We’ve been Europe’s security blanket for six decades. We are Japan’s security blanket. We are South Korea’s. It’s been said that were it not for us, the French would be speaking German and the Germans would be speaking Russian. In 1938, the West decided it couldn’t be Czechoslovakia’s security blanket and sold out that country in Munich, Germany. The rest, as they say, is history.
This comes from Investor’s Business Daily by way of the Instapundit by way of Books, Inq.
Did you see Glenn Beck’s CNN Headline News show last Wednesday, “Exposed: The Extremist Agenda.” I believe it will air again this Sunday at 7:00 p.m. It’s on YouTube too. It doesn’t seem to be causing much of a stir, and as Benjamin Netanyahu says on the show, “It makes you understand how the `30s happened, because Ahmadinejad, the president of Iran, is openly saying, while he denies the original Holocaust, he`s openly saying that he`s preparing another Holocaust to wipe Israel off the face of the earth with Iranian atomic bombs.”
The messages Beck collected are simply evil, but let me start with one that’s funny. From an investigative report on Iranian TV:
The Zionists are the largest shareholders of the world`s drink manufacturers. Coca-Cola, besides its clear continuous support of the Israeli government, had announced its willingness to invest billions of dollars to topple the regime of the Islamic Republic of Iran. . . . Take for example the Pepsi drink. You know what the name of Pepsi stands for? “Pay Each Penny Save Israel.”
Beck adds, “Coca-Cola wants to topple Iran. Obviously ridiculous. But the average Iranian citizen has no reason not to believe these claims.”
One analyst speculates this kind of wild propaganda comes in part from never having a free press. I guess Iranian Michael Moores run all the stations and newspapers. For my part, I don’t care for Pepsi, but if buying a few will help save Israel–well, I’ll consider it. Continue reading The Iranian Threat
THIS is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.
This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman?
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers,—
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands,
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven?
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed!
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o’er the ocean.
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pré.
Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient,
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman’s devotion,
List to the mournful tradition, still sung by the pines of the forest;
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy.
from Longfellow’s beautiful, sad poem, “Evangeline.”
I can’t help of think of words like this when I walk in the Great Smokey Mountains or even some of the beautiful trails around Lookout and Signal Mountains. They have captured my imagination, which is an important point to remember when buying Christmas presents for your children.
What we read, do, and play with as children form our imagination, developing our ideas of ourselves and the world: heros and who they are, villans and why they do what they do, how we define “happily ever after.” Do our little girls believe they are beautiful just as they are? Do our little boys believe they capable of anything God wants them to do? Our Christmas celebrations help them understand these things.
Dr. Milton Friedman, Nobel-winning economist, passed away this week. He has influenced us more than many of us know. This post on Townhall.com has several links to the teaching of this free market man.
I took a half day off work today, so I could go to the airport and meet my brother Moloch, returning from Tanzania.
I waited two hours and he never came out of the gate. He didn’t answer a page, and a call to Customs let me know they weren’t holding him in durance vile there.
One assumes he missed his connection in Amsterdam. Either that or he’s fallen into one of those missing persons mysteries along with Ambrose Bierce and Judge Crater.
I’ll keep you posted.
Update: Moloch is stuck in Dar es Salaam.
I think my evening will be free.
Authors Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins are back with the story behind the big, big story they have been telling us for years. World’s blog points out a new series called The Jesus Chronicles, which will dwell on the lives of the gospel writers. John is the focus of the first book, John’s Story: The Last Eyewitness.
Have you seen or heard or seenandheard Weird Al’s song “White & Nerdy“? It’s funny, but somehow the fact that Wikipedia has long page with, I assume, all of the details. Forgive me for repeating some of the obscene points, but for the sake of accuracy in information, I must:
When Al raps that he has “… pens in my pocket I must protect ’em”, he implies that a pocket protector is meant to protect pens, which is incorrect; it is to protect shirt pockets from ink stains.
The scene with him playing Minesweeper (a game included with the Microsoft Windows operating system dating back to version 3.1) is actually being played on a Macintosh. The logged in user is listed as “whitenerdy”. The reason that the Finder is the currently active application listed in the menu bar is because Minesweeper is running as a Dashboard widget.[14] He is shown as using a keyboard to play this normally mouse-controlled game.
How nerdy is it to blog on something so whiteandnerdy?
Can it get worse after yesterday?
You bet it can.
I found out I have another Church Constitution meeting tonight.
I knew about it already, actually. It was right there in my date book (which records “dates” in the sense of “calendar dates,” needless to say, not dates in the sense of “I’ll pick you up at 7:00 for dinner and a movie.”). But I had the idea that it was a tentative scheduling, likely to be cancelled due to conflict. No such luck.
If I were a Catholic I’d cry out to some minor saint, “HOW MUCH CAN ONE MAN BE EXPECTED TO ENDURE?”
Not a major saint, of course. I’d be embarrassed to bother a big saint with a little gripe like this one.
Some minor, mostly forgotten saint. Somebody like St. Olaf, who was patron saint to a country that went Protestant out from under him.
Of course St. Olaf might not like me because I write books about Erling Skjalgsson, his lifelong enemy.
But I figure he’s probably so neglected these days that he appreciates any attention he can get.
Then again, from what I read of his life, I figure he’s probably not really a saint anyway. He’s probably still in Purgatory.
Wait, I don’t believe in Purgatory either.
Never mind.
I have a meeting to go to.
I guess litblogs or blogs on books, plays, writing, painting, and similar works are not prevalent enough to warrent notice when you look at the whole blogosphere. Still I keep hoping will point us out, and again my hopes are dashed.
The 2006 Weblog Awards (now accepting nominations) has an arts category with this list: Best Photo Blog, Best Culture Blog, Best Diarist, Best Gossip Blog, Best Music Blog, Best Podcast, Best Video Blog, Video Of The Year.
Best photo and music–good. Where’s literature or best humanities maybe?
The infamous O.J. Simpson has written a book to say, hypothetically, how he would have murdered his ex-wife and her friend. His publisher, Judith Regan of ReganBooks, “This is an historic case, and I consider this his confession.”
A law professor said, “He can write pretty much whatever he wants. Unless he’s confessing to killing somebody else, he can probably do this with impunity.”
Simpson’s If I Did It may deal mostly with other parts of author’s life, giving only a chapter or so to the murder, but since he has been found innocent of the crimes . . . I can assume this morbid meditation is only the result of his profound tastelessness. Still, I wish he would find a more useful occupation.