15. April 2015 · Comments Off on The Return of her Inevitableness · Categories: Ain't That America? · Tags:

As I called her, during the Hillary-Obama knock-down and drag-out over the Dem nom leading up to the 08’ Presidential Race festivities. I termed that particular contest “Ebony vs Ovary.” They were well-matched for awfulness, back then, weren’t they? Chicago machine politics vs Arkansas skeevy corruption; in the words of Henry Kissinger, it was a pity that both of them couldn’t loose.
So she has lost out twice, but now we see Her Inevitableness mounting up once again and setting out to bash the windmills once again, although that particular image means that Huma Abedin is in the Sancho Panza role, which doesn’t work on so many levels that you’d have to explore other dimensions to reach them all. All props for grim determination, I have to say – and I’d also have to say that once upon a time, I might have respected her a lot more if she had only dumped that sweet-talking sleaze of a husband once they were done with the White House the first time, taken back her family name and … like actually done something efficient and effective on her own.

The one thing, over all of the things that annoy me about Hillary Clinton (and I have a long list of them, starting with how cynically Third World oligarchy-style it is to have the wife of a former president campaigning for the office after hubby has done his two terms) is the assumption on the part of too darned many – that because she is a woman, and I am a woman than NATURALLY I will be voting for her because – FIRST WOMAN PRESIDENT!!!11!! Or even because it’s Her Turn! No, this is not Argentina, she is not Evita Peron. And absolutely no, now that we have finally seen the last of the Kennedy spawn wither into irrelevance and of interest only to the tabloid chroniclers of serial adultery, spousal abuse and drug/alcohol abuse, we do not have an American royal family. Trying to launch another one on the basis of Elle glamor cover stories and palatial New York apartments likely is doomed to failure, albeit hopefully not quite as drawn-out as the epic telenovela of Camelot on the Potomac. I view any situation where members of the same family – be they spouse or spawn – appear to inherit a political office with the same suspicion I regard week-old leftovers in the refrigerator. Sequential political careers becoming the family business smacks of a hereditary aristocracy, and yes, I was just as annoyed by the Bushes and the Gores and the rest of them. Even the Adamses, but at least they had competence to recommend them, whereas one really cannot say the same about Her Inevitableness. And talk about a charm deficit…

Which brings me back to about another item on my list of beefs with Her Inevitableness: Benghazi. Dead ambassador, burned-out consulate attacked by a mob, dead former SEALS, people in her organization being left to hang in the wind, waiting, hoping, praying for rescue to arrive before it was too late. But it was too late. And then – the lies and rationalizations afterwards, piled higher and deeper. Honestly, I cannot see how that woman can live with herself, except that somehow she seems to manage. Maybe it’s easy to rise above it all, while living a life of near-royal splendor, having plenty of sycophants waiting to kiss the hand, murmur adoring praise and pitch softball questions, while those beneath notice must hastily absent themselves through the nearest doorway or turn and face the wall rather than meet the quasi-royal eye.

No wonder the patrons and staff of that Chipotle in Maumee took no notice of Her Inevitableness. They must have gotten the message.

(Crossposted at www.chicagoboyz.net)

05. April 2015 · Comments Off on Things · Categories: Ain't That America?

‘Things are in the saddle, and ride mankind,’ as the philosopher Emerson observed, and as I was reminded every time that I changed assignments at the bidding of the Air Force. Having to shift all your personal household ‘things’ every three years or so meant that the acquisition of ‘things’ was kept to a dull roar. Yes, there were the usual artistic souvenirs … and in my case, books without number … but on the other hand, the 220V appliances, transformers, and potted plants usually were handed off upon scheduling of a pack-out date; extraneous clothing and other ‘stuff’ usually had a date with the base thrift store, and what couldn’t be sold or donated was dumped. I couldn’t help observing, though, that my own ‘things’ went from a couple of B-4 bags, a duffle and a suitcase, to a single van-load in the space of three years, and multiplied exponentially in the years thereafter. (Still – in spite of all the books, I was still under the weight limit on the last PCS move.)

But – in 1994, I bought a house, and moving into it constituted my very last PCS move. (Although I never have thrown away the stereo boxes. They’re still stacked in the garage.) My daughter finished her last hitch in the Marines in 2006, and came home to roost with her ‘things’ which went into the house or the garage. We added to the mutual household ‘things’ over the following years, leavened and reduced by the occasional garage sale, or natural household selection. Yes, things wore out; china and glass items hit the floor and broke, I upgraded certain household items like pots and pans, computers, major appliances … but certain things were added to the household, either by my daughter or myself; pictures and books, nice bits of china and glass. That kind of careless collecting of ‘stuff’ might soon slow to a crawl, though, owing to an experience this last weekend.

So, we have always rather enjoyed yard and estate sales. Great was our rejoicing on Friday to discover another one, not three blocks away. There was a good crowd outside, and a huge quantity of tools and boxes arranged on racks in the driveway, and cars and pickup trucks parked on both sides of the street for a block in either direction. This was a most promising development, so we hustled the dogs home and drive back in my car. There was a line to get in – as the sale manager minding the door explained with a terribly harassed expression, there was so much stuff inside the house they simply had to limit the numbers of people coming inside for reasons of safety. The owners of the house had been hoarders. I mean, they had hoarded to the point where the house had been entirely packed solid. The team managing the disposition of the sale had filled several industrial-sized dumpsters of junk, before they could even begin on the sellable items. There was a storage shed out in back, and apparently some storage units also filled with ‘stuff’ for which there was no room until what was in the house could be sold.

We waited for about half an hour, rather intrigued. We had heard about this kind of thing, but never actually seen it first-hand. The elderly couple whose home this had been were said by the neighbors to be absolutely wonderful, sweet people, and generally good neighbors, but the house had a definite air of neglect about it. And once we did get inside – oh, my god; the house was even more dilapidated on the inside; dusty, unkempt and as dim as a cave. There was no bannister on the upper part of the staircase, and in one room, a massive roof leak in the ceiling had eaten away the ceiling drywall, and spilled dirty insulation into the room – there was, however, a plastic wastebasket wedged between the top of a tall bookcase and the ceiling in an attempt to catch water leaking through. The house, and the back porch was crammed, every corner, nook and closet with stuff; for some unfathomable reason, mounds of luggage. Camera gear and accessories, stereo components and laser printers, most of them new and untouched. Lamps and knickknacks, box after box of sets of china, toy trains, Madame Alexander dolls, still in boxes, much of it covered in dust. Books, of course; one whole walk-in closet lined with shelves of DVDs and VHS tapes.

I came away with a pierced chine de blanc lamp, which had no shade and wiring so ancient that the plastic practically crumbled in my hands as I took it apart. It must have been in storage for years, for it was absolutely filthy. I’d always wanted one, as they sold them in all sizes in the BX in Japan, but all I could afford back then was a small one. As I waited to pay for it, my eye fell on a Kodak EasyShare camera, just about the same make and model as the one I currently use – which barely works any more. This one was a slightly older iteration, but unused – still with the protective film over the view-screen, and even had the instruction manual with it. The camera I got for $5 dollars. The estate sale people, I judge, had gone past trying to get fair market value and were just pricing most items to sell as fast as possible to anyone willing to take them away.

We came back on Saturday, just to see if anything interesting was left; there was – enough to carry on the sale through the following day. This time my daughter suggested that we look at the tools and stuff in the garage, which we had not done on Friday. Most of the good power tools and camping gear had sold, but my daughter spotted a carved wooden door. Solid wood, un-finished and for an extremely reduced price … we had intended to replace the front door anyway. So, I bought it, while my daughter called our chivalrous next-door neighbor with a pick-up truck. It’s out in the shed right now, awaiting application of stain and varnish.

Good purchases all, and at excellent prices, but I am resolved after this that any purchases of anything other than books will be on a replacement-only bases. Something coming into the house will necessitate something else going out of the house. Whatever the future holds for my estate and home, it should not involve multiple dumpsters.