Generation for Failure by Greg Lukianoff and Jonathan Haidt. The first paragraph of the book’s blurb sold me. I’m hoping the book lives up to the expectation:

First Amendment expert Greg Lukianoff and social psychologist Jonathan Haidt show how the new problems on campus have their origins in three terrible ideas that have become increasingly woven into American childhood and education: what doesn’t kill you makes you weaker; always trust your feelings; and life is a battle between good people and evil people. These three Great Untruths are incompatible with basic psychological principles, as well as ancient wisdom from many cultures. They interfere with healthy development. Anyone who embraces these untruths—and the resulting culture of safetyism—is less likely to become an autonomous adult able to navigate the bumpy road of life.

“Culture of safetyism”.

I might call it the “culture of feelz” but, in a way, it is the same thing. Our education system, the vocal minority from Hollywood, too many of our vocal politicians have preached this for years. We have moved away from taking responsibility for our own actions. We have forgotten one of the cornerstones of this nation: innocent until proven guilty.

Instead, it is a rush to judgment. Or, as I’ve said before, trial by innuendo and judgment by media. We’ve seen it with the sexual abuse allegations coming out of Hollywood. We’ve seen it with Judge Kavanaugh. What we haven’t seen is it with the Democrats. If we had, we’d see Keith Ellison under as much fire as Judge Kavanaugh.

And that, perhaps, will be a weakness in the book. Will it discuss the double-standard out there? Only time, and reading, will tell.

One thing is certain, there is that culture of safetyism in our schools and on our college campuses. Free speech areas have been moved from heavily trafficked areas of campus to more remote locations so those who might be upset by what’s said won’t have to listen. We have “safe spaces” for those who don’t want to associate with others who don’t fit their ideal of being the “right kind of person”. Once upon a time, that was called segregation. Today, it’s called safety.

Speakers have been canceled because they don’t pat the little darlings on the heads and tell them they too can grow up to be good socialists. If demanding they not be allowed to speak doesn’t work, the little darlings protest, often violently. Why? Because the speaker might hurt their feelings.

Funny, they don’t seem to give a damn about the feelings—or property—of others.

The why for all this is because there are no longer consequences for their actions. That begins in school. Districts are now disciplining teachers for—gasp—grading homework. Earlier this week, I saw a story about a teacher who lost her job because she refused to give an 80, if I remember correctly, to her students who failed to turn in homework. While I have long condemned the amount of homework many students have, this is ridiculous.

Then there are the districts that let students take tests over and over and over again until they not only pass but get a grade they want. What happened to studying for the damned exam or risking failing? This removal of consequences doesn’t help anyone, not in the long run.

There are other examples. The “every child is a winner” mind set also fails our kids. Yes, every child has his or her own talents but they have to learn that doesn’t mean they can do everything they want whenever they want. Not keeping score in games like softball or kickball because you don’t want to damage poor Johnny’s psyche is another. We need to teach our kids they won’t always win and how to lose with grace.

Schools have done away with titles like valedictorian. Why? Because they don’t want to make anyone feel bad because they didn’t do as well as Susie. As if that isn’t enough, other schools have quit noting placement in a class at all: no Top 10, etc. Only your grade. The problem? Universities are still interested in that sort of thing. So, by trying to insure everyone is equal, you are punishing those who excel.

Reading the free sample of the book, I have to say the authors seem to be hitting the problem square on the head.

“What doesn’t kill you makes you weaker. So avoid pain, avoid discomfort, and avoid all potentially bad experiences.”

Sound familiar? It should. It is what’s at the base of the demands for safe spaces and the attempts to keep folks like Milo, Vice President Pence and Ann Coulter from speaking on college campuses.

“Always trust your feelings. Never question them.”

We’ve seen that in full technicolor, to age myself, this week with the Kavanaugh hearings. How many have backed Ford without question because they “feel” her pain? How many of those attacking Judge Kavanaugh are doing so because they “feel” men are inherently evil or prone to doing as Ford has claimed? How many of them have failed to sit back and question their feelings and the so-called evidence against him?

“Life is a battle between good and evil people. . . You can see how bad and wrong some people are. You must call them out! Assemble a coalition of the righteous and shame the evil ones until they change their ways.”

Again, look at the behavior of some of those with regard to the Kavanaugh hearings. Jeff Flake was accosted, not that they would admit it, in the elevator by those wanting him to vote “the right way”. Senator Ted Cruz and his wife were run from a restaurant by so-called protesters who didn’t give a damn about them or the other diners at the restaurant. They had “feelz” and they should take precedence over all.

So, yeah, based on a couple of pages, I think this is the book to do. We’ll see how it goes.

Thoughts on Explorers and Pioneers—
Past and (Possibly) Future – by Hank Davis

Let’s get Columbus out of the way first. But don’t worry, he’ll be back for a curtain call.
Two things: first, Columbus did not decide, against the prevailing thinking of his day, that the Earth was round and go off in three little ships to find a new route to Asia.
(Speaking of which, is there still anyone who thinks that Columbus set off to discover America, or even a new land? In the seventh grade, I actually had a social studies teacher write that on the blackboard and had to correct her–but then she was fresh out of college, this was her first teaching job, and she realized I was right and took it well [in spite of my being a snotty little brat back then], which was a relief since she was certainly the prettiest teacher in the school at the time. Ah, puberty. B ut I digress . . .)
In fact, the Greeks, as usual, were there first. At least as early as the sixth century, B.C., the spherical shape of the world had supporters, and the notion was considered proven fact by the third century, B.C. Plato and his star pupil Aristotle considered the spherical world in the “well, of course” category. (However they were quite sure that the Earth was the center of the “universe” and the Sun, Moon, planets, and “fixed” stars all revolved around it. Can’t win ‘em all . . .)
The second thing about Columbus is that he was very, very lucky that he was ever heard from again. Like most educated people back then, he was sure the world was round, but he had somehow gotten a preposterous figure for its circumference, thinking it was far smaller than was the reality, and if there hadn’t been a continent unknown to Europeans, between him and Asia, he would never have reached land before his supplies of food and drinking water were exhausted. Keep that in mind the next time you hear someone complaining about America being named after Amerigo Vespucci when it should have been named Columbia instead. (Nevertheless, it certainly is the gem of the ocean.) Vespucci concluded, correctly, that the land he had reached was a new, unknown continent while Columbus continued to insist hat he had reached Asia. And unlike Columbus, Vespucci was working from a far superior figure for the circumference of the world that was only fifty miles off. Finally, Vespucci did reach the Americas, as they would later be named, while Columbus, on his first trip, only reached the Bahamas. Sorry, Chris baby, but you were a dope, as someone once put it in a different context.
Of course, I haven’t noticed a national holiday named Vespucci Day . . .
Okay, the long-suffering reader may say, so an explorer’s life (or pioneer’s life—I’ll be using the terms somewhat interchangeably, so sue me!) is not always a success story, and as space exploration of the Solar System continues, hopefully not always by robot probes, and reaches beyond (keeping in mind that the Solar System is a lot bigger and more complicated than we used to think only a few decades ago), maybe history, or a garbled version thereof, may be unfair to real achievers. Got it–but can we get on to space pioneers now?
Well, one more point: before you can go somewhere, you have to know that there’s somewhere to go.
So far, I have referred to “the world,” but haven’t called it a planet. That’s because the word planet comes from a Greek word (yes, we’re back to the Greeks; s’matter, you got something against gyro sandwiches?) for “wanderer,” and Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn—the planets visible to the naked eye–were called that because they moved, unlike the “fixed” stars which slowly moved in a mass across the sky with the seasons, but did not change location in the sky with respect to each other. The planets, all five of them that the Greeks couild see, did change location. Some of those wanderers would even come to a halt in the sky, then go backwards from their previous motion. This is easily explained if you know that the Earth is itself a planet/wanderer, going around the sun with the rest of the planets, in the same direction but at different speeds, and the Earth, like a faster race horse, overtakes the slower outer planets so that an observer will think they come to a stop, then go into reverse gear. With the exception of Aristarchus (and maybe a few now-forgotten disciples of his), who argued that the Earth went around the sun, the Greeks bet on all the “fixed” stars being attached to a gigantic crystal sphere around the (spherical but stationary) Earth, while each planet was on a different, separate crystal sphere, each rotating differently from the others and, yes, sometimes stopping, then reversing course.
Since the Greeks came up with this idea, they were doomed to never come up with a pulp like Planet Stories pardon me, Wanderer Stories. Win some, lose some. How can you travel to the Moon if it’s attached to a crystal sphere, and maybe on the other side of the sphere, let alone take a trip to the planets, which must be even farther away because they sometimes are seen to go behind the Moon, and so their crystal spheres must be outside of the Moon’s sphere. Besides, the opinion seems to have been divided on whether those lights in the sky are named after gods, or actually are gods. If a Pegasus knock-off were available, maybe he could be ridden to the moon (they had no idea that the space above the Earh was not filled with air—what a ridiculous notiong the contrary would be!), but remember what happened when Bellerophon (not to be confused with a wrecked starship in Forbidden Planet) tried to drop in on Mt. Olympus and say, “Hey, Zeus, baby, what’s shakin’?” Those gods can be touchy about trespassers on their home turf, and the heavens might be a worse test case than was buzzing Olympus.
Do I hear objections? (I don’t, of course, but it’s a useful rhetorical fiction.) Why all this ancient history, and, even worse, ancient mythology? The Greek gods never existed, and we can reach the planets and even the stars using time dilation at relativistic speeds, or generation ships, if nothing better is available.
Maybe . . . but, on the other hand, are you certain there are no gods, or at least godlike beings out there? If Sir Arthur C. Clarke’s famous quip that “any sufficiently advance technology is indistinguishable from magic” is true, then won’t any sufficiently advanced extraterrestrials be indistinguishable from gods? Suppose they’re touchy about the savages (or worse, the monkeys, or even mice) dropping in on them uninvited.
As for that technology . . . if the speed of light is indeed an absolute limit, with no way to dodge or detour around it, traveling close to that speed to take advantage of time dilation might still be unworkable. Back in the sixties, a card-carrying scientist wrote an essay in a book on interstellar communication, which he thought demonstrated that the propulsion required to travel close to lightspeed required technology that was not only beyond anything we might build, ever, it was impossible by the mathematics of the thing. The essay was quoted at length in a review in Scientific American of the book it appeared in. The magazine’s reviewer cited the article with an unholy glee, writing (I quote from memory) that “this will send the idea of the starship back to the cereal box, where it belongs.” (And this was back when Scientific Amerikan pardon me, American, was worth reading, a situation that ended several years ago!) Other writers with comparable credentials have attacked the premises and reasoning of that article, but even so, we can’t blithely assume that time dilation will give us the stars.
And there have been arguments why a generation ship of less than planetoid size would soon become unlivable, aside from the gene pool of the crew being too small to prevent genetic deterioration; and if the ship were planetoid size, the reaction mass to propel it would be beyond anything we can imagine.
In other words, we don’t have a Pegasus to fly us up to the crystal spheres, and suppose the planet or star or the Moon is on the other side of that crystal sphere. And what if it’s some sort of magic fire (cue Wagner; I don’t care if it’s anachronistic) and there’s nothing to land on. And suppose the aliens, I mean the gods don’t want you there?
Columbus (I told you he’d be back) didn’t know there was a continent in his way to Asia, and also operated with a conception of the size of the Earth that was way off. How do you know we aren’t way off now?
We’ve known about the speed of light and relativistic effects for barely more than a century. Do we know the whole story? What do you mean the Earth goes around the Sun? Next, you’ll be saying the Earth is flat and we’re way beyond that old nonsense now!
Suppose I concede that we can never reach the stars, except maybe by a robot probe that will still be working somehow centuries after it was sent out at a patheticly sublight velocity. Supposed I concede that, as some spoilsports have argued, all stories about starflight are fantasy masquerading as science fiction?
Even if it’s true. Fantasy is fun (“Hey, Conan, get your broadsword and run outside and chase off that dragon before he takes a bite out of the starship’s hyperdrive unit.”) In fact, I don’t concede anything of the kind, but so what? Stories of apace exploration and pioneering are jolly good fun, and even if we’re limited to starships of the mind, I say, keep ‘em coming, and with the fascinatingly strange aliens be handy.
While we’re waiting and hoping for real starships, there’ve been a plenitude of terrific stories written abut flights to worlds beyond the Solar System. And even if they never come true in any way, shape or alien form, remaining as nonexistent as Oz or Middle Earth, they’re still good stories. The space exploration theme is at the very heart of sf, from Jules Verne and Cyrano de Bergerac to whatever Star Trek spinoff is on the telly this week, with stopovers at Doc Smith, van Vogt, Heinlein, Niven and many more in between.
And while we’re happily riding in our paper starships, maybe some new breakthrough in physics, or mathematics. or even sewing machines (read Fredric Brown’s What Mad Universe and you’ll get it) will mean that we can go to the stars after all. We can take along a stack of recent issues of Scientific American for ballast. Or maybe give them to aliens we meet, though that might spark the first interstellar war.
But consider Magellan, who was killed by unfriendly natives while attempting to circumnavigate the globe, and though the voyage was finished (successfully) by his second in command, he’s still famous (can you name his second in command?), and has the Straits of Magellan and the Magellanic Clouds named after him. Not bad for a dead guy who didn’t finish the job.
And this time, there’s a job Out There that will likely never be ginished.
Still here, Mr. Columbus? Well, pull up a chair, Chris, and have a cup of Columbian coffee. Show us that party trick with an egg we’ve been hearing about.

There is a lot of talk about evil corporations.  But enough about google.

On the other hand, maybe not, because google is part and parcel of what is going on.  Its pattern is disturbingly the pattern of how wheels are coming off American businesses.  And the failure mode is more and more the failure mode I’ve been observing for my own industry, or at least my own industry as it was.

First a clarification: I was born in late 62.  I never considered myself a boomer.  And before you scream that boomers go to 64, let me explain: I swear to you they didn’t use to.  My brother, born in early 54 was considered one of the youngest boomers.  And if you look at the ethos of the generation and what formed it, and how its public image was created and also when they came of age, you’ll understand that makes a ton more sense.

The boomers were the baby boom after WWII. By the time I hit school, the classrooms were half empty, the trailers that they’d added the decade before were being used for craft classes or gym or something that required tons of space.

It would take a long time to come home if you were still being born in 62. (And I’d been due in 63.)

This is important simply because I want to make it clear when I came of age it wasn’t with the boomer ethos of “each generation is going to be bigger than the last and we’re going to remake the world in our image.”  That expectation is still obvious in books of the fifties and sixties, as well as the attached Malthusian panic.

The boomers, like now the millenials, are a much maligned generation.  The public image is almost not at all that of the people in the generation I actually know, with a very few exceptions.

The people the media chose to highlight were the ones they wanted the boomers to be, not who they were.

But something about the boomers is true — ironically the reason that caused them to hate my generation before they decided to aggregate us, because it gave them more power to still be considered young and marketable-to — and that is that they were raised in the expectation they would make the world a better place, and that they could because of sheer numbers, and because they’d been brought up to be better than their parents.

Look, I’ve never bought into the “greatest generation” stuff.  I saw it as a Jungian appeasement of the boomers towards their aging fathers whom they’d “sacrificed” in more ways than one.  I’m at heart — or at back brain — very Roman.  To explain why would take more uncomfortable biographical revelations than I have time for, including “because that’s what I was brought up to be.”

I get this dance very well.  First comes the sacrifice, then the deification.

Did the World War II generation rise to the challenge?  Yes, they did.  But in a way they’d been brought up for it: a generation grown to continue Europe’s long war, because the previous generation had been eaten in the fields of WWII.

And can anyone blame the veterans, coming back from yet another European abattoir for wanting to put an end to the cycle?

Obviously something had gone wrong in Western civilization and it needed to be stopped.  The next generation were going to be a brand new beginning.  They were going to make it all better.

Did I mention the serpent in the garden? You can’t make the garden without the serpent.

A lot of the crazy of the sixties, and the unmaking of society was what the boomers were explicitly raised to do.  A lot of the poison in our cultural waters was the rebellion of the veterans of WWII.  An understandable rebellion, but one that threw the baby out with the bath water nonetheless.

However, even the boomers who weren’t raised on utopian ideals, who weren’t told the world was theirs to remake, even the ones who didn’t protest (or fought in) the war, even the ones who were and are decent human beings were raised with the idea that it was theirs to change Western Civ to be more… humane.  Or at least not to self-destruct in battlefields.

This created an ur-programming, a back brain thing.  Even responsible boomers who cut their hair, got jobs and raised families had the idea that they were supposed to transform everything.

But Sarah, you say, you have that too.  How else are you supposed to fight in the trenches of the culture war?

Waggles hand.  In a way.  Maybe.  But it’s more that I’m at the forefront of admitting that we went very wrong somewhere, that utopia doesn’t exist, and that it’s time to go back to a more realistic approach to society.

That kind of looks like remaking the world if you squint really hard.  In fact it is the thing that got my brother’s generation to hate mine when we were young.  We were as reviled as millenials are now but for different reasons: we weren’t idealistic. We didn’t want to make things fairer.  We were materialistic. We just wanted to make money.

It wasn’t precisely true.  But coming to adulthood in the late seventies and early eighties, when Europe and the US had run off their legs economically, and with leftist governments restricting growth so that there were no jobs and houses were unaffordable, we were forced to be more realistic.  We took jobs, any jobs.  And we worked our asses off.  And yes, we aimed to climb.  And we put up with all sorts of unreasonable demands (which might not have helped the corporations stay connected to reality.)

So, back to the corporations.

There is a lot of talk about how corporations are evil.  There has always been, as far as I’ve been alive.

It’s a little stupid and ignores the fact that corporations are people.  (Yes, like soylent green.) Most corporations are quite small.  Yeh family publishing business is a corporation, because it makes everything easier, including having a single publisher, and eventually inheritance of copyrights.

But the view of business as inimical, and the military as inimical was imbibed by the boomers with mother’s milk.  To an extent business and the military (rather than ideologies divorced from the real world, facilitated by a society rich enough to be out of touch) were blamed for the European long war.

So when they finally joined business, it was viewed as a sell out, and it was almost immediately followed by a determination to change it from the within.

Almost all the hyper-politically-correct and, yes, often evil mega corps now had their origin with idealistic kids founding them or changing them to be more caring.

The problem is that business and social justice don’t mesh.  Business wasn’t to blame for WWII.  Business was just business.  The wars weren’t a ploy of arms manufacturers.  That’s not how this works.  That’s not how any of this works.

It was easy after WWII to look around and thing “who got rich” and then blame the whole thing on the armaments industry.

But the war was the result of too much technological change too fast.  It’s possible that it can’t happen without causing social convulsion and war.  (And that’s what makes me shudder for where we are now.) The two always happen together.

And armaments manufacturers got rich because the weapons were needed.

There is no great conspiracy of business to cause war (unless it’s in the sense that wealth causes crazy ideologies, which cause war.)

The people who went into business, built it or took over went in with the exactly upside down idea.

“We’re going to create a just world through business.”

That’s not what commerce is.  Commerce doesn’t have that kind of power.  Yes, I’ve read all the crap about advertising causing needs.  It’s crap.

It ignores all the new products that fail: most of them.  Regardless of advertisement, you can’t make the dogs want the food.

It was great for assuaging the conscience pangs of the people who pushed for war in service of their crazy ideologies and their wish for power: we’re the good guys.  It is business and the greed for money that creates war.  Business can create any need it wants, let’s create a wonderful world.

Again, that’s not how it works.  That’s not how any of this works.

To coin a phrase, business is the term for what we do together (eh.)  It is a way to weld individuals into working for a mutual or collective purpose, that doesn’t involve the coercion of every one, or enslavement of every one.

Advertising is not a magical force.  You can, yes, for a moment, briefly, make a product without purpose “popular” but all you’re creating is a bubble.  And the next bubble will be harder, and the next harder.

Mostly advertising works to show people things they can use or which will improve their lives.  As an early tech adopter, I can tell you we don’t jump on every new trend, just on the ones we have a good expectation will help us.

Which brings us again back to corporations.

Doing good by doing well is how google started with “don’t be evil” and ended up partnering with Chinese totalitarians and claiming it will be YUGE.  (It won’t, but that’s what we’re going into next.)  AND what led them to create a crazy authoritarian company in which if you’re the wrong political color you’ll be destroyed.

Because they think they serve something bigger than SIMPLY serving people by making money.

And we see this everywhere else.

Recently I gave up on Team Viewer which I used to connect to the home computers (three) when I travel.

It started manufacturing insanity, accusing me of using it for “commercial purposes” and demanding I pay a subscription as a company.

Now, at first I thought it was due to the number of my computers, but the first one they bricked was the one I almost never used.

It turned out that it was random.  They’d pick an account to yell at, and a random computer to brick (brick in the sense that you couldn’t connect to other computers from it using team viewer.) saying you’d used it the maximum number of hours that month.

I’m using this example, because I wasn’t alone.  It was ALL OVER the net.  Apparently someone at corporate decided this was a good move.  Perhaps they didn’t have enough subscribers.  I can well believe that.  I can also tell you as someone who found the program incredibly useful that if they’d offered something like $5 a month, subscribe, we can keep track of all your stuff better, and you’ll have access to customer service, I’d have gone for it.  I couldn’t afford corporate rates, but I could afford “individual subscription” or “Small business” rates.

Considering it was the most popular program for this purpose, I suspect they’d have done well, on small subscriptions but many of them.  And it’s the sane thing to do if you think of business as a way to transact with people who aren’t FORCED to work with you, and to make money while providing something people need.

But that’s not the ethos of business, when the people running it think they’re in charge of changing the world and that advertising can do anything and “create needs.”

So instead they treated us as a crazy ideology treats its adherents or a government treats subjects.  It made life uncomfortable and difficult and hampered the purpose we used it for, in the serene belief this would bring money flowing in.

Instead it brought us to researching alternatives and finding one that’s better than Team Viewer.  And I bet we’re not the only ones.

It’s becoming a familiar failure mode, similar to what publishing did and to an extent still does, bringing the price of ebooks very high, so we’ll go back to buying paperbacks.  (At the same time propagandizing us with “paperbacks take 100k to create, which means we’re losing money on everyone but mega bestsellers.”  If they really believe that they need to fire their accountants and their entire offices, because they’re being taken for a ride.)

That’s not how this works.  That’s not how any of this works.  Business and advertising are not tools to herd the public.  They’re tools to woo the public.

And business is not the dark force that moves the world.  That is human nature, particularly when channeled through authoritarian institutions.

Businesses that try to remake the world don’t only fail.  They take entire industries with them.  And they create misery.

Build under, build over, build around.

The remorse of the veterans of WWII is coming home to roost in the person of their aging children.

And this is going to hurt like a mother, because the crazy is not just in tech or publishing.  It’s everywhere and corrupting everything.

But life and business which is part of life must go on.

And we’re the lucky ones who see the need.  So it’s up to us to keep civilization going when the rest falls.

I am very sorry to be dissing Rodgers and Hammerstein and South Pacific, but they were out of their raving minds when they wrote “You’ve got to be carefully taught.”

I woke up with the son running through my head and my thought superimposed on it “That’s not how this works.  That’s not how any of this works.”

You’ve got to be taught to hate and fear
You’ve got to be taught from year to year
It’s got to be drummed in your dear little ear
You’ve got to be carefully taught

[Verse 2]
You’ve got to be taught to be afraid
Of people whose eyes are oddly made
And people whose skin is a diff’rent shade
You’ve got to be carefully taught

[Verse 3]
You’ve got to be taught before it’s too late
Before you are six or seven or eight
To hate all the people your relatives hate
You’ve got to be carefully taught

This would be how things would work, if humans were born like onto angels, without an animal side.  If we were pure souls, tossed down to this workaday world, with no stain of creation, yeah, maybe.  Maybe.  The workaday world would work its magic, anyway, without the ape body.

Ah, but we do have the ape body.  One of the greatest — and arguably most harmful — delusions of the last hundred years or so, at least among the intelligentsia is the idea that we’re not animals.  It is actually kind of funny, honestly, because these are the same devoted Darwinists (BAD Darwinists, making the poor man rotate in in his grave hard enough to generate electricity that would power all of Great Britain if they only knew) that would often finish their books about how terrible humans were with “you’re just animals, stop looking at the stars.”

Of course the books were incoherent anyway, often claiming that humans were the only animal who would “wage war” or kill its own species (these people obviously never had a fighting tom cat for a pet.  Calimero killed every other male cat in the village, which is why half of the village ferals look siamese.) and at the same time claiming that we’re taught war and violence.  On second thought maybe this is not incoherent, since humans are the only ones with the capacity to learn abstract concepts.

It’s still insane and stupid.  The only place this “you have to be taught violence” could take root is among humans so divorced of nature that they can idealize it and not see that animals are arguably more violent than humans, and that animals play at fighting and dominance days after they’re born.

Even the humble chicken is a stone cold killer.  And don’t get me started on mother rabbits who eat their litters.  (No, not through some deficiency.  Some just acquire a taste for it.)

Count among Peterson’s amazing achievement of speaking the known, the things we’ve all always known, but keep forgetting when we’re propagandized with crazy day in day out, that disciplining your child doesn’t teach him or her violence.  It curbs their violence.  Because every animal is born knowing violence.  Life on Earth, from very early on has played dominance games and violence, often against its own species. It is one of the great achievements of humanity. learning to curb that violence and that natural hatred of the “different” (and this has nothing to do with race.  I am one of those people who have ridiculously early childhood memories.  I’m also one of those people who until much older could not remember faces or indeed anything visual — as far as being born premature, etc. damaged my brain, I think it whacked the visual area, which only started coming back around 14 — so I remember not liking people who smelled differently from my family.  And in the village at that time, it could very well mean they only washed once a month with home made soap.  Our laundress thought our clothes smelled wonderful even dirty, because we used “perfumy”– i.e. bought — soap.)

Those idiots who came up with the idea humans were racist as babies need their heads examined. Baby humans fear the stranger, because strangers are dangerous.  For how dangerous I refer you to our closest relatives, the chimps, who tear chimp babies limb from limb and eat them.  Usually when the babies are from another troop… but sometimes when they belong to a low-dominance female in their own troop.

It is teaching humans to overcome that so we can live in more than familial groups that makes humans strange and wondrous, not that we still have fights between groups (bigger groups, now more loosely defined) or between individuals in our groups.

And even then, if you want to train your little ape to fit in any group, you have to curb his aggression, and yes, that sometimes means a couple of swats to the behind.  You’re not teaching them violence.  You’re teaching them violence is unacceptable.  (BTW I was gratified that Peterson pretty much confirmed my approach, which was all non-violent means first, then the swat as last recourse. He also made me feel better by pointing out higher-dominance individuals will need the swat more.  This explains why one of my kids was not “spanked nearly enough” which is my way of putting it, when what I mean is “He could usually be distracted or bribed, and once we figured out taking his computer cord away worked better — when he was about 3 — we just used that, for an hour, a day, or in very bad circumstances, a week. The other… made me feel I was the worst mother in the world.  Let’s put it that way.)

I understand the military has to train humans to kill, but people who think that’s because humans are born pure and innocent also need their heads examined. It’s because you’re contravening really early training, and that can be near-impossible to break. It’s not the only early training that’s hard to break.  I remember seeing a study somewhere showing that the earliest you were potty trained the hardest to break, even when absolutely necessary.  (I’m one of those people who can’t use bedpans.  In a situation where getting up might kill me, I still had to because it was that or burst.)

We are born animals.  Each generation is born as really smart apes.  No, I’m not saying you don’t have a divine-formed soul (would I say that?)only that early on, without training, it’s subsumed to your animal nature.

Your animal brain is very old, arguably from before there were vertebrates on Earth, though it’s possible there’s more of reptilian than that. Your animal brain doesn’t care about your projected utopia.  Heck, as I’m finding out, day by day, my animal brain doesn’t give much of a hang for what my higher, rational brain wants it to do.  “We’ll have more money if you write 8 hours a day” doesn’t motivate it, because it has a warm cave and a full belly.  Yeah.  I’ll figure out a way around it. But it’s hard even working with those parts when they’re part of you.

Your animal brain will make you play violence and dominance games, unless it’s broken of it early.  Which probably explains why people raised as pacifists are the most violent and dirtiest fighters in the world and also why the left which thinks that humans have to be “taught to hate” are usually the side that goes to brass knuckles, or bicycle locks, first, and overwhelmingly.  It’s also why every regime that assumes humans are tabula rasa, and born perfect has filled mass graves.  After all, if you are born a certain way and can’t change it, you have to kill vast portions of  humanity to get to perfection.

It’s also of course because the people in charge are violent and denying that part of their nature. Psychologists have a term something like “the return of the repressed.”  When you deny what’s a natural part of you (the left applies that only to sex, which can actually return as art, but never mind…) it will come back in a weird, deformed and often lethal way.

I’m not saying — do I look like a hippie?  Okay, so I need to dye my hair.  Shut up, wretch — that humans should give in to their baser impulses and have sex with everyone like bonobos, and kill everyone or fight among themselves like chimps.

I’m saying that learning to repress those impulses and only let them out when absolutely needed IS civilization.  And civilization is a good thing.  But you need to be aware humans have to be trained NOT to act like apes.  And that the impulses are always there, even in the most civilized of humans.

And this is a good thing.  Those sublimated impulses are what gave us art and science, besides allowing us to live in cities populated by millions.

But they’re not unnatural.  And you don’t have to learn them.  And swatting your kid’s butt won’t make him a killer.  It might rather prevent him from going feral and being a maimed thing all his life, visiting violence, real or metaphorical, on innocents.

To put it in metaphorical terms: the serpent was always in the garden. It was Adam and Eve’s innocence that allowed it to do its work.

It’s when you ignore the serpent in yourself that you allow it to corrupt you.  Or your kids.

We’ve seen the serpent and it is us.  And it’s only by staring it in the face and telling it “yes, you’re part of me, but if I let you influence me you’ll destroy me” that we can save civilization.

Every day.