River Visual 13 KLGA
River Visual 13 KLGA
The great thing about conveniently forgetting history is that we don’t have to compare conditions of the present to conditions of the past. We make the old conditions “conversationally illegal”, because historical facts are inconvenient. They’re easily disputable and time consuming to verify. Usually shifting the whole discussion away from the target idea into fact checking mode. Far easier and politically expedient to just bitch about what is at present.
Compared to what? Strike up the cowbell:
For example, reminisce about these health care issues that were addressed by the Affordable Care Act:
We can remember the past, or we can just bitch about how the new system isn’t perfect out of the box and isn’t free of costs. It’s disingenuous, but that’s politics. God forbid that the Democrats led by a black man roll out a successful health care plan that puts 28 million new people into the health system. We’ll have to keep them from voting.
Just to be clear, the 2nd Amendment does NOT have to be changed. Ever. What has to be changed is the currently accepted notion for the related costs of gun use to be socialized across the entire population. The costs of the right to own and bear arms should be attributed exclusively to gun users through a combination of insurance, surtaxes, licensing, and registration. The rest of the population should be free of that financial encumbrance.
Just because it’s a “right” doesn’t mean it’s free. For example, “Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness” are “unalienable rights”. What if they were also free?
Change will require the Roberts court to recognize their life-costly discontinuity with reality, and then backpedaling with a single decision. Attributing social costs to those responsible will be the only way to tamp down the man-toy revolutionary mania.
[Click image for a larger size.]
Modern conservative strategy is an effort to spin hysteria out of imagination and then justify large friendly expenditures to vaingloriously destroy the straw man.
Admit nothing, deny everything, make counter accusations.
One of the smartest kids in my Munster Indiana high school class of 1968 today rules his own kingdom. Literally. The island of Naitaba, one of the Fiji islands. Satellite image here. The island used to be owned by Perry Mason actor Raymond Burr. Four thousand acres, and some several hundred residents. Most of the residents are non-Fijian adherents of Adi Da, of which my old friend has become the “main man”, although I don’t remember his exact title. This is their island. A small native population is also resident, and they perform the agricultural work.
I met up with him one evening a few years ago in a taco shop on Fullerton Avenue in Chicago, across from his group’s cultural center there. His trip the next day was 25 hours of Chicago to LA to Nadi Fiji. Then a small plane ride to the outer island Taveuni. Then a six hour boat ride to Naitaba. It seems safe to consider the island to be remote. He has no intention of ever moving off that island back into normal civilization. Just the very occasional visit to see his aging family.
The whole thing was a bit strange. Our mutual friend Peter was supposed to show up too to provide for tag-team conversation, but busy people have important things to do. Peter died some months thereafter. I didn’t know anything about the Adidam religion(?), nor did I care to do much inquiring. As a Hubbleist you might guess the existence of naturally occurring small force repulsion to those topics of conversation.
Two beers for me. Nothing for him, and then it was over. My brush with royalty.
We don’t live the lives we were meant to by merrily shoving Artificially Fried Chicken Flavored Dorito Slurpees down our gullets while watching our societies crumble. We live them when we build things. Great things. Worthy things. Noble things. And the greatest, worthiest, and noblest of all things that mankind has ever built are not apps, drones, corporations, or profits. They are societies in which every life counts. In which every life is truly, fully lived.
Let’s face common sense facts. The lazy shiftless freeloaders of the bottom 99% are breaking the financial and moral backs of this country that we love. They should all be communally forced to work harder, for less money, and lower their expectations of modern life. Because that’s the kind of nation that we want to be.
All you’ve got to do is go (almost) anywhere else (particularly BIG countries), spend a little time understanding their problems, and my bet is you’ll come home happily preferring our problems. We Americans love to be manipulated by our cultural differences; sex, drugs, and rock’n roll, while the puppet masters get their dirty power and money work done out of eyeshot. And we love to protect our rich people. Who knows, maybe we’ll hit the lottery one day and join the country club. Better to then have a clean pedigree.
You know, a huge percentage of the smart people in the world want to come to the US. We don’t let them. Those smart folks can stay and stew in their stinking countries. Or go elsewhere with their genius. We only legally let in taxi drivers. Slaughterhouse and agriculture workers have to sneak in. And that’s the way we like it.
I was looking for a photo like this. This one is going around on the Internet, and I believe a lot of people don’t know what they’re looking at. I’ve wanted to show how in the ’80s the Chicago South-side gangs would bring in their money to buy three or six brand new motorcycles. Twenty to thirty grand of cash sales. This was before the $10,000 banking rule.
John or I would count this money with the main man sitting across the table and a half dozen armed henchmen lording around us. Each rubber banded bundle had to be individually unwrapped, counted, and made into visible piles. No money moved without mutual agreement. There was always a scam for a few hundred dollars built into the count requiring the perfunctory emotional elevation. That little scam had to be found in order to maintain respect.
We always had to count the money twice, and usually a couple more times till everyone agreed. It would take maybe two hours to get it right, but always ended up OK. And as good customers, they’d be back for parts and service.