Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are

I’ve been writing this blog for almost five years.  And now that I’m providing enough content to warrant people keeping up with it it’s begun expanding its following, which is of course very gratifying to me.  And I am especially grateful to those of you who have passed along the site address or the link to a particular post.  I think this is the real “organic” growth mechanism as opposed to a Google or even a DuckDuckGo search link.  The opinion of the target audience is the only meaningful measure of the success of a journal.

But I must take the time to ask you all for a favor.  I am not looking for money or more clicks from you.  I’m not even looking for compliments, although praise is a wonderful narcotic that I crave as much as the next man.  What I’m looking for is feedback of some sort.  And it doesn’t even have to be agreement, in fact, disagreement combined with your opinion on the subject at hand would be splendid.  And I’m certainly not looking for histrionics and mock squabbling.  The last thing I think we need is more Jerry Springer theatrics.  And I’m not looking for people to make declarations that they consider dangerous for them to make.  I am quite aware that government and corporate busybodies are everywhere attempting to imitate the KGB on a Keystone Cops basis.  What I’m looking for is a real dialog with the audience.

As much as I like hearing my own voice and as much as I enjoy the scintillating brilliance of my every captured thought, I still believe that there are other people out there in the universe who have something that they can add to all this marvellousness.  I hold to the idea that there is intelligent life in the universe besides me.  And my goal is to discover it and make contact with it and learn something from it and even enjoy the camaraderie of shared humanity.  I feel like that character from the Pink Floyd song saying, “Hello, hello, hello is there anybody out there?”  But I know there are many somebodies out there.  I’ve met some of them.  And they are fantastic people.  But what would be more fantastic would be to reach a critical mass where the conversations become self-sustaining and I become almost an insignificant part of the dialog.

Think of all the brilliant and thoughtful and experienced people that are out there.  And they’re being thrown off social media by the hundreds of thousands and they’re rooting around on the internet looking for a community.  Some have probably found some good ones.  I’ve done it myself.  But many of these places are extremely odd.  Maybe it’s the times we live in.  Maybe it’s some artifact of the monetizing system but there is just too much anger and confusion.  Even the ones that seem to have a lot of good information on what is going on are strange and sort of depressing.  I’m looking to build some kind of community that at least can function in a way that allows information and some kind of dialog to go on.

I think that with the stalinesque woke purges going on almost everywhere in our society; in social media, in corporations, in government, in schools, in churches, even in the military; it’s necessary to have a place where we can go and be able to say what we want to without having someone tell us that we’re not allowed to.  That’s actually the origin of this site.  I got tired of being censored on photography web sites when I disagreed with the ridiculous leftist slant to everything on those sites.

Now, I’m sure there will be plenty of readers who will find that their views fall so far to the Left and the Right of where I am that this site will be uninteresting to them.  The woke will think I’m just a hateful racist.  In fact, I’ve been told that repeatedly.  And there are people way out on the edges of the dissident right who will find my beliefs hopelessly naïve and useless to their taste.  And that is reasonable.  I have no desire to straddle hopeless opposites.  It can’t be done.  But I know that there is an enormous swath of people that exist in the spectrum of conservative thought that would benefit from a chance to talk to people like themselves without being lectured to and hectored and treated like bad children or criminals.

So, if you have anything at all to say.  Say it!  I don’t need your name or even your actual e-mail address.  Put down whatever you like.  But pitch into the conversation with me.  It’ll help me.  It will help other people who are shy.  And who knows, you might really enjoy talking to other intelligent and like-minded people.  So come out, come out, wherever you are.

And if you like what you read here, tell a friend or two or three who are like you and might enjoy it too.

07FEB2021 – Quote of the Day

To Mary

 

If I had thought thou couldst have died,

I might not weep for thee;

But I forgot, when by thy side,

That thou couldst mortal be:

It never through my mind had past

The time would e’er be o’er,

And I on thee should look my last,

And thou shouldst smile no more!

 

And still upon that face I look,

And think ’twill smile again;

And still the thought I will not brook,

That I must look in vain.

But when I speak—thou dost not say

What thou ne’er left’st unsaid;

And now I feel, as well I may,

Sweet Mary, thou art dead!

 

If thou wouldst stay, e’en as thou art,

All cold and all serene—

I still might press thy silent heart,

And where thy smiles have been.

While e’en thy chill, bleak corse I have,

Thou seemest still mine own;

But there—I lay thee in thy grave,

And I am now alone!

 

I do not think, where’er thou art,

Thou hast forgotten me;

And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart

In thinking too of thee:

Yet there was round thee such a dawn

Of light ne’er seen before,

As fancy never could have drawn,

And never can restore!

Charles Wolfe

Back in the USSA, Not Quite

The downside of reading the Gulag Archipelago is that you become dismissive of the power of the FBI.  I mean compared to the KGB and its precursor the NKVD our secret police are pretty lame.  Of course, everything is relative.  Compared to the unimaginable freedom that we used to enjoy here, the present police state is very repressive and upsetting.  A generation ago we would have laughed at the idea of the government spying on all of the phone conversations of the American people.  And the idea that political opponents would now be the targets for re-education camps would have been the subject of science fiction dystopias that sane people would have found too far-fetched to be interesting.

But getting back to the USSR, the Soviets didn’t do anything half way.  They were so zealous and thorough that they would arrest random people just because their quotas hadn’t yet been met.  I was reading a story about a landlady who went to the police station to ask about what to do with a nursing infant whose mother was one of her tenants.  The mother had been arrested by the NKVD and now the child needed milk.  She wanted to know where she should bring the child.  They brought the landlady to a waiting room and after a delay of a few hours they decided to arrest her just because she was already there and the quota needed filling.  She disappeared into the gulag and was never seen again.  Now there’s an action that would bring tears of joy to Jim Comey’s eyes.

I guess my point is that as maddening as it is to see the freest country ever imagined devolving into a police state the reality is that we have a lot of latitude to communicate our ideas and information with each other.  After all I can call Joe Biden, Dementia Joe and Kamala Harris, Willie Brown’s Ho.  And so far, I haven’t been dragged away to Siberia (or even Minnesota) or been shut down by the thought police.  Sure, they’ve shut us out of Twitter and Facebook but honestly those things were overrun with Leftists anyway and from what people on them have told me they weren’t fun anymore anyway.  Larry Correia is one of my favorite fantasy authors partly because he is not a Leftist.  On his blog, Monster Hunter Nation, he wrote a recent post that chronicled his decision to abandon Facebook.  Apparently, they didn’t shut down his very popular page but instead blocked him from writing to it.

I have a Gab page, but honestly, I’ve never really gotten any traffic from it.  The short-short form of writing doesn’t really seem to suit me.  Maybe it’s a skill I need to learn.  But I like writing on my blog and if I can get some visibility from folks like Whatfinger, Disturbed Deputy and MaddMedic then I’m happy to communicate that way.  Lately I’ve been getting some organic search traffic but it’s still quite limited and is restricted to very specific posts that have little to do with the majority of my content.

What I’m getting at is that although I’d love to suddenly go viral and have millions of readers, I’m not sure that was ever a realistic thing.  Are there really that many people interested in the things I am?  Maybe I’ll never know.  But if the people who like my stuff tells some of their friends that’s probably the best way for my site to grow and right now, I don’t think the FBI or even Google is interested in my nefarious writings.  If I do get hurled off my platform, I guess I’ll change my tune but I think what I’d do is what Gab did.  I’d make my site completely bullet proof.  I believe I’ve found a hosting plan that avoids all the vulnerable infrastructure and doesn’t cost an arm and a leg.

Circling back to the beginning.  We have lost a lot of freedom but compared to real totalitarian hell like the Soviet Union or that madman in North Korea we have enough wiggle room to say what we want, to whom we want.  And right now, that’s good enough.

So spread the good word, send all your conservative friends to Orion’s Cold Fire and spit in the eye of Google and the FBI.  Free America still exists here and I’m not feeling pessimistic today.

You’re Telling Me! (1934) – An OCF Classic Movie Review

Full disclosure, W.C. Fields’ characters as the hen-pecked but thoroughly disreputable husband represents in my opinion one of the pillars of the self-respecting American husband.  Although constantly set upon by his wife and family he refuses to knuckle and become bovinely domesticated.  Sometimes he’ll pretend to bow to convention for the sake of a short period of marital tranquility but we know that at any moment he might use the excuse of his mother-in-law’s spurious death as an excuse to skip work and go to the wrestling matches or throw away an inheritance by buying worthless land while following the dream of becoming an orange rancher.  It is this absurd and quixotic aspect of Fields’s characters that convinces me to excuse some of the infuriatingly boring routines that he loads into his movies.  And several of these routines are on maddening display in “You’re Telling Me!”  I’ll skip over the recurring gag of a drunken Fields getting his head and arms tangled in the ornamental ropes on his living room doorway drapery.  That is a mere couple of minutes of idiocy.  But at the climax of the film there is an eight-minute stretch of Fields attempting to drive a golf ball.  A lesser man would have turned it off after a few minutes.  But I soldiered on.  I had to see how Fields’ invention of bulletproof car tires would bring about the story’s happy ending.

I write this introduction to show the reader that I am aware that “You’re Telling Me!” is not a faultless masterpiece.  On the contrary, it’s a W.C. Fields movie which means it is a combination of awful physical comedy, brilliant verbal quips and tragicomical storytelling.  I am also aware that a taste for W.C. Fields is not a universal trait.  Far from it.  But being a true believer, I feel it’s my duty to advocate for the great man.

The premise of the story is that Fields’ character Sam Bisbee is trying to prove to his long-suffering wife Bessie that in addition to being a drunk he is also a great inventor.  He is on the brink of demonstrating his 1000% puncture-proof automobile tire to the National Tire Company.  At the same time Sam’s daughter, Pauline is in love with Bob, the son of the wealthy Murchison family that live on the other side of the tracks.  Bob’s mother is played by Kathleen Howard who played Fields’ wife in two of his other great movies, “It’s a Gift” and “The Man on the Flying Trapeze.”  She comes to visit the Bisbee house to forbid the romance but is delighted to find that Bessie is from an old money family from the Old South.  But immediately afterward Sam shows up and showcases enough boorishness to outrage Mrs. Murchison and in reaction to this rejection Pauline demands that Bob and his mother leave and never come back.  Now that Sam has angered and disappointed both his wife and daughter, he is determined to make good on his promise as an inventor to make the family fortune and thereby restore relations between his daughter and the Murchisons.

We are given a convincing demonstration of his invention in his work shop.  He fires a pistol at the tire and catches the rebounding bullet in a baseball glove.  Now he puts four of these tires on his car and drives into the city to demonstrate it to the Board of the National Tire Company.  Sam parks his car in front of the office building, in a no parking zone, and heads up to the Board room.  The building attendants push his car down the block and apparently called the police to come and take it away.  The police arrive and park in front of the building and exit the scene to meet up with the attendants down the block.

Meanwhile Sam brings the Board down to the front of the office building and apparently not recognizing that the police car isn’t his own he proceeds to shoot out the tires of the police car.  The Board laugh mockingly at his failed demonstration and the police show up and give chase at the sight of their car being used for target practice.  Sam successfully flees as the scene ends.

Next, we see Sam on the train headed back to his home.  He has written a suicide not to Pauline explaining that he can’t endure the humiliation that his failure will spark.  Now we are subjected to another long annoying sequence of Sam attempting to kill himself by drinking a bottle of iodine.  He finally gives it up after seeing a passing graveyard next to the train.

Now we mee the Princess Lescaboura who is travelling on the train in a private room.  Sam wanders into her room accidentally when a servant leaves the door open and he assumes it’s the bathroom.  The princess had just applied iodine to a cut on her hand and seeing the bottle Sam assumes she is about to commit suicide so he recounts his own misfortunes and suicide attempt to dissuade her from the supposed suicide.

She is touched by his mistaken concern for her safety and is also sympathetic to the pathetic personal problems he is in.  He says goodbye to her not knowing that she is royalty, thinking she is a young woman named Marie and invites her to visit his family if she ever stops in his town.

Incidentally while he was talking to the princess a couple of old biddies from his town see him talking to a young woman and spread gossip at home that he is having an affair.  And the story mutates until by the time he reaches home everyone is convinced that he has been involved in a drunken debauch with a stripper.  When Sam reaches town, every woman he meets upbraids him as a masher and every man in town slaps him on the back and wants to hear his story.

When he realizes that his wife will want to kill him when he gets home, he tries to come up with a gift that will assuage her anger.  One of his friends suggests a pet parakeet.  Sam replies that it’ll have to be bigger than that.  In the next scene we see him walking down the main street holding a rope around the neck of an ostrich that doesn’t seem happy about the arrangement.

In the meantime, the princess has arranged for a visit to Sam’s town.  The mayor and all the leading citizens meet her at the train station and she tells them that she wants to go to the home of her friend Sam Bisbee, the man who saved her life “during the war.”  Mrs. Murchison bends over backward to please the princess and the crowd heads for Sam’s house.  Along the way they find Sam and the ostrich and after the princess assures a drunk Sam that he is a hero they head for his home.  Eventually the princess arranges for a party to be given at Sam’s home in her honor and catered by the Murchisons.  The princess provides enough nonsense about how important Sam is back in her country that Mrs. Murchison announces the engagement of her son to Pauline.  And she arranges that Sam will perform the honor of dedicating the new golf course in town by hitting the first drive.  This gives us that agonizing eight-minute dose of torture before the National Tire Company president shows up and offers to buy Sam’s invention for $20,000.  Cutting him off before he can accept, the princess gets into abiding war and the president is forced to offer a million dollars plus a royalty to Sam on each tire sold.  Now the movie ends with Bisbees and Murchisons driving off to a party with the princess and Sam preparing for a two-week drinking bout with his friends.

As you can see, the movie consists of ridiculous events and absurd situations.  But some of the dialog is inspired.  My favorite situation is when Princess Lescaboura meets Sam’s wife.  Bessie is confused and honored by the princess’s friendliness but when the princess exclaims, “You must be the happiest woman in the world.”  All Bessie can confusedly say is, “Is my husband dead?”  And that encapsulates the magic of this movie.  Sam is the quintessence of the American husband.  His refusal to conform to his wife’s opinions on acceptable behavior and the suffering they both experience because of the conflict provides a funhouse mirror version of the real-life war between the sexes.

One small personnel note.  Bob Murchison is played by Buster Crabbe.  Here he is a young and very green actor that would one day thrill us as children when he played Flash Gordon and Buck Rodgers.

So, do I recommend this movie?  It’s hard to say.  If you cannot get through the bad physical comedy bits that are ridiculously long then no, you will not enjoy this movie.  But if you can, then you will be rewarded by some truly inspired comedic moments.  Maybe the solution is to fast forward through those bits.  But that is the coward’s way out.  It’s up to you.

06FEB2021 – Quote of the Day

The Burial of Sir John Moore after Corunna (1817)

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,

As his corse to the rampart we hurried;

Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot

O’er the grave where our hero we buried.

 

We buried him darkly at dead of night,

The sods with our bayonets turning;

By the struggling moonbeam’s misty light

And the lantern dimly burning.

 

No useless coffin enclosed his breast,

Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him,

But he lay like a warrior taking his rest

With his martial cloak around him.

 

Few and short were the prayers we said,

And we spoke not a word of sorrow;

But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead,

And we bitterly thought of the morrow.

 

We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed

And smoothed down his lonely pillow,

That the foe and the stranger would tread o’er his head,

And we far away on the billow!

 

Lightly they’ll talk of the spirit that’s gone

And o’er his cold ashes upbraid him,

But little he’ll reck, if they let him sleep on

In the grave where a Briton has laid him.

 

But half of our heavy task was done

When the clock struck the hour for retiring;

And we heard the distant and random gun

That the foe was sullenly firing.

 

Slowly and sadly we laid him down,

From the field of his fame fresh and gory;

We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone,

But left him alone with his glory.

 

Charles Wolfe

05FEB2021 – photog’s Friday Finds

Powered by Whatfinger News, the nervous system of Free America

Just a few links this week and only one that’s actually political.

Politics

Nebraska County GOP Votes to Censure Ben Sasse; State Party to Hold Meeting on His Anti-Trump Votes and Comments
By Debra Heine   (American Greatness)  (I hate Sasse almost as much as I hate Mitt Romney.  Seeing him censured and hopefully primaried does my heart good.)

 

The Culture

First Steps for Surviving What’s Coming Our Way  By Michael Devon  (American Thinker)  (This is sort of a prepper’s primer on what you might want to have on hand over the course of the Biden reign of terror.  Admittedly this is more of a worst case scenario point of view but there are some interesting items on the list that might make you think.)

TBT: Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony by (The Portly Politico) (Something to get our minds on that’s more pleasant than Washington)