Dear Waitress.

Dear Waitress,
I miss you.
Ever since the Governor closed down your place of employment, I haven't been able to get my gin martini before a relaxing dinner in a nice place. I haven't seen you and your young vibrance caring about my night out. You're worth more than a big tip.
Okay, so I don't really need a night out, but I worry about you.
Have you been able to pay your rent? Can you keep up with your car payments? Where does the U.S. Constitution authorize the Governor of this state to fire you and ban me from your table?
Would you be willing to take a risk to keep your job? If you do, I'll be there.
You may not notice just another guy who appreciates you. but you are loved and we want you back.
                                               Tom & Gayle.

White Guilt.

Feel guilty about something?
Take a knee.
Better yet, take two knees, then apologize for your crime and hand over your wallet.
Feel better?

Sick.

It was a perfect storm.

This virulent bat shit out of China, this covid 19, somehow found its way from animals' offal into the lungs of human beings. Contagious as it was, it took air among local people and on airline flights bound around the world.

Inevitably, it landed in the United States and followed its infectious course. It was an unknown virus, infectious and insidious--spooky. Who knew how deeply it might worm its way into the population? Given the death toll in China, Americans were alarmed.

Our journalists, always on the lookout for dramatic headlines, pounced on the story since, after all, we wanted to know, and exaggeration is a vital part of their trade. It's good for their careers.Thus headlines shouted and cable news covered the story 24/7. Disease! Contagion! Millions may die! Very bad news.

Enter the doctors, the scientists--the government experts. They could not afford to be wrong, because their jobs and reputations may depend on it. So they rolled out the worst case scenarios: Could be this, but might that. Safety first. Prepare for the worst.They couldn't be wrong.

People were dying by the tens of thousands in Europe and we were next.We had to do something!

Then came the governors. Instead of the big dictator in the White House Trump haters had always fretted about, what we got were 50 little dictators, one for each state. Most of them apparently adopted Donald Trump's television tag line: "You're fired," and tens of millions of Americans in service and retail industries were suddenly unemployed. By decree, businesses  were ordered to shut their doors, and customers ordered to stay at home except for essential trips--like to liquor stores (which generate lots of  government revenue).

Our civil rights were trampled left and right. Families were crippled, suddenly worried about buying food and paying the rent. As state governors pontificated endlessly on television--harvesting votes--the U.S. Constitution, including the Bill of Rights, was shoved put of sight, along with freedom of assembly, speech, movement and even religion. 

All in the name of safety and security, we witnessed a creeping fascism. All it needed was the spread of enforcement troops on the streets

I keep thinking of Ben Franklin"s line: "Those who choose Security over Liberty deserve neither."

National emergencies are understandable: they are theoretically temporary, but the power of emergency government is dangerous, as in Nazi Germany, 1933. U. S. National Emergency and Public Health Emergency laws are broad and vague, giving the government power over vast swathes of media, including the internet. They expire automatically in one year but are routinely renewed. According to the Brennan Center for Justice at New York University, there have been 58 National Emergencies since 1979, and 31 of them are still in effect. 

Of course, each of us must take care for the safety of our neighbors and loved ones, along with ourselves, during a virus health emergency, but we should not give up our civil rights in the meantime.

Given the dictatorship of the states, it looks to be high time for a bit of civil disobedience.

On Scott Hart

I have never de-friended anyone on Facebook--I don't even know how to do it. But, I'm ready after seeing a post from Scott Hart, my "friend."
In a post on October 3rd, immediately after the slaughter of innocents in Las Vegas, he said that "Republicans need something to happen to them that will hit home and affect them personally." This, of course, would be to convince them to pass more gun control legislation. In a subsequent post, he suggested that someone should sneak into Congress with one of those evil guns and open fire on Republicans. His friend Christopher Howatt responded, adding that Republications won't change until they're "staring down the barrel of a gun."
"Yup," said Scott.
There you have two gun control activists.

Here's a historical note: Fascism, Nazism and communism all spring from the same root--socialism--promoted by Mr. Marx himself. Look it up and you'll know. The great dictators of the 20th century, Hitler,  Stalin and Mao, all played the socialist tune, as do leftists in the 21st century. Strip racism out of the Nazis, and you get the nationalist fascism of Mussolini. Strip nationalism out of Italy, and you get the international fascism of communism.

I define fascism as militant socialism, or, more accurately "violent socialism."
My "friend," Scott Hart is apparently calling for the brownshirts of socialism to get their guns and kill Republicans.
Hey, Scott, maybe instead of more bloodshed, we could stage a Reichstag fire, like in 1933 in Germany. Then, like Hitler, we could dissolve Congress and run them out of town, leaving the way clear for you and your friends to run the country.

Now, I have to bother to figure out how to go de-friend this nuisance, this closet fascist, Scott Hart.

LGBTMFX Bathrooms.

What the hell are we talking about?  Bathroom preferences for sexual non-conformists in some bar in North Carolina?

By now, most of us know what LGBT stands for--the awkward acronym slides off the tongue of every TV host as easily as a greased pig slips through your arms at the county fair. (For those of you who don't know what the letters T-V stand for, LGBT stands for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender).

LGBT is called a "community," although I fail to see how millions of unique people living thousands of miles apart qualify as a community. I guess they mean internet community. It's not like there is an L, a G, a B and a T on the street where you live--probably a lot of Ms and Fs, with an occasional surreptitious visitation from an X.

I added the M and the F to the familiar acronym to cover Male and Female, which would represent my "community," I guess, but I'm really not intimate with a lot of them, and I certainly wouldn't want to share a bed with most of them. The X stands for unknown, but it may involve sheep on a hillside or horses in a barn, so I won't talk about that.

If you have doubts about your gender, or which "community" you belong to, search between your legs for a clue. I'd call that a good start, although you may not want to settle for the evidence--suit yourself.

How ridiculous do we get?

This debate is only appropriate for two obnoxious patrons at a local bar. but we're hearing it on national news programs and among legislative jackasses in government. Nobody cares when a homosexual comes into a public bathroom, and if you're a really good transgender, nobody would know it anyway. As for the children, what are they doing in a lousy public restroom without supervision in the first place?

For perfect privacy, go home. Otherwise, restaurants will have to set up a line of private bathrooms like a row of porta-potties along the dining room, and we'll all pay for it in the check--until we decide that eating out is too expensive and all the restaurants go out of business.

I've heard somewhere that "this is a solution in search of a problem," and the saying has the ring of truth. I'm sure the disputes are extremely rare and can be resolved one at a time in any local setting. If you have special needs, you can always patronize The Pink Petunia Gourmet Lounge or Bullmoose Bill's Bar and Grill. The real problem is that somehow, somewhere along the way, we gave the government--state and federal--the power to decide such matters for everyone. "Problems" are, of course, the lifeblood of lucrative government office, where politicians can promise to solve anything.

Why don't we follow the axiom, "When in Rome, do as the Romans do."

Otherwise, if you want to go on a Crusade, get on your horse and get out of town. Jerusalem beckons.

The Worst Generation.

Check out how the various generations living today look to very savvy businessmen, marketing professionals at Marketing Teacher.com, dominated by some insightful, and  perhaps extravagant impressions of my own:

The oldest people still alive in 2016 belong to the GI Generation (born 1901-1926), famously known as The Greatest Generation. As kids, they survived the deprivations of the Great Depression, then went to war and crushed European and Asian fascists in World War II, doing away with Hitler, Mussolini and Tojo, all.

This old generation were great customers. They preferred to save and pay cash rather than go into debt, and they had a strong sense of morality and personal responsibility. They worked hard to get ahead and pay the bills, and so ushered in a renewed American affluence. They actually remember watching their parents living without airplanes, radio and TV, still worrying about food, clothing and shelter, so you can't sell them virtuoso technology like Google Glasses, which would just cause them to bump into walls.

Hey, it's okay. They're old.

Their kids became part of the Silent Generation, born 1927-1945, the first generation to take American affluence for granted. They are the richest, most free-spending generation in history, enjoying peace and good jobs enough to buy TVs, rock'n roll, flashy cars and Playboy magazine. They fought the Korean War to a stalemate and tried to conform to their parents' moral values. They could afford to indulge in social causes like racial equality and feminism, sewing the seeds for overdue civil rights and bra burning. You can sell them anything.

Fast forward to 2016, to Generation Z, the Boomlets (born 2001-on), our little babies. It's a huge bubble coming along the rubber hose of history (how's that for aggrandized metaphors?). And look: it's 49% Hispanic. Up until 2006, the most common last name in the United States was Smith--now it's Rodriguez. To make a sale, think Spanish.

Mattel. the iconic creators of action toys like airplanes, trucks and dolls, had to change their target market from 10 years old in the 1990s to 3 years old in 2000. The kids want technology. Don't worry about giving them action fun or teaching them math, just sell them a faster calculator and a new video--plus a new website for music and socializing. My suggestion would be for a site based on lyrics from a Prince song, "Crazy Nutsite" to reinforce their right to party. The results remain to be seen.

Before them came Generation Y, the Millenniums (born 1981-2000), aka the Echo Boomers. Naturally, they took for granted the affluence of their parents, including video games that could knock your eyes out and solid gold trophies for tiddlywink tournaments. They know that the world is not a very safe place, but they don't take it too seriously because they have never experienced conscription into the military for The Big War.

If you want to sell them something, do it on the internet because that's where they waste most of their time browsing and socializing. They need hand-holding, so keep them reassured as you sell them fulfillment in the form of hoodies and a better smart phone.

Generation X, which came before Y.... These gems were born 1965-1980.

Who are these people? I'm not sure I ever met one, but the marketing experts say they go to a lot of Rock concerts. They are notorious for trying to "find themselves," and I hope they do--because I can't find them.

Let us flash back to the Boomers, born 1946-1964, aka the Me Generation, the last children of the Greatest Generation and the first children of the Silent Generation. I call them the Worst Generation, and to my undying shame, I'm one of them. Heroically--and conscripted--some of us fought the war that nobody except geopolitical strategists in Washington DC wanted, dying by the tens of thousands without popular approval. You might also call them the Entitlement Generation because the luxuries of affluence had morphed into all kinds of new entitlements. President Franklin Roosevelt laid the groundwork with his famous advocacy of what he called the "Four Freedoms," notably the "freedom from want," and the "freedom from fear."

What? I'm supposed to have my "wants" satisfied, and my "fears" eliminated--by the federal government? I can get whatever I "want" from somebody else? I can get my food from a farmer because the government will force him to give it to me? If I'm afraid of a bully, I can have him arrested? If I "fear" thunderstorms, the government is supposed to prevent them? If my feelings are hurt, I can petition the government to stop all such "microaggressions"?

I could actually live in La-la Land--FREE?

The Boomers bought this agenda from their parents, who were mostly Roosevelt fans--the Four Freedoms and the good life, minimum wage, unemployment insurance, social security, food stamps, and everyday security for everyone--and they're passing this fantasy on to their kids. They are self-righteous and self-centered. They like to buy now and pay later. Of course, in the end, someone has to pay for all these luxuries, meaning someone will have to work and pay taxes for all the debt accumulated for my generation's government largess. This money is not just bullshit, as some economists think--just paper. Money represents exchange for labor, and somebody has to work for it, now or in the future.

That's you, Generation Y and Z.

Thanks kids.

Best Planet So Far.

What's happening to our planet?

Whatever it is, I'm not worried, any more than I worry about a tough winter in New Hampshire, though I shiver while warming up my car in January.

Al Gore, of course, claims to be very upset. He says the ice caps are going to melt and extinguish whole species, but this doesn't worry me either. After all, when's the last time you needed a penguin or a polar bear, much less a mastodon, a dinosaur or a dodo bird? He made a movie entitled An Inconvenient Truth full of graphic depictions of sea levels rising dramatically and swallowing great big chunks of the East Coast where I live. I doubt that Al is especially committed to "Truth," but I'm sure his scenario would be "Inconvenient." Still, I'm not worried. Long before the water level reached my neckline, I'd shag ass to Kansas where I hear there are lots of good people, just like here--even if I had to leave some material goods behind. Even in Al's predictions, it would take many years for sea levels to rise, so you have plenty of time for a retreat to Kansas.

Al blames his gloom and doom predictions on man-made carbon emissions, which is like cave-dwelling shamans blaming your bad luck on insufficient worship of the gods, or Texan cowpokes in 1880 blaming the weather on bovine flatulence--actually primitive ideas.

Skepticism of "global warming" comes naturally to a resident of New Hampshire, especially every year in January. But, of course, the Gore crowd changed "global warming" to "climate change" to make their theories more believable, proclaiming them "settled science," but we have an old saying in these parts: "If you don't like the weather in New England, wait five minutes. It'll change."

Still, Al likes to call us "deniers" and I don't mind. At one time "flat Earth" was "settled science," widely supported by all the ignorant and promoted by most powerful religious rulers of the Western World. Galileo went to jail for denying it--so I could be in good company.

SETTLED SCIENCE c.1600:

In the meantime, look at the bright side of global warming. The fish would love it. We could set up Times Square at the South Pole (North Pole is in the ocean), mount spectacular shows on the Southway in South York. We could vacation in semi-tropical islands in the Canadian Arctic, where only brave and half-mad explorers have been. Ever see a map of Northern Canada? There are a gazillion islands. Janitors will be able to afford beachfront property. Greenland would be our massive Florida with room for millions of condos. Alaska would be teeming with senior citizens, and Siberia would be a lush forest full of monkeys and fruit.

Life--including plants, animals and humans--love the heat. Today, if you try digging down through the ice, you won't find much evidence of life--maybe a mastodon here or there. Monkeys were too smart to go there.

Maybe we could sign up for seagoing excursions from South Boston (located somewhere on the coast of Antarctica), on a cruise ship equipped with submarines for taking tours of ancient East Coast America. Say we left the inhabitants of Washington DC (our rulers) encased in a bubble down there behind a big window with Al Gore. We could knock on the window and give them the finger.

Okay, now I'm dreaming.