Left and Right

Earlier today during a sleepless bronchial flare-up session, I read an article breaking down what the surprising primary victory of the newest darling of the left, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, means. It can be found here. She’s called, and it seems apt enough to me, as the Left’s new Evita Peron.

Since I oppose unfettered abortion for all, open borders, high confiscatory tax rates, and the intrusion of federal government into every aspect of our lives, all stupid and evil policies to varying degrees, I will not be voting for her when she runs for president in 2032 (she’s only 28 years old now). 

But what interested me more was the author mentioning the main thesis of a book he read at age 16 which formed his ideological thinking. It describes the spectrum between Left and Right as:

Left: conformism, tribalism, ultra-nationalism, racism, class-consciousness

Right: individualism, eccentricity, natural inequality, meritocracy

This interests me greatly. I would love – absolutely love – to hear it refuted by a liberal, to hear his reasons why such a spectrum is inaccurate.

The only thing I can see is a liberal saying, “Well, there’s tribalism on the right, too.” The whole basket of deplorables thing. America between the coasts. Rednecks and southerners. This may be true, though he’d be deliberately leaving out the millions of us conservatives trapped in northern and coastal blue states and living incognito in major cities. But it is not a condition of belonging. The simple fact that the Right has nothing remotely resembling the whole Liberal Pyramid of Victimhood, a keystone of the Leftist dogma, proves this.

I do not wish to conform to this society. I do not worship white skin because I have white skin, or maleness because I am a male. I do not see everything through the lens of race. I care little about class save for how to rise upwards to provide something better for my family now and in the future.

This whole “ultra-nationalism” theme of the Left does not seem self-evident to me. I am not sure what to make of it, since the contemporary Left in America seems to despise this country so much it is forever trying to remake it to atone for its past sins. Maybe that is what the ultra part means.

But the values of individualism, eccentricity natural inequality, and meritocracy appeal greatly to me, no matter how much I may manifest one (natural inequality and eccentricity) or fail in another (meritocracy).

The article ends with an appeal for Ms. Ocasio-Cortez to visit Venezuela on a three-month fact-finding mission. I say go for it, and throw in a high school level non-politicized basic Intro to Economics course for free. Maybe then we can save this young lady’s soul.

Codeine Dreams

So the docs don’t want to give me antibiotics to fight my bronchitis. Apparently bronchitis is by and large a viral condition, though sometimes bacteria can cause inflammation of the bronchial tubes. The last six times I’ve had it a z-pack has cured me in 24 hours.

I called the doctor’s office yesterday pleading for a z-pack, having slept a mere 12 hours over a three-day period, no more than ninety minutes at any one time. Turns out I should’ve pled for a return phone call. What is it with doctors? I left messages at 8 am, 11 am, 3 pm, each time the receptionist promising me I’d get a call back. At 5 pm, worried the doctor would leave for the day without helping me, I showed up at the office.

It did not go well. She dug her heels in and refused me the antibiotics. Which I can understand, and probably would have accepted it more magnanimously if I learned the news six hours early. “Stay the course,” she said. “Since you’re home from work, you can have the codeine cough syrup during the day. But it’s a narcotic; I can’t give you anything else. I don’t have anything to knock you out cold.”

“I don’t want to be knocked out cold, I just want to stop coughing for longer than two minutes.”

No dice. I went back home and dosed up on the codeine. I watched a lot of miscellaneous tv and a lot of bad youtube videos and watched the Mets snatch defeat from the jaws of victory against the Pirates in the ninth. Along the way I dozed on the couch for an hour, and had my first codeine dream.

I then slept from 11:30 to 3 am, and 5 to 6:30. I had my second codeine dream sometime in the misty murky metalight of the early morning.

The first dream I’ve titled “Dog Iliad.” I’m halfway through a re-reading of Homer’s work, and I dreamed I was teaching it to my daytime companion, Charlie:

Platonic Form of Dog...

In order to do this, in order to help him understand epic ancient Greek poetry, I switched all the characters to canines. There was Dog Odysseus and Dog Achilles, Dog Diomedes, Dog Agamemnon, even Dog Helen. Dog-god Zeus, Dog-god Athena, Dog-god Apollo. Dog-god Mars, the original Dog of War. Dogs decked out in armor, with golden plumed helmets, carrying spears and swords in the paws, range over the landscape in brutal battle. “Dog Iliad.”

The second codeine-fueled dream I walked through an expansive mansion under construction. In fact, it’s slightly more than framed out, a humongous skeleton of giant 2x4s, with some sections of sheet rock hammered up to kinda show the future layout of the place. The mansion was mine, and I was touring it with a special guest star.

Who was the special guest star?

None other than Joe Gatto, from tv’s Impractical Jokers.

(In my delirium last night I watched a marathon of Jokers, still the funniest show on the air.)

So I take Joe to my favorite future room in the mansion: it’s going to be my weight room. I’m going to install a full-length mirror, add benches, barbells, dumbbells, and about two thousand pounds of metal weight. It’s going to be my Gold’s Gym. I intend to bulk out and get shredded, like a 1970s Arnold Schwarzenegger preparing for a Mr Olympia competition. My Dungeon, my House of Pain. Yes, this is what I was expounding to Joe Gatto of tv’s Impractical Jokers.

Then dawn caressed my face with her long rosy fingers and I hacked up a pint of yellow mucus.

Why No Post?

This is me from two weeks ago.

Looks like I’m enjoying life. Beer, book, and a shady deck.

But that was two weeks ago.

The last week I’ve spent battling bronchitis. My fourth case of it in 22 months.

I’ve been at my current job for exactly two years. Hmm. Maybe it’s time to look into that whole “sick building” thing.

But right now I am in pain. Bronchial tubes inflamed, constant raking coughing, headache, sleep deprivation. No fun at all, and not getting anything done, even with the little ones at their grandparents for the week.

Life sucks.

Purge

I’ve decided to purge some of my 750 book library.

This is quite a shocking development to me. In fact, I’ve only really comes to terms with it in the past six weeks or so.

Why purge?

Couple of reasons. Spring is the time of cleaning, and our home is a mess. Especially the basement, which houses my writing desk, three bookshelves, and literally two dozen stacks of books of varying height. (The highest one is in the corner and reaches about four feet … I hate it when I have to pull out a book near the base.)

We are also considering a long-distance move. It’s still uncertain yet, but if we do up and move, it’s not feasible and doesn’t make sense for me to haul books with me that I will never read again. I keep a lot of what I read for sentimental value.

I also have a lot of books which I haven’t read and probably never will. Life isn’t long enough to read all the good stuff out there. Plus, as a Hopper, my interests zig zag up and down the Dewey Decimal system several times a month. Sometimes I buy a book and by the time I’m finished with my current read my interest has moved on and I won’t get to the new purchase for months or even years later. It’s happened more often than you’d think.

And I’ve come to the realization that these books could be better used by another mind. Stimulating and interesting another person intellectually and spiritually. We’re born into the world with nothing and we leave with nothing, so why hold on? Pass it forward, as they say.

In that spirit, I’ve given away nearly 200 books so far.

First, I sent a whole bunch of mass market paperbacks (well, as popular as I read, and my reading tends toward the more non-conformist) to the local library. They sell them for 50 cents or a buck, and use the money to fund their budget. All well and good, though the libraries round here tend to be a little too progressive for my taste. But at most it’s a twenty or thirty dollar donation.

Second, I packed up all my math and physics books –50 or 60, I didn’t keep track – in a sturdy box and handed them over to my nephew. Math and Physics are young men’s games, and he’s a freshman at an engineering college. My mind is now in its sixth decade, so those cerebral tree trunks have already atrophied. I tried last summer to get myself back into it, but I just couldn’t hold on to everything I read. Like sand slipping between my fingers. Or worse, like water. So hopefully there will be something in that box that will give him some ideas, ignite his imagination, ramp up his determination, and something heavy will come out of it.

It was a varied selection. Some biographies – Einstein, Ramanujan, Erdös. Some textbooks from my college days, some, like ones on Group Theory and General Relativity, purchased for the heck of it. Pop sci from journalists (take ’em for what their worth), “science for the masses” books from legit scientists (Steven Weinberg, Paul Davies, Michio Kaku). Refreshers on calc and trig. Stuff on number theory that I would read in Falls past watching the Giants play on Sundays. Even a book on brain twisters from the great Martin Gardner. I better stop, ’cuz I’m about to cry …

Third, I put all my Catholic books into five double-bagged paper bags – 110 in all; these I did track.

Theology, devotionals, biographies of the saints, apologetics, Catholic classics. Everything from Aquinas and Augustine to the self-help-ish paperbacks my parish hands out periodically. A bio of JP II. Life of Christ by Bishop Sheen. Lord of the World by Robert Hugh Benson. Biblical exegesis. Various histories of the Catholic Church. Nothing too squishy, and most pretty traditional. But no Bibles – I’m keeping the four or five I have.

Now, my local parish priest is fairly conservative and traditional, which is good. I’ve reached out to him but we haven’t made any arrangements for the donation. He’s thinking of putting them up on the bare shelves in the parish center. If it keeps one young man faithful, then I’d feel my action was justified. As is, with all the problems I have with the current Pope and the Catholic faith post-Vatican II, these books would be much better placed in other hands. After all, the ones I’ve read (and I’ve read Life of Christ four times) I’m most likely not going to read again, and those I haven’t gotten to, I probably won’t at this point.

Still keeping my military history books, because I’m still interested in the topic and there’s still much to learn. Still keeping my Great Books of the Western World collection and all my Tolkien. Still keeping my Orthodox Christianity books (six, so far). Still keeping my unread classic SF, which is always a great palate cleanser. If we are to move out of Chez Hopper for greener pastures, I only plan on taking a hundred or so books with me.

Anybody want to read any philosophy? I have 40 of those cinder blocks I’m willing to part with …

Patch Parables

A class writing assignment in these ebbing days of the school year, to come up with some parables:

HOW THE SNAKE GOT STRETCHED OUT

One day in the rain forest, a snake and an ox were having a conversation.

“Oh, Snake, you are lucky. You don’t have to work for Man, who makes my coat sweaty, my horns dull. Your smooth skin and legs shine like the moon,” Ox poured out, hoping to get sympathy.

Snake, enjoying the attention, said, “Yes, I’m very lucky and shiny.”

Ox frowned and called out to the bushes. “Man! I’ve got Snake!” Man jumped out of the bushes and wrapped Snake in a net.

“I will poison your crops and food! I will – ” Snake promised.

A week later, Ox was on his break, eating his lunch when he felt ill. The whole rest of the day and the next, he couldn’t work. Snake, who was forced to work, was angry at Man, so he put poison in Man’s worker’s food.

Man was so mad, he took Snake and with his strength, stretched Snake out so his legs folded into his bod and his smooth skin turned into scales. That’s how the Snake got stretched out.

WHY THERE ARE CLOUDS IN THE SKY

One warm, sunny day, the animals in the forest were tired of sunshine. When they looked up in the sky, there was a blue sky and brilliant bright sun. One strong animal called the Lion gave an announcement: “I will travel to the ancient Arctic and bring shade to our forest!” He left that afternoon.

Five long days later, Lion was in a cold pace. The ground was covered in white … powder? Suddenly he had an idea. Lion took handfuls of the white powder and hurled it with his mighty strength into the sky. Lion took more to bring home.

Once Lion got to the forest, he threw thousands of white powder into the sky to create what is now called Clouds. (That is also why Lion represents the King of the Jungle.)

Heraclitean

Alles Glück auf Erden,

Freunde, gibt der Kampf!

Ja, um Freund zu warden,

Braucht es Pulverdampf!

Eins in Drein sind Freunde:

Brüder vor der Not,

Gleiche vor dem Feinde,

Freie – vor dem Tod!

– “Heraclitean,” poem #41 from the prologue to Nietzsche’s Joyful Science, c. 1882

Only fighting yields

Happiness on earth,

And on battlefields

Friendship has its birth.

One in three are friends:

Brothers in distress,

Equals, facing foes,

Free – when facing death!

– “Heraclitean,” English translation of Nietzsche’s poem by Walter Kaufmann

I am no expert on poetry, nor the philosophy of Nietzsche, except of the armchair Monday-morning quarterback sort. But I like this poem when I think about it on a more abstract level, not the obvious and literal comrade-in-arms in the trenches facing bayonets. It applies to any man facing any challenge, and that, along with what I understand of the German’s thought, appeals immensely to me.

SPQR

So Patch, age 9, has taken to wearing the SPQR “tattoo” on her left bicep. The exhortation of ancient Roman pride was often displayed on legion flags, shields, and sometimes the legionnaires themselves. The Roman numeral five above the SPQR signifies her “five years of service” to Caesar.

“We, who are about to die, salute you!”

This girl never ceases to amaze me.

The Meaning of Life by Patch

This is not the “strange and bookish” thing promised in the prior post; the fog still abounds. But in a way, this is stranger. This is my youngest daughter, Patch, age nine-point-seven-five, unprompted, at government school, writing down some thoughts:

The Meaning of Life

6-5-18

The meaning of life can’t be put into a simple thought. The meaning of life is bigger than a family, a job, the world, perhaps. The meaning of life is only known by God, and man can only assume what the secret to it is. God gives us a reason to live – in fact, a meaning. I suspect that life is a test. A test of intelligence, courage, bravery, kindness, and fairness. You can’t necessarily fail, but you can restart and reconstruct your life. If you “pass” then the life of the grand is yours. You could have earned the grand life if it was the seventh try. Nevertheless, at some point, many people think they know the meaning of life, but alas, only God know that secret.

Couple of thoughts –                

First, she’s nine years old. When I was nine, I was drawing pictures with my stencil of flying saucers zapping World War II soldiers. Though I did start reading slim SF paperbacks around this time. Robert Silverberg’s Conquerors from the Darkness was read when I was her age. But I didn’t know nuthin’ about meaning of life stuff.

Second, God. Thank God our government schools haven’t squashed God out of her, though I’m sure her fourth grade teacher is NOT ALLOWED to give her thoughts on the Supreme Being.

Third, I think the writing gene has been passed on yet again – first to Little One, now to Patch. May they have much more success than their dad has had. Which should be a fairly easy task to accomplish, as they have fifty-percent of their mom in those genes, too.

When This Fog Clears

There’ll be something strange and bookish upon this blog …