Friday, December 31, 2010
Oh, and BING today also offers the following fascinating little video on fetal development:
(Just don't call Bill Gates (who owns BING) and ask him to cut his donations to "Planned Parenthood".....)
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Now that we have an idea what that entails, I think most fifteen year olds--even those with, shall we say, the most plebian taste--would not exactly view an invite to work there with as much joy as you'd think.
In a word: Ick.
And I for one would not wish to be standing in his shoes during his final judgment. No siree beelze-bub....
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
A couple of weeks back I ran a story about Sarah Palin and St. Thomas Becket, Martyr.
I was unaware, until reminded by my good friend Fr. W., that today is the feast day of his martyrdom.
From the Times of London, today:
The entire story of Thomas Becket is about the will to power. It is about temporal power claiming too much from the spiritual, but also, as Eliot saw, about the "last temptation" by which one clothes one's own power-hunger as the will of God. Neither King nor Archbishop was wholly in the right. Their power struggle tells so much of our national story – it is reflected in the Reformation, even in our divisions about the European Union. So it is not only our compulsions, but also our conflicts which the modern pilgrim to Canterbury finds expressed in stone, and robed as destinies.
This is the sign of the Church always, the Sign of Blood
Seven years were my people without my presence;
Seven years of misery and pain.
Seven years a mendicant on foreign charity I lingered abroad:
Seven years is no brevity.
I shall not get those seven years back again.
Never again, you must make no doubt,
Shall the sea run between the shepherd and his fold.
It is not I who insult the King,
And there is higher than I or the King.
It is not I, Becket from Cheapside,
It is not against me, Becket, that you strive.
It is not Becket who pronounces doom,
But the Law of Christ's Church, the judgement of Rome.
I am here.
No traitor to the King.
I am a priest,
A Christian, saved by the blood of Christ,
Ready to suffer with my blood.
This is the sign of the Church always,
The sign of blood.
Blood for blood.
His blood given to buy my life,
My blood given to pay for His death.
My death for His death.
For my Lord I am now ready to die,
That His Church may have peace and liberty.
- T.S. Eliot, Murder In The Cathedral
This is a very interesting video, except that Einstein was his whole adult life essentially a nonevangelical atheist so it is not likely the exchange occurred.
The video presents what is essentially the argument, not of Einstein, but of Augustine of Hippo.
Still. I am haunted by a line from Sophie Scholl: The Final Days, where Mohr the Gestapo interrogator says:
"Gott! Gib' es nicht!" God? There is no such thing!
To which Sophie Scholl, the doomed prophetess, says: "Of course there is!"
May she be proven right.
SALUTE: Kristen D.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Today we recall those Holy Innocents murdered at the hands of Herod the Great, who lived in Bethlehem Ephrata at the turn of the era, who died for the vain belief that the Creator of the Universe can long be defied.
We also remember also those who have gone to God unknown to us, our children lost in abortion and miscarriage and stillbirth.
We also remember those of all faiths who have died, like the innocents of Bethlehem, at the hands of murderous and tyrannical governments and leaders.
May Light Perpetual shine upon them all.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Christmas Eve 2000, Eagle Base, Tuzla, Bosnia. The last few days prior to Christmas, I had been in a foul, indeed nearly blasphemous mood. The weather conditions in Tuzla had taken a turn for the worse: foggy and foul, thus precluding a hoped-for trip to cheerier climes. With my family back in the States, I had a remarkable opportunity to indulge in self-pity....
My friends at The American Thinker have very kindly published A Srebrenica Christmas: History Is What Happens To You, an article I published in 2000, about an expedition we took to an orphanage in a village called Lukavac near Tuzla, Bosnia, to deliver presents to war orphans. (The longer version of this can also be found here.)
Below are pictures we took in 2001, when we performed the same ceremony at the same place.
I dragooned a group of lower enlisted soldiers from Eagle Base to help me load vehicles. These kids–some of them carrying responsibilities far beyond their youthful years and low rank–worked the fields of the Lord in the Eagle Base bureaucracy. The vast majority almost never left the post.
This is Selo Mira, or Peace Village. This is the home of a hundred and forty-two Bosniac, Croat, and Serb children, orphans of war and castoffs from the Bosnian social care system. Two-thirds are Bosniacs--that is, Bosnian Muslims--from the Drina River valley on the border with Serbia. Of these, some thirty children are war orphans from Srebrenica.
Another thirty are other war orphans, the children of fathers killed in action and mothers dead, lost or incapable of caring for them alone. The remaining thirty-five or so children are shrugglingly referred to as 'social cases.' These are the children of the latest holocaust, and its ongoing aftermath.
This little ragamuffin is one of the 140 children at the Village.
Here, too, lives little Sabahoudin, age three.
Sled, Santa's, U.S. Army All Terrain.
Two of the older children welcome us to the town.
The little ones recite for us. Old-grey-hair to the left is, presumably, yours truly.
This is Srebrenica. The holes in the walls were *not* formed by wrecking balls.
The "Agricultural Warehouse" at Kravica, near Srebrenica: essentially a long, thin barn, the size of a half football field in length, about 20' deep--was once filled with 800 men. Then the Serbs filled it with bullets, killing all but two of the prisoners of war held there.
The warehouse is still standing, and the building is still filled with bullet holes. From the inside. It is a mystery why the shed has not been taken down: probably as a warning to other Bosniacs who might want to move back here.
The Srebrenica Morgue at Tuzla, October 2000. My first visit here. Each canvas bag to the right is a victim of the massacre.
"He's a Bosnian Muslim, thirty-five to forty years old. Judging by the dental work, he's working class or a laborer. The thigh and arm bones show signs that he was very muscular. The ribs are cracked in six places, and the tip of his hipbone is broken, so he may have been beaten. He was shot at close range through the back of the head."
The skeleton above may have had a daughter. Perhaps one of those in this picture.
Some old gasbag says thanks to the village for the opportunity to visit.
The felicitously named Specialist Paschal--who was accompanied that day by the equally felicitously named Sergeant Mass*--gives a gift to a tiny one.
A soldier sheds a tear.
Children waiting patiently.
Why We Served.
"History is what happened... to us."
*This story originally asserted that they were married; I have corrected this point. Memories blend and fade over time.
Hark! The herald angels sing,
“Glory to the newborn King;
Peace on earth, and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled!”
Joyful, all ye nations rise,
Join the triumph of the skies;
With th’angelic host proclaim,
“Christ is born in Bethlehem!”
Hark! the herald angels sing,
“Glory to the newborn King!”
Christ, by highest Heav’n adored;
Christ the everlasting Lord;
Late in time, behold Him come,
Offspring of a virgin’s womb.
Veiled in flesh the Godhead see;
Hail th’incarnate Deity,
Pleased with us in flesh to dwell,
Jesus our Emmanuel.
Hail the heav’nly Prince of Peace!
Hail the Sun of Righteousness!
Light and life to all He brings,
Ris’n with healing in His wings.
Mild He lays His glory by,
Born that man no more may die.
Born to raise the sons of earth,
Born to give them second birth.
Come, Desire of nations, come,
Fix in us Thy humble home;
Rise, the woman’s conqu’ring Seed,
Bruise in us the serpent’s head.
Now display Thy saving power,
Ruined nature now restore;
Now in mystic union join
Thine to ours, and ours to Thine.
Adam’s likeness, Lord, efface,
Stamp Thine image in its place:
Second Adam from above,
Reinstate us in Thy love.
Let us Thee, though lost, regain,
Thee, the Life, the inner man:
O, to all Thyself impart,
Formed in each believing heart.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Today I embrace the fact that I am officially an Old Man.
Not all that old, but there is no denying it: Fifty is the new fifty. As my good friend The Mighty Favog quoted his wife on his blog recently, "Midlife? Honey, you're way past midlife unless you're planning on living to 100."
I am certainly old by world-historical standards--and given my general state of health, aside from a touch of diabetes, I am in far better shape than most guys at midlife (viewed historically). The fact that I never (well, hardly ever) smoked (I do like a good cigar once a year) is paying off.
So: this year I declare a Jubilee unto the Lord.
What does that mean?
For the next year I shall break my addiction to too many of my useless youthful pursuits: no more 70s music for a year; I'm going to try to listen to something *new.* No more watching CONAN THE BARBARIAN, STAR WARS or INDIANA JONES for the ten trillionth time. I'm goinng to put my collection of Robert Heinlein into the storage bin and instead of rereading "The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress" for the 196th time I'll read something else. And no more Star Trek.
Not for a year anyway. This is a vacation not abjuration. (And of course the above are subject to what my KIDS want to do. If my son wants to watch bad Trek, watch it we will.)
As of today I count three of my close friends who are dying. I shall embrace them and help them to the extent that I can and never forget that there but for the grace go I.
I'm going to try to finish my three books-in-progress: And I'm gonna try to sell them.
And I'm going to do my damndest to make my wife happy she married me. And I shoulda said this earlier: I'm gonna be the toughest yet coolest dad three boys could want.
God grant me the strength and the wisdom to, to quote Richard III's Mother's Blessing, die a good old man.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Saturday, December 18, 2010
- Markos Moulitsas, Owner of "The Daily Kos"
He's talking about the Dream Act, of course, because he'd NEVER, EVER talk about abortion. Right? Right? Of course right.....
I cannot do the subject justice.... but my good friend The Mighty Favog can.
Therefore I defer to him.
God rest you, Cap'n. I toast you with a mug of Poofter's Froth Wyoming.
Friday, December 17, 2010
I don't own an Apple *anything* (though my eldest son does). Nevertheless, so long as Steve Jobs wishes to provoke and promote babykilling and meretricious relationships he ain't getting any of MY money.
HT: Revolution-21.blogspot.com and my friend The Mighty Favog.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
But a stopped clock is correct twice a day.
Here is a post from NPR that he ran of the late Richard Holbrooke describing Slobodan Milosevic and Radovan Karadzic as being "evil incarnate," and describing the 13 hours he spent negotiating with these pieces of filth, one now dead, the other a defendant at the Hague.
When I was in Bosnia after the end of the war, I had occasion, twice, to meet with lower-level genocidal scum in the line of duty: one, the chief of staff of the V Corps Army of Republika Srpska, and later, with a local mayor in the Eastern RS, whom we knew ran a concentration camp before later becoming the mayor of the town.
I once asked one of my chieftains for whom I worked: why are these bastards not in the Hague? Why are we letting them stay in office? We can have them arrested with a phone call. His answer: "Because they KNOW we can arrest them with a phone call. They'll do our bidding, they'll do anything, to keep from going to The Hague" [for a war crimes trial].
I shook that mayor's hand--and washed it as quickly as I possibly could. But not quickly enough. Alas.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
The Shaggs play "My Pal Foot Foot", 1968. From their magnum opus Philosophy of the World.
One reviewer said that "There is no album you might own that sounds remotely like this one." Indeed. Frank Zappa called them "Better than the Beatles." And St. +Lester Bangs devoted an article to their polyrhythmic brilliance.
At first I thought this song was a refugee from Dr. DeMento's Audio Torture Chamber, where they held a place right next to Lou Reed's METAL MACHINE MUSIC....
...but it takes real talent to sound like, er, this. They are the Grandma Moses of rock. Truly.
Looking over his biography with even but a cursetory eye one is impressed by the length, depth and breadth of the man's service to his country. And he was an old-style Democrat, one who believed in America and American power and the ability of this nation to do good in the world.
His greatest accomplishment--one that affected my life profoundly--was his work, with German diplomat Karl Bild, to end the war in Bosnia in 1995, bringing together the leaders of the three factions to a dumpy compound in Dayton, Ohio, and twisting their arms into a deal that would allow the war, and its genocide, to finally end.
Not a bad accomplishment, that.
In his last years he worked tirelessly to advance American interests in the Iraqi and Afghan theaters, a task that likely deprived him of a decade or more of life.
Rest in peace, Mr. Holbrooke.
Addendum: Apparently I'm not the only one who feels this way. Max Boot at Commentary makes the same observation. Money graf:
He was a liberal but a tough-minded one — one of the last prominent hawks in the Democratic Party. He was, in short, a “neo-liberal,” which isn’t so far removed from a “neo-conservative,” a label that I teased him with and that he naturally resisted. The country as a whole will miss him, and so in particular will the Democratic Party, which could use more of his bracing realism in its counsels.
Truly a giant leaves us. (And the average moral stature of those left behind become even more hobbit-like....)
Monday, December 13, 2010
He died in April 1982 of a cough syrup overdose.
I don't normally flog someone else's blog, but 15 Minute Lunch has a *brilliant* post here -- about an old J.C. Penney Catalog he found.
You can't say that you haven't been warned.....
("Nothing is more absurd than last year's fashion." - Thomas Jefferson)
PS I just noticed this thing's been out there since 2007. So sue me.
PPS But Wait! There's More!
PPPS: Not sold in any store...anymore! (Thanks be to God.)
PPPPS: Just remember, when BACK TO THE FUTURE II came out, and they went 30 Years Into The Future....Where We're Going We Don't Need Roads????!?!
Guess what, 30 years from 1985 is.... 2015.
Last time I looked we don't have flying automobiles--Delorians or otherwise--and won't any time soon. Dammit.
You know it's cold outside when you start thinking fondly of your ex-wife.
You know it's cold outside when you slip on the ice--and you realize that it's not H20 but nitrogen.
You know it's cold outside when you start reminiscing of your Valentines' Day vacation a few years back.... at Stalingrad.
You know it's cold outside when your Frigidare starts to look inviting by comparison.
You know it's cold outside when you start to calculate the money you could make renting your office as a meat locker.
In short: Ice belongs in a glass. With two fingers of fine single malt Scotch. No less.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Saturday, December 11, 2010
For some reason the word IGNOTUS has been in my head these last two days. Even in my dreams.
So, what do Harry and Hermione discover while visiting Harry's parent's graveyard? A headstone marked IGNOTUS PEVERELL.
(((cue Twilight Zone theme here))))
Maybe my Psychic Powers have not entirely left me.....
Friday, December 10, 2010
Our friends on the Left have discovered that the god they worshipped has feet of clay.
Thou, O king, sawest, and behold a great image. This great image, whose brightness was excellent, stood before thee; and the form thereof was terrible. This image's head was of fine gold, his breast and his arms of silver, his belly and his thighs of brass, His legs of iron, his feet part of iron and part of clay. And whereas thou sawest the feet and toes, part of potters' clay, and part of iron, the kingdom shall be divided; but there shall be in it of the strength of the iron, forasmuch as thou sawest the iron mixed with miry clay. And as the toes of the feet were part of iron, and part of clay, so the kingdom shall be partly strong, and partly broken.
And whereas thou sawest iron mixed with miry clay, they shall mingle themselves with the seed of men: but they shall not cleave one to another, even as iron is not mixed with clay.
- The Prophet Daniel to King Nebuchadnezzar II of Babylon, CA 600 BC*The metaphor of the feet of clay
....comes from the Old Testament (Dan.2:31-32). There the Hebrew captain Daniel interprets a dream for Nebuchadnezzar, founder of the new Babylonian Empire. Nebuchadnezzar had dreamed of a giant idol with golden head, silver arms and chest, brass thighs and body, and iron legs. Only the feet of this image, compounded of iron and potter's clay, weren't made wholly of metal. Daniel told Nebuchadnezzar that the clay feet of the figure made it vulnerable, that it prophesized the breaking apart of his empire. Over the years readers of the Bible were struck with the phrase 'feet of clay' in the story and it was used centuries ago to describe an unexpected flaw or vulnerable point in the character of a hero or any admired person.From the "Encyclopedia of Word and Phrase Origins" by Robert Hendrickson (Facts on File, New York, 1997).
Well, it turns out that the idol our leftist friends worshipped seems to have that attribute.
Back in April of '09, yours truly (ahem) did a certain degree of metallurgical analysis on the lower Presidental extremities, weighed them and found them wanting.
What was most interesting however was, while it was obvious to us who saw the man as he was then, we were buried in pillows of political butt-kissery engaged in by the ladies (ahem) and gentlemen of the Press. Typical of this includes the following gem of a quote from Associated Press writer Liz Sidoti on April 19, 2009:
It didn't take long for Barack Obama — for all his youth and inexperience — to get acclimated to his new role as the calming leader of a country in crisis.Do note that you can no longer get this story from AP**--Liz Idiots apparently is too embarassed at her journalistic gratification of the President to keep the story up for all and sundry to read, now that her error is clear.
"I feel surprisingly comfortable in the job," the nation's 44th president said a mere two weeks after taking the helm...
As an audacious candidate, Obama meticulously built a powerhouse organization and fundraising juggernaut to engineer his victory. As a fledgling president, he similarly has mapped out a big-risk agenda that he's methodically begun to execute, keeping to the discipline that has been a hallmark of his life.
Rookie jitters? Far from it.
Fortunately, you can still read the entire story here, in spite of AP's consignment of the article to the memory hole.
However, today even his leftist base has awoken. It's now clear that our President just isn't up to the job.
We see this now, particularly as Obama caved completely on tax breaks, and it appears that even such holy grails as the DREAM act (which I actually support) and DADT (which of course I don't) are about to be shot down in flames, with hardly a whimper from Mr. Unflappable. He sits on his thumbs while Wikileaks publishes, drip drip drip, our closest diplomatic secrets. And he finds himself at Year Two of his Presidency in the same place it took Clinton six years to achieve: i.e., No One Left To Lie To.
As one commentator for the Washington Times has put it:
Progressives have only themselves to blame. Conservatives - including yours truly - warned them that Mr. Obama is unfit to be president. They are learning this the hard way.So have we all.
So say we all!
*that's BC, not BCE, thank you very much.
**I'll note that the above fair-use quote is printed at some risk; the fascist trolls at Righthaven LLC has taken to sue blogs -- for $150,000! -- that quote works that they have bought....after they buy them.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Monday, December 6, 2010
Sunday, December 5, 2010
I'm not making this up.
Columnist* Cynthia Tucker called for Palin to be assassinated yesterday.
But to understand what I mean by this, I need to tell you a little story.
Once upon a time, in the twelfth century, there was a king of England, Henry, Second of that name.
He was a strong believer (like a certain other Henry who succeeded him centuries later) that the Universal Church was, or should be, entirely a creature of the Crown of England and not an independent entity.
To secure this, he decided to make his boon companion Tom the Archbishop of Canturbury. Tom was a party boy, a good man to hounds, the kind of guy who was comfortable going out and getting drunk with the King.
King Henry thought that, as such, Tom was a weakwilled putz and would be an excellent tool in his own hands to bring the Church to heel.
Tom, upon becoming Archbishop, had an experience that some would call "being born again." Certainly, he underwent a profound religious conversion, undergoing a deep transformation of his personal life. He quit riding to hounds. He gave away his wealth. He became more than regular, no, fanatical, about observance of his daily Mass. And so on.
And he became ferocious in defending the independence of the Church.
Now, at the time, the Catholic Church in England was highly privileged. In particular, Catholic priests accused of crimes had a right to be tried, not in the King's courts, but in the courts of the Church--supposedly to prevent a prejudiced and anti-clerical populace from finding against priests out of spite.
(In today's atmosphere of bigotry against the Church because of the terrible sexual misdeeds of a few boy-molesting priests, this outlook likely does not obtain much in the way of public sympathy, but never mind.)
In any case, this became a very sore point between Harry and Tom: the King wanted to bring corrupt priests to justice in HIS courts. Tom found this unacceptable; this was the source of what one writer has called "degenerative schismogenesis"--i.e., nothing either said or did could keep the other from suspecting them the more as each looked at everything the other did with the darkest suspicion, convinced the other was out to destroy him.
As time went on and as he aged insecure on his throne, Henry II decided to do something unprecedented: his eldest son, also named Henry, needed to be crowned King even while Henry II was still living. This took place, and Henry became known as "The Young King" (although he died before Henry II and therefore wasn't later recognized as a real king; Henry III is a different individual altogether).
Well, the problem is that The Young King Henry was crowned by the Archbishop of York--and not by the Archbishop of Canturbury, whose ancient privilege it was to crown the King. Tom, being the Archbishop of Canturbury, took a very dim view of all this. So he excommunicated the Archbishop of York and all those others who crowned the Young King and drove them from England to France.
These lesser clerics then fled to Henry II in France and told him of this. In response to this, he famously cried out:
"Will Nobody Rid Me Of This Troublesome Priest?"
In response to this, four knights, standing nearby, interpreted this as a command, and went and hacked the Archbishop to pieces in the middle of Mass.
The wicked knight leapt suddenly upon him, cutting off the top of the crown which the unction of sacred chrism had dedicated to God. Next he received a second blow on the head, but still he stood firm and immovable. At the third blow he fell on his knees and elbows, offering himself a living sacrifice, and saying in a low voice, 'For the name of Jesus and the protection of the Church, I am ready to embrace death.' But the third knight inflicted a terrible wound as he lay prostrate. By this stroke, the crown of his head was separated from the head in such a way that the blood white with the brain, and the brain no less red from the blood, dyed the floor of the cathedral. The same clerk who had entered with the knights placed his foot on the neck of the holy priest and precious martyr, and, horrible to relate, scattered the brains and blood about the pavements, crying to the others, 'Let us away, knights; this fellow will arise no more.
Tom the Boon Companion of the King became thereafter known as Saint Thomas Becket**, a Martyr of the Faith, canonized by the Pope only four years after his death.
His memory was so strong in England that Henry VIII, who also wanted a lapdog Church, ordered his shrine destroyed and his bones scattered in the 1530s.
And ever since then, the phrase "Will Nobody Rid Me Of This Troublesome Priest" has been a code phrase, a call for murder.
That said: Can anybody read the headline of this article without a cold chill?
CYNTHIA TUCKER: GOP: Will no one rid us of this troublesome Palin?
There are no doubt those who think that this is too obscure a reference and that Cynthia Tucker doesn't know what she says. I say, nonsense. To assume that she doesn't know this famous tale is to engage in the soft bigotry of low expectations--I don't think she doesn't know this just because she's black. IOW, yes, I am sure that Cynthia Tucker and her editors and factcheckers know exactly what the phrase means and I hold her fully responsible for them if Sarah should come to harm.
Christ protect Sarah and her family. She has already survived one assassination attempt when someone burned down her occupied church in Wasilla. We live in dark days.
* CORRECTION (and a biggie): Not "Ex-Congresswoman; I had her, a Georgia columnist mixed up with the execrable Georgia Congresscritter Cynthia McKinney who is fully capable of making such statements, but didn't (on this occasion at least).
**Not "Thomas à Becket"; that was a later corruption of his name.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Open-borders radicalism means never having to apologize for absurd self-contradiction.The Illegal Immigrant Problem is of our own making, but not in the way most folks, and certainly most Enforcement Only types, think.
The way illegal alien students on college campuses across the country tell it, America is a cruel, selfish and racist nation that has never given them or their families a break. Yet despite their bottomless grievances, they're not going anywhere.
And despite their gripes about being forced "into the shadows," they've been out in the open protesting at media-driven hunger strikes and flooding the airwaves demanding passage of the so-called DREAM Act. This bailout plan would benefit an estimated 2.1 million illegal aliens at an estimated cost of up to $20 billion.
When it comes to the mess we call Illegal Immigration we have only two choices:
1. Change the immigration law to give these people some sort of relief OR
2. Not change the law and have things continue as they are, which is a total dog's breakfast of an immigration law that cannot really be enforced because of the huge numbers involved.
There is no option 3. Option 3 is "boxcars to the borders", "round them all up and throw them out," i.e., do to the EEEELEEEGULS what we did to the Japanese. Or what the Romans did to the Israelites. Or...well, let's not Godwinize ourselves, but you KNOW what is other historical parallel we have in mind here.
And NOBODY in politics--not even our beloved Sarah Palin--is going to choose Option 3. Nobody. Get over it, deal with it. It is the way that it is.
Why? Why are therre 12 to 25 million people in this country EEEEELEGULLY?
Because between 1973 and 1992, we aborted something on the order of 30 to 35 million children.
That is 30 to 35 million workers who SHOULD have been born and would be over 18 now--who the system ASSUMED WOULD BE BORN--and were not and who would be alive today but are not. The EEELEGULS are here to replace the ones who we killed. And their presence and the taxes that THEY DO PAY, and they DO PAY taxes, particularly Social Security taxes, keep our system from collapsing.
And anybody who ever got an abortion already got THEIR amnesty.
Finally, I understand why Ms. Malkin is purple with rage about these people--it's simple resentment. Filipinos have a terribly hard and long wait to become lawful US residents, sometimes as long as 25 years. Why should we grant amnesty to Mexicans while lawful Filipinos have to wait? Her resentment is palpable.
To her I can only cite the Parable of the Workers of the Vinyard, Matthew 20:1-16. In that parable, workers who worked all day get one denarius; workers hired at noon get one denarius; workers hired at 5:00 PM get one denarius. When the workers who worked all day complained, the boss said, "You GOT your denarius and you worked the contract; what I pay these others is not your concern; it's my money and I can do what I want."
So here. Americans and Green Card holders (Lawful Permanent Residents) who had to stand in line and did it the right way? Good on them. But they got their denarius. They have no complaint whatsoever if we give a denarius to others in a different way. And as for the ones still waiting in line back in the Old Country? This resolution won't make THEIR line any shorter, but it won't make it any longer either. Besides, they AREN'T here yet and they, frankly, get no say.
I know that a lot of people are gonna scream when they read this. "Round them up!" "Throw them out!" To which I reply: "Never, ever, gonna happen. Your choice is fix it or live with it."
Run them out is NEVER gonna happen. Ever. And that's the truth, and you all know it.
PS I'm not an open borders advocate in the least.
You wanna seal the borders and Stop Them From Coming? Fine. Do that. Just be prepared for the consequences, and start having more babies.
But the EEELEGULS who are already here can't be and won't be rousted like the Romans did Israel or other powers I won't mention did in this past century.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
"In Blasphemy you take part in the fate of a would-be Messiah. Your aim is to convince your compatriots that your Jesus, and your Jesus alone, is the genuine article. To accomplish this, your Jesus must cut as impressive a figure as possible. He must give stirring sermons, perform miracles, attract devoted followers, and generally carry on in a Messiah-like fashion. Your Jesus must make every effort to discredit his rivals, and in the end, he must get himself killed. Yes, alas, the price of fame was dear in those days. It was clearly written that the Messiah would come to a sticky end. Accordingly, you win the game if you're the first player to get your Jesus nailed up. Blasphemy is the race to the cross! NOTE: This is a tounge in cheek game. It was selected by the GM. It does not indicate any statement on religion by the Metro Detroit Gamers."
This takes its rightful place next to the phrase "COSMIC JEWISH ZOMBIE" at the Museum of Pseudo-Wit I'm Glad I Had Nothing To Do With.