Lawlessness is Lawlessness

Because You Agree With Them Is No Excuse

We have been treated of late to scenes of incredibly privileged college students, aided and abetted by old hippies, breaking the law. They break the law in many different ways, as there are many different jurisdictions involved, but suffice it to say that violently breaking and entering university buildings where further vandalism is perpetrated, and blocking the access of other students to common areas (also sometimes violently) surely counts.

Like some of you, scenes of law enforcement breaking up these protests have caused me satisfaction. I don’t like what these people are protesting for (terrorism—you can crow all you want about the Palestinian people, but when you raise Hamas and Hizballah flags, and when you fail to condemn the continuing holding of hostages, the end of which would bring a swift ceasefire which seems to be one of the “demands”, you are for terrorism), and I do like what they are quite obviously protesting against (the State of Israel and the Jewish People).

Were these activists vandals, thugs, disturbers of the peace, peacefully gathering without property damage or interfering with free access of other students, I would pay this whole thing little attention. But then, my attention (and yours) is the POINT, and so such peaceful protests are eschewed in favor of violent, anti-Semitism and access denial.

So yes. They have my attention. And my disdain. As do their supporters, those who minimize what they are doing. Speaking of old hippies, here is Senator Bernie Sanders:

Here’s another. MSNBC Personality Chris Hayes:

You know what all this lefty rationalization and excuse making sounds like to me? Why, it sounds an AWFUL lot like statements in support of January 6 protesters insurrectionists.

Here’s RFK Jr.:

Kennedy also said Friday that there was “little evidence of a true insurrection” and falsely claimed that the protesters at the Capitol “carried no weapons.”

Here’s Tucker Carlson:

“Deadly insurrection.’ Everything about that phrase is a lie,” Carlson said on his widely watched weeknight program. “Very little about Jan. 6 was organized or violent. Surveillance video from inside the Capitol shows mostly peaceful chaos.”

Here’s a Member of Congress:

Multiple Republican members of Congress on Wednesday offered a false retelling of the devastating events that occurred during the Capitol riot, with one calling the entire event a “bold faced lie” that more closely resembled a “normal tourist visit” than a deadly attack. During a House Oversight Committee hearing on the Jan. 6 riot, Rep. Andrew Clyde, R-Ga., said the House floor was not breached and that the supporters of former President Donald Trump who stormed the Capitol behaved “in an orderly fashion.”

Let’s get this straight, folks. What happened on January 6 is anti-American lawlessness, and what is happening on many college campuses is anti-American lawlessness. Because you think activists are right does not make what they are doing right. Because you are MAGA does not make insurrection right. The great Tucker Martin gets it right here:

Solo Weekend

The Kitten left me on Wednesday to go and visit Dash-2 on the West Coast, leaving me blissfully sadly on my own save for three cats and a dog. Additionally, at various times this week I had drywall guys, painters (different crews same boss), tree guys, and pool opening guys to help me with my isolation.

When you live a country life (or when I live a country life, having little knowledge of how you live your life), one has, I think, a reasonable expectation of periods of great solitude. This is part of the attraction for some, and for me it is a large part of it. While this may SEEM true, it is not. First of all, Jeff Bezos solved that for everyone, and there is at LEAST one Amazon-linked trip up the driveway of some conveyance of the fruits of late-stage capitalism every day. But Amazon is only one purveyor of comestibles to the gentry, and so we generally have multiple trips. The aforementioned labor force employed at various tasks by the Mistress of the Manor was only this week’s version thereof, and there are others like them waiting in repose for that blessed lucre-generating phone call. I have heard her on occasion speak of this phenomenon of false isolation, but because I get so few chances at TRUE isolation, I’m not as familiar with the disappointment.

I really just wanted a nap. Wednesday afternoon, Thursday afternoon, and Friday afternoon if possible, but just one of those days would have done. But it was not to be, as there was too much activity and noise. Too little solitude.

In a prior life, I was on the staff of the Chief of Naval Operations, and for 27 months I wrote his speeches. Some good. A few great. Most good enough. He and his wife (their daughter grown and married) lived in government provided digs—I think at the BUMED compound in Washington, his predecessor’s garden-at-home suicide having ruined the luster of the traditional CNO residence “Tingey House”, which provided an opportune time to renovate that property. None of this is important to my story except for the conversation I had one day with CNO after he had returned to work after a few days of post-foot surgery convalescence at home. I asked a simple, pleasant question. “How was your time at home?”

CNO was a man of few words (somewhat disappointing for a speechwriter prone to over-prose, I must admit), and he just looked at me and grumbled. “Terrible. There was always someone around,” by which he meant his meager household staff. I never forgot that exchange, and I think of it now as I look over the last few days. Always someone around. When there should not be always someone around.

Today, Saturday, was different. It has been a bit of a raw and rainy day. I woke early as is my custom, puttered around and catered to the animals, came out to the ManCave and worked for a bit, and then headed off to the acupuncturist for my monthly skewering. Afterward, I had brunch with some of the boys which for me consisted of naughtily devouring a large cheeseburger and fries (there were breakfast items on the menu, but the burger seemed worthwhile. It was). When said burger arrived, its mass suggested one thing very, very clearly—afternoon nap. Thinking ahead, I ordered ice water (no caffeine) instead of my standard unsweetened ice tea, and dove in.

I returned home, and while I didn’t expect there to be any work trucks in the driveway, I prepared myself for the prospect. There were none. The pool opening guy who started things Thursday had still not returned and I figured the weather would keep him away. It did.

At 1350hrs I wrote Catherine a text message announcing my indisposition for the next two hours and set the “do not disturb” feature on my phone (a call from Catherine pierces the veil of protection afforded by this blessed algorithm, so I find that pre-emption is the best approach) which offers two hours of noiselessness. I crawled under the sheets with trusty feline Hazel nuzzled against me, slipped on my new sleep mask just purchased last month in the San Diego airport, and turned on Tom Hiddleston’s reading of a Winnie the Pooh tale on Calm.Com (best $74 I spend a year).

I’m assuming a 1400 hrs. start to the nap, as I cannot remember ever having made it through much of Hiddleston’s narration. I surely have no idea how the story ends. When I woke and slipped the mask off, I asked Alexa (DAMN YOU BEZOS) what time it was, and she informed me that it was 5:42PM (she does not do military time in our house, as this would drive the ladies over the edge, what with subtracting 12 and all). What a triumph. What an accomplishment. I wish I had someone to share it with me, but then again, having no one to share it with was likely a large contributor to the triumph.

Two hours and forty-two minutes is not so much a nap as a small sleep. I sit here Saturday afternoon at nearly 6PM writing you with energy and focus that was simply not available to me four hours and ten minutes ago. Hell, I had a nice cappuccino to get myself going!

We are all good at something, and I believe that the thing I am best at is sleeping. If I could write as well as I sleep, I’d win the Nobel Prize.