Bake Sale Babies

On my Sunday walk in the park, I pass a lot of strollers holding babies of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Their doting parents walk languidly together, enjoying the brief peace of a child absorbed by the passing scenery.  Occasionally, the parents glance down adoringly at the chubby little face that resembles their own and think:  "My Precious, you're worth $50,000 to me, but...(brows wrinkling)...but I need a little more," where upon the parents saunter towards a sale being held down the street.

They talk about what they'll buy, forgetting that their stroller is made in China and so is everything else that they own.  To them, life is good (although never quite good enough).  Each day they decide to spend a little more to be paid back tomorrow.  With each outlay, they fail to notice the voracious shadow that is following them, that other Big C, Credit.  What matter a little more borrowing, they think?   Money flows. It always does.  Or does it?  Bills demand to be paid, just ask Dorian Gray.

The haunting novel, "The Picture of Dorian Gray" is a case study in the costs of paying back tomorrow what is gained too easily today. It is the story of an extraordinarily handsome young man who gave away his soul in order to retain his youthful looks forever.  He lived a life of constant debauchery and excess which should have robbed him of his looks very early, but someone else was paying.  The past several generations in America have done the same thing:  bought excess in order to feel endlessly young and powerful, paying with the souls of their children and grandchildren.  Think of the bargain with the Devil that they've made: coitus is no longer a loving act that confirms hope in the future.  Rather, it is the subjugation of someone else who will pay the current generation's exorbitant loans.  In that reality, there is no future.

Now our strolling parents reach the bake sale room and look in.  Foreign buyers flush with American cash from earlier loan repayments peruse the goods, all the while murmuring to each other and nodding knowingly.  American adults frantically and loudly hawk their children to whomever has the cash to quell their spending addiction.  Debt wrapped up as home-made sweets in shiny cellophane and colored bows is still debt, and the children will work it off like serfs.  As the debt owed rises, an ever-increasing tinkling noise drones in the background.  Look down and see the leg irons of the profligate bound to the lending table. 

The Devil Made Me Debt It

Ok, I reuse Saran Wrap sometimes as well as aluminum foil. I also have a lot of second-hand furniture…well, come to think of it…it’s almost ALL second-hand stuff. Now before you trendy types start to feel sick, just remember this solemn proverb--money is the root of all evil, and debt is its devil (FYI--I just made up that last part).

I know, you may be rolling your eyes and thinking, ‘What’s all this devil nonsense and debt?”, especially since yesterday you took out a monster loan on your home and paid the minimum on a huge Visa balance. Heck, presidents and Congress have been borrowing trillions and trillions, and now Obama and crew are trying to tell us it’s ‘normal’ to borrow trillions more. What does a little personal borrowing behavior matter in the scheme of trillions in debt? Can’t a fellow have a little fun in life? Answer: think “serf.”

Serfs often had to render back-breaking service in order to fulfill debts they had accrued or been snookered into accepting as a good deal. But, you ask again, where does the Devil fit into this? Well, a serf is NOT a free person as long as he is in debt. If you are in debt, you are ruled over by someone else, who owns your life for his own benefit, usually for money or power or both. Debt, especially long-term debt, can easily put you in a living hell, hence debt is the devil of all money evils. Past generations knew this and tried hard to pass this invaluable avoidance-of-debt attitude onto future generations (except for the 60’s generation, which seems to worship debt). P.T. Barnum, the circus baron, said it well in his 1886 autobiography, The Art of Money Getting, when he said this about avoiding debt: “Young men starting in life should avoid running into debt. There is scarcely anything that drags a person down like debt. It is a slavish position to get in….Debt robs a man of his self-respect, and makes him almost despise himself. Grunting and groaning and working for what he has eaten up or worn out…he is called upon to pay up….”

Millions and millions of people in the past knew what we have forgotten, that our trillions and trillions in debt and the billions and billions in new spending that current politicians propose and foreign nations supply for their own ends will keep us “grunting and groaning and working” rather than free. The Nation’s debt has made us all into serfs. The Devil loves debt, and we’re in it up to our eyeballs thanks to His lackeys, the politicians. Yes, the Debt Devil is looming ever larger thanks to these irresponsible dolts, but we, free men and women everywhere, can fight back. I exhort you all, “Stay out of hell! Vote the debt-loving bastards out!”

Tea for Two

I saw a successful comedian on some talk show the other day joking about the Tea Party. She was going to start another Tea Party and call it The ‘Green’ Tea Party. That was a clever phrase, I thought, plus she was right. We could throw a ‘green tea’ party or a ‘black tea’ party or maybe even an ‘orange pekoe tea’ party. Hey (excitement growing), we could diversify into level-within-level of tea party…eeeh, clap, clap…and have, like, a ‘Sencha green tea’ party as versus a ‘Matcha green tea’ party. Yes, yes, yes, let’s call this divisiveness diversi-tea! Wow! Super!

But wait…we’d have to get the tea parties past the priest, the author with stomach trouble. You see, I was minding my own business, reading his passable spiritual book on aging and faith, when out of nowhere the priest/author threw in a one-sentence slam at the Tea Party. I paused…hmmm, what spiritual meaning lies here? (Nanosecond wait) Right—none! Obviously the priest just needs a little hot tea in front of a warm fire at the Church’s expense to cure whatever caused him to belch out that slur in the middle of a halfway decent read. I mean, this priest, who writes about elders and their accumulated wisdom, somehow hasn’t noticed that loads of Tea Partiers ARE elders and ARE passing on their wisdom—financial wisdom. They’re spreading the mantra, “Don’t spend beyond your means!” This has been sage advice throughout history. (Hmmm, ‘mantra’…maybe Tea Partiers are Buddhist, which could explain why the priest was upset???)

I guess that the priest is a lot like the wealthy, liberal comedian, whose ‘Green’ Tea Party really means, “you Tea Partiers drive SUV’s, so you’re the devil,” only he’ll add, “Spend more money and the devil be damned!” So let’s get them together. The priest can go to the wealthy comedian’s home for tea (although it should be chilled, since that’s what they want to do to the economy), whereupon the wealthy comedian will write a big check to the poor to be spent only on eco-friendly items (for example, a bike for a two-hour commute). While they’re sipping that tepid brew of socialist cool-aid, the rest of us can be back at work, earning “green,” and thus be able to decide how to individually and democratically spend our own money. Thanks Tea Party!

Out of the Deep and Drowning in Debt

OK, I know what you’re gonna say, “Where have you been, deep space?!” No, but I’ve been deep in the conservative closet since Obama’s campaign and election. Euphoric liberals, of which there are many in my part of the country, are unpredictable. I thought to myself, “Why get hurt trying to tackle a Democrat running towards a wheelbarrow, nay, dump trucks full of the public’s money?” So I laid low and waited, knowing that when Dems get their hands on a load of free government cash, bad things can happen. Case in point, the shiny new curb-cuts-to-nowhere in my neighborhood (we don’t have sidewalks where I live). I guess I shouldn’t complain, the curb-cuts look OK. They’re sort of like modern yellow art amid the dirt, that is, if you like art, otherwise they look ridiculous. Same for downtown—they re-did some street crossings in our two-block downtown, so about 8-10 actual “cuts.” Must've been stimulus money, and it sure is stimulating for some. One street corner is now graded so steep that anyone in a wheelchair would flip over backwards trying to go up it, but the yellow curb-cut to the hill and the fancy brickwork crossing sure look nice.

Yup, the smell of money to a liberal is like cocaine to a lab rat—they’re just waiting for more when the time is right. Obama’s election made the time right for the free-money group, and about 3 pm is the right time for the lab rat. At least the rat only gets a controlled, measured dose once a day from his keepers. Scientists know that cocaine doesn’t ‘grow on trees’ so to speak. They understand that the hand that feeds them , i.e., government grant money, can be taken away at any time, so they better use their resources carefully—very carefully. Unfortunately, liberals believe in unlimited access to OUR money for some pretty damn awful experiments. And just like chocoholics after a binge, they lick their fingers to taste every molecule of green printer’s ink that they can only to line up begging for more with their pleading but beady little eyes—sort of like rats.

Now, if you’re like me, you don’t like rats in your yard much less building curb cuts to nowhere in your neighborhood. So I think it’s time to set some traps (Hmmm, maybe I can put in a grant request for rat traps? $25K should be enough if I include overhead). But truthfully, the traps are probably not needed. What with the endless smell of burnt money drifting out of the White House, Dems will dope themselves up on the fumes (while the rest of us are choking), and they’ll fall off the re-election cliff all by themselves.

Honor and Abortion

Abortion brings dishonor to a society. This is why the abortion debate rages, because there are those who feel the loss of humanity’s honor in abortion, and those who do not have any personal honor and thus do not feel its loss.

Those with little honor have been carrying the day, and many of them have been resorting to secular science to bolster their arguments, claiming such nonsense as “a fetus feels no pain.” But fighting fire with fire, a letter in my local newspaper argued that since scientists have proven that life begins at conception, abortion is immoral. Not to be outdone, a liberal reader, mocking this pro-life use of science, none the less went on to use science as the moral basis for his pro-abortion stance.

At first, he tried to discount the use of science altogether in the abortion debate by falsely claiming that science is morally neutral. Science is not morally neutral. The whole practice of science is surrounded by moral behavior and rules, varying from what are moral means of carrying out experiments to how best to protect employees from the chemicals used in many science labs. Amoral science would be conducted on any subject, under any conditions, by any person, educated or not, which is clearly not how science is carried out. Science is bathed in morality even before facts are discovered, and once discovered, those facts become infused with even more morality when society decides to fund or apply them. Thus, when society goes from the morally neutral “induced abortion is possible,” to “the government shall protect the right to an abortion” and builds up laws and structures supporting this view, it makes a moral leap.

Of course, science has proven that life does indeed begin at conception, and this was an annoyance to our pro-abortion liberal. Thus, while acknowledging that supporters of abortion know an embryo is a potential human life—a scientific fact—our hapless liberal stated with moral authority heavy on his breath, that at least he and his enlightened friends could tell the moral difference between a “primitive” life that can’t survive outside the body and a real life (presumably his life is real while certain others are not). Here he has made a moral leap that he says he is not making, which is: because the fetus cannot survive outside of the body (a scientific fact), it can be killed (a moral decision).

The basic abortion disagreement in this debate lies in how two science facts are used: (1) life begins at conception and (2) the fetus is not viable outside of the womb. Using only fact #2, the immoral stance of our pro-abortion acquaintance becomes: since life can’t survive outside of the womb, we can kill it (and by the way, even when it can survive, we can kill it via late-term abortions), whereas using facts #1, #2, and millenniums of religious philosophies, the stance of pro-lifers becomes: since life begins at conception, and life-in-form is God’s highest creation, life in the womb should be protected and brought to fruition. The potential of life is honored, which in the end, brings honor to all life, including the life of Mr. Pro-abortion.

Oscar Night—“I accept…”

Hmmmmmm, I wonder what the liberals are up to now? Let’s check the TV guide. Oh, the Oscars are going to be on tonight. Gee, that’s been a liberal lovefest for a long time now. Yep, this should be good. I'll laze on my sofa for an undetermined amount of time in order to watch this yearly back-slapping, high-fiving, we-have-a-platform-to-speak extravaganza of unabashed liberalism known as “The Oscars.” I hurry to the kitchen to get snacks to fortify myself against the coming waste and sacrifice of my time, because, as we all know, liberals lack self-restraint, so being on time, especially when their glory is involved, is not a priority for them. Forewarned is forearmed. It will be a long slog to the end.

Unfortunately, only 9 minutes into the show, I start to drift off. Who were those people on that opening montage anyway? They could have at least put subtitles under the faces for those of us who don’t inhabit the land of self-obsession known as Hollywood. Gosh, I don’t even know all of the neighbors on my street much less those who are revered by Tinseltown. Oh well, at least in semi-consciousness, Al Gore and his philosophies seem almost acceptable…wow, cool…no wait, it’s too hot…yeah, global warming, baby…give an Oscar for global warming. Wow, being semi-conscious makes everything seem rational—Hollywood is really on to something.

I drift off again. The music is playing. A big movie star appears. I perk up. What, what category was that? Amongst loud booing, the Star seems to be repeating, “the nominee for the Best Conservative Satirist who Could Never Make it in Hollywood, is..." Why that’s me! Did he say my name? Yes, yes, it’s me! Breathless I rise from my seat out in the lobby and stride to the podium in couture K-Mart, dodging spitballs. A janitor hands me the precious statuette, as the open-minded, liberal crowd, including the presenters, is already filing out. Blinded by paparazzi flashbulbs and quivering with reason, I begin:

I accept…

• That this golden idol means more to you than the people who paid for the tickets, since not a single “star” remembered to thank the public (the CMA Awards have it all over Hollywood on this one—I think I’ll buy more country records).

• That the carbon smoke of excess consumption rising out of this auditorium is of choking proportions compared to that of the average citizen. No, Melissa Etheridge, this is NOT the greatest conserving generation. Great-Grandma lived with infinitely less and knew how to recycle everything. But then again, Great-Grandma was probably a Christian, expressing the Christian value of frugality, not to mention humility--so foreign to Hollywood types. (Yes, I know, my speech is getting a bit long, but remarkably the music hasn’t started playing yet. Has the orchestra left, too?)

• That utopia only exists for people with enough money to avoid consequences, which is why, in the world of money and relativism that is Hollywood, every foolish idea appears good enough to force upon the people, even during an awards show. (I think I hear the music or is that my cell phone ringing?)
  

So, lastly, let me just say thank you to my fans everywhere, without whom I would not be the person I am today. My God bless you all! Yes, for those brave fans, who Hollywood either belittles, discounts, or stereotypes; who contribute much less to global warming than the over-consumers who are Hollywood (Hey, let’s get rid of movies altogether—think of the waste: blown up cars, sets that are built only to be thrown away, lavish awards ceremonies for already wealthy people…), and who are smart enough to make choices about their lives without the input of Hollywood if only Hollywood would embrace freedom of thought for everyone and not just themselves, I disrespectfully...nah, nah, nah... decline this award.

White Cross Doublecross

I stared at the TV in disbelief. Another journalist had died covering the war. I shook my head slowly. It was wrong that these young journalists were dying, so wrong. My anger seethed. Monopolistic, multimedia corporations were obviously more interested in selling papers and making money than in protecting lives. What were lives when sensation and shocking news--the lifeblood, the oil, of media machinery--were more important? Couldn't these arrogant media moguls get news some other way or even give up the news altogether? Then young people wouldn't have to go and wouldn't have to die. It was greed, pure greed, and I would stop it. I ran to my garage.

I started building white crosses to put on my lawn. It was so obvious...certainly no parent wanted their kid to be a wartime reporter. Sure some people thought that gathering the news was important, but they were wrong. These deaths were more significant...the sheer number more important still. What was it...30, 40, more?

Agitated, I worked throughout the night. If only people knew, could only understand, that these dead journalists were manipulated by those with ulterior motives. They died because of their naivete, doing the bidding of bad, or dare I say, evil, media leaders. As I hammered away, my mission gained clarity. Those poor kids. They'd been suckered into journalism by their limited lives and abilities, their poor educations. They couldn't really do anything else in life...couldn't be teachers, lawyers, doctors--nothing like that. Their parents were surely uneducated or at least uninformed, maybe helpless immigrants...but it wasn't their fault. I would speak for them.

The next day, I began pounding the crosses into the ground. Slowly my front yard became dotted with white. Some of the neighbors came out to complain. Suddenly news vans and trucks began arriving. Good, I thought, they'll record my memorial to their fallen heroes, and the real truth will finally be revealed. I waited as journalists noisily jockeyed for position. Then I heard a hopeful shout, "Is this a protest against the war?" I excitedly shouted back, "Yes, this is a memorial to our fallen journalists!" They looked at each other. "A memorial to what?" "To young journalists needlessly lost. They're dying for media corporate dollars, not for freedom of the press. It needs to stop! Please honor them by recording this field of crosses for the world to see." In the silence that followed, I heard my heart racing.

Next a single, abrupt guffaw emanated from the pack of journalists, and then many more. One of the Journalists shouted, "But we want to report on the war. It's our job. It's what we've been trained to do. Don't you believe in freedom of the press? A free nation needs a free press. We're keeping you free from tyranny, you idiot!" Stung, I pleaded, "No, no, we need to honor them! These crosses honor their memories?" Then an important journalist, a known celebrity, dismissively waved his hand over the area of the crosses and shook his finger in my face, "Hey, buddy, wake up! These were great journalists with lifetimes of good writing, vision, dedication, verve, who took chances just so you could get the news..get the Truth. Their families and colleagues revere and remember their work, their sacrifice, their whole lives. And so do I." Then he leaned in closer and growled, "These crosses aren't a memorial. This isn't the truth. It isn't even close. It's...a disgrace!"