The Greigh Area

11 June 2020  

There doesn’t seem to be a single successful newsreader on network television who understands anarchy.  Even such self-described “liberal’ or “conservative” great minds as Geraldo (“Good Night America”) Rivera and Sean (“Stop the Inns”) Hannity, whose ideologies span the narrow center of the political spectrum, seem to agree in their assessment of the savage occupation of Seattle’s Capitol Hill —  “They’re anarchists!” 

Really?  Let’s look at the record.

By dint of superior arms and other tactical advantages, they have seized a contiguous body of land.  They have established borders and crossing checkpoints.  They have accepted foreign aid from a neighboring jurisdiction.  Revenue agents roam the land, shaking down the local merchants for the “privilege” of doing business in the “state of nature.”  (Whether you call that “taxation” or “extortion” makes little difference; violence is threatened, either directly or obliquely, and victims cough up.

That’s not anarchy.  That’s government!

1 June 2020  

correspondent Wojikumo Joompduv evinces her weariness with the administration, and I don’t blame her.  Donald Trump is a putz, but he is a brilliant and talented and amusing putz.  At times. 

Otherwise, he’s bad, but not as bad as the criminals who preceded him.
Bushbama 43 kills hundreds of thousands. Says “nuke ya lure.”
Bushbama 44 kills hundreds of thousands. Says “yes we can.”
Bushbama 45 kills hundreds. Says mean things.

correspondent Jixum-Vyl Pujjup seems to have difficulty believing it, and wonders “what is wrong with” me, while Woji enquires after MY Bushbama.

I’m not that hard to understand, if you view life through the proper lens. My primary political metric is body count. Dead people make me squeamish, and hundreds of thousands seems worse than only hundreds. I guess “what is wrong” with me are my delicate sensibilities.

On the other hand, if I did have a Bushbama of my own, it would have to be Bubba. Deride him if you like — pot smoker, skirt chaser, draft dodger — THAT’s what I LIKE about him! Unfortunately, he also got into that mass-murder thing (Serbia, Bosnia, Iraq, &c), and that tends to put me off.

update 200530:   There’s kneeling.  And then there’s kneeling.  And I think there’s going to be a lot more kneeling to come.  Most of the latter, like the first of it, is going to be pretty benign, though usually involving prayer. 

The middle of it casts a pretty dim light on the furor over the former. 

Horror and disgust at the killing of George Floyd is understandable and appropriate.  Rioting is not.  That wasn’t Target®’s knee on Floyd’s neck.  That wasn’t AutoZone®’s knee on Floyd’s neck.  That wasn’t the knee of the old man running the food truck ya’ll burned down neither.  That was a BLUE knee. And if your anger and violence is directed anywhere else you are a fool and a criminal.

3 March 2019

I’m pretty keen on ritual and ceremony, as long as it isn’t too inconvenient. I stand for the Pledge of Allegiance (though I edit the text) and the National Anthem, and I proudly hold my fist over my heart (because the open hand is passive, and I wish to be affirmative.)

If you don’t, I haven’t the slightest problem with that. As long as you’re not making a fuss over my stuff, I won’t make a fuss over yours. Sitting still, or kneeling, or standing, and remaining quiet, is no more “disruptive” than passive resistance is “assault.”

Sometimes it seems like the greatest outrage is that others aren’t outraged enough. When QB Colin started in with his kneeling schtick I thought little of it. As often happens the reaction to the story became the bigger story and we were caught up in tribal fury. Fans in the stands and strangers at the QuikkStopp® and El Donaldo® from his regal rostrum all saw fit to weigh in. I began to care because it was all so fascinating. I get it, we live in the real world with real people, and real people have real delicate little feelings about some of the most ephemeral phenomena. But it didn’t really bother me until Pissed Off Pete and his Foxy Friends presumed to be insulted on my behalf. Some GIs are of sterner stuff than that.

As more and more of the elite privileged began to kneel during the anthem, and the furor mounted, I dared try to calm these waters. Kneeling is, in fact, a stronger act of affirmation than standing. It takes more effort getting down and back up. It takes courage to set yourself against the crowd. And, however righteous or silly the cause, it is even heroic, as these successful millionaires were putting some pretty hefty paychecks on the line.

The Angry Fan was having none of it.
It’s not their ball club, they work for the NFL.
Maybe the owners and the fans might have some say in it.
We come to see a football game, not a protest.

And that’s really the bottom line. My main point is that I don’t care. My other main point is that if the manager says you gotta wear a paper hat to work at McGreasetrap®’s, you put on the paper hat or you check out the other side of the door. If the owner of the Queen City Looters’n’Pillagers® says you stand for the anthem, you stand or you walk.

These issues don’t have to be complicated.
But they are.

Football isn’t always football (and I don’t mean “soccer”), and protests… well, protests are all around us. As I’m protesting my allegiance to the republic, somewhere up in the bleachers a couple of young lovers are protesting their ardor for each other, and on the field a couple of the players are protesting their displeasure at the casualty rate of their inner city brethren. We all protest and none of us need be in any others’ way as we do.

And football? Well, if you’re there for the game, then it really doesn’t make any difference who’s standing — or who’s sitting — or who’s kneeling  —  because those are all ways of not playing football.

This is where The Angry Fan® loses his shit. He demands to know if “THAT [was] what [I] thought [he] meant!” I then muttered some vague concession that maybe it wasn’t, and that that wasn’t precisely what I intended. I now realize that “football” fans speak of football the way the English speak of high tea. Often, the tea itself is incidental.
And never, but never, fuck with a Briton’s high tea.

3 May 2020

It’s hard to keep up. 
What was hep is hackneyed. 
What was groovy is gay. 
What was boss is bogus.

Face masks, on occasion and under special circumstances, are medically prudent.  (I recall wearing a surgical mask when I first met my daughter, a twenty-nine week fetus delivered prematurely and with dire prospects.  She is presently a hale and happy twenty-nine year old woman with wide open prospects.)  In addition to being occasionally effective health aids, face masks are presently groovy, sick, and with it.  But how does this new fad compare to the soy muffin, sagging trousers, backward ballcaps, or clown shoes on pick-up trucks?  Well, those things are all pretty silly too, but they’re harmless.  None of them offers the subterfuge that concealing one’s features does.  Like wearing sunglasses at a poker game, covering half your face, and thereby half-blinding most of us from important social cues and the hearing impaired from additional verbal clarity, is discourteous, and potentially underhanded.  We will be generally less inclined to trust you or to like you. 

Of course, if you take to displaying the skid marks on your skivvies, or hang a canvas scrotum from the back of your pick-up, we may not be amused either, but we probably won’t think you’re here to rob the bank.  And whatever happened to the “Safety Pin?”  (PoundPinNotSafe?)  That pointy threatening object is/was as dangerous as guns, pencils, cars, and diverse opinions.