Blog Smoothie, Fresh
A. Today's post.
Honestly, let's not play around and pretend to be a segue-smith (thus would I be seguetious?). I'm just dropping the ingredients - rind, boost, and all - into the blender.
In case you haven't lately had to take a test to, let's say, attain U.S. Citizenship, this one might throw you: Are we a republic or a democracy?
Remember, we pledge allegiance not just to the flag, but also "to the Republic for which it stands."
I dare you go out tomorrow and ask 100 people to explain what it means to say we are a Republic and not a Democracy. Unless you are conveniently adjacent to, or upon, a college campus - where tomorrow you shall bump into Professor Wayback - you're going to get 100 blank stares.
I found the link to this article at Dan's "withknivesout" blog a few weeks ago. It takes me a while to get around to stuff like this, eh?
Interestingly, most of the sites where I found the writers laying out the specific differences between a Republic and a direct Democracy, were conservative. And/or faith-based. Many quote the founding fathers as saying that while a direct Democracy is nothing more than a Mobocracy, a Republic is based on a constitutional rule of laws, either natural or God-Given.
In fact, the best and clearest dissection of the subject came on what looked to me like some kooky survivalist site. Go figure.
Of course there's a lot more on the subject, elsewhere, but remember, my post today is a nutritious fruit drink, not an eight course meal.
Obviously not the work of esteemed director McQuentin McTarantino, this is an actual McDonald's commercial, in Israel.
Not to be outdone, Volkswagon threatened at first to sue the pants off of whomever came up with THIS little commentary on our world today. You know, it's really just SO wrong but it's freaking hilarious.
And I think, deep: No one yet has commented on the totally oblivious cafe crowd. They're shown "outside" the cafe, and they're "outside" the VW; in fact, they're "outside" of the sphere of influence of this disturbed young would-be world-changer. Yet, they're as safe and sheltered, and let's say, naive and selfish and undisturbed by the world's woes, as if they were in a cocoon.
See, I can be a loony leftist commentator if I have to. I've been there. Not lately, but I've been there.
My interest was piqued, of course, by this little bit of sensationalism in
WorldNetDaily about "The man who predicted the tsunami".
At first I thought, well, somebody somewhere is predicting all sorts of blight and destruction every day, everywhere.
Turns out this professor is in fact a leading expert on plate techtonics and disaster potentials. He really did predict it. And he seems pretty sure that Seattle is in for some trouble someday too.
Check out this speech from 1997 by Professor Sieh, to get an idea of his field of vision.
Yes, paintball. Well, a couple weeks ago my nephew had a little party for his 10th birthday. It was a day of killing and mayhem at the paintball fields in the mountains here outside of San Diego, an area that many of us coastal-ish dwellers view as sort of Appalachia West. Fourteen of us, kids and adults pretty evenly split, had 6 hours of commando time on various courses, which differed in terrain, obstacle types, flora, etc.
A number of areas were roped off as Ecological Preserves, which I found amusing since hundreds of marble-sized paintballs were flying into the marshy creek grasslands there. I imagined all the dead and dying snakes who couldn't resist those neon green and orange "eggs" lying all about their unpeopled homes.
Before we got started, as we gathered in the parking lot of Velocity Paintball in Ramona, my first thought, and my exact comment to my youngest brother, was that if I were FBI or ATF, THIS is where I would hang out on Saturday mornings.
I was truly astounded by the uniforms, the equipment, the gear, the pure militarism dripping from the
Smelled like... victory. Technicolor Latex-based blobs of victory.
Alright, now that I've laid out my superficial first impressions, I'll immediately admit I had the time of my life out there. I was killed, a couple times by one of my brothers' "friendly fire". All of us eventually determined that the best way to stay alive an entire 10-minute game was to NOT be his teammate. But it was fun. Creepy fun. Diving into mud holes, ducking behind woodpiles. Getting to know your equipment. Naming your equipment. Loving your equip-- uh -- err.
Alright. Enough said.