"Stop complaining."
If
the videos posted to social media on the subject have a modicum of
authenticity, there are those on the right who allege that Moore’s loss to Doug
Jones was a conspiracy; they ought to be applying that disbelief in the voting
to examining why he was allowed to secure the nomination in the first place.
The Troy Messenger cites Shirley Reddoch as saying that Moore’s run off victory
against Strange sent “a clear statement”. Yeah, a clear statement that Trumpian
methodology has sent Republicans into freefall. Even the fact that New York’s
mogul in chief supported Moore is a contradiction in terms. President Trump
proclaimed often enough during the primaries that he was a businessman. In that
light, going against rational conservative objections to support Moore, such as
those voiced by Toomey, made the president look like a mouth piece for an
authoritarian regime in trouble, as opposed to a shrewd political strategist.
George Wallace, to whom Moore has been compared, might have been the inflammatory
bigot of his day, but when he could still walk, he stepped aside rather than be
arrested by the military who insured that Brown
v. Board of Education was enforced, proving that he was a realist unwilling
to sacrifice himself for what he purportedly believed. Wallace has even been
vindicated in part, if you examine urban school districts for any great length,
given that economics have re-segregated pubic schools. The accusations of
molestation were not dispositive, but they rode on an irrational wave of hysteria
which bodes ill for the republic. Moore has a right to be as dogmatic as he wishes, but separation of church and state is an abiding principle of American pluralism, and has no place in the federal legislature. It signifies how much Catholic temperance has failed to reign in the fervor of American evangelical factionalism in the US, despite Niall's admiration of our "work ethic'" in apparent abeyance at the moment.
The
left has essentially lost its mind, and the right seems hell bent on swallowing
its own tail, which leaves the dowager, in her suffering under the wondrous rationing
of the welfare state, and her faulty consumer decisions, severely disconcerted.
I want conservatives to succeed, to roll back the drawbridge, even as my
options grow ever more tenuous, and the toll of bad mechanics weakens me as I
enter my seventh year past 50. My well being and my health are in jeopardy, and
the fact that I have Medicare and Medicaid amounts to negligible quality
control, ever steadily forcing me into an acute crisis, not mitigating it,
after everything I’ve been through, the wheelchair vendor has left me in a
situation which amounts to daily torture, imprisoned on a consumer hospital bed
on which I can barely move, and I am still with the right, even if the state GOP
is ignorant of how incapacitated I am, how negligent my care is, white professionals
and black unskilled labor alike just rushing in and out of a section 202 which
I technically evacuated ten weeks ago. It is this very cruelty, which is the
business of poverty, which leaves me unrepentant, despite the fact that personalities
like Niall Ferguson can only acknowledge the brutal truth of unremitting
indigence. Yeah, it has gotten better: sixty years ago or more, before Judy Garland offed herself, I might have been in a rubber room with tards, perhaps
beaten to death for my temper rather than threatened with disruption by Blogger
for being a militant. I’m an upgrade, from no voice at all to Dreiser’s An American Tragedy, with all the
requisite lack of forgiveness, for failure, embedded in stark negativity, while
transplanted Britons frolic in amazement at the farce of the west wing before
them. Niall himself has been pacified into a degree of disingenuousness. Whatever his former diffidence about the homosexual psyche, in its refreshing honesty, he is of course friends with a petulant AIDS stricken apostolic queer like Andy. Birds of a feather, imperial voices with paternalistic eyes watching over its troubled Infante Terrible, however roiled my country is at present, bawling in colic.
"In addition to Mod Squad, Aaron Spelling and I picked up two Walter Brennan shows, Tycoon and The Guns of Will Sonnett (a fair sized hit)." --Make Room for Danny, 262
In the stray preoccupations which wool gather at 4:20 AM eastern standard time, as if I was reverting to form to get ready for work at the defunct Institute to whose demise I contributed, catching 3/4 ths of Peggy Lipton's vulnerability, vaguely recalled, if Danny Thomas and Aaron Spelling truly knew anything about counter culture dynamics, it isn't evident in this stock formula series, with Richard Dreyfuss, fresh from his celebrity pairing with Amy Irving, or about to head into it, providing us with the most well mannered recital of a psychotic imaginable-- yes, yes, cable was in its infancy and the FCC and terms of service are staple gun muzzles wiring our jaws, but all Squad did for its audience was cater to appearances, to the point even those sorely scored could feel commiseration for Williams' afro standing at attention.
One of the best serials in the 70's might be Columbo, but that would take Levinson and Falk's morality battle out of context. Aquarius may taken great care with its time capsule authenticity, and may even be more accurate in its undercurrents, as we owe so much to the golden state, but the Manson family was its own thing, analogous to the Mormons under Joseph Smith as being not quite kosher, which it isn't. Manson's followers, being really, really out on a limb, nevertheless was a reversion to an earlier American period of denominational instability under the Protestant tent. As a reformer, Luther certainly never intended to fragment Christianity into shards, but he also didn't do it any favors when it comes to transplantation in the United States. Off the top of my head, I cannot think of a series that really encapsulates my place and time as it was without going off a cliff. All in the Family turned a veteran icon into a cult hero, but Archie was a comic book exaggeration, as was the Jeffersons. Eight is Enough merely reigned in the impossible stupidity of the Brady Bunch. I'd pick The Six Million Dollar Man if I had to, but this, again, contextualizes another set of anxieties, apt, but miscued, since our fusions to technology are playing out a bit differently. We're not augmenting ourselves into a super-race, merely ensuring our essential human extinction. Then again, maybe it's Happy Days, if we take the notion of period piece nostalgia out of it.
A better ad in: The Partridge Family. As a series, it was soft folk song and dance, but it hit the right tenor for significant changes in the nuclear family
Our films, here and there, do a better job, and The Driver, though its minimalism is rigorous and circumscribed, is one of them.
Though golden state vibes are not particularly auspicious to spastic's sentiments, she very cautiously explored Yabberz, and their no-over-the-line fury is reasonable. This doesn't mean I'm tamed, trust me. I know physically I am on thin ice, and economically I'm overwhelmed. I'm simply not a Caesar alpha with his skill set and ability to command an insurrection; to wit, Danielle Allen has an op-ed in Wapo which I'm not reading where she makes a clarion call about Trump's threat to democracy. That is an exaggeration on her part, but in truth of fact, Americans don't know what they mean by a free society. If the first amendment can't withstand what Donald is tapping into, then we aren't an attributable experiment in free exercise.
To the progressive mindset, I've freely admitted I am, within varying flavors, a homophobic bigot, without necessarily vying for a piece of Coulter's turf, since I've been too much inside of a bubble which most of you aren't, as a quadriplegic. Whether I go "too far," for Blogger or anyone else, one, it doesn't matter. Richard Spencer plays up ethnographic separation for money and I'm too old to play follow the leader for a supremacist who would no more lift a finger to get me out of here and let me enjoy my last years anymore than anyone else. I'm damned, rage or acceptance notwithstanding. For Trudy Richardson to deploy HHS to threaten me with Inglis House, after the battle for my life, is something maybe you cannot grasp. I've been 30 years under Presby and seen countless tenants forcibly placed. My intellectual acumen was supposed to withstand this. Trudy didn't scare me, trust me. All she did was make me measure death by cop against my other options.
