Note to Iris: Frontier Airlines does not allow Emotional Support Squirrels on their flights, if you’re ever looking for a vacation trip.
Note to Iris: Frontier Airlines does not allow Emotional Support Squirrels on their flights, if you’re ever looking for a vacation trip.
Maybe. Being on sabbatical means I had no excuse to skip it, but what do you think the odds are that the lawyers send me away for being a godless sciencey nerd? I’ll prepare for a long day, but I kind of expect I’m not the kind of person they’ll want to serve — you know, all weird and stuff, not representative of the community.
But I wouldn’t mind experiencing it all!
I know what you’re all wondering: “WHAT DID MARY SLIP INTO MY COFFEE AND CAN YOU HAVE SOME?”
This is the book:
Common Spiders of North America, by Richard A. Bradley (Author), Steve Buchanan (Illustrator).
You’re not going to be able to trust that I’m the author of anything I post here. You see, last night I read this thing about how the alt-right was furious at Taylor Swift because she endorsed some Democrats — the fury of Andrew Anglin, that demented Nazi, was gratifying to see — and it included one of Swift’s videos. Now I’m rather ignorant of Swift. I’ve probably heard her songs before, but just as the usual pop music background noise, I’ve never made the association between who she is and what songs she sings, and this was the first time I’d actually paid attention to any of her music.
Uh-oh. I liked it. It’s catchy and energetic. It’s got a good message, too. I can see how the kids can get into her.
And then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, I decided to watch some TV before bed, and some alien force made me turn on The Great British Bake-Off. God help me, I watched two episodes before tearing myself away.
It was all the niceness. It was a shock to the system, and might just kill me. A couple of hours without rage? What will keep my heart beating?
Existential Comics makes an interesting point: most discussions of ethics in philosophy are about justifying what we feel are acts of goodness, like feeding the poor.
For a great many questions of practical morally, these three systems [deontology, utilitarianism, virtue ethics] will agree, such as “should you give your extra food to a starving man.” This would have a good consequence, be a virtuous intent, follow a good rule, and would be as God commands it. In fact, such moral values are so universal that it is hard to think of any philosophy, culture, or religion at any time who says that a rich man should walk by a starving poor man and not be obliged to give him bread.
Except one.
Not that I want to find myself on the same side of the fence as Rand, but isn’t it possible that deontology, utilitarianism, virtue ethics, and divine command philosophy are really just attempts to rationalize emotional states and empathy, just as Randian objectivism is trying to rationalize greed and selfishness, and that the philosophy is irrelevant to the humanity of good actions?
Damn. Questioning philosophy is practicing philosophy itself. There’s no way out of that trap.
In case you don’t like the sword-yanking and beer-catching, there is an alternative: god-anointing. There’s a new movie out titled The Trump Prophecy, in which the author claims that God spoke to him through his TV, announcing that Trump would be the next president.
The belief that Trump’s election was God’s divine will is shared by others. Franklin Graham, the prominent conservative evangelical, said last year that Trump’s victory was the result of divine intervention. “I could sense going across the country that God was going to do something this year. And I believe that at this election, God showed up,” he told the Washington Post.
Taylor has made other claims, which he calls “prophetic words”, including that Trump will serve two terms, the landmark supreme court ruling on abortion in the Roe v Wade case will be overturned, and that next month’s midterm elections will result in a “red tsunami”, strengthening Republican control of both houses of Congress.
Barack Obama will be charged with treason and Trump will authorise the arrest of “thousands of corrupt officials, many of whom are part of a massive satanic paedophile ring”. Trump will also force the release of cures for cancer and Alzheimer’s that are currently being withheld by the pharmaceutical industry.
Don’t laugh at the idea of finding swords or snagging a thrown beer as strategies. There are much, much worse alternatives, and they’re literally being practiced. And are popular.
I think this is an acceptable way to establish kingship.
Kennedy Bakircioglu, a midfielder for a Swedish football team Hammarby IF, scored a stunning 30-yard goal against Gothenburg earlier this week—but it’s not the goal that will go down in history. After scoring the uncatchable free-kick goal, the 37-year-old veteran started a frenzied race with his teammates towards the corner flag. In the middle of all the excitement, and amidst flying toilet paper raining down on them, a fan standing in the bleachers decided to throw him a beer because, well, he deserved one, didn’t he? Bakircioglu, totally unfazed by the foreign object hurtling towards him out of the stands, catches what appears to be a plastic pint of beer (that somehow didn’t all spill en route) mid-air, goes all helan går and downs it like a champ.
We’re all going to have to learn how to pronounce “Bakircioglu” now.
If you don’t like the idea of making him king, he’s at least earned a seat on the Supreme Court.
An 8 year old girl pulled a 1500 year old sword out of a lake in Sweden. That settles it: Saga Vanecek is now queen of the world. She’s gotta be better than the evil goblins in charge right now.
Also, Queen Saga sounds epic.
Long time readers will recall my long battle with Ted Storck, the guy who donated a carillon to the local cemetery two blocks from my home, and played hymns and patriotic songs every goddamned quarter-hour all day long every day to the neighborhood. I wrote multiple times about those fucking bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, until someone finally took an axe to the wires (not me! Multiple residents were annoyed by the incessant noise), and finally, Storck removed the satanic gadget and moved the curse to some town in Arizona, I think.
Storck still writes in to the local paper to complain, though. He is very bitter about how little we appreciated his gift, so when he finds a place with a carillon he has to tell us about it.
The next time you motor south of Minneapolis on I-35 about 55 miles south of the Minnesota-Iowa border, take Highway 3 east about nine miles to Hampton, Iowa.
Miles before you get there, you’ll see the Franklin County courthouse looming about nine stories above the Iowa prairie. It was constructed in the 1880s, and was refurnished a few years ago. First, note the statue of the Lady of Liberty on the very top of the cupola; then see the other four statues surrounding the cupola. Then, go inside to see what a great job the county did restoring the courthouse.
And, then stand outside and wait for the bells to chime the hour, quarter hour, and half hour, followed by a church Carillion bell system answering with a hymn.
When I recently visited my friend in Hampton, he introduced me to a county official who was asked (knowing what happened in Morris) if there were ever any complaints? The official said, “no, the town loves to hear the chiming starting at 7 a.m. and ending with the bells sounding at 10 p.m. ” He added, looking at me, “We are Iowans; why would anyone complain; we are Iowa-nice.”
Wow. So Iowa-nice throws even more shade than Minnesota-nice? I’m impressed.
I’m glad we got rid of those horrors. If we hadn’t, they’d be gone now, because one change in town is that a large apartment complex, East Point Village, was built across the street from the cemetery, even closer to the site of those damnable bells than we are right now. In case you’re wondering, here’s a map: I’m the squiddly thing at Third & College, the bells are the skull, and the new apartment complex is directly across College Avenue from Hell’s Bells former location, on the left edge of the map.
I would hope the apartment residents would appreciate our heroic efforts, but nay, our valor shall be unsung…and also not chimed every quarter hour at them.
Every time something made me cranky I could push a button and another of these would pop out.
My house would be packed full of them after the first day, unfortunately.
