Your regularly scheduled Sunday posts from the archives are posted and live now for your reading pleasure. Just looking through these last few posts have reminded me how nervous and jerky I was back in November 2006. Between working to open the new office, taking grad classes, running back and forth between Tennessee and Maryland, and obsessively looking for a house to buy, it’s a little surprising that I wasn’t stark raving mad. I suppose it’s possible that I was, of course. I guess crazy people don’t generally recognize that they’ve lost their minds. At ant rate, we’ll be back with more blasts from the past around this time next week. As always, blogging in real time will be back in your inboxes on Monday.
I was halfway through a rant about people who get up early and go shopping in the middle of the night on “Black Friday” until I had one of those pesky moments of clarity. Such moments are painfully inconvenient, especially when they force you to throw 250 already written words over the side. Sadly, I couldn’t in clear conscience continue my rant under the circumstances.
Just as I was about to rhetorically ask who the people were that would get up in the middle of the night just to get things that were available for a few pennies more during normal business hours, I realized that I am one of those people. Sure, I’m not going to crawl out of bed to go somewhere like Target or Macy’s, but let there be a new iPhone or iPad hitting the shelves and I’ll be there in line before Bermuda is getting its first rays of morning sun.
Coming to terms with that little jewel stings a little. Even after years of getting up early on product launch days, I dodn’t feel like one of those people. Maybe it’s because instead of getting trampled to death jamming through the doors at the local Walmart, we’re more likely to be enjoying complimentary Starbucks and granola bars while we wait in a nice orderly queue. Sure, I’m obviously still as crazy the Black Friday crowd, but it’s a much more orderly and serene form of crazy. So there.
Last night, a member of the United States Congress stood in front of a campaign fundraiser in New York City and told the crowd that “The country is ripe for a true revolution.” Worse yet, he had the unmitigated gall to use this call to revolt as nothing more than an applause line. I suggest you study your history, Mr. Paul. Revolutions are brutal affairs. Look to our own Civil War and War for Independence as your examples. Look to France’s Reign of Terror as a guide if the fields of Antietam, Shiloh, Lexington, and Bunker Hill aren’t bloody enough for you.
Words, Congressman Paul, are important. How we use them is important. The meaning we convey, whether intentionally provoking or simply aimed at garnering easy applause, is important. And by God, sir, when you as use your status as a duly elected member of Congress to call for revolution against the government of the United States, you’ve saved us all the trouble of deciding and branded yourself a traitor.
We had our revolution, Congressman, and with it we secured the right to replace our government through legal means. As a twice failed candidate for president, you’ve not garnered the support of enough of your own party to even be the nominee, let alone convince half the electorate at large that your ideas are right. No sir, we don’t need a revolution. What we do need is to get back to the spirit and intent of the revolution we fought to win our independence. I’ve been a capital “R” Republican for most of my adult life, but I’ve been a lowercase “r” republican for much longer. The founders gave us all the tools we need cure what ails this nation. We must fix the foundation, but you want to tear down the whole house and then set the rubble alight. You may couch your rhetoric in populism, but a call to revolution, intentional or otherwise, is a supreme act of cowardice from a man who’s run out of legitimate ideas. Shame! Shame!
I was all set to bring you a different story tonight – a quick thought on the nature of Facebook and the people we meet at different stages of our life. That’s going to have to wait for a day or two now, because the devil has been sighted in a Paris suburb. Apparently he’s not only been sighted, but he’s also been stabbed by his quick thinking sister-in-law. Not a good day to be the prince of darkness, I suppose.
According to our good friends at the Belfast Telegraph, a total of 12 adults and children took part in this visionary experience that started when “A wife in the next room saw her husband moving around naked and began screaming that he was the devil… In the confusion following this apparent case of mistaken identity, the naked man’s sister-in-law stabbed him in the hand and he was ejected through the front door of the flat… When the man forced his way back in, they all began screamed in terror and leapt from the balcony screaming ‘Jesus! Jesus!'”
One has to assume that there is some kind of back story here. I mean even the morning after the most unfortunate one night stand, does anyone wake up and think the naked person in the room with them is the actual devil? Even in the depths of the worst hangover, I have to think that there’s a tiny little sober spot in the back of your head that tells you, “oh, that’s the guy I picked up at the pub last night and not the devil.” I’d think that’s even more true when the accused demon is actually your husband. I mean one can reasonably assume that you’ve seen him naked a time or two before, right? I mean I’m not a theologian, but the devil has horns on his… uhh… head, right? I can only assume that whatever horn-shaped appendage you saw was decidedly not on in the general region of his head. This problematic anatomy could have been a bit of a giveaway, no?
I’m forced to agree with the assistant prosecutor working the case when he allows that “A number of points surrounding this incident remain to be cleared up.” Yeah. This ought to be interesting.