2008 archive

vs. crass acts, over at the Booman’s place.

This one is worth 30 seconds–60 seconds on dial-up–folks (well, maybe I should say “folk,” but that’s neither here nor elsewhere).

It lays out in three column inches the difference between the two campaigns and their adherents.

Addendum, Later That Same Evening:

Balloon Juice has more.

One thing I don’t get is the modern mania for decorating for every holiday. Hallowe’en may be the second to Christmas in terms of what persons do to their houses (though it’s sixth in terms of spending).

I wasn’t going to decorate for Hallowe’en.

But I’m having second thoughts.

Thinking he was being funny, Second Son, whom I’m in the process of disinheriting, brought this . . . this . . . this . . . thing into the house that is so appalling in its appearance and so bone-chilling in its implications that I’m thinking that, if I put it on a frame next to the front step, I won’t have to worry about trick-or-treaters; they’ll just go screaming into the night.

It’s carries such an aura of malevolence that I don’t want to put it here on the front page.

But you can see it (parental advisory) here.

Man, I’m glad I don’t live some place where it gets really cold, like, say, for example, Colorado.

. . . in the posts that got lost when my database went screwy, so I’m mentioning it again.

I didn’t used to be a card-carrying, money-contributing, rabid Democrat.

The Republicans turned me into one.

This country and its ideals are too important to be abandoned to the likes of them.

After working nine straight days, I just had to bag it today and get out of the house for a while.

Now, note, that’s not eight hours a day. In my world, you don’t get paid for lunch or for hanging around surfing the net or for thinking about starting to work; you can bill only for when you are actually working (including, of course, reasonable breaks).

So on the way back from mailing a package, I stopped at Blueberry Hill Resale. When I got divorced, Blueberry Hill was where I re-furnished the house for all but one or two items. I was a frequent visitor for a couple of years, because, frankly, it’s a really neat shop.

How’s business? I asked.

Lousy, she says. Traffic is way off. She started babbling, the same way I babble when I’ve been working at home without talking to an adult for a couple of days. I babbled right back.

She said she’s lucky to get three visitors a day and is afraid she might lose her business. She had to give up the garage across the street that she had rented for years to store large pieces of furniture. She couldn’t afford it anymore.

And, ya’ know what?

Nobody’s going to bail her out.

Just like nobody’s going to bail me out. We’re not rich.

We each have only one house and one car. Not seven or eight of each.

Not important enough for Bernanke to care.

She also said that, if McHack wins the election, she’s just going to pack it in and move back to Finland. “I can’t take four more years of this,” she said.

None of us can take four more years of this.

Never hire a law firm that advertises an 800-number on the telly-vision.

Or, as John Cole titled his post, from which I shamelessly stole this, “Elections Have Consequences.”

While I was waiting for someone–anyone–to show up at the Bellefonte Cafe this evening, I got into a tangle with someone who was surprised that I support Obama (frankly, if the Democrats had nominated a dachshund, I would vote for it against any Republican).

(Based on stuff I overheard later, I think she might be favoring some Libertarian nutcase.)

I pointed out to her that “elections are not about who’s not running” and later offered her an Obama sticker.

Remember that my son has been in the line of fire for two tours because of Bush’s lies. He has served honorably a dishonorable regime.

So has this man.

Dammit, elections matter.

And vote right, which means vote Left.

Unless you like having blood on your hands.