The Tory Party

Impractical Optimism and Voting Against Economic Interests

A hella interesting article from the Guardian — “What’s the matter with voting Republican if you’re poor?” — begat this exquisitely succinct comment (not mine) on why some people hold the hand that holds them down. (Double points for this comment coming from someone named “Professor ArseGarp.”)

ProfessorArseGarp

September 18, 2006 1:42 PM

This looks like another example of people rallying around those who oppress them. It is the same phenomenon whereby bullies are popular in schools and why the working class fail to revolt in true Marxist spirit.

People yearn to join the upper strata, and to act against them would deny their potential membership, however unlikely it is that they would be able to join.

Many black people already see themselves as excluded from the political elite in the US and so fear nothing from voting whichever way seems rational.

However, white poor people are still believe that they are part of the ruling establishment and vote to support this perceived privilege, whatever the real cost to themselves. They are oppressed by their aspirations.

(The article is brilliant, if you care to read it. I have to comment on the intelligence and civility of the discourse over at the Guardian. Ann Coulter doesn’t write like this, and I sincerely expect cannot. After a nap and a cup of coffee George Will can get close, if he’s lucky.)

The comment eloquently expresses one aspect of my theory that impractical optimism, as much as indifference, exacerbates certain problems.

F’rinstance, many strippers who work on a self-employed, pay-to-play basis (meaning they are undocumented, and pay the club [and bouncers and DJs] to work there) resist changing to documented, tax-paying status, even if it means they take home more [and steadier] money, their workplace and their peers become more stable, and they have the opportunity for health insurance. I think this is because few strippers will admit they are stripping for a career. They are stripping to make some quick cash, or until they move into a new apartment, or until the court catches up with their kid’s dad. Even after stripping for years, and knowing of no real reason she won’t be stripping for three more, a stripper needs tremendous fortitude and honesty to sign something admitting it.

And f’rinstance — people who aren’t concerned about global warming or peak oil because “people are clever, and they’ll come up with something.” My sentiment is that when the pain of changing becomes less than the pain of staying the same, a person will change. Since I read one book (Guns, Germs and Steel) and I think I know something, it seems like opportunity is the mother of invention, not necessity. My hope is that at least the consequences of peak oil happen slowly enough that we hit a high bottom rather than a low one — and we start conserving and converting our infrastructure to other fuel resources while we still have enough cheap oil to enable it.

And f’rinstance, nearly no politician will explain what they mean by “America’s poor” when a pundit tries to nail them down — what yearly salary defines poverty? Because nobody wants to be told they’re poor — it’s a sure way to alienate people exactly as you’re trying to help them — because poor sounds permanent. Poverty sounds permanent, and damning, and full of despair. I much prefer “broke” — because you can make $40,000 a year and still be broke, if you’re foolish. Broke means can’t afford health insurance, plus can’t afford to get sick because you have health insurance but it’s not very good. Broke casts a net over ain’t-got-nothing and ain’t-got-enough — and, yeah, a couple barely making ends meet on $40,000 needs a financial advisor, not federal help, but everybody broke will sit up and listen. Because everybody’s been broke at some point — according to each’s own definition of broke. And because broke is temporary.

The conceit of many activists, including myself circa Iowa, 2004, is that people who aren’t motivated to vote (their way) are indifferent, or cynical, and a message of knowledge and hope will lead them to their cause. Unfortunately I think the case is more raw than that. I think getting people to vote their economic interests requires bad news and hard facts, and goes over like a lead balloon. “Morning in America” will plow hard facts under every time.

Until the pain of changing becomes less than the pain of staying the same.

How do you get an alcoholic to admit he has an alcohol problem? You can’t. He has to get there on his own.

Does that mean you just give up? Not exactly. You lead by example. You lead the best boozeless life possible, and make it look good. That’s a difficult enough task for any person.

A-a-a-and spent.

Johnny Depp, eyes on set, and eight-year-olds

It has been a hella educational Kreesmas. I present three salient points, only one of them pertinent.

• I should not be allowed to meet famous people I have a story about spotting Bill Maher in a pub in Dublin and rather failing to leave him alone. I have a follow-up story about spotting Rob Schneider in a gelato shop in San Francisco and exercising better restraint — aided by being stone cold sober, which is always a decision-improver. Anyhoo, I hope I’ve learned a permanent lesson about not feeling entitlement just because I recognize a person’s face. I managed to give a cranberry dream bar to Adrian Paul once without insisting he buy me a pony.

  Except. I cannot be allowed to meet certain famous people, and Johnny Depp is one of them.

  In 1988-89, two movies came out that illustrated what movies could be: Beetlejuice and Who Framed Roger Rabbit? Glee, anarchy and animation. I was bought and sold. I was ten, and stationed with my family in Okinawa.

  I was connected to certain elements of Roger Rabbit — Roger, who homely, ill-dressed but cheerful loose cannon I related to impossibly well; Jessica, who promised I could have a huge rack and good posture; and a tidy, speedy story. But Beetlejuice was a line directly into my inner life. I filled a notebook with drawings of my memory of the movie. I listened to Harry Belafonte. To pass the time on 13-hour flights from Okinawa to the states and back, I played the movie over and over in my mind. I was plagued by jokes I didn’t get — mauve? The white leisure suit? Beetlejuice’s obscene gesture, which I wouldn’t get for another five years.

  It couldn’t have correlated for me that the same person directed Beetlejuice *and* Pee Wee’s Big Adventure, which had enjoyed frequent play and joke-explanation at the Hoke house for a couple of years. I think, when I was in middle school, it was my mother who pointed out that, hey, there’s a movie coming out I think you’d be into. Here’s this thing they sent to the newspaper where I work. You want it?

  Of course I brought it to school. Of course I was in a state, waiting for this thing to come to the theater that looked half as good as this glossy black and blue fold-out castle with a little figure in it with a thrusting gait and really pointy fingers.

  I went. I loved. I went two more times. I cried my ass off, at intervals, as early as the snow dance scene.

  That’s the first good cathartic cry I can remember in a theater. Sure, I got worked up at the end of Neverending Story, but it felt wrong somehow. Edward Scissorhands — with Danny Elfman and star-crossed lovers and a woman who, Age of Innocence-style, would rather be remembered as she was than get a second chance as she is — illustrated that movies are where good Americans are *supposed* to cry, and felt so, so right.

  I think it’s why even today I don’t see the point of a drama that doesn’t make me cry. That’s why it’s so hard to get me into a theater for a political thriller, or a straight action, or a science fiction with no robots and no Whedon. I go to a comedy to laugh out loud, dammit, and I go to a drama to at least get nose prickles. If you can leave me gibbering into a Kleenex even when the lights come up and my heckling companion is ready to go, then I will praise you with high praise. Otherwise I don’t know why we met.

  I’m getting to Johnny Depp.

  My mother also brought me a black-and-white (natch) publicity still of Johnny Depp as Edward Scissorhands. I may have understood that this was the same guy my sister was so into from that show, because he was beautiful and had shiny hair and cheekbones and a sort of stern but non-threatening ethnicity. But mostly I just put that picture by my bedroom door and looked at it way, way too much.

  You’ve probably seen it. It’s THE Edward Scissorhands still. Just Johnny Depp. White background. Two-Ts, dewy expression, scars, looking slightly left of frame.

  I drew it! Of course I drew it. I wonder where that drawing is now.

  Anyway. Fifteen years later, I see a candid photo of Johnny Depp, I feel an unsettling sense of… ownership. As if, if I saw him coming out of a Rite Aid, I’d be like, “Oh, there you are! Where have you been? Come on, come with me.”

  And that must be eerie for an actor. Any public figure, really, but especially an actor, where you put yourself forward as a character, and somehow a photo of you ends up on a thirteen-year-old’s wall, or the cover of a magazine the day someone has a frightening visit to the doctor, or on a TV show on a VHS tape right after someone’s favorite recording. And somewhere there’s a recipe in a cabinet, and you’re on the back of it. There’s a coffee ring on your face. There’s your face at a yard sale, on a dorm wall, above a toilet so your roommates can look at it when they pee.

  God love ‘em, actors have a hard, weird job.

• Tim Burton looks sleepy in photos I haven’t seen him interviewed that much, which is shameful, and it’s this Burton on Burton book my Seestor and her husband and new baby squirt got me that’s got these wheels turning. I know he’s got a heavy-lidded, sort of Dave Grohl thing working, but I think photos exaggerate it. I have a hard time believing the conceptual artist behind Large Marge has a presence so somnambulant.

  
  Looking sleepy (images used without permission)

  Not to presume my own behavior in Tim Burton’s (though I see — certainly in part because I choose to — some similarities; I am like Tim Burton if he were raised on a military base and fed corn), I’ve noticed pictures of me on set as director tend to look pretty sleepy. Eyelids at half-mast, like I got caught pre-blink. Every damn one is like this. Very hard to make a press kit.

  
  Must cut back on corn

  This could be because, you know, filmmakers don’t get a lot of sleep. Maybe it’s like being drunk — you might look OK in the flesh, but photos tell on you. I can tell you I have no memory of a camera being around at the moments these pictures are taken. I get the stills back, I’m all like, really? I would have stood up straight. Oh well.

  What I want to believe is that it’s a sign of peaceful focus. That the wheels are constantly turning, and the eyes are just dimming the lights so the hamster can work. But I could just be thinking about ponies. That happens.

• I met an eight-year-old this weekend. I never met one before when I wasn’t one myself. For a movie I got trained on ten-year-olds by Jenn, my co-Tory and camp instructor of many years experience. This was possibly the most enlightening thing I’ve done this year — and I’ve done some enlightening crap.

  The ultimate secret is that the same things that work for an eight-to-ten-year-old — team-building, setting her up for success, redirection, enthusiasm, scales from one-to-ten — work for everyone else. The basic human drives stay the same: wanting to evaluate, succeed, belong. Of course, now I imagine I know something, so the next time I try to relate to someone I will somehow light my own hair on fire.

• I need to set up an “explaining the shot” clinic sometime this term. Get some cinematographers and directors together, try some things. Just writing it down so I don’t forget — I ain’t got Stickies on this computer.

**Update 12/28**

Just saw Sweeney Todd and much enjoyed it. Research on actors led me to this — Tim Burton doesn’t have sleepy eyes! He has the eyes of Christopher Lee!

He says in Burton on Burton that if he could come back as an actor, it would be Christopher Lee. Well, I got good news.

The Golden Compass

Whoot, there it is

Not good. And meaning no disparagement to the friend I went with, because I’m glad I saw it. They say a bad movie teaches you as much as a good one. Well, a movie that has everything working for it but the story beats both hands-down.

This might be a good time to explain what makes a movie “good” for me. My tastes are not terribly sophisticated, and I have much to learn in terms of studying filmmaking as an art, or even as just a medium of communication. But I don’t know if study will ever change the fact that, for me, a “good” movie is one that runs my show emotionally.

The whole third act, people

This is why Little Miss Sunshine, with its quirks and implausiblities, rocks my socks. As did Return of the King, Castaway, and Enchanted, despite my deep reservations about this last. I will always praise Grindhouse with high praise because Planet Terror made me care about the characters while pretending it didn’t care if I did, and Death Proof had me screaming at the screen.

This is also why some movies in the critical canon don’t do much for me. Silence. Contempt. Film noir. Most Hitchcock, except maybe Dial M for Murder, because if you can’t get worked up about Grace Kelly you can’t get worked up.

I can admire a great movie that is sophisticated *and* moving, like Schindler’s List and the three-day depression it engendered, and (sublime to the ridiculous here, but bear with me) The Sixth Sense, which left me breathless and utterly bewildered that it was still summer outside the theater.

Still, there are some movies that rate well because they are, how do you say, *transporting*. How can I explain my affinity for the catharsis-forbidding The Last Unicorn, or the arbitrary dolly-opera of The Nightmare Before Christmas — that for some reason I still prefer over the good and moving Corpse Bride? I dunno. Got nothin’. But the movies in this category are fantastical and breakneck-paced, with well-differentiated characters and a story that spools from their choices, however vague their motivations.

Dark Crystal is in this category, heaven help me, and Shaun of the Dead. The point of this is that The Golden Compass had the hope of being moving, as well as the opportunity to be transporting, and yet accomplished neither.

Why not? Great cast, gorgeous art direction, wicked costumes and, saying this as one who despises digital characters, good digital characters. The outline is rousing enough — in a parallel universe,

Hell, even the characters are pretty good. Lyra is plucky, tempting fate and showing outrage when called a “lady.” Mrs. Coulter’s fire and ice persuasion techniques are vicious and delicious.

I had to fake-hug a primate in “Eyes Wide Shut,” too. Owowowo!

The problems?

• Story. Events are set in motion by circumstance and exposition, not characters making choices. Once Lyra arrives in the North, the movie becomes a high-tone role-playing game, with problem, quest, solution, problem, quest, solution with no insight into the characters or relationship to what had gone before. Sam Elliott I half-expected Lyra to join a guild and +5 Agility.
• Pacing. Events proceed at the same pace, so everything is given equal weight. It’s not clear what’s important, much less how we’re supposed to feel about it. Lyra finds her (preternaturally beautiful) friend shattered and maimed, brings him home to his mom, wide shot of reunion, reaction shot of Lyra, and that’s it. That’s it? The ride across the ice to *go get* him was treated with more importance — tracking shot, slow motion, soaring music. And it was totally awesome, don’t get me wrong. But the ride *to* the kid is more important than the kid himself? Doesn’t his mom have something to say? Is Lyra maybe wracked with guilt for arriving too late, or horror at the realization that this is the fate that awaits the kidnapped? Couldn’t say.

  
  But the polar-bear-riding was way sweet.

• Constant exposition. I believe this movie could have been A++ with different editing and about a third of the dialogue cut out. It’s like Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets – EVERYTHING has to be said aloud. (”Your phoenix blinded my basilisk, but I’ll still get you!”) EVERYTHING is handled in dialogue. The tenth time someone does something, and then announces it, you have to wonder about the ego situation.

  
  I hope we don’t get attacked by northern raiders OH MAN THERE THEY ARE WHAT ARE THE ODDS!

  The scene in which Lyra convinces the Ice Bear King to fight Iorek could have been GREAT — we know he wants a daemon, and look at him fondle his doll, eww, that’s creepy. But Lyra explains everything aloud to her daemon (is the Ice Bear King hard of hearing? He stares at her throughout her chat.) All that is necessary here is “Pan, I want you to hide.” And her expository challenge to the Ice Bear King takes WAY too long. Imagine this version, peppered with uncomfortable silences, and the ensuing battle has much more menace:

  Ice Bear King – “Who are you?”
  Lyra – “I’m Lyra. Sent by Iorek.”
  Ice Bear King – “Iorek?”
  Lyra – “I’m his daemon.”
  Ice Bear King – “(Oh hells no)”
  Lyra – “But I would rather be yours, great king. Challenge and defeat him, and it will be so.”
  Ice Bear King – “Daemon? No ways. Prove it.”
  Lyra – “Ask me something I could not know.”
  Ice Bear King – “(Asks something she *couldn’t* know, as opposed to the question he does ask, which Iorek’s daemon would DEFINITELY know!)”
  Lyra – “(Consults compass). Yes, it’s yours.”
  Ice Bear King – “(ROARS INSANELY!)”

  In the movie, this episode takes about four minutes. ALL episodes take about four minutes. Meet Sam Elliott? Four minutes. Meet Iorek? Four minutes. Get Iorek’s armor? Four minutes. Random expository interstitial between church elders that never get close to the narrative? Four minutes. Ice bridge that eventually collapses? Four absolutely peril-free minutes. Which brings me to…

• No suspense. A good question is, how do you imbue a story with suspense when you *know* the good guys are going to win? You *know* Lyra isn’t going to fall into the ice chasm and die — why would it ever be suspenseful?

  The same way you can believe ANYTHING a movie tries to sell you — that gorgeous, healthy Julia Roberts is a street-walker, that Steve Buscemi is broke, that Michael Clarke Duncan is simple-minded — by having the characters behave in relatable ways, which forces you to relate to their plight.

  
  Naw, let’s just talk about it some more

  If, confronted by the ice bridge, Lyra had done something most people could see themselves doing, the troubling facts of the situation would make the audience squirm. If Lyra gets down to slide across the bridge on her belly, you see how treacherous it is. If the skin of her arm sticks to its surface, and she has to pull it off, grimacing and leaving a pink welt, then you see how cold it is. If a piece of ice tumbles into the chasm, and Lyra holds still, listening for the sound of it hitting the bottom, and it’s a lo-o-o-ong delay as we hold close on her face, it’s a bit cliche but still makes the point.

  If Iorek stands by, helpless and silent, instead of barking instructions, it only enhances the effect.

  I’m just sayin’.

Now the smaller stuff:

• Iorek the Ice Bear is “Iorek Byrnison.” Serafina is “Serafina Pekkala.” Always! Sam Elliott gets to be “Scoresby” — so it’s not a legal thing. The full name business gets to be very silly, and I know because I use full names for silly effect alla time, even when the joke is hella old. Plus — why does an Ice Bear need a last name when there are, like, twenty of them?
• Speaking of, in the last battle (which I daresay actually takes a little longer than four minutes), new Ice Bear King Iorek shows up to fight… but doesn’t bring any other bears? Dude — I know you are new to this king thing, but CATCH UP.
• Sam Elliott is hot but he doesn’t do much. Possibly he didn’t need to be in this movie. No offense.

  
  Sorry I couldn’t find a still of the “Mustache Rides” shirt

  Same goes for Eva Green. The witch stuff just didn’t pay off enough to justify the time spent on it. Although she was righteous awesome.

• All the cutting away to churchy people talking — not ONE of these scenes was needed. They discussed only things we already knew or didn’t need to know. They reminded me of the Star Wars prequels — good actors in gorgeous costumes and gorgeous rooms, lit gorgeously, talking with dead seriousness about things that don’t matter. Alas.
• I don’t know if this is a small thing, but there are ABSOLUTELY NO people of color until the northern mercenaries show up, being all Asiany and speaking Asianese. OK, there are like two “Gyptians” who are people of color (oh my God irony) but they don’t get to talk. And later about half the rescued kids aren’t white, but, again, they don’t get to talk. No talking, any of you, unless it’s foreign and menacing! I mean, GEESH.

A-a-a-and spent.

Privacy and Prohibition

It’s almost the 25th of December, that magical time, and we know what subject is on everyone’s mind:

Sodomy.

I have been politically dormant for the last, oh, three years, and certain parties who have ongoing political interests have raised topics that force me to look up stories and examine my beliefs.

A couple of those are that sex is private. And moralism hurts people.

(Specifically, consensual sex habits are Constitutionally protected from legal sanctions as a right-to-privacy issue. And that laws written based on opinions of what *should* be true, rather than what *is* true, backfire and hurt people.)

But how can that be, when certain sex habits make you crinkle your nose? Like… like… s-s-s-sodomy? Especially when those nasty gays are the ones that do it, and any law that puts them out of sorts can’t be a bad thing?

First, sodomy means both anal and oral sex. Yep, sure does. So that word, all Biblical and legal sounding, includes both something a bit off-putting and something quite awesome. I must insist hereon that any political official wishing to refer to anal sex alone must use the term “butt sex.” I project the number of laws addressing sexual practices would drop to zero by 2012.

Used without permission from CNN.com

Second, my understanding is that homosexual (male) couples participate in anal sex at rates not appreciably different from those of heterosexual couples. I could be making this up. But I do know some gay men don’t, and some straight people do, so as a method of castigating gay men criminalizing sodomy is terribly inefficient. And using “gay” as a pejorative epithet is way funner!

Third, this plan *totally* leaves out gay women. They have the terribly inconvenient characteristic of not having any unique stereotypical sexual practices at all (barring the occasional, horrifying Internet meme) — what should we do, outlaw girl-girl hand-holding? No wonder gay-targeting legislators are so dude-focused — almost as if gay men were not the target of their rancor, but instead their own secret fears about sexuality, normalcy and desire. Naw, that couldn’t be it.

Anyhoo. Consensual sex is A-OK. You can’t make it illegal just because it grosses you out. Because then you would have to outlaw sex between the unattractive, the creepy, the rude, and the very old, and then eventually the law is coming for you.

Articles better researched than this one:

• Liberty Unbound – Michigan’s sodomy law in global and historic context. Check out the map!
• Effects of Sodomy Laws – Who do they hurt? Oh, yeah. Everybody.
• Right to Privacy – Is it really a Constitutional right?
  

  The Constitution does not specifically mention a right to privacy. However, Supreme Court decisions over the years have established that the right to privacy is a basic human right, and as such is protected by virtue of the 9th Amendment. The right to privacy has come to the public’s attention via several controversial Supreme Court rulings, including several dealing with contraception (the Griswold and Eisenstadt cases), interracial marriage (the Loving case), and abortion (the well-known Roe v Wade case). In addition, it is said that a right to privacy is inherent in many of the amendments in the Bill of Rights, such as the 3rd, the 4th’s search and seizure limits, and the 5th’s self-incrimination limit.

But you know what’s not so hot? UNPROTECTED consensual sex. Owowowo. That’s no fun at all.

Ah, what every parent wants to see on their daughter’s blog

Fortunately there is an environment where all Americans are required to go before and during the onset of sexual maturity, where they can all receive the best, most complete and reliable information about how to have safer sex. That environment is called SCHOOL.

There are home schools, private schools and public schools. The first two represent the specific populations that subscribe to them, and are beholden to those populations.

Public schools represent all of us, and are beholden to all of us.

So.

Imagine there are two neighboring island nations of Sharpia and Stickia. The citizens of both nations have, for centuries, been sticking themselves in the eye with sharp sticks when they think no one is looking. This used to result in widespread infection, blindness and death, despite centuries of the most extensive and desperate means of changing the population’s behavior. Both countries have religious texts that decry the use of sharp sticks, even of *thinking* about using sharp sticks. Yet on they go, showing up at their parents’ house with a scratched cornea and a long story.

However, the advent of modern medicine means that the citizens of Sharpia and Stickia no longer have to suffer (as much) as the result of their habits. There are devices that can be applied to the ends of the sticks, and devices that can be applied to the eye.

The religious scholars of both countries are horrified. If people are protected from the awful consequences of their own actions, what remains to prevent them from doing it? And how can we even tell who’s poking their eyes and who’s not?

The scholars of Sharpia and Stickia appealed to their leaders, asking them to outlaw these devices. The leaders looked at their constituents and said, shoot, son, that’ll never work.

So the scholars said, Okay, how about this: we ban *teaching kids* about these devices. They shouldn’t be eye-sticking in the first place! We’ll tell their parents that teaching them how to protect themselves will actually make them want to eye-stick more. And the parents are so ashamed of their own eye-sticking, they’ll readily accept anything that sounds like it will keep their kids from doing it.

The leaders from Sharpia were like, dude, we’ve been watching the Sharpians poke their eyes out for hundreds of years. You can’t make them want to do it *more.* And it’s y’all’s job to make them want to do it less. If you don’t tell them how to protect themselves, we’re going to end up with a generation of sick-ass, blind kids. Is that what you want?

And the Sharpian scholars were all like, of course not, we want…

But the Sharpian leaders were already working on a prevention-based health care plan.

But over in Stickia, the leaders were like, that actually sounds good. The squirm factor in all this eye-sticking is pretty high. We don’t want to do anything that sounds like we think it’s okay.

So the scholars had their way in Stickia, and the government offered special money to schools that said they wouldn’t teach about the eye-protection devices.

That went OK for a while, but then eye-gouging rates increased, and Schools started turning the money down.

So it’ll probably turn out OK in the end.

But which country would you rather live in?

What devices are we talking about? I’m so glad you asked. Unfortunately, I have to leave my awesome sharp stick metaphor, because there. Are. A lot of devices.

From Planned Parenthood, if you trust this sort of sciencey talk

What is missing from this chart is abstinence. Let’s talk about that method a little bit.

What you see in the second column is each devices rate of effectiveness — from the low end, which is “typical,” to the high end, which is “perfect.”

Of course, if you use the “abstinence” method perfectly, it kicks the ass of all these other methods — 100% (well, one case in many billions, so that’s pretty close to 100%). But the most people don’t use “abstinence” very well. Once in a while they forget, or decide not to use it at all. When you compare the typical effectiveness rates, “abstinence” is actually not very reliable, because people are bad at using it.

But if you teach people how to use the “condom” method, it’s actually 98%! That’s more life- and health-saving power per use than a seatbelt, and nobody looks at you funny for buying one of those!

I’m tewtally leaving out some other more Pope-friendly, like withdrawal and continued nursing and Persona (OMG Persona!), but I’m going to leave the discussion of why on earth God is supposed to like one method more than another for another day.

Let’s talk about Persona right quick. In doing my meager research for this post, I found the most delicious graphic, most delicious article, and most delicious website all in a single click. I suggest you go there immeds. Evidence:

Taken without permission from Inkling Magazine

Coming Soon: One woman’s experience with an IUD. That is, trying to get one. For cheap. Wish me luck!

Political GMail

I find the idea that Clinton has had people killed to be a little wacky. Are you serious about believing this? Kenneth Starr spent $40 million on investigating Bill Clinton and all he came up with was an affair. What more exculpatory evidence could you want?

I don’t quite see how Wolf Blitzer could hurt Huckabee’s campaign by pressing for an answer (Lord, I wish he’d pressed more in the stupid 2004 debates… or 2000…) I agree a candidate’s beliefs aren’t relevant except inasmuch as they inform action — so it would make a lot more sense to look at Huckabee’s record (oh, what a wonderful campaign it would be) than to ask him what he likes for breakfast and try to extrapolate from there.

But I submit that, for instance, on the DuMond parole issue, if Huckabee pressed for his release, and did so because of his faith, that was a case of blindness and not of true spiritual seeking. That’s my opinion, and I know He works in mysterious ways, but my God would not recommend a rapist be let out of jail to rape and kill again.

So I would say Huckabee’s faith influence is all the more problematic, because it seems to be neither governed by science and logic nor by a true and honest connection with God. That is hella judgmental of me, but there it is.

Science is not the enemy of faith. Not all liberalism is the enemy of God.

“The same concept goes for a lot of your anti-Huckabee rhetoric.”

Oh, goodness, I must cry foul. I try to supply news articles and opinions — if I’m guilty of rhetoric, please tell me where.

I’m not “denying his capabilities because of his religion.” I’m suggesting that someone who genuinely believes women should submit to their husbands would probably have a hard time treating women as peers.

“Plus, as Ann points out he doesn’t always stand strong on his morales and is in fact anti-gay:”

Well, now you’ve caused me to read an Ann Coulter article. I didn’t die, I’ll say that much. But you mean “pro-gay,” right? Because he wouldn’t make sodomy (often practiced by heterosexuals, I daresay) illegal, and he wouldn’t rule out the possibility of legal gay unions? Hmm… it does sound like he is able to observe his personal faith without imposing it on others. He’s sounding better and better…

As for Fair Tax… hmm… If you leave out things like food, clothes, rent (technically a service anyway)… or set an allowance, like the first $500 a month spent on food is tax-free…

I read a medical journal article about why the New Deal happened in the first place — about how it followed the World Wars, and the idea that if you fight and sacrifice to protect your country then you deserve some protection from your country in return. We don’t have that national sacrifice in modern wars — we just run up trillions in debt and thousands of lives, and the average American doesn’t feel it today unless they know someone overseas. So the idea of the contract between citizen and country is due for change.

Sounds like you would have it change to every man for himself. I would be interested in Hillary Clinton’s plan (and every candidate has some kind of health care initiative, because that is tops in voters minds, but hers could actually pass), which (honestly, like most of them) requires individual insurance (like car insurance), rewards businesses that are already providing insurance, and adds a safety net for the uninsured.

The gist is that we have universal health care right now anyway — because our hospitals still treat the uninsured, because (IMHO) it would be evil not to. The difference is that now taxpayers pay $10,000 for emergency care that would cost $100 to prevent.

So that kind of sprouted from the tax conversation.

Flat tax suffers from the same problem as Fair Tax in terms of taxing po folks the most — since they don’t pay federal payroll taxes right now. You could start the flat tax at the level at which people start to pay that amount in payroll taxes right now (say, I dunno, a 13% flat tax beginning when you make $35,000 a year). You’d probably have to cut a lot of federal programs to do it, though. Which ones could you cut?

Oh, Fred Thompson, whose favorite possession is his “trophy wife.” Ah ha ha. Classy.

Loving you,
Tory