Alarming News: I like Morgan Freeberg. A lot.
Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler: We were following a trackback and thinking "hmmm... this is a bloody excellent post!", and then we realized that it was just part III of, well, three...Damn. I wish I'd written those.
Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler: ...I just remembered that I found a new blog a short while ago, House of Eratosthenes, that I really like. I like his common sense approach and his curiosity when it comes to why people believe what they believe rather than just what they believe.
Brutally Honest: Morgan Freeberg is an intriguing guy...[he] asks great questions and answers others with style, flair, reason and wit. On the blogroll he goes. Make him a part of your regular blogospheric reading. I certainly will.
Brutally Honest: Morgan Freeberg is brilliant.
Common Sense Junction: Misha @ Anti-Idiotarian never ceases to amaze me. He keeps finding other good blogs. I went over to A.I. this morning for my daily Misha fix and he had found this guy named Morgan Freeberg in Fair Oaks, California, that has a blog, House of Eratosthenes. Freeberg says its "The Blog That Nobody Reads" but it may now become the blog that everybody reads.
Jaded Haven: Good God, Morgan, you cover a topic from front to back with a screwy thoroughness I find mind boggling. I'm in awe of your thought proccesses, my friend, you're an exceptional talent. You start by throwing in the kitchen sink, tie in someone's syphilitic uncle, bend around a rip tide of brilliance and bring it all home in a neat, diamond dripping package of an exceptionally readable moment of damn fine wordsmithing. I love reading you.
Mein Blogovault: Make "the Blog that No One Reads" one of your daily reads.
Philmon: When Morgan meanders, stick with him - he's got a point and it'll be worth it in the end. He's not a hit-and-run snarky quip kind of guy. The pieces all fall into place like tumblers in a lock and bang! He's opened a cognative door for you.
Rightlinx: Morgan at House of Eratosthenes is one of the best writers out there. I read him nearly every day because he manages to provide an interesting perspective, even though I don't always agree.
Poetic Justice: Cletus! Ah gots a laiv one fer yew...
There’s a pretty good chance it’s real, and The Other McCain’s summary is so concise and excellent I want to make sure it’s filed away. No matter where Herman Cain goes, this is going to become relevant later:
Despite all of the obituaries for the Cain campaign, then, what do we know about the three accusers whose names are public?
- Sharon Bialek twice filed for bankruptcy and the suggestion that she was financial stable because she lived with a wealthy fiancé proved false: He’s unemployed and on the verge of bankruptcy himself and — oh, by the way — he’s not actually her fiancé anymore. Also, Bill Kurtis said Bialek had a “history,” whatever that means.
- Karen Kraushaar filed a “frivolous” complaint against her next employer after getting paid “go away” money by the National Restaurant Association.
- Ginger White, an unemployed twice-divorced single mom who is nine months behind on her rent and made libelous accusations of racism and drug abuse against her ex-business partner.
Everybody keeps saying there’s an awful lot of smoke for there to be no fire, but each of these women has something in her background that tends to taint her credibility. A month into this, and we have no actual proof that Cain did anything wrong. [bold emphasis mine]
We’re going to see this again even if Cain is toast. It has not escaped my attention, and I hope it has not escaped yours, that a series of wretchedly inconvenient disasters is systematically falling upon the hapless heads of smaller-government candidates. Bad debate moments, bimbo eruptions, awkward interviews…
No, nobody can control Fred Thompson and Sarah Palin and Rick Perry botching it during debates and interviews, nor is there any evidence, to my knowledge, to suggest someone is behind the scenes coordinating Cain’s gals like little string-puppets. Except Gloria Allred, that is. But the media can control how big of a story each of these debacles can become. And they’ve been making use of that advantage, nonstop, pretty much since the Bush/Gore hoop-de-doo. And before. Well by now, with responsible Americans reading about our mushroom-cloud public debt, passion for fiscal restraint is running high and the countering passion to bloat the government further is running commensurately high.
They’re backed into a corner. What do wild animals and people do when they’re backed into a corner and have one weapon? And so we hear a bunch of fluff about small-government candidates; fluff that has nothing whatsoever to do with how they would govern if they were ever elected. Someone, somewhere, decides the fluff should be repeated over and over again until something happens. Bad on them. The rest of us decide they should get away with it. Bad on us.
Ginger White makes an adultery charge against Cain and she’s on NBC within hours. But when Juanita Broaddick accused Chelsea’s father of raping her in a 1999 Dateline NBC interview, then-anchor Tom Brokaw never allowed one single second of her voice to break into the NBC Nightly News.
So this is really a minor skirmish within a big war about economic systems. Social contracts, as I said before.
Speaking of which — I notice something about this, that nobody anywhere is discussing, which I think is particularly worthy of note. The feminists are conspicuously silent about it. We seem to have an alternate social contract in place, sort of an underworld economy, set up gradually and unconsciously for the use of nominally pulchritudinous, Sigourneylicious females. Serial bankruptcies, serial evictions, “go-away money” and an occasional press conference. Living in the twilight of their years of man-appeal, it seems they start to feel God’s gifts slipping out of their wrinkly but well-manicured fingers, along with their marketability. They begin flailing around for some sort of “retirement” plan.
And so we have our completely bizarre moonlight ritual of sexual harassment litigation. What’s the phrase we wanted to toss into the time capsule? “Non-sexual gesture that made her feel uncomfortable.” There ya go. Somewhere in a Wall Street Journal (may or may not go rummaging in the archives to find it) someone was guessing the break-even point for these things to be around a hundred grand. I’m doubting like the dickens this is an accident. Wherever a community of people rely on a meal ticket, someone in our system of “law” will pop up to inflate that meal ticket by whatever means…and when the break-even point is a hundred large, a “go away” jackpot of fifty is obviously not unreasonable. It becomes a question of simple math.
It’s the paycheck of that alternate, subterranean economy. The commodity of choice. The coin of the underworld. Have some sympathy, it must be a wretched way to live. And this is the world modern feminism has built. Young women who feel reticent about starting families, are discouraged from doing so, and if they’re feeling ambivalent about educating themselves and refining some precious skill in a hard vocation that could make some real money, they’re discouraged from that as well. Just learn Astrology, Buddhism and oppressed-minority-studies and it’ll all work out. Well, all of them cannot become tenured professors in the Oppressed Minority Studies Department. So we have this underworld-economy. An alternate market system for unskilled single ladies past their prime. He looked at me funny, give me some money.
I can recite it with my eyes closed: “It’s very important to note that the intent of the accused is entirely irrelevant, it is the perception of the person who might have been offended that decides everything.” Nobody ever stops to ask “Hey waitaminnit, why is that??” Here we have a bunch of lawyers all of a sudden legislating how humans at work interact with each other. Someone, among them, came up with this rule which clearly has special importance. And is also extraordinarily dangerous. It’s like going into an oil refinery and telling everyone “It’s very important that you be smoking, all of the time.” There’s a rule that would, clearly, be subject to lots of question. But this other one is subjected to none at all. No real chance to avoid the problem of looked-at-me-funny, it’s too late for you, that’s what you get for making the mistake of having a boss who would hire a woman who’s a nutcase. So it’s all on you.
Why does it work this way? Because these subterranean unskilled past-their-prime single females depend on it for their livelihood. They haven’t got anything else.
It’s occasionally said that Jack the Ripper was a force for good in a way, because that string of murders made the public aware of the plight of the indigent in Whitechapel, especially of the “working women” who plied their trade there. This, too, was an alternate underworld market thriving and writhing beneath an opaque surface, serpent-like, out of sight in merry, oblivious Victorian England. Perhaps the derailment of Herman Cain’s candidacy will eventually culminate in a similar, edifying lesson for us all. The situation’s very similar when you think of it: Weird things taking place, because we haven’t been taking care of our gals. Everyone’s raised from childhood to think of females in the here-and-now — carry their luggage, open the doors for them, carry out their vendettas, never ever let them starve. But it’s not so easy to think of their future, and it’s interesting that few people have done them greater long-term harm here than our feminists.
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.