When Ronald Reagan announced in November 1994 he had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, even some of his most ardent political opponents paused to wish him well.-- Cal Thomas
I am considering petitioning the Obama Administration to place me on a citizen's guest list for the ceremonial lying in state when Jimmy Carter passes away. His impending absence is relevant to individuals like columnist George Will and I, in the startling things we discover about the impending loss of time worn adversaries. When the moment arrives I'd like to pay my respects, a genuine sentiment which astonishes me. In an upper track history course, with yet another teacher who aroused my father as first love sexual promiscuity, the essay election choice question for Ronald Reagan over then President Carter served as a bell weather prediction for the 1980 election. Twenty odd essays going pro-Reagan predicted that November evening landslide, just as a grey Cardigan sweater on television with the grooved face of a peanut farmer sparked the dawn of political consciousness, and created the ex-President's trajectory, of which Carter's was tedious, overly long. Habitat for Humanity, which I've contacted, is absolutely no help, and sends pre-formatted emails suggesting the disabled contact Liberty Resources, for which you may picture my wearied and martyred tableau of emotions, but this flags the notion of persistence and maybe I need to persuade Carter's organization that the intake center needs to be closed.
The rise and fall of a peanut farmer in the evolution of liberalism is dynamic; his programs are, in contrast, monolithic, and at least in the fabric of the social safety net, sterile. I little minded leaving Reagan's passing as a video footnote. His was the celebrity artifice, the uneasy realization that ideology merely moves the needle one way or other, unless revolutions implode, and tyranny has its run until succession softens things up. Jimmy's failure as a leader tailgated a certain youthful idealism that spastics could also be whitewashed into a meteoric rise, actually more like that of a portable ramp incline. I find myself wishing to say goodbye, which would involve convincing the Secret Service that I'm not Miriam Carey, and of course, the man hasn't yet been admitted to hospice, but the inevitable has begun. He's 91 this October.
Showing posts with label miriam carey. Show all posts
Showing posts with label miriam carey. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 18, 2015
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
Excessive Force
Let us consider: Liberal academics claimed, shortly after the tragedy of Miriam Carey's death in October of 13, that deescalation might have saved her if the Capitol police had received the training to be able to distinguish non threatening mental illness from lethal intent. Carey was a dental hygienist. Omar Jose Gonzalez was, as if I need to reiterate it, an Iraqi veteran broken by his tour of duty, coupled with economic stress. Both had a fixation with our now unpopular President, a president who nevertheless, as all national politicians do, uses cultist adulation on his Obama for America website in order to inspire partisan loyalty. Gonzalez was not killed. Miriam was, but the preponderance of the evidence suggests that this woman with the baby in her car did not pose a serious threat to Barack Obama.
One of the House panel members who grilled Julia Pierson, which one I cannot confirm via transcript, as I'm pressed for time, essentially suggested to Pierson that Gonzalez should have been gunned down, just as Carey was.
We cannot have citizens in various stages of derangement threatening the functions of the federal government. Regardless of ideology we need some sort of system in place. I am not suggesting otherwise, but what I am asking us to examine is how quickly, with lightning speed, expendable classes of people are made. Did Gonzalez think threatening or killing the man who was elected to office opposing the war would ease his trauma? What was going on with Carey that her mind, stressed as a young minority with a baby to rear, needed access to the new hope of 2008 who turned out to be not so miraculous after all? Carey was just one of us, nameless, troubled, stressed. I have remained perturbed about her death without faulting the officers who enacted it-- but Gonzalez was created by the armed forces, was expended, and fell into the very small percentile of soldiers who go berserk.
Fixation is a nice word, but we have one black woman dead, forgotten, one veteran, presumably Latino, whose life is now over. Authorities will never allow him parole, in this new age where medieval savagery has reentered the lexicon, its shock value overplayed by Muslims, and a good man destroyed because civil libertarians insist on obfuscating self-defense into victimization, fifty years after Johnson enacted the civil rights act.
One of the House panel members who grilled Julia Pierson, which one I cannot confirm via transcript, as I'm pressed for time, essentially suggested to Pierson that Gonzalez should have been gunned down, just as Carey was.
We cannot have citizens in various stages of derangement threatening the functions of the federal government. Regardless of ideology we need some sort of system in place. I am not suggesting otherwise, but what I am asking us to examine is how quickly, with lightning speed, expendable classes of people are made. Did Gonzalez think threatening or killing the man who was elected to office opposing the war would ease his trauma? What was going on with Carey that her mind, stressed as a young minority with a baby to rear, needed access to the new hope of 2008 who turned out to be not so miraculous after all? Carey was just one of us, nameless, troubled, stressed. I have remained perturbed about her death without faulting the officers who enacted it-- but Gonzalez was created by the armed forces, was expended, and fell into the very small percentile of soldiers who go berserk.
Fixation is a nice word, but we have one black woman dead, forgotten, one veteran, presumably Latino, whose life is now over. Authorities will never allow him parole, in this new age where medieval savagery has reentered the lexicon, its shock value overplayed by Muslims, and a good man destroyed because civil libertarians insist on obfuscating self-defense into victimization, fifty years after Johnson enacted the civil rights act.
Sunday, October 13, 2013
Eagle Scavengers
"If you could drive you could get a better job."-- Daniel Raudenbush, a director who hit the nail on the head
I could have written a piece similar to that of James Mulvaney. Obviously I did not, and I do not resent his byline; I resent the fact that I cannot marshal my facts fast enough to mediate between timeliness and an interesting perspective. Mulvaney is persuasive, but a devil's advocate like me, who would have also referenced Aaron Alexis, might have weighed the alternative of law enforcement caution. If Miriam had crashed the barrier with her Infiniti, killing herself and her child, the issue driving the debate would have been of a different caliber. Even if James makes new allies in the ever specialized behavior modification field, we cannot be expected to master and isolate every contingency.
If you are asking if I am reversing my sentiments which echo that of the body politic, of course not. Even as a reactionary I feel that Miriam's death was a disgrace. She was not an enemy, only expended collateral for the sake of protecting sculpture and property, collectively important landmarks, yes, but it points to my philosophical intransigence with public housing. As a tenant, I am expendable, treated as such.
Where I would also diverge from Mulvaney is on the emblematic nature of Carey's pursuit and death. Post-modernists, perhaps Henry James, would utilize a crack in an aesthetically pleasing object, and this is a well worn and time honored literary conceit. I view it somewhat differently: that our competence isn't keeping pace with our paradigms, and that homo sapiens fears species inadequacy as much as it does planetary annihilation, thematically enlarged as a motif beyond expert specialization. We should apply ourselves to the issue. Perhaps there is a Carey back story in my future, but not in the immediate aftermath; it is unfortunate, an epistemological generation to which I could contribute.
I could have written a piece similar to that of James Mulvaney. Obviously I did not, and I do not resent his byline; I resent the fact that I cannot marshal my facts fast enough to mediate between timeliness and an interesting perspective. Mulvaney is persuasive, but a devil's advocate like me, who would have also referenced Aaron Alexis, might have weighed the alternative of law enforcement caution. If Miriam had crashed the barrier with her Infiniti, killing herself and her child, the issue driving the debate would have been of a different caliber. Even if James makes new allies in the ever specialized behavior modification field, we cannot be expected to master and isolate every contingency.
If you are asking if I am reversing my sentiments which echo that of the body politic, of course not. Even as a reactionary I feel that Miriam's death was a disgrace. She was not an enemy, only expended collateral for the sake of protecting sculpture and property, collectively important landmarks, yes, but it points to my philosophical intransigence with public housing. As a tenant, I am expendable, treated as such.
Where I would also diverge from Mulvaney is on the emblematic nature of Carey's pursuit and death. Post-modernists, perhaps Henry James, would utilize a crack in an aesthetically pleasing object, and this is a well worn and time honored literary conceit. I view it somewhat differently: that our competence isn't keeping pace with our paradigms, and that homo sapiens fears species inadequacy as much as it does planetary annihilation, thematically enlarged as a motif beyond expert specialization. We should apply ourselves to the issue. Perhaps there is a Carey back story in my future, but not in the immediate aftermath; it is unfortunate, an epistemological generation to which I could contribute.
Friday, October 11, 2013
Miscellaneous Protocol
"They do not have to be doing this," Cassie James Holdsworth, linear whiner at regulatory restriction
No, I am not feeling particularly better, though I am less phlegmatic in color. Food is an anathema. It would be a pleasure to cease digestion and consider the possible vaginal absorption of Ensure. The Golden Years Rush.
Common Sense LOA edition back on shelf, due to other priorities, but Paine's anti-authoritarian rationale derived from agrarian Semitic polemicists mistrustful of city states would fit right in with the bravado insurgency. Would you enjoy a small token of honesty? Okay. I took a dig at the Miriam Carey event yesterday, a dig on the basis of deconstructing irrational behavior, upending it with the tenet that Obama speaks to everyone on nearly a weekly basis.
But in my annoying interdisciplinary approach, the Carey family has my commiseration. Miriam was sick, much sicker than the system ever attempted to make me accept about myself. I have been in Senate offices in DC, and I do not fuck with the capitol police, and I'd vanish at the approach of the Secret Service, who would kill me because I am mad at the President, which in translation means the trappings of the Oval Office would not subdue the Spastic Tongue Lashing, and then I'd go boom, like Miriam, poor woman. I do not believe she had to die like that, but what to do? I'm not that radical about non-compliance. She did fuck with the capitol police, the secret service, the landscaping contractor.
Nonetheless, the odds of her gaining access to the President were 10 to the sixth power to one, and it is unseemly, playing wild west with a citizen in pain in Washington's metro area with her baby in the vehicle.
On the less slim chance that my energy realigns sufficiently and I can land future assignments that I will complete to an editor's satisfaction, I am in search of a photographer with a decent portfolio who can negotiate their own contracts. I'll reiterate this every so often. I cannot deal with pics, even if Apple had spastic smart phones. I do have a portfolio. It may not be Vanity Fair, but it is sturdy, with one byline to a Pulitzer Prize winner. I am not in the mood for breakfast. Sulky morning, wondering how a dental hygienist could afford an Infiniti in the first place.
We need a moment of conscience.
No, I am not feeling particularly better, though I am less phlegmatic in color. Food is an anathema. It would be a pleasure to cease digestion and consider the possible vaginal absorption of Ensure. The Golden Years Rush.
Common Sense LOA edition back on shelf, due to other priorities, but Paine's anti-authoritarian rationale derived from agrarian Semitic polemicists mistrustful of city states would fit right in with the bravado insurgency. Would you enjoy a small token of honesty? Okay. I took a dig at the Miriam Carey event yesterday, a dig on the basis of deconstructing irrational behavior, upending it with the tenet that Obama speaks to everyone on nearly a weekly basis.
But in my annoying interdisciplinary approach, the Carey family has my commiseration. Miriam was sick, much sicker than the system ever attempted to make me accept about myself. I have been in Senate offices in DC, and I do not fuck with the capitol police, and I'd vanish at the approach of the Secret Service, who would kill me because I am mad at the President, which in translation means the trappings of the Oval Office would not subdue the Spastic Tongue Lashing, and then I'd go boom, like Miriam, poor woman. I do not believe she had to die like that, but what to do? I'm not that radical about non-compliance. She did fuck with the capitol police, the secret service, the landscaping contractor.
Nonetheless, the odds of her gaining access to the President were 10 to the sixth power to one, and it is unseemly, playing wild west with a citizen in pain in Washington's metro area with her baby in the vehicle.
On the less slim chance that my energy realigns sufficiently and I can land future assignments that I will complete to an editor's satisfaction, I am in search of a photographer with a decent portfolio who can negotiate their own contracts. I'll reiterate this every so often. I cannot deal with pics, even if Apple had spastic smart phones. I do have a portfolio. It may not be Vanity Fair, but it is sturdy, with one byline to a Pulitzer Prize winner. I am not in the mood for breakfast. Sulky morning, wondering how a dental hygienist could afford an Infiniti in the first place.
We need a moment of conscience.
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Omelette Influenza
Kept myself off eggs for a few weeks. On an anecdotal level I seemed to dry out, but upon cratering to my tastes and driving out in the rain and despite phlegm expectorants, spastic doesn't feel well and paid for my hot bowl of chili this morning, little kimmy on Joey's favorite pillow looking up at me saying I know I am not your most beloved feline but I keep house and une peu Vincento in line and insist you make additional efforts to give sans audience the pet children picture showcase after you dry out that damn puss!
My genetic line must have absorbed a bit of those gladiator lions who slaughtered true believers, given the troubles I put up with. I'd like a spot of pea soup, with ham, but my schedule is on official sick day. Does Asia chortle, or should that question be nixed for my own protection?
My genetic line must have absorbed a bit of those gladiator lions who slaughtered true believers, given the troubles I put up with. I'd like a spot of pea soup, with ham, but my schedule is on official sick day. Does Asia chortle, or should that question be nixed for my own protection?
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