CULTIVATING LIBERALISM
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How to fit 13 scientists in an Antarctic Jacuzzi /Dave Down South, UK-Antarctica

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Best of Blogs Round-Up: Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Quotes of the day: "Student #1: "I saw some people protesting. I didn't know what they were protesting, but I joined them." Student #2: "I saw some people protesting. I didn't know what they were protesting. I wanted to join them, but I realized it was all guys, so I skipped it." Student #3(My sister): "Huh? What? Why? I was sleeping in class and heard some noise." Student #4: "We showed the Americans!.... that they can't come in through this gate unless they push us out of the way."
Jamal's Propaganda Site (Lebanon), on a "protest" at Lebanese-American Universitry in Beirut, during an appearance by the American ambassador to Lebanon, March March 27, 2006.

And this just in: Baghdad Burning blog author nominated for Britain's Samuel Johnson prize for non-fiction, at $52,000 the richest such competition in the world. Congratulations to one of our more frequent featured blogs.

 

Featured Blog, I: Cons Abandoning Ship
Notes for Converts

Bruce Bartlett, The Cato Institute, Andrew Sullivan, George Packer, William F. Buckley, Sandra Day O'Connor, Republican voters in Indiana and all the rest of you newly-minted dissenters from Bush's faith-based reality seem, right now, to be glorying in your outrage, which is always a pleasure and feels, at the time, as if it is having an effect, but those of us who have been anti-Bush from day 1 (defined as the day after the stolen 2000 election) have a few pointers for you that should make your transition more realistic.

1. Bush doesn't know you disagree with him. Nothing about you makes you of interest to George W. Bush once you no longer agree with and support him. No degree of relationship (father, mother, etc.), no longstanding friendly intercourse (Jack Abramoff), no degree of expertise (Brent Scowcroft), no essential importance (Tony Blair, American voters) makes any difference. There is nothing you have to
offer that makes Bush want to know you once you have come to disagree with him. Your opinions and feelings now exist in a world entirely external to the mind of George W. Bush. You are now just one of those "polls" that he pays no attention to. When you were on his side, you thought that showed "integrity" on his part. It doesn't. It shows an absolute inability to learn from experience.

2. Bush doesn't care whether you disagree with him. As a man who has dispensed with the reality-based world, and is entirely protected by his handlers from feeling the effects of that world, he is indifferent to what you now think is real. Is the Iraq war a failure and a quagmire? Bush doesn't care. Is global warming beginning to affect us right now? So what. Have all of his policies with regard to Iran been misguided and counter-productive? He never thinks about it. You know that Katrina tape in which Bush never asked a question? It doesn't matter how much you know or how passionately you feel or, most importantly, what degree of disintegration you see around you, he's not going to ask you a question. You and your ideas are dead to him. You cannot change his mind. Nine percent of polled Americans would agree with attacking Iran right now. To George Bush, that will be a mandate, if and when he feels like doing it, because...

3. Bush does what he feels like doing and he deeply resents being told, even politely, that he ought to do anything else. This is called a "sense of entitlement". Bush is a man who has never been anywhere and never done anything, and yet he has been flattered and cajoled into being president of the United States through his connections, all of whom thought they could use him for their own purposes. He has a surface charm that appeals to a certain type of American man, and he has used that charm to claim all sorts of perks, and then to fail at everything he has ever done. He did not complete his flight training, he failed at oil investing, he was a front man and a glad-hander as a baseball owner. As the Governor of Texas, he originated one educational program that turned out to be a debacle; as the President of the US, his policies have constituted one screw-up after another. You have stuck with him through all of this, made excuses for him, bailed him out. From his point of view, he is perfectly entitled by his own experience to a sense of entitlement. Why would he ever feel the need to reciprocate? He's never had to before this. Read the rest at Huffington Post...


Featured Blog, II: Blog This
Dear Washington Post

I want to thank John Moltz for organizing a campaign to convince Jim Brady to appoint me to fill the Karl Rove Chair of Official Truths at the Washington Post. It will be difficult for anyone to fill the shoes of the former occupant, Ben "Xerox" Domenech, but I think I'm up to the task. Please drop by John's site, read his letter, and then send Mr. Brady one of your own. Heck, you can just copy John's--Brady won't notice. His email address is executive.editor@washingtonpost.com.

Here's my letter.

Jim Brady
Executive Editor
washingtonpost.com

Dear Mr. Brady,

Please consider my application for the position of Conservative Blogger at washingtonpost.com. I have over three years of blogging experience at Jesus' General, the Official Organ of the Conservative Christian Cultural Revolution. I've also served Our Leader as a ghostblogger at His unofficial blog.

Once you've taken a look at the work I've done at Jesus' General, I'm sure you'll agree that I have a lot to offer washingtonpost.com. I'm well known in blogging circles for being the first blogger to write about the plight of Blastocyst-Americans and their cousins, the Spermatazoan-Americans.

My advocacy for these most vulnerable of citizens doesn't end at the keyboard. I've organized "NASCAR Jackets For Frozen Embryos" campaigns and lobbied the First Lady to form a Spermatazoan-American cavalry unit. Furthermore, not only did I invent a tiny firearm that Fetus-Americans can use to defend themselves from gynecologists, I've also asked the NRA to help me develop a "Ziggy the Zygote" program to teach them how to safely use their little pieces.

Like the Post, I was an advocate for Our Glorious Iraq Adventure long before Our Leader created his justification for launching it. Currently, I'm helping to prepare the groundwork for the Venezuelan Phase of Our Eternal War to Resubjugate Brown People. While most of my colleagues were simply transcribing Otto Reich's leaks regarding Chavez's nuclear ambitions and ties to Mus-Com terrorists, I was writing about Venezuela's acquisition of Vogon battle cruisers. My colleagues have yet to catch up with me on that one.

Most importantly, with me at the Post's blogging helm, you and your bosses will never be faced with the thing you fear most--a phone call from the White House expressing disappointment with your content. I don't care how bad the news is, I'll shape it to make Our Leader look like he actually knows what he's doing.

I also have a very good relationship with the Senate and House Republican caucuses. They were touched when I offered them my Shiv Making 101 class and Rep. Delay loved my "If Amway Sold Smokes: Multi-Level Marketing in a Prison Setting" seminar.

Best of all, I've never worked as a harlot--no Jeff Gannon problems here--nor have I stolen another writer's work--Mr. Dickens approved my A Story About Two Places piece. You have nothing to worry about from me unless you're uncomfortable being around a man who is 110% heterosexual. That reminds me. Don't believe a damned thing Cletis says. He's a liar.

Heterosexually yours,

Gen. JC Christian, patriot

P.S. Like Deborah Howell, I hate fucking reader cocksuckers.

Permalink


 


THE DAILY JOURNAL VANPOEM
 

As One Put Naked Into a Cigarette Boat

Continue chiding, since it's part of the new aesthetic,
and parcel to our coming home, as if
we'd disappeared into the burning bush
that calls to those who sit vacantly in parlors
awaiting a fate freighted with song and dance.
I stroll while staring and raging
with difficulty at the stubborn sky.

On my honor I step a little distance
from behind the curtain, only to disappear
the moment no birds sing, which occurs frequently.
Leaves dustier than furniture, the sound
of sleeping grating through the cosmos,
my footstool, my only talisman.
It's been real, arguing on your behalf.
Gray cobweb shadow, falling, floundering,
finding a place to not be shy and think
boldly about the oldness of beauty, a place
to rest its weary insubstantial head.

It may be that I stand on the threshold
of the checkout line, unsure of what
to be impulsive about, which momentous emptiness
to spontaneously identify my alienation with,
what kind of languor to slide into

before being reduced to grubbing for credentials,
locked in that tumid late-afternoon skin,
effervescing in its sea of dreams.
And all the things hearkening back to it,
the boat ride to breaker beach
there at the end of one world
where it paid to rage at the stammering waves
that kicked and screamed solely for my benefit,
staged objections to the inexorable fact of me.

Look: I've installed a turnstile in my kitchen,
so your picture-postcard of desolation has no power over me.
In this doggy-dog world land is made motionless
and the broads are standing on the wharves
with some of that sipping whisky on those silver trays,
which we'd be a bear to pass up. You speak
of the old gods who've washed up on shore,
but I don't see them, don't hear their hue and cry,
though their maze awaits us, will amaze us.
Here, let me get this little rock out of my damn shoe.
Then we can talk about paddling off to parts unknown.

 
Van Foreman
 
 

 


 

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