Wednesday, November 30, 2005

A good day in the trailer park

A really nice guy, a disabled Vietnam Vet, came in today looking for a place to live. I told him that I was full but gave him an application to fill out. We talked and we really hit it off. His wife had recently died and he was still grieving.

He has two beautiful dogs, a shelty and a pom. I'm a four dog person and could tell right away that his dogs were excellent canine people. I was just so sorry that I did not have a place for him because he is the sort of person I really value as tenants.

Just as he was about to leave, a woman walked into my office and asked where Space 34 was because she was here to tow the trailer out of the park. Space 34 is where the woman with three kids lives. I showed her where it was and asked what was going on.

Apparently, the three-kid mom, was going to live with her grandma. Grandma had originally kicked her out because of the druggie boyfriend and, now that said druggie was in jail, had relented and let her grand-daughter move back in.

When I went back to my office, I asked the Viet Vet if he was a man of faith and he said yes. I said, "Well, your prayers have been answered. You can move in."

When his eyes filled with tears, I had a hard time holding mine back.

Movie review - PG rated

(I don't mind offending adults and realize that I can't please everyone but I was concerned that two very innocent, smart and patriotic kids had visited my blog and linked to it. I was so tickled at the time that I did not see it as a problem until the next day when I went to post this review. I've exchanged emails with their mom which confirmed for me that I was right to be concerned. Sometimes it's worth having scruples about the internet.)

So here goes my PG-rated movie review:

I don't watch much TV (other than Fox news and The Weather Channel) so I rent movies from Netflix. I used to be a "Law and Order" fan but have you seen the commie crap that they have on it lately? Last night's episode was about "US government experiments with anthrax" - gimme a break! Too funny how Hollywood and the MSM always portrays the US government, CIA and FBI as the bad guys.

No it's not funny - it's a marketing ploy. Unlike yesteryear, nowadays they make 70% of their income from overseas markets and are simply cashing in on anti-Americanism. See Michael Medved's take on this at Imprimis which I've been reading for over 20 years - in hard copy before they had an online version.

The most recent TV show I watched was the PBS rerun of the Brit miniseries, "The Virgin Queen." (We probably got it long after everyone else here in the boonies.) So far it's the best treatment of Elizabeth l (yes, she probably really was a virgin) that I have ever seen. But the Brits are good at costume drama and they should stick to it because, whenever they make movies about current themes, it inevitably is depressing and gloomy and pessimistic and tediously boring with lonely miserable people staring through windows for hours on end before they commit suicide.

(That reminds me of the best description I've ever heard of existentialism: "Why kill time when you can kill yourself?" Wasn't that Truman Capote's quip from "Breakfast at Tiffany's?")

Anyway, I used to be a boxer so I like boxing movies and I ordered one from Netflix called "Beautiful Boxer," which is a true story about a Thai kick-boxer. It's a Thai movie so it's not artsy-fartsy and pretentious. And it's surprisingly well-made technically with good sound and video editing unlike most Brit movies where they seem not to have heard of over-dubbing or post-production labs.

The movie seems straightforward enough at first. It's the life story of the famous Thai boxer, Nong Toom. He's a poor peasant kid who gets bullied. His dad tells him to learn boxing and stick up for himself. He becomes a famous boxer and gives all of his winnings to his poor parents.

The boxing is realistic - the actor is a Thai kick-boxer in real life. Of course kick-boxing is a bit wilder than western boxing (but not necessarily more brutal - let's face it, Queensbury-rules boxing is pretty vicious) and there are some fights even nastier than anything in "Rocky."

(Yeah, I know - I can hear it already: boxing is barbaric blah blah. Yes, it is but it is also about skill not only brute force and can be a very useful talent in a pinch.)

Then the movie gets a bit different when we find out that Nong Toom also happens to be a transvestite - which is fairly well accepted in easy-going Buddhist Thailand. His trainer and agent decide to cash in on this and market Toom as a freak. Despite this wrinkle, Toom is a brilliant boxer and keeps winning fights till he makes it to the top - the Lumini Tournament in Bangkok and later a tournament in the Tokyo Dome in Japan.

I enjoyed this movie not only because I like true-life stories - and boxing - but because it reminded me of my own childhood. (No, I'm not a transvestite but I was definitely a sissy when I was a kid.)

Like Toom's dad, my own dad realized very early on that I was a "pansy." My mom didn't mind that I was sissified but it bothered my dad. I can remember over-hearing them having a big fight about me.

"He's a pansy," said my dad.

"No, he's not," said my mom, adding, "he's just sensitive."

"No, he's queer," said my dad.

"Don't say that!" mom shouted.

When I was about seven, my dad took me aside and gave me a talk about being a sissy and told me that I had to learn to defend myself because bullies would pick on me. I didn't really understand what he was talking about but I felt his concern. Then he told me that he had enrolled me in boxing classes so that I would be able to stick up for myself if anyone called me a "pansy" or a "queer."

At first I hated boxing especially when I had to fight my best friend, Roy Clucas, in my first tournament. (Hey, Roy, did you ever think we'd live another 50 years?) But I got good at it and won most of my fights and got lots of trophies - and I became tough and fearless.

And my dad was right - I was called "pansy" and "queer" and picked on and bullied AND he was right to make me learn boxing because no one picked on me twice unless they wanted a black eye, broken nose or a few loose teeth.

As for the transvestite stuff - I have never really understood it and actually find it kind of creepy and stupid. I first met a real TV when I was living in Berkeley in 1978-9. He was married to a lovely woman and had two beautiful daughters. He and I both belonged to the same Hindu guru-cult at the time and were both rebels in that we liked to smoke pot eventhough it was verboten by the cult.

One day he confessed to me that he liked dressing up as a women. That didn't bother me since he assured me that his wife didn't mind. Soon after he told me that he was going to start dressing and living as a woman all the time. That didn't bother me either eventhough he was a homely fellow and make-up paradoxically made him look even plainer. But I was a bit rattled when he told me that I should stop calling him Tom and start calling him Tina.

What really did shake me up was when he told me that he was going to have a sex-change operation. I just could not imagine why he would want to "destroy" something that God had given to him. I became angry and told him that he smoked too much dope and was not thinking straight and that he could solve his problem intellectually without doing something so drastic and destructive. That was the last time I saw him.

Watching this movie last night made me wonder if I had been too narrow-minded about Tom/Tina. Who am I to judge what goes on in another human being's heart and soul? But I don't kick myself too much over Tom/Tina because he/she was a pretty self-centered and silly person and is probably an angry Bush-hating Berkeley commie nowadays anyway.

PS Another boxing movie that I really enjoyed was a South African movie, "The Power of One."

Monday, November 28, 2005

Animal Farm

I really don't mind honest commies - the ordinary deluded kind who simply don't understand economics and think Marxism/socialism is the answer to poverty and who are upfront about their hatred and envy of the rich.

The ones I loathe are those who have succeeded and are wealthy because they live in a free capitalist society but who still bad-mouth the USA and capitalism - movie stars, pop stars etc.

But I especially hate those who make money out of preaching commie rubbish like Noam Chomsky (who couldn't make enough money in Canada so he moved to the USA) and Michael Moore (who owns Haliburton shares.)

They are really sociopathic solipsists no better than the crooked Enron execs. They are definitely not honest capitalists. By that I mean that they have not understood that wealth is more than fame or money and that the only way to true wealth is, as Adam Smith said, by "enlightened self-interest" where we "do unto others as wish them to do unto us," where we make a decent profit providing good and honest products or services.

They really aren't commies either eventhough they make money out of preaching commie crap. They're just greedy, vain and immoral, opportunistic hogs like the pigs in Orwell's "Animal Farm.".

These socalled "commies" like Chomsky and Moore play along with the real communists - the pissed off, bitter, envious, whiny weasel, "hate the rich capitalist pigs," serious Marxist/Leninist/Maoist types who have arrogant, anti-social attitudes and bad BO.

And both types of commies use what Lenin called the "useful idiots" like Cindy Sheehan. The real commies of course would kill the useful idiots as soon as they formed the first soviet - just as Robespierre eliminated all other revolutionaries who did not agree with his "pure Rousseauism" and ushered in the Reign of Terror and just as Lenin and Stalin eliminated their fellow commies in their bids for total control.

I really don't understand these people like Chomsky and Moore at all. The only explanation I have for them is that they are greedy, lying pigs. Of course I understand the useful idiots Cindy Sheehan types. As Tammy Bruce says, the are mentally ill - suffering from malignant narcissim. And of course they're also just plain stupid, gullible and easily manipulated idiots.

Sunday, November 27, 2005

Sunday sermon, a poem and pictures

I guess the Calvinist side of me (through my boeremeisie mother) thinks that we are all evil through the original sin of eating the fruit of the "Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil" and thus losing our humility and innocence. How can anyone who thinks primarily of oneself do good? It's all ego and vanity and self-gratification. Human beings are incapable of achieving any real lasting goodness. We waver. All goodness comes to us by the Grace of God.

However we can think good thoughts and have faith; try to align ourselves with God's plan - "Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven." Didn't Jesus say that we should think like God not like man? I'm not a Biblical scholar but it rings a bell from my more pious youth.

And how does God think? What is God thinking?

The answer for me is that it is bit like unwrapping a gift that's maybe so small and so easily lost or broken that it has to be wrapped in lots of layers. I told a friend that that's what life's been like for me. She asked me what I would find when I had finally unwrapped all the layers and I answered: "Whatever I wish."

And I know what I wish: goodness, beauty and mercy from God and honesty, kindness and forgiveness from my neighbors. But, I'll take whatever I get. It's all Grace.

This poem is probably Rudyard Kipling's most famous except possibly for "Recessional - Lest we forget."

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!


Top pic: the edge of a hurricane

Bottom pic: a lenticular cloud which forms over high mountain peaks.



Saturday, November 26, 2005

The Second Amendment and the "right to privacy"

I've heard "gay rights" and "women's rights" activists say Roe v Wade ensures our "right to privacy." What hooey!

The Constitution does not guarantee any inherent "right to privacy." Why did the Founding Fathers omit the "right to privacy?" For two reasons: one is that society can and will and is entitled to proscribe private behavior deemed detrimental to society; the second is that it's almost impossible to enforce a "right to privacy" especially nowadays when even our private cell-phone records are for sale.

The Founding Fathers may well have taken the "right to privacy" for granted as one of our "unenumerated rights" but they also knew that the only "privacy" which could be enforced had necessarily to be enforced by the person protecting his privacy - and definitely not the government which by its nature is intrusive and disrespectful of privacy.

In other words privacy can only really be protected by force which is why I think that the Second Amendment should really have been the First Amendment. The Second also trumps the First in that one's right to "free speech" is a lot easier to act on when armed to the teeth.

The Fourth Amendment is the closest we get to a "right to privacy" and the only really practical way to be secure in our "persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures" is to be armed which is why I believe every home should have at least one reliable gun for protection.

I do not expect any "right to privacy" outside of my home (which in our inherited English Common Law is my castle although I don't need a moat and a drawbridge nowadays if I am well-armed.) I regard phone calls and the internet as "outside my home" because I have little control over them. Cars are also "outside of my home" because they are difficult - both legally and practically - to protect against intrusion.

I live as if everyone already knows everything about me - and try not to do anything that I will be ashamed of. But the commercial intrusion gets my goat. I say we start a jihad against these unethical intruders - and spammers also. I've just added cellphone pirates to my list for when the revolution comes.......

At least we have a "right to bear arms." The Second Amendment would read like this if written in modern language: "The right of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed because a well regulated militia is necessary to the security of a free state." In other words, don't mess with the citizens' right to bear arms because we need to be proficient at using them at all times - a militia without experience is useless.

If guns are made illegal then only criminals will have them - think Nazi Germany - where the only people who had guns (after Hitler had confiscated all private guns) were psychopathic sadistict thugs and killers in government issued uniforms.

Government is always a necessary evil and needs to be limited - seriously limited; it's getting a bit out of hand and we need another Coolidge or Reagan to take more naps on the job and wake up clear-headed and ready to boogie in their own inimitable ways. I never trust anyone without a sense of fun; in other words sociopathic criminals, commies, nazis and islamic totalitarianists.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Queer rednecks and cowboys?

How can rednecks be queer? We're born that way just like all the other fags. That's how. And don't call me "gay." I'm a red-blooded queer redneck fag.

I'm writing this post to make sure no-one thinks I'm hiding something. Most of my regular readers know that I am homosexual but I seldom blog about "gay" stuff mostly because it is not all that important to me. It is actually the least interesting part of who I am and there's much more significant stuff to write about than what I do in private.

I have known from a very early age that I was homosexual or bisexual and soon realized that it was not accepted by society. But I also read a lot and discovered that I was not alone. The ancient Greeks laid the foundations for Western civilization and practically invented philosophy and democracy yet many were homosexual. Most Greeks were not homosexual - they were bisexual but there were many adult homosexual relationships that were recorded.

The lovers, Aristogeiton and Harmodius, were glorified for overthrowing tyranny in Athens and bringing about democracy. Orestes, the hero of the Oresteia cycle, and Pylades were such a devoted couple that there names were invoked by the Greeks to exemplify loyalty and life-long commitment. Lucian writes in his "History of Orestes and Pylades": Phoeis records from ancient times the history of the love between Orestes and Pylades who, calling on God to be the witness of the passion between them, sailed through life together as though in one boat....When it was decided that one should stay behind to be put to death and the other should go to Mycenae to take a letter, each wanted to remain for the sake of the other. Each thought that saving the life of his friend was more important than saving his own life.

The story of Damon and Phythias has a similar scenario. The two men lived together and had their possessions in common. They were such faithful lovers to each other that, when Dionysius, the tyrant of Syracuse in Sicily, intended to execute Pythias, Damon gave himself up as a pledge of his friend's return because Pythias had been allowed to first go home and arrange his affairs before his death. When Pythias returned to be executed, Dionysius was so moved by their loyalty to each other that he remitted Pythias' sentence of death.

I need not say much about Alexander the Great and Hephaestion because their devotion to each other has been more thoroughly documented and speculated upon in non-academic circles than the aforementioned (including in the latest Oliver Stone clunker of a movie.)

Another example of a long-term adult homosexual relationship is that of Philolaus, a lawyer in Thebes, and his lover, Diocles, an Olympic Athlete. Epaminondas, who led Thebes in its greatest days in the fourth century, saved the life of his life-long lover, Pelopidas, at the battle of Mantinea. They belonged to the Sacred Band of Thebes which was an army composed of pairs of adult male lovers.

Plutarch wrote in his "Life of Pelopidas:" It is stated that [the Sacred Band] was never beaten till the battle at Chaeronea: and when Philip, [Alexander the Great's father] after the fight, took a view of the slain, and came to the place where the three hundred that fought his phalanx lay dead together, he wondered, and understanding that it was the band of lovers, he shed tears and said, "Perish any man who suspects that these men either did or suffered anything that was base."

Plutarch adds: It is a tradition likewise that Iolaus, who assisted Hercules in his labours and fought at his side, was beloved of him; and Aristotle observes that, even in his time, lovers plighted their faith at Iolaus's tomb. It is likely, therefore, that this band [of Thebes] was called sacred on this account; as Plato calls a lover a divine friend.

Plato wrote: Homosexuality is regarded as shameful by barbarians and by those who live under despotic governments just as philosophy is regarded as shameful by them, because it is apparently not in the interest of such rulers to have great ideas engendered in their subjects, or powerful friendships or passionate love - all of which homosexuality is particularly apt to produce."

Yes, I read a lot. By the time that I was ten I had read all the children's books in the library and asked the librarian (the wife of my Scout master) if I could read the adult books. She gave me permission and so began my life-long love of literature. Even before I read the ancient Greeks, I found that some of the men I most revered were homosexual or bisexual such as the Renaissance artists, Donatello, Da Vinci, Michelangelo, Raphael and Caravaggio; the composers Brahms and Ravel, Aaron Copeland and Cole Porter; the playwrights, Shakespeare and Marlowe; the poets, Byron and Gerard Manley Hopkins as well as my favorite writers during my late teens and twenties, D. H. Lawrence and E.M. Forster. I could fill a page with the names of great fags who inspired me.

The point of saying all this is to show what I grew up thinking homosexuality was. To me it was about love, loyalty and devotion and being heroic and brave.

When I was 19, I was introduced to the "gay scene" in South Africa. It took me all of two "gay" parties to realize that I hated it and would never fit in. I decided that I was not "gay" but bisexual and, in my twenties, embarked on a string of long-term love affairs - three with women and two with men and eventually married and fathered my son. When my marriage broke up I decided to stop being bisexual because it was not fair to whatever woman I was with and it was making me crazy and neurotic. I began to hope that I would find one man to whom I could devote my love. I was lucky to find that man 24 years ago and we are still together.

Now compare this with what we know as the "gay life-style" with its malignantly narcissistic drug-fueled "circuit parties," sleazy "gyms" and the predatory promiscuity of anonymous sex. The "gay life-style" is a culture of death. If disease doesn't kill you, psychopathic criminals (as in the case Versace) or meth-crazed murderers (as in the case of Matthew Sheppard) will.

The word "gay" was first used in Victorian times as a euphemism to describe the low-life subculture of drug-takers, barflies, prostitutes and other assorted hustlers and thugs. "Going gay" meant slumming it in the world of whores (of both sexes) and crooks, conmen and drug-addicts. It still has exactly the same connotation today. The "gay life-style" as it is practiced in nearly every city in the West is still a world of drugs, predatory sex and whores (both unpaid cheap sluts and expensive "escorts.")

Also, it needs to be noted that there are plenty of homosexuals who plod along in obscurity either devoting themselves to their loyal partners or wishing for the love of their lives just as we all do. They are mostly decent, kind, considerate friends and neighbors. Some of them are even conservative and patriotic. Quite a few are parents too and deplore the "gay life-style."

I have enjoyed sex since the day I discovered it (when I was initiated at the age of seven by an eleven year old girl) and I even went through my own period of promiscuity in my twenties. My sex-addiction was fueled by drugs. When I stopped using drugs, I started getting sex in proportion - it's a pleasurable but very small part of ordinary everyday life. Even in my sex-addict days, sex did not take up more than the smallest fraction of my life and it never consumed me to the point where I started spending every waking moment obsessed with sex or defining myself by my sexual proclivities. But, that's what gays do. The "gay lifestyle" is fueled by drugs and booze. Gays suppress their God-given modesty and natural inhibitions by using alcohol and drugs like crystal meth. They drown their shame as if it was something evil when shame actually is nature's way of steering us away from anti-social and solipsistically irresponsible behavior. Isn't it funny that the ancient Greeks had a goddess of shame whose name was Aids?

Plato condemned the sexual predators of ancient Athens and since then we have used the phrase "Platonic love" to mean sexless love. That's not what Plato meant. Plato, like most ancient Greeks, accepted sex (both hetero and homo) in a fairly matter-of-fact way. What Plato condemned was the predatory pederasty of his time. He despised men who preyed upon and corrupted young boys but he praised romantic adult love; love that was not driven by lust and hubris. (Hubris came to mean arrogance and egotism but orginally meant rudeness and disrespect.) Plato saw adult homosexuality as a divine and sacred love. That is what is meant by "Platonic love." It does not mean sexless love but it also sure does not mean the type of predatory sexual promiscuity and that one sees among modern "gays."

So, what do you call yourself if you are one of those men (or women) who throughout the ages have been romantically attracted to members of your own sex? The word "gay" to me means those who are not romantic or loyal but shallow and predatory. That's why I prefer to call myself a "fag" and not "gay."

But the predatory promiscuity of gays is not the only reason that I loathe the gay life-style and refuse to call myself "gay."

The word "gay" has also accrued to itself (thanks to "gay activists") a particularly virulent and subversive leftist political connotation. Gays are proud to call themselves the new "blacks" and try to cloak their basically silly and vacuous agenda of getting special rights for their sexual proclivities with the gravitas of "civil rights" when ironically many blacks (most of whom who are old-fashioned, God-fearing church-goers) despise them and think of them as immoral. A black skin (which was once a serious handicap in a negrophobic world but no longer is among civilized people) is not the same as homosexuality.

Now, if gays had been created bright green by God or had penises sticking out of their faces where their noses should be (as many would no doubt like) and if their greenness or their odd organs were the objects of bigotry and were therefore an obvious handicap, I might say that it would be fair to give them special rights. But "gays" do not have any God-given visible handicap. If a gay tells me that he is "handicapped" in the same way that blacks once were, I'll tell him that to stop waving his willie around in public and keep his sex life private because his only handicaps are his big mouth and his undisciplined dick. Why do we need to know about anybody's sex life? Why would we be interested? Gays don't seem to realize that most people are not interested in other peoples' sex lives. Well gays don't seem to realize that there is a whole lot more to life that sex.

I've survived and prospered and been trusted and respected all my life by nearly everyone I've known in spite of being queer - and I've been open and honest about it ever since I figured out that I was homosexual or bisexual at the age of fourteen. The arrogant "gay pride" willie-wavers have done me no favors and I think that the angry, petulant demands for special treatment by "gay activists" has done more harm than good.

Yes, I despise the leftist political agenda of the "gay activists." Most gays have joined the "Hate America Club" and seem to think that European-style statism and socialism is better than individual sovereignty and responsibility. Gays have chosen the left fork in the road of political and cultural evolution. Instead of chosing cool, calm, logical, Lockean liberal individualism (the epitome of which is the American Revolution) they have chosen the collectivism and class-warfare mentality which brought about the horrors of the French and Russian Revolutions.

I don't mind if gays want to politicize their sexual preferences and turn it into a collectivist agenda and try to force cultural change through politics. It's none of my business. Just as it is none of their business if I prefer to keep my homosexuality private and hopefully change hearts and minds through my character, my usefulness to society, ordinary common courtesy and good-neighborliness. Decent, modest homosexuals who have gone about their lives being good neighbors and productive, trustworthy members of society have quietly changed peoples' hearts and minds more than the noisiest and most aggressive "gay activists" ever have.

There are not only queer rednecks but queer cowboys too.

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

My first Thanksgiving

I arrived in New York on November 8th in 1978 and flew from there to Orlando and then took a shuttle bus to a huge cattle ranch in Kissimee where my Hindu guru was doing a ten day festival for about 20,000 followers from the USA. I did volunteer work and spent the whole time cooking beans and rice in huge propane-heated vats. (Yes, the cult was vegetarian and I had been vegetarian for ten years before that but I haven't been veggie for the past 20 years.)

As the days passed, I started to become a bit uncomfortable because the whole guru thingy was beginning to look like a cult. (But that's a whole nother story.) I ignored my feelings and just enjoyed the singing and dancing and fireworks every night and meeting people from all over the States. I saw my first alligators in the ponds and, in the surrounding woods, I saw my first armadillo. There were thousands of redwing blackbirds all screeching their strange plaintive sqeaky door calls.

When the festival was over and everyone had left, I volunteered to stay behind and help clean up the mess. And it really was a mess. The ranch was littered with trash as well as abandoned tents, sleeping bags, clothes and shoes. We also had to dismantle the stage that had been built for the guru. Everything - tents, clothes and perfectly good timber from the stage was thrown on huge piles and burnt.

It nearly made me cry thinking of how much all that stuff would help poor people in Africa. I asked why we did not donate it and was told that no one wanted it. That was my introduction the the American throw-away society. Maybe it's because I was raised poor but I still cannot bring myself to throw away anything that still works or is in good shape. Okay, I'm a pack-rat.

Anyway, we finished cleaning up the pastures and then I found out that that day was Thanksgiving Day. I'd heard about it but had never experienced it. The festival organizers were going to treat us to Thanksgiving dinner. That night we built a big bonfire and sat around under the Florida stars eat tofu-turkey and lots of lovely vegetables and pumpkin pie.

That simple dinner under the stars was delicious and we sat around till the fire died down singing and playing guitars like the dumb hippies we were. At least there were no drugs around - but sadly, no wine either, although I did not drink in those days.

That was my first Thanksgiving and I had a lot of fun in that cow pasture. To this day when I hear the squeaky-door screech of redwing blackbirds, I am transported back to that cow pasture in Kissimee. A few years later I heard that that ranch was where Disney World was built.

To this day Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. It's when I celebrate starting my new life in the USA.

I wish you all a very happy and blessed Thanksgiving.

Monday, November 21, 2005

Why the Afrikaners hate the British

When I was a kid growing up in South Africa in the late Forties and early Fifties, the Afrikaners had just assumed power from the British and apartheid was not yet been established. Of course there were British segregation laws which the British called euphemistically "the Color Bar" but blacks and whites lived side-by-side peacefully if not amicably.

In those days, when white South Africans talked about the "race problem," they did not mean black-white difficulties but were referring to the enmity which existed between the British and the Afrikaners. Until 1948, when the Afrikaners won the elections and took control of government, the British had ruled and persecuted the Afrikaners for nearly a century and a half.

When the Dutch first arrived at the Cape of Good Hope in 1652, there were native Africans, the Khoi and the San, already living there. The first Dutch in the Cape did not regard themselves as settlers but were there temporarily to grow vegetables for the Dutch East India Company's ships sailing between Holland and Indonesia.

The only Dutch women at the Cape at that time were already married to Dutchmen so many of the single Dutchmen took native women as wives, settled down and had families. And so arose those mixed-race South Africans who are now known as Cape Coloreds. The settlers began to call themselves Africans (Afrikaners in Dutch) to distinguish themselves from those Dutchmen who did not live in Africa but would eventually return to Holland.

At first there was no competition between the natives and the Dutch because the natives were not interested in vegetables and there was plenty of land for everyone. But those Dutchmen who settled at the Cape began to import cattle for meat and milk and the natives, who did not understand the concept of private property or ownership of cattle because they were hunters not herdsmen, began to kill the cattle thinking that they were simply there for the taking just like the local wildlife. In return the settlers began to kill the natives.

Soon more Dutch had decided to settle at the Cape and create farms and, in 1688, my mother's ancestors, the French Huguenots, arrived bringing with them grape vines which they grew to make wine and so started the oldest wineries outside of Europe. The Cape is still a major wine-producing region and produces some great wines mostly in the French style.

By the early 1700s, the settlers needed labor for their growing farms and they tried to enslave the natives but found it impossible as the natives would simply run away and re-join their tribes. So they imported slaves from Indonesia. The Indonesian slaves eventually became known as Cape Malays or Slamaaiers (which was probably a slang word for "Islamites" because the Cape Malays were Muslims and still are to this day.)

The British took over the administration of the Cape from the Dutch in 1806 with the beginning of the Napoleonic Wars in order to protect the sea route to their Asian empire. They also stopped any further settlement by the Dutch and instead imported more slaves. And then the British began to implement the first racially discriminatory laws.

They first introduced a law to force the Khoi and other so-called "free" blacks to work for as little as possible. The Hottentot Code of 1809 required that all Khoi and other free blacks carry passes stating where they lived and who their employers were. Persons without such passes could be forced into employment by white masters.

Parliament in London then established a circuit court to monitor conditions in the western Cape. This court offended many Afrikaner sensibilities by giving equal weight to the evidence of "servants" and "masters," black and white alike. The British also raised a force of colonial police, including Khoi, to enforce the court's authority. The British also forbade the use of "Cape Dutch" (which patois eventually developed into the Afrikaans language) in court.

In 1815 a Dutch-speaking Afrikaner farmer who refused to answer a court summons for mistreating a Khoikhoi employee was shot dead while resisting arrest. Relatives and neighbors rose in what became known as the Slachter's Nek Rebellion, but their resistance was soon crushed, and the British hanged five of the rebels.

Some Afrikaners migrated eastward. These Afrikaners were known as Trekboers (itinerant farmers - "trek" is Afrikaans for "travel" and "boer" means "farmer.") Then the British stopped the Boers eastward trek by annexing all of the Eastern Cape and establishing their own colony there in 1820. That is when my father's ancestors, the 1820 Settlers, arrived in South Africa.

The Afrikaners resented this and, beginning in 1836, Boer families, together with large numbers of Khoi and black servants, gathered up their belongings and traveled by ox-wagon up into the Highveld interior to the north of the Cape frontier. They could not travel farther east because the way was blocked by the Xhosa people.

6,000 Boer men, women, and children, along with an equal number of blacks, migrated from the Eastern Cape in the late 1830s. Fewer Boer families migrated from the western Cape, where they were more prosperous on their grain and wine farms and therefore less concerned about land shortages and frontier pressures.

The exodus from the Cape was not organized in a single movement at the time, but it was later termed the Great Trek by Afrikaner historians, and its participants were called Voortrekkers (pioneers).

Many Voortrekkers settled on the land between the Orange River and the Vaal River which would later become the two Boer republics of the Orange Free State and the Transvaal. But most Boers travelled north-east into Zululand. They decided that they would be safer among the warlike Zulus if they negotiated for land with the king of the Zulus, Dingaan.

Dingaan agreed and, in February 1838, he invited seventy Voortrekkers to his royal kraal (compound) supposedly to seal the deal. Instead Dingaan's warriors suddenly rose up and began to kill the Afrikaners by smashing their skulls with "knopkerries" (cudgels.)

Dingaan then sent out Zulu regiments to eliminate all Voortrekkers in the area; they killed several hundred men, women, and children and captured more than 35,000 head of cattle and sheep. But not all of the settlers were killed and, in December, 500 Afrikaner survivors marched on the Zulus.

The Voortrekkers pledged that they would commemorate a victory as a sign of divine protection. They then met and defeated Dingaan's army at the Battle of Blood River on December 16, which became known as the Day of the Covenant. (One of the most throughly researched books, if not the best, about South African history is "Covenant" by James Michener.)

The Zulus split into waring factions and the Afrikaners established the Voortrekker Republic of Natalia in 1839. By 1842, when there were about 6,000 living in Zululand, the British annexed the republic as the Natal Colony. They did not want the Afrikaners to have independent access to the sea and thereby be able to negotiate political and economic agreements with other European powers.

When the British took over Natal, the Voortrekkers decided to leave and trek back to the Boer republics on the Highveld which had constitutions modeled in part on that of the United States, each with a president, an elected legislature, and a franchise restricted to white males.

By the end of the 1860s, there were approximately 50,000 Afrikaners settled in the two republics, practically all of them living in rural areas, although small capitals had been established at Bloemfontein in the Orange Free State and at Pretoria in the Transvaal which was then known as the South African Republic.

Then diamonds were discovered in 1867 on the northern border of the Cape Colony. The British decided to colonize South Africa seriously and began importing more British settlers and, in 1869, the British government annexed the diamond fields, repudiating the claims of the Voortrekker republics to the area.

Native Africans began to migrate into the mining settlements to work so, in 1872, the British mine-owners persuaded the British colonial administration to introduce a "pass law." This law required that all "servants" be in possession of passes that stated whether the holders were legally entitled to work in the city. The aim of this law was to limit the mobility of African workers.

The British then introduced other racial-discrimination legislation. They established special courts to process pass law offenders as rapidly as possible decreed that black Africans could only live in "locations" or ghettos. In 1886 the British formed "closed compounds," fenced and guarded institutions in which all black diamond mine workers had to live for the duration of their labor contracts.

Because blacks would not put up with such conditions if they could maintain an autonomous existence on their own lands, the British embarked on a program to destroy African tribal society in the 1870s and the 1880s and they fought wars against the Zulu, the Griqua, the Tswana, the Xhosa, the Pedi, and the Sotho.

By the middle of the 1880s, the majority of the black African population of South Africa had been defeated and their lands had been confiscated and given to the new British settlers. To ensure cheap labor, the British forced the Africans to live on rural "locations" and then imposed taxes on them. In order to survive and to earn cash to pay taxes, blacks now had to work in the mines.

Then gold was discovered in the South African Republic and, in 1877, the British annexed that Boer republic and called it the Transvaal. They then set about defeating the local African tribes to obtain laborers for the mines, and they completed the task in 1879.

In 1880 the Transvaalers rebelled and finally defeated the British at the Battle of Majuba Hill in 1881. The British then withdrew, leaving the Boers victorious in what they would later call their First War of Independence and which the British called the First Anglo-Boer War.

The Gold Rush attracted more British to the Boer republics but the British were not allowed to vote in the Afrikaner states. The mine-owners were all British and had no loyalty towards the Boer republics and despised the Afrikaners.

By the 1890s, there were more British in the Boer Republics than Afrikaners and they began clamoring for the vote. Cecil Rhodes, who not only owned most of the diamond mines but many of the gold mines, was Prime Minister of the British Cape Colony. He planned an uprising by the British but the Afrikaners again trounced the British.

In 1899, the British gave the Boer republics an ultimatum to give the vote to the British miners and began importing troops from the UK. The two Boer republics, realizing that the British were planning a military occupation of their republics, joined forces and declared war on the British in October 1899.

The Second Boer War lasted for three years till 1902. Ninety thousand Afrikaners fought against a British army of 500,000 men, most from Britain but including large numbers of volunteers also from Australia, New Zealand, and Canada. The British army was also augmented by 30,000 African soldiers and one hundred thousand African transport workers.

The Boers won a number of victories at the beginning of the war but, in 1900, British forces overwhelmed the Boers and occupied Bloemfontein (the capital of the Orange Free State), Johannesburg (where the gold mines where) and Pretoria (the capital of the South African Republic.) But the Boers continued their resistance in the countryside, where they fought a ferocious guerrilla war.

The British ultimately succeeded in breaking this resistance by adopting a scorched-earth policy. In 1901 and 1902, the British torched more than 30,000 farms in the South African Republic and the Orange Free State and placed all the Afrikaner women and children in the world's first "concentration camps," where, because of overcrowding and unsanitary conditions, more than 25,000 Afrikaner women and children died.

A peace treaty was finally concluded at the town of Vereeniging on May 21, 1902. Now the British controlled the whole of South Africa and they decided to crush the Afrikaners by bringing in large numbers of new settlers from Britain so that English speakers would attain a numerical majority among South Africa's white population.

The British also instituted policies of denationalization and of anglicization so that Afrikaners would lose their sense of a separate identity and would assimilate into British culture. Because the British had destroyed most of the the Boer farms, the Afrikaners were now dependent on the British mine-owners for work and income.

When it became apparent that not many immigrants from Britain were being attracted to Africa, the British government supported the gold-mine owners plans to import large numbers of indentured Chinese laborers to work in the mines. The first Chinese arrived in 1904, and by 1906 there were 50,000 Chinese at work, comprising one-third of the gold mines' labor force.

The British continued to out-manoeuver the Afrikaners politically and economically for the next 36 years but they failed to destroy Boer nationalism and the Afrikaners somehow survived and thrived and, by 1948, they outnumbered the British in South Africa.

The Afrikaners Nationalists won the Parliamentary elections that year and set about securing their future. One of the ways in which they did this was to strengthen already existing British racial-discrimination laws. They introduced apartheid (the Afrikaans word for aparthood, apartness, segregation.)

Apartheid was implemented not only because the Afrikaners' feared that they would lose political power to black Africans (who outnumbered them six to one in those days and ten to one nowadays) but because they also feared that the British would manipulate the blacks to destroy the Boers as they had done before. The British did not disappoint the Boers and spent the next 40 years demonizing the "white tribe of Africa."

Apartheid was also "affirmative action" for Afrikaners most of whom were as poor and almost as illiterate as black Africans. The Nationalists also gave all government jobs to their fellow Afrikaners who did not have enough education to compete with the British who owned and controlled all the mines and other industries and refused to hire Afrikaners in the private sector.


But, before apartheid was fully implemented in the Fifties and Sixties, the "race problem" that I grew up with was the British disdain for the Boers and the Boers' hatred of the British. Afrikaners and British were also segregated in schools and by religion and their separate languages, English and Afrikaans.

It was unusual for the two races to inter-marry and it was only because my Afrikaner mother had been raised by her eccentric father to be an Anglophile that she married my British father.

Some facts:

The Zulu army of about 10,000 mean killed 858 British soldiers and defeated the British army at Isandhlwana on January 22, 1879. Forty years earlier, in 1838, it took only 500 Boers to defeat the Zulu army in one day. They killed so many Zulus that the river ran red. It is known as Blood River to this day.

90,000 Boer soldiers killed 125,000 British soldiers (one quarter of the 500,000 troops) during the Boer War. Never before in the history of the British Empire had they lost so many men - not until WWl.

It was rumored that the wife of a high-up British general ordered her husband to do the scorched earth and concentration camp policy in revenge for the Boers killing her son but it was actually the only way that the British could put an end to Boer guerilla warfare. With no farms or families to feed them - the Boer kommandos were finally starved into defeat.

22,000 Afrikaner children died in the concentration camps in the first ten months. Nearly one quarter of all the Boers in existence at the time were killed by the British. As a result the gene pool was so small that many Afrikaners have a genetic heart defect to this day.

A website about the concentration camps.

Picture of concentration camps:

1. Waiting for water

2. Abraham Carel Wessels

3. New internees arriving

4. Norval's Pont camp

5. Cooking facilities









Sunday, November 20, 2005

Sunday poem and pictures

I am posting this poem, "The White Man's Burden," by Rudyard Kipling because I have recently re-read it as part of my research for a series of articles about racism and "white supremacy" which I am in the process of writing. (My post, "Why the Afrikaners hate the British" is the first of the series.)

Rudyard Kipling was born in British India on December the 30th, 1865. He was educated in England before returning to India in 1882. Kipling's father was a museum director and authority on Indian arts and crafts so Kipling was thoroughly familiar with Indian culture. By 1890 he had translated into English and published about 80 Indian stories and poems previously unknown outside India.

As a result of financial misfortune, from 1892 to 1896 he and his wife, the daughter of an American publisher, lived in Vermont, where he wrote the two "Jungle Books" for which he is most well-known.

After returning to England, he published "The White Man's Burden" in 1899. It was written as an appeal to the United States to assume the task of developing the Philippines, recently won in the Spanish-American War.

By the time of his death in 1936, Kipling had come to be reviled as the poet of British imperialism eventhough he was still regarded as a beloved children's book author and as a transmitter of Indian culture to the West.

This poem caused as much controversy in 1899 as it does nowadays. It is obviously a product of patronizing British imperialism and "white supremacy" but it was Kipling's honest opinion and he meant well at the time. The poem was almost personally addressed to President Theodore Roosevelt who took Kipling seriously.

Kipling also wrote the beautiful and uncharacteristically humble "The Recessional" (better known as "Lest We Forget") in 1897 as well as the famous poem, "If." He was the first Englishman to receive the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1907.

Kipling also spent some time in South Africa during the Boer War (1899-1902.)

The White Man's Burden

Take up the White Man's burden -
Send forth the best ye breed -
Go bind your sons to exile
To serve your captives' need;
To wait in heavy harness,
On fluttered folk and wild -
Your new-caught, sullen peoples,
Half-devil and half-child.

Take up the White Man's burden -
In patience to abide,
To veil the threat of terror
And check the show of pride;
By open speech and simple,
An hundred times made plain
To seek another's profit,
And work another's gain.

Take up the White Man's burden -
The savage wars of peace -
Fill full the mouth of Famine
And bid the sickness cease;
And when your goal is nearest
The end for others sought,
Watch sloth and heathen Folly
Bring all your hopes to nought.

Take up the White Man's burden -
No tawdry rule of kings,
But toil of serf and sweeper -
The tale of common things.
The ports ye shall not enter,
The roads ye shall not tread,
Go mark them with your living,
And mark them with your dead.

Take up the White Man's burden -
And reap his old reward:
The blame of those ye better,
The hate of those ye guard -
The cry of hosts ye humour
(Ah, slowly!) toward the light: -
"Why brought he us from bondage,
Our loved Egyptian night?"

Take up the White Man's burden -
Ye dare not stoop to less -
Nor call too loud on Freedom
To cloke your weariness;
By all ye cry or whisper,
By all ye leave or do,
The silent, sullen peoples
Shall weigh your gods and you.

Take up the White Man's burden -
Have done with childish days -
The lightly proferred laurel,
The easy, ungrudged praise.
Comes now, to search your manhood
Through all the thankless years
Cold, edged with dear-bought wisdom,
The judgment of your peers!


Top pic: Cape Town nestled beneath Table Mountain where the whole South African saga began in 1652.

Bottom pic: Isandhlwana where the British army was defeated by the Zulus as depicted in the movie Zulu.



Saturday, November 19, 2005

Life in the slow lane

Recently we had some friends visiting us from San Francisco. Both the husband and the wife are atheists and leftwing conspiracy theorists - talk about negative. Chuck and Andy and I decided that we would stay away from discussing religion or politics with them because their lack of faith in a loving God and their paranoia about politics is so depressing. That left us very little to talk about during the day that they spent with us because that's what they mostly talk about.

Of course they loved the food we served because we have two cooks in the family, Andy and me, and a dynamite dish-washer - Chuck. We served shrimp peri-peri (a fiery hot South African dish) with a California Gerwurztraminer for lunch and roast beef, roast potatoes and asparagus for dinner with my favorite Oregon wine, Eola Hills Pinot Noir, followed by "melktert" (a South African flan or custard pie) and Amarula which is a South African liqueur made from fermented Marula berries. (It's called the elephant tree because elephants eat the fermented berries and get drunk.)

After lunch we took them on a tour of the farm. The only thing that we really have in common with them is that they also grow orchids so they enjoyed the greenhouse which luckily had some fine flowers on show. I was most proud of the new chicken-house and run that we built last month and also proud of my feisty Rhode Island Red rooster (named Cecil in honor of Cecil Rhodes) and my white Leghorn hens which each lay an egg everyday like clockwork. Talking about chickens bored them and they started yawning - well, maybe it was the wine we had for lunch. So, I asked if they were up for a fairly long hike down to the north creek and then back up the ravine again.

On the hike, I pointed out all the many kinds of berry bushes and Pacific native plants. Fortunately the black huckleberries still had some fruit on them and at least that pleased them but they were bored with the new pump that we installed a few months ago to draw water from the creek to irrigate the orchard after our well ran dry and they didn't want to look at the six-feet tall skunk cabbages because they would have had to cross the creek to see them and get their feet wet.

When they left, we realized that we would probably never see them again. They now found us boring and could not understand how we could get so excited about fresh eggs instead of the latest conspiracy theories circulating among the moonbats of San Francisco. We were no longer the interesting and "special" people that we were when we owned a famous restaurant in SF. They are much richer than us but are so ungrateful and miserable.

In an earlier post, Coming to America, I ended by saying that I prefer ordinary people to "special" people; ordinary people going about doing ordinary things in their ordinary everyday lives. Actually I've said that plenty of times before and will continue to say it.

Of course I revere great people like Locke and Burke and our Founding Fathers. And I enjoy the works of creative people like Shakespeare, Beethoven and Michelangelo but I probably wouldn't like the artsy-fartsy types in real life. Most of the artists I have known were narcissists and solipsists. I think it goes with the territory.

But, yes, I do enjoy literature, (currently reading the autobiography of Roy Campbell, the South African poet much hated by the Bloomsbury Fabians because he fought against the communists in the Spanish Civil War) and I love music. I have a huge collection of CDs - everything from Bach to Big Band. I especially love opera and sacred choral music. The human voice is the most perfect musical instrument. I have nearly every opera, mass and chorale ever composed but I also have nearly every American musical ever written (except for modern Broadway crap like Andrew Lloyd Webber's "one-song wonders.") I especially love American classics from the Forties such as "Someone to watch over me," "It's Magic" and "Sentimental Journey."

And, yes, I once fancied myself as an "artist" when I was a teen. I won awards for playing the piano (classical) and could sing pretty well and I wrote poetry which was first published in South African magazines when I was 14. My artistic dreams died soon after when my father became sick and I had to go to work. (Well, I actually first started working much younger than that - I've got a slightly crippled hand from stamping letters in the local post office every Saturday when I was nine.) When I was 19, my father died leaving our family penniless.

Fortunately, the principal of the pharmacy school took a liking to me and gave me a loan out of his own pocket to study but I had to work and pay off the loan and I have been working ever since eventhough I hated pharmacy (which I did for nearly 30 years) but it paid well and gave me the capital to start my own business. The funny thing is that I never thought I would end up being a businessman. When I was an artistic snob, I looked down my nose at business people. Now I really enjoy running my business.

And, yes, my business is very ordinary and I deal with very ordinary people every day. I thought I would post the latest memo which I have had to write for my RV park just so you can see how ordinary my job is. Here goes:

Park Rules

It has taken me a few years to learn the ropes about running this RV park and I have finally realized that I prefer having regular long-term tenants who treat the park as their home and are respectful and decent neighbors. From now on I will be running this park with the needs of my long-term residents in mind at all times.

Most of you don't need rules for yourselves but you like to see that others who are less courteous and thoughtful have to obey rules that make this park a safe, secure and comfortable home. I intend to enforce the park rules strictly from now on.

Some rules are being ignored to the point that I have decided to institute a zero tolerance policy. If I find any rules being broken, that will be cause for your tenancy to be immediately terminated.

One of the rules is that your tenancy will be terminated if the police are called because of your anti-social behavior. I have not enforced this rule strictly because no serious crimes were involved but, from now on, I will enforce this rule as we have a nice RV park here with mostly excellent, well-behaved tenants and it's time for me (and the decent people who live here) to no longer tolerate any anti-social behavior.

The most anti-social infractions (which are grounds for immediate termination) are: making noise after 9pm and before 7am; parking in the fire-lane; having guests' cars in the RV park; using the bathrooms inappropriately such as for sex and stealing toilet-paper, damaging any of the utilities and using electric space heaters.

Every rent receipt that you sign contains the sentence, NO ELECTRIC SPACE HEATERS ARE ALLOWED. It is not fair if some people are using them and therefore driving up the rent. Some RV parks have solved this problem by increasing the rent during winter by $100 per month or more. Please use your propane heating or I will have to start charging extra in winter.

One of the most anti-social and disgusting infractions is not picking up your dog's poop. This is an especially irresponsible and unhealthy infraction and any dog-owner who does this should be ashamed of themselves for being so stupid and uncivilized. If you see anyone not picking up after their dogs, notify me as soon as possible and I will terminate the offender's tenancy immediately.

You are responsible for keeping your space clean and tidy - that means not throwing trash and cigaret butts on the ground and not allowing junk to pile up under and around your RV. If I find any trash or butts or junk in your space, your tenancy will be terminated.

If your tenancy is terminated due to the fact that you broke the park rules, you will not receive any refunds of unused rent.

Just a quick reminder that the four day grace period for paying rent is a courtesy which is extended in case your due date falls on a long holiday weekend. It is not an automatic extension of your due date. All rents are due by 11 am on your due date. If your rent is not paid by the fourth day, your tenancy will be terminated immediately or, if you wish to stay and are in good standing in all other ways, you will be required to deposit the equivalent of an extra month's rent.

Let's please all work together to keep this park a comfortable, safe and clean community. I want to thank all of my long-term tenants for being such decent and civilized neighbors. I appreciate you a lot and am very grateful for your presence. I am sure that you understand that the rules are there to make you feel secure, safe and comfortable.

Wishing you a happy holiday season and a healthy and prosperous New year,

Pat, Chuck and Andy


First thing every morning I say my prayers and count my blessings. Yes, I have many material blessings and am richer than I ever thought I would be but the material blessings are nothing compared with the invisible blessings that only I can see. I've known plenty of people much richer than me who are miserable because they cannot appreciate what they have. They do not feel gratitude - either because they are atheists or simply because they are too egotistical and arrogant.

But I'm not sure if I should judge them because I have a hunch that gratitude is a gift from God. I call it Grace because it is something that my own efforts alone cannot achieve. I thank God that I have peace of mind and a clean conscience and can sleep like a baby at night; that I have the eyes to see the beauty of this creation; that I love and am loved and mostly I thank God for the gift of faith which is the boat that sails me across this stormy ocean.

Maybe I should have saved this for my "Sunday Sermon." ;)

As the poet, Gerard manley Hopkins said:

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil,
It gathers to a greatness like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck His rod?


Friday, November 18, 2005

Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition

I'm a stickler for proper speaking (and writing) in English. It is an ancient and rich language, much adapted, developed and malleable but meaningless without the context of tradition or commonly-agreed-to modern idiom/patois//slang/lingo. If we can't agree on what certain words mean then we are headed for the Tower of Babel.

English took other languages and made them her own out of necessity and playfulness. The multicultural, morally relativistic, limo-libs aka Marxist/John Lennonist/Michael Moorist/Noam Chomskyist/Jesse "Rainbow" Jacksonist/Cindy Sheehanist idiotarians take this straightforward, honest and fairly logical language and twist it to mean whatever they want it to mean.

"Truth is different for everyone. It's all about semantics. It's all relative," the limo-libs squeal at us like weasels up a tree.

English depends on sincerity and authenticity of voice to convey it's commonly agreed-upon meaning through tradition or paradigm. (Well, not only English - all human communication in any language depends on that.) If we don't agree on the meaning of words we are playing games; being insincere, dishonest and inauthentic.

But of course, "liberals" are by nature insincere and have been since the 1930s when the commies in the USA decided to use the word "liberal" instead of "communist" because the latter set off alarm bells in every red-blooded American patriot.

So, why do limo-libs have such conniption fits about the Second Amendment? Because it's easy - the language is not only unarguably archaic but malleable. You don't hear the limo-libs complaining too much about "free speech" as long as they are the only ones who can speak freely. Just as you won't hear them complaining when simple words like "abridged" and "militia" are argued over in nit-picking semantically-stunted minutiae.

What part of "abridged" is so difficult to understand? What part of "well-ordered militia?"

Abridged means limited or curtailed. "Well-ordered militia" means just that. It's a well-organized (and well-armed) association of allies or neighbors prepared to defend their life, liberty, private property, friends, family, homes and businesses.

It's not just the National Guard as the commies would like us to believe. It's that plus it's our great military might and it's also just you and me. I'm just glad that most commies don't have guns and glad that patriots do - because if push comes to shove.......

PS Sandra Froman, the NRA president is a Jewish lawyer originally from California.

Most "gays" are notorious commies conspiring with the man-hating, radical feminist abortion-mongers to create a vacuum of moral relativism but even some of them, such as the Pink Pistols (whose motto is "Armed gays don't get bashed,") are pro-Second Amendment.

So is radio-host and author, Tammy Bruce, who defines herself as patriotic, pro-Second Amendment, pro-Bush, pro-WOT, conservative Democrat but is a lot more than that. (I have read two of Tammy Bruce's books - The Death of Right and Wrong and The New Thought Police and am now waiting impatiently to read her third book, "The New American Revolution," as soon as Chuck is finished with it. He tells me that this latest book seems to be in response to the fact that her first two books greatly influenced other disillusioned "conservative Democrats" who understood exactly what she meant when she said that "liberals" were malignant narcissists. She calls the moonbat-limo-libs "pod people.")

It's nice to be in such good gun-totin' company.

Sunday, November 13, 2005

Ancestors and religion

What I know about my ancestory is not absolutely factual because I learned most of it from my mother who was not educated and did not concern herself with such things.

Throughout the 1600s the Dutch East India Company sailed to the East Indies (now Indonesia) to bring back spices. Scurvy was a major problem because of the lack of fresh vegetables on the ships so, in 1652, they dropped off a few gardeners at the southern tip of Africa, at the Cape of good Hope, to grow fresh vegetables.

Most of the Dutch stayed at the Cape for a few years and then returned to Holland but some decided to settle at the Cape permanently. To differentiate themselves from those who returned to Holland, they began to call themselves African, which is Afrikaner in Dutch. One of the Dutchmen who decided to settle there was my first ancestor to arrive in South Africa in 1654, Cornelius Van Sittert.

My maternal great-grandmother was a direct descendant of Cornelius. She married a man named Meyer and my maternal grandmother, Constance Ann Meyer, was born in Cape Town in 1892.

Constance married my maternal grandfather, Gustavus Adolfus Joubert, who was a descendant of the French Huguenots, Pierre and Isabeau Joubert, who were two of the 201 Huguenots who came to the Cape in 1688. Gustavus was born in 1880. He was named after Gustavus Adolfus, the king of Sweden from 1611 to 1632, who was revered for defending the Protestants during the Thirty Years War.

(The Huguenots were Calvinists from the south of France who had fled to Amsterdam in 1685 when the Edict of Nantes, which had given the Calvinists some religous freedom, was revoked by Louis XIV.)

My maternal grandfather was a freethinking fellow and soon gave up the religion of his ancestors. He left the Dutch Reformed Church and was ostracized by his family. He married Constance, who had been raised Anglican (the Church of England or Episcopalian) and they left the Cape to live in the Orange Free State. They bought a dairy farm just outside the town of Bloemfontein and settled down and raised four daughters and a son. My mother, Neva Joubert, was born in Bloemfontein in 1918.

I don't know who my paternal great-grandfather was. He was never talked about. My paternal great-grandmother, Florence Fisher was a descendant of the British 1820 Settlers. She lived in Port Elizabeth and had about 5 kids ((perhaps by different fathers) and may never have been married. Although "Ol' Muz," as we knew her, was Presbyterian, she sent her kids to a Catholic orphanage. So my maternal grandmother, Florence (known as Flossie all her life) was raised Catholic from an early age.

(One of Flossie's sisters had been fathered by a black man and was so dark that she was nick-named, Gypsy. She married a white man but her family never really prospered and they lived with their ten kids and six dogs in a trailer park. Some of the happiest memories of my childhood were of visits to see Auntie Gypsy. Although they were dirt poor, she and her drunken husband used to stuff my pockets with money and I always came home with one of their never-ending supply of puppies.)

It was through the Catholic church that Flossie met my paternal grandfather, Ernest Bernard Conlon, an Irishman. Ernest was the black-sheep of an otherwise fairly respectable family and died when he was only 37 (supposedly of drink) soon after my father, William Ernest Scott Conlon, was born in 1908.

Flossie then moved to Johannesburg (which was a boomtown because of the gold-mines) and made a living playing the piano in a brothel where she met a Presbyterian Scotsman, George Locke, whom she married. (She was coy about it, but we often wondered if she did more than play the piano in the brothel.)

Flossie was beautiful and talented but not a serious woman and my father (now known as Scotty) was never really encouraged to use his mind and relied on his movie-star looks. (Beauty ran in the family and my father's sister had a daughter, my cousin, Adele Kruger, who became Miss South Africa in 1957.) Scotty stopped going to school when he was ten and began to hang out with a gang of thieves. George Locke decided to straighten out my father and sent him to a reform school where he found that he was good at wrestling. When Scotty was 14, he dropped out of school and became a professional wrestler until he married his first wife and joined the Air Force just before WWll.

When George Locke died, he left Flossie some money which she used to buy a hotel in Isipingo beach and after the war, Scotty, came to live with her to help run the hotel. The hotel was used as a halfway house for British soldiers returning from Japanese prisoner of war camps and Scotty's first wife began to have "affairs" with these soldiers.

At that time my mother was a nurse working in Johannesburg. Her father was becoming sick so she decided to treat her parents to a vacation and brought them to my father's hotel in Isipingo. There she and my father fell in love. He divorced his first wife, married my mother and I was born in 1947.

Most of my basic religious and philosophical ideas came to me through my mother. Her father, Gustavus Adolfus, was an oddball for his time. He was a dairy farmer who was vegetarian. He was an Afrikaner who worshipped the British and Americans. He named his only son Abraham Lincoln Joubert and read the New England Transcendentalists like Thoreau and Emerson. Somehow this led him to Mary Baker Eddy. He never joined the Christian Scientist church but constantly read Eddy's "Keys to the Scriptures" and believed in "mind over matter," faith-healing and positive thinking. My mother, Neva, was his most ardent disciple and passed along his ideas to me. She also was not a church-going Christian Scientist.

Neither George nor Flossy were religious and my father was never sent to church or taught any sort of religion. So my father was not much given to deep thinking. The only thing he ever studied was horse-racing "form." The only books he ever read were cowboy and detective novels like those by Raymond Chandler. (I read all of Scotty's books but lost interest in them when I was about ten.)

My mother decided to have me christened in the local Methodist church and then later sent me to Methodist Sunday School so I could get some basic Christian teaching but neither she or my father ever set foot in a church. My mother claimed that she was allergic to churches.

When I was seven I was punished with after-school detention and had to sit in the back of a class where a teacher was teaching Catechism to the few Catholics in the school. It was here that I heard something that would change my life forever.

The teacher read from the Catechism: "Who made me? God made me. Why did God make me? God made me to know Him, to love Him and to serve Him."

That night I could not sleep and, for days afterwards, I felt elated. I decided to become a Catholic. My father was slightly annoyed but pretty tolerant but my mother had a fit. Like all Afrikaners, she had been raised to believe that the Catholic church was evil. They called it "die Roomse Gevaar" - the Roman Danger.

But I was adamant and she knew that she could not dissuade me. I was re-batised in the Catholic church and recieved the sacraments of Confession, Communion and Confirmation and became an altar-boy. Then I decided that I wanted to go to Catholic school. The nearest Catholic school was a Marist Brothers' boarding school sixty miles away in Pietermaritzburg. I was eleven when I first left home.

At first I was terribly home-sick and lonely. The Brother in charge of my dormitory, a sadistic French Canadian, decided that I was too wild and willful and that he needed to break my spirit. He beat me with a cane every night for the first three months until he realized that I was actually a good scholar.

He then decided to mentor me. He sent me to special English language classes so that I could learn to "talk like a civilized Englishman" and get rid of my "ugly Afrikaner accent." I had studied classical piano since the age of seven when a Catholic piano teacher had taken a liking to me. This Brother made sure that I continued my piano lessons and also made me take singing lessons as I had a good voice.

Then my father became sick and could no longer afford to send me to boarding school. The only way that I could remain with the Marist Brothers and finish my schooling was to join them and become a Brother. There was one problem - I was regarded as a bastard by the Catholic Church and I could only join the Order if my mother was baptised a Catholic and my parents remarried in the Catholic Church.

By this time we were so poor that we could not afford electricity. There was so little food that my mother would feed us first and then pretend that she would eat later. She could not hide this from me for long and I convinced her that the Catholic church would take care of us if she became Catholic and I joined the Marist Brothers. She agreed and I went to live in the monastery in Hibberdene and the Catholics took care of my parents and sister who also became Catholic.

Being in the monastery was like living in the belly of the beast and I came to dislike it. As soon as I finished my schooling, I left the church. But I still wanted to know, love and serve God and that led me to study all the religions.

Then my father died and I felt free to do as I please. I joined the anti-apartheid movement which was also inspired by my religious fervor. Politics did not satisfy me and I was still searching for God. That led to my experimentation in the Sixties, with drugs, sex, communes, Hinduism, a guru and his cult.

But through all this, there underneath all of the -isms was my real religion which was what my mother had taught me. It took me years to realize that my mother had imbued me with an unshakeable faith in a God of love and mercy; complete faith that Jesus had lived and died to save us; a firm conviction that to live by faith means to always be optimistic and cheerful, "think positively" and be generous, kind, forgiving and loving and never worry about oneself because God is taking care of us.

Later: After dinner and that holy sacrament, a glass of wine, I felt like I was on a roll so I added this:

I tried to be an atheist once in my commie days but it always seemed obvious to me that life is an unexpected nand un-asked-for gift and the feeling of gratitude for this gift is the closest thing to heaven on earth that I can experience.

I don't have any concept of what God is eventhough my heart has glimpsed the magic of the Creator. How can my finite, limited mind comprehend infinity, eternity; something that is not in time or space? And I know that I cannot pray in the traditional sense because God already knows everything that I think.

But to me the best way to love and serve God, once you know God, is to be cheerful and enjoy life - no, not societal life; I mean the spark of life and breath in me and in all living creatures. That's what I mean by life.

So how do I express my gratitude? Maybe I'm just an African really. The traditional African religion is ancestor worship and I am grateful to my ancestors for being the conduits of this life that I have and would like to enshrine them in my own silly way in this post.

Sunday pics and poem

This poem was written by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772–1834.) He was an opium addict and this was poem was inspired by one of his opium visions.

Kubla Khan

IN Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills
Where blossom'd many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But O, that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced;
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reach'd the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!

The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she play'd,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me,
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.


Top pic: Digby and Saffie at the north creek.

Bottom pic: a crawdad from the creek - yum!



Saturday, November 12, 2005

My political evolution

As a youth in South Africa in the Sixties, I was an anti-apartheid Liberal. When the Liberal Party was banned in 1964 under the Suppression of Communism Act because most of its leaders were avowed Marxists, I joined the Progressive Party.

The Liberal Party believed in one man one vote. Most white South African were terrified that Africans outnumbered them six to one and would turn the country into a communist hell-hole. The Progressives believed in a "qualified franchise" meaning that anyone, regardless of color, could vote but only if you had a high schooleducation or owned some property. It seemed like a good compromise to me.

When I lived in England, the socialists were in government. I couldn't stand them as they were so pessimistic and negative but the Tories seemed worse with their class snobbishnes.

When I came to the USA, Carter was President and he seemed just as bad as the British socialists; just as pessimistic and negative. I still thought of myself as a liberal but could not stand the Democrats so I called myself libertarian and still am to an extent but most of the libertarians that I met were kooky and I did not like them.

Then Reagan got in and cured the USA of it's liberal malaise. When I became a citizen on February the 4th 1987, I was given a form letter from Ronald Reagan. The next day I registered Republican. I'm a Republican only because of Reagan.

Also I'm a Republican mostly because of the grass-roots Republicans not the party. I like other business people like me and I just can't stand lefties and hippies and gays eventhough I was a commie hippie fag in the 60s. I just don't like or trust them.

When idealists squeal that the GOP is not like it used to be, that's sort of true. It's certainly not like the GOP under Reagan but Reagan was an anomaly - even he described himself as a libertarian. The GOP was always statist and always for coercive government.

You can't get much more coercive and statist than waging Civil War. There were over 14,000 arbitrary arrests from the beginning of the war until its conclusion -- and this amounts to a total of 1 in every 1,500 Americans. And Lincoln was not at all apologetic about this policy.

I can't remember where I read this yesterday but it is interesting.


The Lincoln Administration and Arbitrary Arrests: A Reconsideration
Mark E. Neely, Jr.


Neely says:

"[Lincoln] did not apologize. In his public letter of June 12, 1863, to Erastus Corning and others, Lincoln said with characteristic toughness: "... the time [is] not unlikely to come when I shall be blamed for having made too few arrests rather than too many."

He argued that the Confederate States, when they seceded, had been counting on being able to keep "on foot amongst us a most efficient corps of spies, informers, supplyers, and aiders and abettors of their cause" under "cover of 'Liberty of speech' 'Liberty of the press' and 'Habeas corpus.'" Nicolay and Hay, who were not given to overstatement, noted that "few of the President's state papers ... produced a stronger impression upon the public mind than this." Little wonder. Elsewhere in the letter, the president used even stronger language, saying that he could never "appreciate the danger ... that the American people will, by means of military arrests during the rebellion, lose the right of public discussion, the liberty of speech and the press, the law of evidence, trail by jury, and Habeas Corpus, throughout the indefinite peaceful future ... any more than I am able to believe that a man could contract so strong an appetite for emetics during temporary illness, as to persist in feeding upon them through the remainder of his healthful life."


There is no perfect government. As Thomas Paine said: "Government is a necessary evil."

And the only purpose of government, as John Locke said, "...is to protect private property."

The GOP is for me the lesser of two evils and I prefer to work inside it to keep it to it's ideals but no government should ever be trusted completely.

"The price of freedom is eternal vigilance."

I just don't expect perfection from human beings or their institutions. That's why I'm not a big "L" Libertarian. And the Democratic Party disgusts me because they are dishonest about being socialists - well, they're just plain dishonest.

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Coming to America - part one

My first view of the USA was Miami Beach. In 1977 I flew from South Africa to Miami on vacation for a few weeks. Miami Airport was the largest and most luxurious airport I had ever seen. I had seen many European airports before and most were plain and utilitarian.

I was picked up at the airport by my hotel's shuttle-service which was the largest and most luxurious pick-up truck I had ever seen. There was more than enough room in the truck bed for loads of luggage and the cab could seat eight or more and was plush and air-conditioned.

In fact, I had never experienced air-conditioning in my life until I came to Miami. I also had not experienced anything so hot as Miami in July - yep, I came in July because, in those days, Miami was cheaper in summer. No part of South Africa is as close to the equator as Miami so I had never before experienced such a huge and fiercely hot sun.

Nor had I ever before seen such tall buildings, such huge palm trees, such lush tropical plants and so much wealth and luxury. I was overwhelmed with an intoxication of sensuous pleasure. Everyone and everything was sun-drenched and exuding perfumes of coconut and frangipani. Only later did I realize that the beautiful perfumes of Miami Beach were the aromas of the ubiquitous tanning lotions.

I had an exciting and wonderful vacation and decided that I would be more at home in this land of milk and honey and coconut-oil tanning lotion than I was in painfully divided South Africa (and happier than I ever had been in old grey cabbage-smelling Europe where I had lived for 8 years.) So, the following year, I packed my bags and left South Africa for ever to live in the USA.

But, in 1978, Miami was not yet booming and there were no decent jobs so I headed west to California. I stayed with friends in Hollywood and Malibu. Hollywood was a nightmare of fancy clothes and fashionable people mixed up with the horrors of teenage male and female whores on the "Strip." Malibu was a purgatory of cocaine parties and twisted bisexual orgies. Los Angeles was like a car crash to me. I was fascinated and horrified at the same time. Eventhough I had lived in London for years, I felt like a country bumpkin among the debauched and predatory Los Angelenos.

Another friend invited me to northern California; to Berkeley. I lived there for a year until I realized that I had moved from one hell ruled by bisexual drug addict debauchees to another hell ruled by angry puritanical vegetarian lesbians. So I moved to San Francisco.

The first thing any newcomers to San Francisco see is Market Street which is basically an open-air lunatic asylum full of filthy street people in various stages of mental and physical illnesses who panhandle you aggressively all the while convulsing, twitching, scratching and cursing like demons. The fact that most of these street people are white is especially confusing. Seeing white people begging on the street really angered me.

Maybe it's because I was born and raised in South Africa where whites who do not not aspire to middle-class respectability are regarded as less than human. There are poor white South Africans - even in my own family but the branch of my family that were trailer trash were handicapped by being part black in a very color-conscious society.

Okay, so I don't like any welfare bums, black or white, but black welfare bums in the USA have been created by the failed policies of white liberal guilt. However white welfare bums have had every opportunity and no excuses for not getting good jobs and being prosperous.

So why do these white bums live like cockroaches? Beats me. I still do not have the answer to that and to this day, 27 years after moving here, I despise white Americans who are welfare bums and beggars. I have no sympathy for them and wish we could ship them to Mexico.

Let's make a deal with Mexico - we'll take one hardworking Mexican for every sick parasitic white bum we send to them. Or else let's put these ungrateful white meth-addict germs in jail for vagrancy and make them do forced labor - filling potholes and picking cherries or, even better, melting snow in Alaska so we can drill for oil. They disgust me and are a slap in the face of western history and civilization.

Okay, so California is weird. No one wants to get old or die. Think of Aldous Huxley's "After Many a Summer," a novel about a Hollywood millionaire with a terror of death, whose personal physician happens to be working on a theory of longevity which Huxley wrote when he came to LA in the 1937.

California is definitely not the USA. The big city types are all gorgeous and tanned and educated and rich and happy but most are in therapy or taking Prozac and Zoloft and have serious mental problems like malignant narcissism or very special hard-to-diagnose allergies. What a fake paradise!

Give me ordinary people doing ordinary things, living ordinary lives in ordinary small towns anywhere anytime. God save me from "special people" with "special rights" and "special needs" and "special spatial requirements." God save me from people who are insane enough to criticise the USA or imagine that there is some Utopia better than anything that we have here or anywhere else on earth.

Let's ship these ungrateful spoiled brat "special people" to Africa. Let them live there without air-conditioning, without antibiotics, without the rule of law, without the immense freedom and wealth that we enjoy here at a very small price.

That price is respect for the Constitution, respect for your neighbors and self-respect. If you can't pay that price, then you don't deserve to live in the USA.

Sunday, November 06, 2005

Sunday pics and poem

This poem is meant to sound like the music of the Tarantella, a dance which is supposedly done after one is bitten by a tarantula to move the poison out of the body quickly.

Tarantella

by Hilaire Belloc

Do you remember an Inn,
Miranda?
Do you remember an Inn?
And the tedding and the spreading
Of the straw for a bedding,
And the fleas that tease in the High Pyrenees,
And the wine that tasted of tar?
And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers
(Under the vine of the dark verandah)?
Do you remember an Inn, Miranda,
Do you remember an Inn?
And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteeers
Who hadn't got a penny,
And who weren't paying any,
And the hammer at the doors and the Din?
And the Hip! Hop! Hap!
Of the clap
Of the hands to the twirl and the swirl
Of the girl gone chancing,
Glancing,
Dancing,
Backing and advancing,
Snapping of a clapper to the spin
Out and in --
And the Ting, Tong, Tang, of the Guitar.
Do you remember an Inn,
Miranda?
Do you remember an Inn?

Never more;
Miranda,
Never more.
Only the high peaks hoar:
And Aragon a torrent at the door.
No sound
In the walls of the Halls where falls
The tread
Of the feet of the dead to the ground
No sound:
But the boom
Of the far Waterfall like Doom.


Top pic: Robin's Wood in summer

Bottom pic: After the first frost