Archive for April, 2007

I’ll git those Duke boys!

Wednesday, April 18th, 2007

The left side of the blogosphere is looking a lot like the tail end of an episode of The Dukes of Hazzard right about now, with feminist types everywhere sitting, coughing, Roscoe P. Coletrane-like, in a cloud of the dust of the accuser’s crumbled story, shaking their fists at those Duke boys who have, somehow, escaped their idea of justice.

It is significant that in the Duke case, the police did not say that the three men were â??not guiltyâ?. They used a very different term that is not often uttered in the American legal system.

â??Innocentâ?.

â??Not guiltyâ? is what they say when the prosecution is not able to prove guilt. â??Innocentâ? is trotted out only in those rare occasions when the evidence so overwhelming exonerates them that they basically should never have been suspects in the first place.

The stripper committed a terrible fraud against three innocent people, and came close to destroying their lives. Even with the surprising declaration of â??innocentâ?, it has cost them and their families enormous heartache â?? not to mention tens of thousands of dollars defending themselves against her lies.

I think false accusations, especially of such horrifying crimes as rape, should carry a very simple penalty: if someone are found guilty of falsely accusing somebody of a crime, and it can be shown overwhelmingly that the accusation was a deliberate lie, then the accuser should be given the same sentence that a “guilty” verdict against their victims would have carried.

We don’t punish perjury harshly enough in this country.

via BoB

Jeffery Harrell

Wednesday, April 18th, 2007

Jeffery Harrell.

Jeffery Harrell. Jeffery Harrell. Jeffery Harrell. Jeffery Harrell. Jeffery Harrell. Jeffery Harrell.

Jeffery Harrell.

There. That oughta do it.

Hi Jeff(ery).

(Ironically, I almost spelled it wrong. Heh.)

Sticks & Stones

Friday, April 13th, 2007

For those of you living in remote caves, there’s been a media uproar recently over an off-the-cuff comment by radio personality Don Imus, in which he called members of the Rutgers women’s basketball team (most of whom are black) “nappy-headed hos”.

Naturally the country’s victocrats immediately came scurrying out of their holes to demand apologies, and upon receiving said apologies, ignoring them and demanding Imus’ summary dismissal from multiple jobs. Well. It’s nice to know that the Left isn’t interested in the politics of personal destruction.

I’m not defending what he said; it was an asshole thing to saybut that’s all it was. A good, proportional response would have been to say “What a dick”, shrug, and keep doing whatever you were doing. Some shock jock makes a rude statement and suddenly you’d think the sky was falling. I turn on the radio and hear one of the team members saying that she’s “scarred for life”, and some airhead whining about how it’s “time for the healing period to begin”.

Excuse me? This requires a “healing period”? One of the players is “scarred”?? “FOR LIFE”??? I’ve heard of thin-skinned people before, but if such a comment from a guy whose job it is to be shocking wounds you that deeply, you’re not thin-skinned, you’re completely skinless. Of Don Imus, I say “What an asshole”. Of the unidentified player who shall never recover from this grievous blow to her precious, precious, self-esteem, I say, “What a fucking wimp”.

See… at first we simply had a comment from a rude person, and that truly didn’t affect my opinion of you — as A) I wouldn’t have even heard it if you hadn’t made such a massive stink about it, and B) the comment itself is self-parodying when aimed toward a winning athletic team. But noooo, you had to open your mouth, and now your own foolish mawkishness has been exposed. You have now reported on yourself, and people will judge you for that.

Come on, ladies, you all learned it in kindergarden, didn’t you? Repeat after me: “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names can never hurt me.” Okay, now that you’ve said it, do you know what it means?

It means that Imus’s words did you no harm. Any damage done to you by this incident is self-inflicted, in response to a boorish comment by some guy who knew nothing about you personally. Yes it was rude. Yes it was completely uncalled for. I don’t know that he was giving you enough thought for it even to qualify as “mean-spirited”, as that would require him to give a damn about you, which he clearly didn’t.

I have no issue with the idea of going to him (or his bosses) and wanting an apology; but to go around acting as though this incident has permanently damaged you crosses the line into a personal failing.

Oh, and when I called you a “fucking wimp” up there? Meaningless, unless you want it to mean something to you. You’re a grown up; suck it up. Or just shrug, say “What a jerk”, and move along.

Oh, and congratulations on making the championships.

The Constitutional Bedrock

Saturday, April 7th, 2007

In the midst of a decent article, this statement absolutely leapt out at me for its simplicity and power:

You can talk all day about your right to free speech, or your right to petition the government for the redress of grievances, or your right to be free from unreasonable searches and seizures and to be secure in your papers and effects. You can talk until you are blue in the face about all your rights, but, if the day ever comes when the government decides they no longer apply, what are you and I – what are “We The People” – going to do about it? Without the second amendment, weâ??re going to put our hands up and go along quietly.

via Smallest Minority

Just a splash

Tuesday, April 3rd, 2007

I’ve been working at the same office for a bit over ten years now. In that time I have never, once, spilled a drink on my desk. Until now.

In fact, it seems that all these years…. I was just saving up for the big one.

I suspect I could have made less of a mess if I’d simply opted to drop a water balloon in the middle of my desk, but nooooooo… I had to slip while picking up a full bottle of Starbucks Vanilla Frappuccino. In the mad scrabble to not actually drop it, I managed to give it a good shake instead, and launched one part coffee, one part sugar in a spray across A) my desk, and B) my self.

Cleanup became a sort of game, wherein every time I thought I was pretty much done, I somehow, somewhere found some more. The next time the phone rang I picked it up and gave myself an earful of sticky liquid. The splash had somehow made its way up the wall a ways. It got behind books, and under the base of the desk lamp.

By some miracle it seemed to have made a perfect nothing-but-net field goal (yeah, I know. shut up.) trajectory between my laptop and the brand spanking new document scanner, as neither was significantly soaked, though they could have, and either one would have made of a very expensive accident.

But I did, as I mentioned before, get myself. My shirt (fortunately dark in color) was covered, my pants got it pretty good in front, my glasses were flecked, and about ten minuted into cleanup I discovered that a good portion of the front of my hair was, in fact, newly crunchy.

There’s a reason I spill only rarely — when I spill a drink, I don’t kid around.