I regret that the idea of having the earth give way under Mr. Limpbaugh's mass did not occur to me until after the cartoon was inked.
05 March 2009
Adolescense Happens
A few days ago adolescense hit the Wandering Gentile household. One of the Hijastras (La Mayor), hovering between the ages of eleven and full-growed hottie, went from being a sweet, kind little girl who loves princess books, to the venom spewing spawn of Ba'al.
One imagines this kind of transformative moment serving to inspire William Peter Blatty's vision of Regan. If the other day was any indication of what is to come, the Devil would merely add cheesy effects; I am not entirely sure Hijastra (La Mayor)'s head did not spin a full 360 at some point. Indeed, the mayhem witnessed made Satan superfluous.
There was little warning, although she had quietly provoked her sister, Hijastra (La Menor), to tears by dinner time. The day before, (La Mayor) inspired (La Menor) to desire her demise in frank and unmistakable terms, while at the dinner table.
The adults at the table, having experienced (individually) the untimely demise of a sibling, did not find such an expression to be necessary, appropriate, or in any way conducive to (La Menor)'s future welfare. This was communicated with brusque inflection, conjoined with adequately draconian conditions as unique recourse for redemption.
Should the Gentle Reader feel it unlikely for a nine-year-old to suggest that adults engage in autohomoeroticism, nonverbally, eschewing long-established had gestures, the Gentle Reader is not well-informed.
Your Wandering Gentile's experience with sibling rivalry has been heretofore limited to brothers. Boys are not a challenge. Most of what is inflicted by boys is limited to flatulence, challenges to gender identity, and the cruel repositioning of the victim's undergarment into a fundamentally uncomfortable position, i.e., a wedgie or a snuggie.
Boys are simply rude and gross. Beavis and Butthead; Adam Sandler; Mike Myers; and John Belushi are all indicative of the masculine predilection for the loud, grotesque, and profane. There is an inclination in the male psyche which holds an appreciation for provoking a friend to expel a red beverage from his nose, thus soiling his shirt with Fruit Punch Gatorade and mucus.
It is not only an appreciation: it is an accomplishment on a scale with the Manhattan Project. We have established dominance over our rival, and fulfilled an atavistic need to demonstrate superior genetic potential by revealing the rival's vulnerability. Men say crap like this to justify wanting to provoke a friend to blow Fruit Punch Gatorade out of his nose, and retain the hope of ever engaging in behavior which may result in procreation.
This is not behavior which would ever occur to girls or possibly a non-threatening boy-band. There are more subtle forms of expression that females engage in. When it comes to undressing with the eyes, females are constantly evaluating rival boobs, butts, and guts.
Men are so uncomfortable with male genitalia that they question the appropriateness of liking their own. Were men as insecure as women, an entire medical industry would be committed to the construction of desensitized, perpetually aroused, 16" (40 cm) penises.
One will also observe women ritualistically asessing automobiles, shoes and handbags. Most men value an object's value in relation to expenditure as opposed to manufacturer's label, unless they are Republican members of congress or belong to exclusive groups where everybody looks like a Republican member of Congress.
A woman sees a twenty year old hatchback and sees a US$500 pile of junk. If it is halfway clean, has oversize tires and wheels, and a louder-than-standard exhaust, men view it as cool, as long as it is also equipped with a manual transmission. The owner has fortitude, the car looks like it's fun to drive, and probably gets kick-ass gas mileage.
As good as this is for men, many women would prefer a glorified station wagon like a RAV4 or a CR-V to the hatchback, or something even cooler like a pre-GM buyout Saab 900 convertible. The glorified station wagon has air, automatic transmission, a vanity mirror, and a Warranty. The Saab has a power top that one has to wrestle to lower.
I can live with Starter shoes from Wal-Mart and the Saab. The Starters were made by the same Vietnamese children as Nikes, out of the same materials, across the hall in the same sweat shop.
I'll wrestle the inoperable power top to not drive the glorified station wagon; which brings us back to Hijastra (La Mayor)'s advent into adolescence.
Once she finished belittling her younger sister, she started in on me. Part of the recent economic unpleasantness that has gripped the United Stateshas impacted the Wandering Gentile household as well. This included the precocious departure of the Pornstar Minivan, a vehicle which counted my beloved Saab 900 convertible as partial trade.
Hijastra (La Mayor) found humor in this misfortune that I could not, some of her remarks being quite cutting and pointed. To rephrase, I found her comments to be distinctly unfunny. A moment came where I wanted to forget about the little girl who suggests riding over to Birmingham for their available Whataburger franchise, or suggests a trip to the public library so that she may renew her friendship with Princess Mia Thermopolis. These were continent-sized obstacles to the caprice of wanting to cause intense, lingering physical pain.
After a brief, monosyllabic proration unlikely to challenge the intellect of the average Lou Dobbs acolyte, I retired to quarters. Upon arrival, I was greeted by the voice of Hijastra (La Menor). "You see? She does that to me ALL THE TIME!"
The next few years promise to be endlessly diverting.
One imagines this kind of transformative moment serving to inspire William Peter Blatty's vision of Regan. If the other day was any indication of what is to come, the Devil would merely add cheesy effects; I am not entirely sure Hijastra (La Mayor)'s head did not spin a full 360 at some point. Indeed, the mayhem witnessed made Satan superfluous.
There was little warning, although she had quietly provoked her sister, Hijastra (La Menor), to tears by dinner time. The day before, (La Mayor) inspired (La Menor) to desire her demise in frank and unmistakable terms, while at the dinner table.
The adults at the table, having experienced (individually) the untimely demise of a sibling, did not find such an expression to be necessary, appropriate, or in any way conducive to (La Menor)'s future welfare. This was communicated with brusque inflection, conjoined with adequately draconian conditions as unique recourse for redemption.
Should the Gentle Reader feel it unlikely for a nine-year-old to suggest that adults engage in autohomoeroticism, nonverbally, eschewing long-established had gestures, the Gentle Reader is not well-informed.
Your Wandering Gentile's experience with sibling rivalry has been heretofore limited to brothers. Boys are not a challenge. Most of what is inflicted by boys is limited to flatulence, challenges to gender identity, and the cruel repositioning of the victim's undergarment into a fundamentally uncomfortable position, i.e., a wedgie or a snuggie.
Boys are simply rude and gross. Beavis and Butthead; Adam Sandler; Mike Myers; and John Belushi are all indicative of the masculine predilection for the loud, grotesque, and profane. There is an inclination in the male psyche which holds an appreciation for provoking a friend to expel a red beverage from his nose, thus soiling his shirt with Fruit Punch Gatorade and mucus.
It is not only an appreciation: it is an accomplishment on a scale with the Manhattan Project. We have established dominance over our rival, and fulfilled an atavistic need to demonstrate superior genetic potential by revealing the rival's vulnerability. Men say crap like this to justify wanting to provoke a friend to blow Fruit Punch Gatorade out of his nose, and retain the hope of ever engaging in behavior which may result in procreation.
This is not behavior which would ever occur to girls or possibly a non-threatening boy-band. There are more subtle forms of expression that females engage in. When it comes to undressing with the eyes, females are constantly evaluating rival boobs, butts, and guts.
Men are so uncomfortable with male genitalia that they question the appropriateness of liking their own. Were men as insecure as women, an entire medical industry would be committed to the construction of desensitized, perpetually aroused, 16" (40 cm) penises.
One will also observe women ritualistically asessing automobiles, shoes and handbags. Most men value an object's value in relation to expenditure as opposed to manufacturer's label, unless they are Republican members of congress or belong to exclusive groups where everybody looks like a Republican member of Congress.
A woman sees a twenty year old hatchback and sees a US$500 pile of junk. If it is halfway clean, has oversize tires and wheels, and a louder-than-standard exhaust, men view it as cool, as long as it is also equipped with a manual transmission. The owner has fortitude, the car looks like it's fun to drive, and probably gets kick-ass gas mileage.
As good as this is for men, many women would prefer a glorified station wagon like a RAV4 or a CR-V to the hatchback, or something even cooler like a pre-GM buyout Saab 900 convertible. The glorified station wagon has air, automatic transmission, a vanity mirror, and a Warranty. The Saab has a power top that one has to wrestle to lower.
I can live with Starter shoes from Wal-Mart and the Saab. The Starters were made by the same Vietnamese children as Nikes, out of the same materials, across the hall in the same sweat shop.
I'll wrestle the inoperable power top to not drive the glorified station wagon; which brings us back to Hijastra (La Mayor)'s advent into adolescence.
Once she finished belittling her younger sister, she started in on me. Part of the recent economic unpleasantness that has gripped the United Stateshas impacted the Wandering Gentile household as well. This included the precocious departure of the Pornstar Minivan, a vehicle which counted my beloved Saab 900 convertible as partial trade.
Hijastra (La Mayor) found humor in this misfortune that I could not, some of her remarks being quite cutting and pointed. To rephrase, I found her comments to be distinctly unfunny. A moment came where I wanted to forget about the little girl who suggests riding over to Birmingham for their available Whataburger franchise, or suggests a trip to the public library so that she may renew her friendship with Princess Mia Thermopolis. These were continent-sized obstacles to the caprice of wanting to cause intense, lingering physical pain.
After a brief, monosyllabic proration unlikely to challenge the intellect of the average Lou Dobbs acolyte, I retired to quarters. Upon arrival, I was greeted by the voice of Hijastra (La Menor). "You see? She does that to me ALL THE TIME!"
The next few years promise to be endlessly diverting.
07 February 2009
When Right Is Wrong
As the worthy opposition in talk radio rants and raves about President Obama's economic recovery package, one wishes to suggest that the conservative talkers are spectacularly wrong about everything.
Privately-based solutions to issues facing the public are infinitely preferable to those coming from the public sector. However, the state of the private sector is such that the catastrophic collapse of large segments of the private intellectual infrastructure has occurred. Free markets can only survive when both the production and consumption sides function as equals.
In the case of the US banking and finance industries, the lack of public oversight left the consumer at a disadvantage to the producer. Ultimately liberties were taken which could not be supported by the market, leaving the production side of the equation with a handful of well-intentioned wishes which were legal and worthless tender simultaneously. Whether we like it or not, the public sector has a role in assuring that the practices of the production side do not overmatch the capabilities of the consumption side.
This goes the same for petroleum companies not gouging the price of gasoline and unions not gouging the price of labor.
At a moment when the economy is shrinking, government has a role as as a parallel conduit for capital improvement. If progress is blocked by large dead obstacles on the normal private path, then it is the necessary role of the public sector to ascertain that the well being of the nation continue to progress regardless.
President Obama's plan appears to have a functional system of mechanisms which appear to promote at least an illusion of rewarding initiative and empowering incentive for enterprises which accept risk. This is not Socialism, which attempts to restrain risk through planned production and scheduled shortage to perpetuate an underserved market receiving inferior product protected from competition by legislative fiat. Socialism isolates a nation behind walls, holding its people incommunicado from new ideas, ultimately enslaving multitudes by appealing to atavistic mistrust of the unknown.
Frankly, the cultural practices of socialism reflect more those of conservative talk radio than the last-resort leveraging of the public sector by a President faced with an economic crisis not of his making. We appreciate the thought that a strict orthodoxy of lower taxes, smaller government, and minimal reliance upon the public sector are keys to the nation's prosperity. Unfortunately, a sampling of large nations indicates that this is not true.
The tax burden in Germany is 42%. Norway's burden is 29%. The USA, Canada, and Australia are all at 24%. Mexico is at 8%. So far, if this wisdom holds constant, Mexico should be the most affluent of all of the countries.
A review of hourly incomes in manufacturing jobs after taxes in Germany, the US, Australia, and Canada has all four countries hovering between US$17-19. The Germans are at the high end, US$18.86, while the US, Canada, and Australia hover within about a quarter of US$17.60. The Norwegians smoked everybody drawing US$24.59, and the Mexicans came in at US$2.30.
Wait a minute, I'm confused! The Mexicans, with the lowest tax rate, the greatest local control of schools, the smallest presence of labor unions, a stricter emphasis upon border security and the strongest structures impeding imported goods, came in DEAD LAST? But, AM talk radio has been telling us that these things would lead to prosperity for twenty years!
Okay, well, Mexico has a heavily deregulated and completely private health care system. They should be the best cared for people, and the life expectancy should reflect that. The Mexican people only spend 6.2% of their GDP on medicine. Men can expect to live to 72.6, women 78.3.
Americans spend 15.2% of their GDP on a private health care system, over US$5700 per person, and get 74.8 for men, 80.1 for women. But this is supposed to be the best health care system in the world. So how come Norwegians, Germans, and Canadians pay less per capita (9-11% of GDP) but get over a year more life expectancy from their nationalized public health systems than we do in the United States? The average dollar outlay is even more dramatic, hovering at half(!!!!!) of what we pay for our health care as Americans.
One country would be a fluke. Two would be questionable. But a view of industrialized nations with nationalized health care shows a consistent per capita cost of between US$2500 and US$3200 per person. One may not speak for a gentle reader, but it looks like Americans are getting the raw end on this one.
After further review...the ruling is such...talk radio is lying to their listeners. The leveraging of public resources for the good of the population paying for them may qualify as socialism under a very broad interpretation of the term. However, the lesson of other industrialized countries, including our next door neighbors in Canada and Mexico, indicates that a certain level of taxaton is necessary and a certain level of publicly-based solutions are necessary for the continued wellbeing and prosperity of the nation.
For those who have invested their faith in the Portly Pundit and Hannie Pie, go get a World Almanac and prove me wrong. Utopianism, be it through a Capitalist or Socialist economic model, is spectacularly unworkable.
Imitating the practices of the Mexican Government is most likely to produce the same results as Mexico. We would be well served by taking our lessons from the neighbor which does not have millions of people risking their lives for a better existence as the object of scorn and prejudice.
Nobody is trying to deport Mike Myers, no matter how little they liked The Love Guru.
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