teh Mexigogue

How pissed do you have to be in a situation to kill the husband, the wife, and the cat too??? I must admit I’m impressed.

Health Insurance is gambling. When you buy health insurance (whether directly or indirectly as when your employer pays for health insurance for you) you are basically betting that you’re going to get sick. The insurance company is betting that you’re not and then you ante up. If the period of your coverage goes by and you did not require medical attention you basically lost the bet. If you get head cancer or something similar, then you are the lucky winner and you get the payout in the form of payment for lots of medical care. In this form of wager, the insurance company is “the house” and you know the odds are stacked in their favor because they live in a nice house. If you’ve ever walked up in there and looked around, you probably whistled in amazement and wondered where the money came from to build such a house. It came from people like you who lose money by betting that they will get sick and then they don’t and the house rakes in their chips.

Is this blog entry a tirade against the insurance companies? Of course not. I like gambling just as much as the next man (presuming the next man is someone who bursts into tears after losing a $5 bet). I only point it out because many people nowadays are advocating the idea that health insurance should be available to those with pre-existing conditions. This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of and here is why: how is the house supposed to be able to make any money if they let gamblers in who bring in their own cards? That is basically what a pre-existing condition is in the insurance world, it’s trying to get in with cards up your sleeve. Tell me, if those people are allowed to run rampant and financially bring the house down, what is going to happen to YOU if you happen to win your bet and you get hit in the face by a train after no money is left? Do you think Mr. and Ms. High Rolling Pre-existing condition are going to break off any of their bling for you when YOUR number comes up? No. Don’t advocate for health reform if it means allowing people in the casino with cards up their sleeves. If you want to ruin gambling, do it the old fashioned way by fixing a boxing match. That is all.

Until a few days ago I had only a vague idea of who Angela Davis was or what she stood for. All I knew was that she was some sort of political activist from sometime around the Civil Rights era and I knew that her afro was one of the most salient things about her popular image so I think I imagined that she was some sort of black nationalist. Little did I know that she was actually a despicable communist.

When I originally read the Autobiography of Malcolm X, I remember learning how government agents were always seeking evidence or making allegations that the Nation of Islam was somehow affiliated with the communist movement. Seeking to tie the civil rights movement to communist influence was a common tactic of the J. Edgar hoover era and I remember thinking that this was simply a smear campaign and I marveled that anyone would think that black activists would be dumb enough to fall for the communist propaganda that the racial struggle in America was actually a class struggle. Also, however wrong I thought Malcolm was for his religious based racist ideology before his discovery of orthodox Islam, I always admired his unwillingness to compromise his quest for racial justice by allowing white people to take the reins behind the scenes or, worse yet, to subsume his quest to a larger goal. Malcolm made his mistakes but his dedication to the black community was real. Angela Davis, however, has no similar redeeming qualities and, as far as the civil rights movement is concerned, is worst case scenario.

As a so-called intellectual and revolutionary, Angela Davis is a mess of contradictions. In her autobiography she relates how when she first read the Communist Manifesto, she was moved to an overwhelming desire to throw herself behind the communist movement. She specifically draws attention to the following paragraph of the manifesto:

The communists disdain to conceal their views and aims. They openly declare that their ends can only be attained by the forcible overthrow of all existing social conditions. Let the ruling classes tremble at a communist revolution. The proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains. They have a world to win. WORKERS OF ALL COUNTRIES UNITE!

Herein lies the distinction that separates declaring ones self a communist from declaring one self a member of just another political party in the United States. With the acceptance of the communist agenda and their express aim of forcible overthrow of all existing social conditions, Angela Davis implicitly accepts the premise that violence is a proper tactic of dealing with ones political enemies. This is no small distinction and the importance of this concept cannot be overstated. As anyone can tell by even the most cursory examination of ethics, it is a contradiction to claim a right for yourself that you do not recognize for others. The idea that you can apply a standard to other people that you do not hold to yourself and that others will willingly share your position that you are a special case exception is irrational and where there is no consensus, there can be no shared ethic. The problem with Angela Davis’ worldview is this: where one person or group has not renounced the initiation of violence as a valid means to an end, that person can have no valid claim to the right to be free from the use of force.

The two things that bothered me the most about Angela Davis’ story, however, did not have to do with the actual content, they were the omissions. The first was the explanation as to why she thought the communist ideology was the answer to America’s race problem. The cursory observation she did make, that she believed racism was a tool used by capitalists to create divisions among people in the lower classes which would enable rich people to make more money, is so simplistic to defy belief. In the realm of bad ideas, this explanation is even dumber than Elijah Muhammad “white people are secretly the devil” idea. Even if racism could be seen as a benefit to employers (an argument I don’t buy because the first non-racist employer would have an advantage over his competitors since he would be able to lure away all the good black workers who were underpaid elsewhere), the author never goes on to explain why the economic explanation was so compelling for her. Furthermore, there is no attempt to back up the assertion with supporting facts. Was capitalism more effective and did employers make more money in the Jim Crow South than they did in the North? (no) Was racism nonexistent before the advent of capitalism or is there any evidence in American history of a concerted effort where capitalists initiated a propaganda effort to teach racism to the lower classes who were previously egalitarian in regard to race issues? (no) In fact, according to “Ethnic America, a History” by Thomas Sowell, in the post bellum south employers who did attempt to underpay newly freed slaves were forced to begin paying higher wages when black workers, who were quick to communicate information about wages and working conditions with friends and relatives in other areas, responded by leaving employers who underpaid them in droves. The fact is that not only was capitalism not the cause of racism, the supply and demand of the free market was actually the driving force that raised wages for underpaid black workers. Racial discrimination, specifically as it pertained to wage differences among races, continued to exist in the south despite capitalism, not because of it.

The second glaring omission of her book is the fact that Angela Davis barely even bothers to deny involvement in planning the murder and kidnapping for which she was charged. The closest she gets to an outright denial is that she proclaims to have been surprised when she heard about the crime which could be construed that she was unaware only of the timing. In the book she doesn’t address whether she had ever heard talk of any such plot before the event happened, she doesn’t express anger or even disappointment in the fact that people close to her committed these crimes with weapons that were purchased by her or registered in her name, and furthermore she never specifically renounces violence as a means to achieving her political ends or indicates that she ever even discussed the issue of violence with other group members. She does, however, make references in other parts of the book that indicate that she approves of the use of force in some instances. In the following passage she describes her admiration for members of the German Socialist Student League when she was living abroad:

I was most impressed by the consciousness of the student movement when I heard about the Berlin campaign led by SDS against the movie Africa Adio, directed by two Roman playboy types, dealing with the ousting of the colonialist from Africa. Not only was the movie thoroughly racist in that it depicted African Liberation Fighters as aggressors against pure, civilized whites, but the directors went so far as to stage actual killings in order to do on the spot documentary coverage of Africa. SDS members in Berlin tore up a theater which refused to boycott the film.

TORE UP A THEATER WHICH REFUSED TO BOYCOTT THE FILM??? If this sort of behavior is a valid form of protest, then so is it when white racists burn black people out of their homes so long as nobody is hurt. I denounce both of these examples of crime which is not a permissible form of political or social protest.

My final objection to Angela Davis is her lack of integrity. What kind of communist black activist allows themselves to get bonded out of jail by a wealthy white man? This is like the reverse of that episode of The Jeffersons where George Jefferson gets into an argument with a racist white man who then has a heart attack after which George performs CPR saving the man’s life. It literally killed me to read this book. I am now dead. Thanks a lot Kristin

UPDATE: My favorite part of the book was where Angela helped write a book about communism while she was awaiting trial but they couldn’t publish the book by a communist organization because it wasn’t economically feasible so they had to resort to having the book published by an established publisher for profit. And somehow communism isn’t fail?

Kristin mentioned books a little bit ago so, while I know I’ve done this before, it’s been I while so I wanted to mention 15 of the most personally influential book I have read. The are as follows (roughly in the order in which I read them):

1. The Autobiography of Malcolm X
2. Who Really Wrote the Bible
3. God: a Biography - Jack Miles
4. The Qur’an
5. Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostovesky
6. The Brother’s Karmazov, Dostoevsky
7. Atlas Shrugged - Ayn Rand
8. David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
9. The God Delusion - Richard Dawkins
10. How the Mind Works - Steven Pinker
11. The Blank Slate - Steven Pinker
12. Language, the Stuff of Thought - Steven Pinker
13. The Idiot - Fyodor Dostoevsky
14. Ethnic America, a History - Thomas Sowell
15. The Virtue of Selfishness - Ayn Rand

It was November of 1998 and I was just leaving my home on the way to work. The Crackerbarrel was my weekend job where I would wrap holiday gift for customers in the gift shop section of the store. It was menial, low level work compared to my real job but it was easy enough and supplement my income like I promised my wife I would do so I thought it all for the best. What did it matter if I got less rest on the weekends now than I was used to? It was all for the greater good.

I drove through the Lansing city streets until I got to the streetlight on the corner of Washington and St. Joe. My driving over the induction coil must have triggered something because at that point that the lights in all the different directions changed to red simultaneously. I slammed on the breaks. It was all I could do to keep from flying into the intersection with my forward momentum. If I had been going any faster I might have been flung into the path of another vehicle, good thing it was just a Suzuki Esteem.

Suddenly a remote device causes the visor on the driver’s side to pop open and a small black cell phone dropped into my lap. The phone was ringing and the display read “untraceable”. Not this again, I thought, as I flipped the unit open and clicked talk.

“Hello?”

“When the light turns green you are to drive to the parking structure on Capitol. The structure is closed but the booth is remotely activated and will be opened to you. Drive to the second floor of the parking structure and park next to a black Acura. The vehicle is unlocked. You are to get into the vehicle where you will await further instructions. You have been activated.”

My heart raced as I tried to determine what I would do next. I had seen this kind of thing before but it had been many years ago at band camp. I waited for the light to turn green and then I began driving, cautiously at first. Suddenly I peeled out like mad making an illegal left hand turn going westbound on St. Joe. I raced onto the highway reaching the mind blurring speed of 65 (hey it was an Esteem) before I was even off the entranceway. I zigged in and out of traffic in a desperate attempt to lose whatever force it was that was seeking to control my behavior. The phone rang again.

“You have disobeyed us Mexi. Do not make any further attempts to evade our efforts or we will be forced to terminate you. Desertion is not an option.”

It was at this point that I noticed a silver Mustang in my rearview mirror. The driver of this vehicle was definitely keyed in on me making no attempt to avoid detection as his vehicle dropped in directly behind me with what appeared to be laser-like precision. I had to think fast if I was going to get out of this situation. Suddenly I swerved the vehicle into the median and bounced the car violently in toward the oncoming highway lane. I drove toward an approaching dumptruck and my timing was still on as I hit the last bump with enough momentum and at just the right angle to send the vehicle airborn directly toward the oncoming vehicle. With catlike deftness I reached down and unfastened my seat belt just at the vehicles were making impact. I forced my body to go completely limp and allowed my mind to vast nothingness with a precision that I could have learned only in public school. The Esteem shattered on impact and I sailed through the open windshield flying safely above the accident. I crashed into some light shrubbery, then tucked and rolled for a near perfect landing. A cuticle was torn and I had grass and mud stains on my pants and elbows but I was no worse for the wear. I could only hope that my little stunt had escaped detection.

I bounded over the embankment and began sprinting toward the closest service station. I needed to make change for bus fare and I knew that if I could reach a bus stop on time I could still manage to arrive at work only fifteen minutes late. My integrity and the promise that I had made to my wife absolutely depended on it. As I entered the service station, however, my hopes were immediately dashed. The clerk behind the counter, a scruffy middle-eastern looking fellow, was just in the process of ending a telephone conversation. The small black cellphone that was was flashing in his hand was identical to mine.

“Teh Mexigogue”, he said. His expression belied the fact that he bore no ill will toward me but that it was also clear that he would brook no dispute. Clearly her was under duress. “You will use your phone to call in sick to work using the stomach flu as an excuse. You will do so now. Know that there is no escape.”

At that moment the front door to the service station bolted itself loudly behind me. The clerk picked up a Mossberg 500 pistol grip shotgun and leveled it directly at my chest. I didn’t know what that thing was filled with but with a model like that I was sure that even Skittles would sting like the bejesus. At this point I flipped open the phone and called my manager at the Crackerbarrel.

Immediately after ending the call I saw a bright light and then my whole world went black. The clerk had snuck up behind me and hit me with something heavy. When I came to I was tied up and being hustled into the back seat of a vehicle with blackened windows and a fictitious government license plate (I knew it was fictitious because real license plates aren’t made out of three hole punched college ruled binder paper). I was injected with some clear liquid and when I again awoke I was at The Point After Bar and Grill sitting across from my good friend Guy in a UNLV Jacket. There was a pitcher of beer on the table and just as I began to turn to gauge my chances of escaping, Guy cut me a look and flashed open his jacket revealing a handgun in a body holster. The unspoken message was clear and I began to drink.

The rest of the night was a blur as I was forced to drink, and then to holler at various hoochies, until eventually three or four pitchers of beer had been devoured. I may even have sang some karaoke.

I was eventually released and staggered into the house sometime around midnight. My wife jumped up in surprise and then darted over to check on me. Apparently she had been waiting up since I had not returned at the normal time. The look on her face quickly changed from relief to disgust however as she quickly caught scent of all the alcohol I had drank as it was emanating both from my breath and pores.

“Where have you been all this time? Look what condition you’re in! Where in the world have you been??”

“I was” - - I managed, having to slow my speech to avoid slurring my words. “I was at the bar.”

“The BAR? You were supposed to be at work! Did you even go to your job? What were you doing at the bar???”

“I didn’t want to go”, I managed weakly. “My friends. . . . My friends made me.”

“Oh RIGHT! Your FRIENDS made you go! I suppose Guy in the UNLV Jacket put a GUN to your head and made you DRINK THE NIGHT AWAY TOO!”

I shook my head in resigned disappointment. If only she knew the half of it.

Back in the ’90s, Bob at work was telling me how he had discovered the writing of Walter Mosley when then President Bill Clinton had answered a reporter’s question on what books he was currently reading. The President had responded with the name of one of Mosley’s books and after that incident, the sales of the author’s works had supposedly increased something-fold (I’m being vague because I don’t know the precise numbers). Anyway, on Bob’s recommendations I began reading Mosley’s Easy Rawlins mysteries and I was hooked. The stories were your basic detective stories except the gumshoe in question was a black man from the mean streets of Houston’s fifth ward who was living in Los Angeles. The stories were set in previous eras giving them a nostalgic feel but my favorite part was that, since I was brought up in a racially diverse blue collar community, the places and characters of the novels were familiar to me in a way that the predominantly white settings of other detective stories were not.

The same decade was also a breakthrough time for some prominent black female authors so I decided to give one of Toni Morrison’s novels a try. I got about three pages in and I had to put the book down. Not only had three pages gone by without a single car chase, the story (I think it was “The Bluest Eye”) began with a girl named Pecola being pregnant by her father. I couldn’t see the story getting any better from there so that was the end of that.

Early in the next millenium, this smokin’ hot half Mexican half Japanese chick named Jenna from work was resigning. She was a highly intelligent psych major who was politically wrong about nearly anything you could think about but in our many conversations we had learned to debate in an orderly fashion and I like to think we both had a somewhat of a grudging respect for each other. I think Jenna decided I needed to broaden my worldview because, before she left, she gave me a novel that was written by a woman from India. The book is entitled “The God of Small Things” and although I tried, I couldn’t get more than about eight pages into to it. I will give you the first few paragraphs so you can see what I mean (my comments in red):

May in Ayemenem is a hot, brooding month. The days are long and humid. The river shrinks and black crows gorge on bright mangoes in still, dustgreen trees. (Yeah, dustgreen just underlined in red by Word because they don’t think it’s a word either) Red bananas ripen. Jackfruits burst. Dissolute bluebottles hum vacuously in the fruity air. (Earth to Arundhaty Roy: it’s not imagery if I CAN’T PICTURE IT) Then they sun themselves against clear windowpanes and die, fatly baffled in the sun.(WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT???)

The nights are clear but suffused with sloth and sullen expectation (alliteration much? Plus how can a night be “suffused with sloth”? I see your lips movin’ but I don’t hear a god@#$% thing!)

Sad to say that’s not a purposely selected worst part of the writing, it’s the opening of the book and it doesn’t get any better after that. The writing is so terrible, I wouldn’t read this book even if I put it in the bathroom. I think I would rather reread the fine print on a stick of deodorant or the American Dental Association gushing like schoolgirls on the back of a box of Crest.

Anyway, it was experiences like these that led me to believe that I had a bias against books written by female authors. In fact this belief was one of the main reasons that for a long time I resisted reading the works of Ayn Rand which was constantly being recommended to me. When I did finally read it, devoured it, reading the whole thing at least twice in the first month. It turns out that I don’t actually have a bias against female writers, I just have a bias against bad writing. I think the moral of this story is don’t read “The Bluest Eye” by Toni Morrison and don’t read “The God of Small Things” no matter how good looking Jenna is. These books will make you regret literacy.

In conclusion, this movable type thing is going to destroy society. When will we even have time to farm?

Tiger Woods was one stroke behind on the 16th hole at the Bridgestone International and paired up with the leader Padraig Harrington. As always I was pulling for Tiger, who I regard as the greatest player to ever play the game. I figured the par five 16th hole to be Tiger’s best chance for catching up to and perhaps even passing his opponent. I was hoping something would happen. Something did happen on that hole that helped Tiger to take the lead but it was something I wished had not occurred, and apparently Tiger agreed.

The thing that changed the course of the tournament at that time was the fact that the players were both informed at that point that they were now on the clock. The tournament had fallen behind schedule and they were in danger of not finishing by the projected 6 p.m. finish time. As a result, at that point both players were given just 45 seconds to take their shot from the time they reached their golf ball or they would risk taking a one stroke penalty. Given that both players hit their first shot into the rough on that hole, this undeniably altered the pace of the game. Harrington, who at that time, had succeeded in playing the entire day without getting a single bogey, was forced to rush his shots and as a result ended the hole with a triple bogey. Given the fact that Tiger birdied the hole, what had been shaping up to be a battle of the ages to that point, for all intents and purposes, ended on the 16th hole.

After the tournament was over, Harrington took great care to avoid criticizing the decision to put the players on the clock at such a crucial time. In the post game interview he hemmed, hedged, and stuttered to the point that the interview was painful for me to watch but his reticence was for good reason. Players who criticize the officiating run the risk of incurring the wrath of the PGA which can mean serious fines (by serious I mean to say I have no idea how much because the PGA does not disclose the amount of their fines). Tiger Woods, however, after congratulating Harrington on his play criticized PGA rules official John Parmor saying “I’m sorry that John got in the way of a great battle.”

An anonymous source initially claimed that Tiger Woods was being fined by the PGA for his remarks but it is a report that Tiger Woods later denied, saying the report of his fining had been erroneous. Interesting, although unwilling to criticize the official’s action himself, Padraig Harrington later commented favorably on Tiger’s criticism saying “he’s in a better position than I am to do that.” Translation: financially, Tiger is better able to absorb a potential fine than I am so therefore he is more free to tell the truth. (I of realize of course that Padraig Harrington is not in fact a pauper but how many millions does one have to have before the prospect of incurring fines worth perhaps tens of thousands of dollars becomes unremarkable?)

I applaud Tiger Woods for speaking up for his opponent in the spirit of sportsmanship and his desire for a game unaffected by the exigencies of TV time. I sincerely deplore the rules of the various professional sporting leagues prohibiting players from criticizing the officiating of games. I of course acknowledge the right of the various sports leagues to do so as employers are free to create codes of conduct for people in their employ, whether the organization is Jack in the Box or the PGA. I don’t like the rule however as the fact is that sometimes officiating does play a key role in sporting contests and I think that the sports leagues would not crash and explode if athletes were permitted to discuss the issue intelligently and respectfully. I sincerely implore all the professional sports leagues to remove or revise the rules to permit criticism of the officiating that is not otherwise profane.

That said, kudos to the greatest golfer of all time. I already liked Tiger Woods before this tournament and now, after his willingness to speak out in defense of his opponent on what he considered to the the integrity of the contest, I like Tiger Woods even more. Hooyah!

Now just go out there and win the US Open this weekend

This story begins with an article I was reading in the Lansing State Journal online edition about a couple who was killed on the south side of Lansing. According to initial reports they died in an explosion when someone threw something through their front door but later reports indicated that autopsies were being performed to determine a cause of death. So I responded in the comments section:

Oh. I don’t think they’d be performing autopsies if they though the people died from the explosion. Maybe somebody murdered the people and then tried to destroy the house in order to destroy the evidence. How terribly sloppy. Lansing needs better criminals.

After that somebody else responded seeking to clarify the issue:

no, autopsies are automatically ordered when cause of death isnt ‘natural’.

After which I decided (for some inexplicable reason) to clown. I commented:

Jesus’ death wasn’t natural, yet no autopsy was performed, which was a big part of the reason he was able to escape. Explain that!

Ok, here is where I’m going to interrupt my narrative. Exactly what part of that comment appears like a serious argument? In my mind, when somebody says something as absurd as what I just said, it is pointless to attempt to attempt a serious rebuttal because any further discussion is likely going to devolve quickly. Against what appears to be common sense, somebody else types:

Because Jesus was born over 2,000 years ago and they didn’t perform autopsies back then? Also, many sects of Judaism don’t allow for their followers to have autopsies, so even if Jesus was alive right now, he may not even have an autopsy.

Also, your question was very useless and has nothing to do with what is being discussed. (my emphasis added)

Of course in attempting to refute me, this person made a critical semantic blunder which I naturally jump all over:

Well I would hope Jesus wouldn’t get autopsied if he were alive. What kind of hospital are you runnin’ anyway????

. . .. . . .. . . .

World War II brought the conflagration of incompatible worldviews. In Nazi Germany, Adolf Hilter was convinced that the German people were destined for a climactic battle against the Slavic people of the east, who he regarded as both physical and morally inferior to the Germans. At the same time in the east, however, inspired by the ideas of Karl Marx, the Russians regarded the real conflict as class warfare, where the proletariat was locked in a life and death struggle with the aristocracy. Most people regard the conflict between Nazi Germany and Russia as a showdown between polar opposites but the truth is that both of these worldviews were collectivist at heart and differed only in the specifics of group identity.

The United States is great because it is the first nation that was founded on the ideal that the individual is a legitimate entity worthy of the protections of the government rather than being a means to any greater end. The amendments to the Constitution reflect this inasmuch as they are injunctions about what the government may not do rather than being active duties which would create an intrusive government. This is why, when the US enters into violent conflict with totalitarian regimes, we alone have the ability to legitimately claim that we are fighting for the cause of freedom. The ideologies of our enemies, though varying in many respects over many wars, have one thing in common and that is that they do not uphold the concept of individual rights. Inasmuch as personal liberties exist in those regimes, they are permitted as privileges that can be withdrawn at any time by whim of the government for the greater good. If there is any one idea that is diametrically opposed to the intentions and will of America’s founding fathers, it is collectivism.

Among the many types of collectivism in existence, racism is especially deplorable, not only because it is the most base form of tribalism, but also because it prevents people from recognizing each other as unique individuals and dealing with each other as such. Not only does the concept that members of racial groups share personality attributes do violence to our understanding of understanding of what it means to be human, to judge people based on incidental physical attributes rather than for the merits of their personal actions is an affront to our concept of justice which demands that each person should reap what he has earned. When Jackie Robinson scores a run in baseball, we do not credit him with three fifths of a run, he is credited with one run just like everybody else because he has earned it. Race does not enter into it. I use sports as an example because they appeal directly to our concept of fairness and also because I think that the entertainment industries have usually been ahead of the curve on the subject of racial equality. My point is that where success (whether monetary, sports victories, or otherwise) becomes a primary, racial considerations should disappear because the consideration of arbitrary characteristics is a barrier to successful strategies.

A true meritocracy is the ideal but because as we live in the real world where racism (and other injustices still exist) the question remains as to how we should deal with this problem. It is my view that tribalism cannot be stamped out by other forms tribalism any more than an orgy can be blow jobbed out of existence. Racism and other forms of collectivism can only be opposed by its true philosophical opposite which is individualism. Only when “us” and “them” cease to exist as a generally accepted concept will group conflict truly drop away and we can get down to competing as individuals, just like God* intended.

* metaphor!