A committee representing the Union of Dietary Historians has released a statement defending the safety of the Atkins diet, claiming that such a diet is both older and safer than many may realize.
The Atkins diet has been labeled unsafe by many critics, and boring by others. No part of the diet has been more controversial than Induction, or Phase I of the diet, in which the dieter is limited to no more than twenty grams of carbohydrate daily. Induction dieters often experiment with what have been called "meat fasts."
"Meat fasts in particular have been used by many societies worldwide," the statement reads in part. "Meat fasts, and diets featuring meat fasts, are known from every inhabited continent. The Aztecs used to celebrate with meat fasts, and many of the tribes of the American Southwest participated in them."
Nor was it just the indigenous peoples, the committee continues: for example, the twelve surviving members of the American frontier's Donner party spent the winter of 1846-1847 on a meat fast in the Sierra Madre, and some of them lived well into their seventies.
The committee also points to a more recent study, in which 16 members of a Uruguayan football team, surviving a plane crash in the Andes, conducted a meat fast for approximately ten weeks.
Meat fasts, then, would seem to have the historian's seal of approval.
After the statement was released, several local chapters of People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals provisionally dropped their opposition to the Atkins diet.
Joseph Sobran, in commenting on the undecided voters in this year's election:
Meanwhile, Florida is being battered with hurricanes....and Bush has ordered $2 billion in Federal aid as well as mental health counselors sent to the state. Mental health counselors for hurricane victims! The Federal Government certainly thinks of everything.But Kerry isn’t making an issue of this, because he and Bush agree on one great principle: There should be no limits on the functions (or powers) of government.
Oh, here and there you’ll find some perfunctory dissent on this principle, but only in odd and ineffectual places, such as the U.S. Constitution and the Republican platform. Nobody reads them anyway. Hurricanes are a great opportunity for politicians to make compassionate gestures, and Bush, taking time out from the War on Terrorism, has personally visited Florida to pass out bottled water. A less concerned president might have delegated this task to his secretary of the interior.
Someone who’s out of touch with American politics — Thomas Jefferson, say — might think this campaign should revolve around the question of whether government should keep expanding. But Bush and Kerry are like a pair of obese men quarreling about which candy bar tastes best. Their minds are elsewhere. The questions that obsessed the Republic’s Founders don’t interest them at all.
"A pair of obese men quarreling about which candy bar tastes best." My, yes, I do believe he's got it.
"I have just returned from Hell," said Allah, the Beneficent, the Merciful, striding into his office. "And I am not happy."
"You wish you were still down there, Sir?"
Allah glared, munching white grapes from a bowl on his desk. "Thousands of infidel comedians writhing in the eternal flames, Jibril, and you're up here cracking wise."
"They are truly the owners of hell-fire, O Creator of Worlds. Sorry." The Archangel Jibril coughed and straightened his shoulders. He knew what Allah's next question would be, and he knew there would be no one to serve as his ally.
Allah shifted some papers on his desk. "So what is this damnable business with recruiting? Recruits for jihad: down. Adult reversions to Islam: down. Apostasy and heresy: up."
One more attempt at levity, Jibril thought. "Well, there always were those who saw Islam as a Christian heresy anyway...."
Allah looked over his reading glasses and lowered his voice, but still the very walls shook. "We can easily outsource your position, Jibril."
Jibril froze. He cautioned himself to be very, very careful.
Allah waved wearily at a chair. "Sit down, Jibril. This may take some time.
"Now, as I said, I have just returned from Hell, and two things struck me. First of all, there's a damn line at the main entrance. There always is, I understand that: most people are not of the Elect and they are destined to eat My fire throughout eternity, as is only just--"
"Thou hast truly given clear proofs of the guidance, yet for unbelievers is a painful doom."
"Yes, yes, of course I have... But this time...why, it took me almost an hour just to get to the head of the line! Me! And even then they wouldn't let me in at first."
"I understand, Sir. It has been that way for some time now."
Allah ate some more grapes and scowled. "For some time--? And I'm only now just--well, anyway, the other thing. Once I was finally let in, by some former Pope who now mans the main gate, I couldn't believe what I saw in there! Most of the inmates were relaxing, and there were, believe me, far more smiles than I ever expected to see in that place. And the flames! What happened to the flames, Jibril?"
Jibril shrugged helplessly. "Can't get good help these days, Sir."
"And there was no crowd at the gate up here. If I didn't know better myself, Jibril, I'd swear that people actually prefer Hell to Paradise!"
Jibril helped himself to a handful of grapes as Allah went on. "And on my way here...I could almost begin to think...that is, I didn't see many...Jibril, is it possible that people are leaving Paradise and going to Hell? Maybe some of the angels, too?"
Choosing his words with the utmost care, Jibril began, "There seems to be some doubt, Excellent Author of Truth..."
"Doubt? Doubt about what, Jibril?"
"Sir, some confusion has arisen on earth...I don't quite know how to say this, but...well, it seems that some scholar has raised questions about the houris promised to the true followers of the faith."
Allah reached for another handful of grapes. "And? What questions?"
Jibril coughed. "Well, sir, for some time now it has been believed by men that the houris would be eternal virgins willing to serve the faithful who have attained Paradise. Now this professor claims that the word is actually Aramaic, not Arabic, and refers to a promise of, er, white grapes."
Allah stopped, glancing at the grapes in his hand. He shrugged and popped the rest of them into his mouth.
"So? What's the problem, Jibril? Did I ever actually promise virgins? And these grapes are easily the best grapes anywhere."
"True, true, Most Merciful One, but--"
"And what real man would want virgins, anyway? You'd think they'd rather have Jezebel or Mae West. Or Elizabeth Taylor. Or--what was the name of that other temptress? Jennifer Lopez."
"Yes. Just so, sir. But such women are not here, either: they're all in Hell."
"Ah. Well, I guess they would be. You know, that's another thing: I don't seem to recall seeing very many women at all up here. Ever."
"Most of those consigned to Hell have always been women."
"Really? I wonder why..."
Jibril shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Well, sir, women have always preferred to eat the flames of Hell rather than be here."
"How can that be? That's...that makes no sense!"
Jibril paused, took a deep breath, then went on. "Apparently, sir, women have always felt that Earth as it is run by men is bad enough, and that Paradise as imagined by men could only be worse."
Allah was taken aback by this. Slowly he said, "But...but the grapes..."
"No one disputes, sir, that our grapes are anything but excellent."
"Maybe," Allah began slowly. "Maybe we should do something about...about getting more women up here. But how would we do that, Jibril? What do women want? Who understands women?"
Permitting himself a chuckle, Jibril said, "Who indeed, Excellency?"
"Do women even like grapes?"
"I'm sure many do, sir."
"All right, then, put together a feasibility study, would you, Jibril? Check with the lawyers about that virgins business, and see what ideas you can come up with about attracting more women into Paradise. We've got to do something to get these damn numbers back up."
Jibril stood up uneasily. "Sir, I--"
"Oh, and have Jesus and Muhammad get with you on that project. I'm sure they'll have some insights into -- Jibril, that's the other thing I was trying to remember! When I was returning from Hell, I saw Jesus and Muhammad leaving here!"
"Yes, sir. Actually I'll be leaving with them." Leaning forward, he placed the letter of resignation on Allah's desk.
"All three of you?" Allah spluttered. "But...but..."
"Nothing personal, sir. Greener pastures, that's all."
"But what about the feasibility study...?"
"Can't do it, sir. Gotta be on Earth. We have Cats tickets!"
Or so it might appear, anyway.
Last weekend I read this piece, by Monica White, at The Atlasphere. I've never heard of Jack Vettriano, and I find his name to be suspiciously un-Scotsmanlike. But I was intrigued by her words about him:
The Portland Gallery was displaying a high ratio of his newer work in the recent exhibition, and the impact was interesting for me as a female because I got to look through the eyes of (and step into the desires of) an unashamedly sexual man. Vettriano is a singularly talented narrative painter; it’s very easy to be transported to his settings, and even easier to become involved in his scenarios.
His talent, I think, is to bring movement to an inherently still medium. The same canvas and paint that could show the calm, frozen time of a still-life is indeed gripped by a violent current -- movement about to happen, movement suppressed, freedom of movement captured lightheartedly and perfectly. It's almost painful to watch these characters, half expecting them to continue at any moment the action in which they are suspended.
She includes thumbnails of a number of examples of Vettriano's work, and I now would like to see more.
Did I mention The Atlasphere adopting Vettriano? Joshua Zader wrote about Vettriano months ago for The Ayn Rand Meta-Blog, an Atlasphere project.
Five Questions for John Kerry
1. You know the French don't vote in US elections, don't you? They are not a voting constituency here. Even if you shove pass Motor Voter down everyone's throats in all fifty states, the French still won't vote in US elections.
2. Do you really think that teachers' unions and trial lawyers and government programs are what made this country great?
3. Before actual American, not French voters go to into the booths, are there any actual issues you'd like to bring up? I know, I know: you're easily the weakest Democratic candidate for president of lifetime (and yes, I remember Mondale and Dukakis), but even so, "I was in Vietnam" and "I hate George Bush too!" aren't issues. They're not policy prescriptions or positions. They're not even bumper sticker slogans.
4. Hey, bet you're real glad you made such an issue of your Vietnam thing, aren't you?
5. You know the French don't vote in US elections, don't you?
Five Questions for George Bush
1. "Ownership society?" "Ownership?" How will anyone be said to own anything with all the debt and expenditure and deficits you've racked up? Who is ever going to believe you and your party, ever again, about smaller government, lower government expenditures, no "nation-building," a presumption in favor of local and state government over crushing federalization? Anyone? Bueller?
2. In light of the above, are you proud of being the first president since John Adams to veto no legislation during your entire term? You signed the McCain-Feingold legislation with a smile on your face, even as you opined that it was probably unconstitutional. The only thing you've threatened to veto is a repeal of the prescription drugs swindle "benefit."
3. If the entire country is so much safer now than it was, why do we need to extend the PATRIOT Act?
4. Can you take a break from being the Moralizer-in-Chief? The office you occupy, and to which you'd presumably like to be re-elected, is that of President of the United States, not Associate Pastor of the North Shore Presbyterian Church.
5. "Free speech zones?" Zones?!
Five Questions for Michael Badnarik
1. Hello? Earth to Libertarians? Is anyone there? Oh. Good. I guess.
2. So far the strong anti-war candidate of this election season was Howard Dean. How on earth did you guys let that happen? Is it possible that you guys are doing something wrong?
3. Bet you're real proud of that "blow up the UN Building" comment, aren't you? And of the statement released by your campaign: that you were just joshin'. Yeah, you guys really intend to be taken seriously.
4. You've stated that, once elected
5. Hello? Earth to Libertarians? Is anyone there?
I do believe I'll continue heavy squats and deadlifts.
On Monday of this week, on my very last day working with some of my fine military clients at the 4th Infantry Division at Fort Hood, Texas, I decided that I needed to exit a Black Hawk helicopter. So I did.
Normally, I just hop out. Most of us do. Or I take a very low step -- the Black Hawk deck is not particularly low to the ground, but not particularly high, either.
But for some reason I stepped out backwards. Don't know why. I also don't know why I kept my left foot well inside the cab, and flat on the deck of the cab, as I extended my right leg back onto the runway.
All was well as the ball of my foot touched the tarmac...but when I found myself with left foot flat on the deck of the Black Hawk cab at the same time my right heel touched that Fort Hood blacktop...I lost my favorite pair of jeans.
That's right, my black Levi's 501s gave way, suddenly and violently, and not in the ass, either, but in the thigh bicep area. Quite frustrating to lose them, but also gratifying in a way...
I do believe I'll continue heavy squats and deadlifts.
UPDATE: Yes, I'll be more careful in the future when exiting the Black Hawk. And when purchasing jeans, which from now on will be some sort of relaxed fit thing. Shame saying goodbye to 501s, though...
And why should you listen to me about this?
I'm not a pro bodybuilder, never have been, and never have wanted to look like those guys; I've never been a competitive powerlifter, either.
I've spent much of my life, in fact, sporting the physique of a particularly thin marathoner, in spite of the fact that I could bench press much more than my own bodyweight.
But, weeks ahead of my forty-fifth birthday, I am still growing and progressing, without the use of steroids or hours per day spent working out.
I owe much to the discovery of the theories of high-intensity effort: a book by Ellington Darden hipped me to the theories of Arthur Jones, the inventor of Nautilus. From there I read Mike Mentzer and Stuart McRobert and Randall Strossen.
This is good stuff. I now build my workouts around the three powerlifts -- the bench press, the squat, and the deadlift. When integrated into Craig's Canine Theory of Bodybuilding Growth, the results are outstanding.
So what is it? Presented here, for the first time: Craig's Canine Theory of Bodybuilding Growth and Progress, in three parts...
Work like a sled dog.
Eat like a wolf.
Sleep like a pup.
That's it. Good luck, and good growing.
Well, with apologies to the Kinks and songwriter Ray Davies, no, I wasn't.
I discovered last night that the blog had been hit by over 700 spam messages in the comments section. What to do...so I began deleting them.
Manually. One at a time. And, since I'm in a hotel room with high-speed internet access, at dial-up speed. I got rid of a few hundred and then went to bed.
Awoke late this morning (taking Sunday off, yay...) and logged on, only to find that I'd been hit again, as I slept. So I began slogging through it all again. Got rid of all of it, and decided that all posts over thirty days old would be closed to comments, so I did that, too.
It's worth the trouble: The Anger of Compassion is my blog and has my name on it, so I want it to look good and to provide pleasure to those reading it. Those reading it include beautiful, desirable women, so I have motivation there. But I was careful, too: I don't think I deleted any legitimate comments. But if your name is Texas Holdem or Free Online Casino (or your twin's name, Best Online Casino) or Tramadol or Cheap Viagra, well, you're gone.
Oh, and Paris Hilton, I deleted your comment, too.
On the appropriate day for it, Charles Hill, proprietor at Dustbury, writes :
Dear Mo:Yeah, I know, it's that time again. And if it's been tough being a Muslim in the States the past three years, it's really got to be tough when the 11th of September rolls around and the calls of "Never forget!" rise from the land and all you can do is hope they forget about you.
There's just one small problem, though: you're not going to be forgotten.
The estimable Mr. Hill apparently is capable of grasping nuance beyond that available to most pundits and politicians: that while most Muslims are not terrorists, most terrorists are Muslims, and people are going to take notice of that fact, and factor it into their lives and into their decision-making. And, especially in a war environment, that may lead to some uncomfortable conclusions:
And really, Mo, this is an area where you can actually help. I know you don't want anything to do with those murdering thugs swarming out of the Middle East, but until you say so, how does anyone else know? There has been very little outcry from the many Muslims about the activities of the few. While it may seem unfair, silence does breed suspicion, and that makes it hard on you and on your friends. It's not that you'd be speaking out against Islam; you'd be speaking out against murder.
Indeed.
You'd think I had pictures of Mary Kate and Ashley nude.
Well, not here. Not Pamela Anderson or Carmen Electra, either. At least, no pictures of Pamela Anderson having sex or Carmen Electra naked.
But, aflush with Olympic fever, I did run pictures of the triumphant Kerry Walsh and Misty May, titanic defenders of American might at beach volleyball.
Got some attention with those, too. Now, this is hardly a high-traffic blog, nor am I much a hit-whore, but damn I got some traffic from those. Search engines fell in love with The Anger of Compassion, or at least thought I was cute and agreed to accompany me to a football game. Some of the traffic, as I later reported, came from people at the Treasury department and the Federal Reserve, undoubtedly seeking my economic insight, and figuring that typing "kerry walsh pics" into a search engine would be the best way to find me. Don't know, though: I was recently described as "subversive" after writing this piece.
This wouldn't be news (and I don't have Halle Berry nude pics HERE, either), but people are still looking for those shots, and still finding their way here. Might that mean that I could, one by one, convince people to read or re-read Atlas Shrugged? I'd take some pride in that.
Meanwhile, if Elizabeth Hurley takes off her clothes and sends the pictures my way, I'll let you know.
Doug Bandow lays out the conservative case against George W. Bush.
George W. Bush presents conservatives with a fundamental challenge: Do they believe in anything other than power? Are they serious about their rhetoric on limited, constitutionally restrained government?
Are they, indeed? I think we already know the answer.
In his farewell address to the nation on Jan. 11, 1989, Reagan observed: "I wasn't a great communicator, but I communicated great things." Even when politics forced him to give way, everyone knew what he stood for. Bush's biggest problem, in contrast, is not that he is a poor communicator. It is that he has nothing to communicate. Victory over terrorists, yes -- but then what American really disagrees with that goal? Beyond that there is nothing.
"Government should never try to control or dominate the lives of our citizens," Bush says. But you wouldn't know that from his policies. He has expanded government power, increased federal spending, initiated an unnecessary war, engaged in global social engineering and undercut executive accountability. This is a bill of particulars that could be laid on Lyndon Johnson's grave. No wonder "Republicans aren't very enthusiastic about" Bush, says right-wing syndicated columnist Robert Novak.
(Hat tip: Radley Balko)
"I confess that I was a true believer in Ayn Rand from 1965 to 1975, despite the perversions wrought by the Nathaniel Branden Institute. As a novelist, she owed her faithful readers a sequel to Atlas Shrugged. Instead they got a religion. How one reconciles rejection of State coercion and endorsement of State coercion at the same time, only an Objectivist knows."
Emphases mine. No further comment.
RPM record, that is, not a sidearm.
What prompts that? Well, remember that TV commercial for Coke, with the young singers on the mountaintop, singing "I'd like to buy the world a Coke?" As Chaz at Dustbury posted yesterday, Billy Davis, the advertising executive who created the "I'd like to teach the world to sing" campaign, has died.
Davis was really something, as Chaz informs us: he co-wrote the hit "Lonely Teardrops" in 1959, helped bring about 1965's "Rescue Me," and, as an ad man, introduced Miller Beer's "If you've got the time, we've got the beer" campaign.
What Chaz doesn't know about American popular music of the 45 rpm era probably isn't worth knowing. I'm a fair Beatles dispenser of Beatles arcana myself, so I know more than a little about American music. But I think Chaz owns this side of the pond. I recently beat him on a point about record labels in the punk era, and Chaz came back and won on points within a day. Easily.
And, he points out, as a kid, Davis drank Pepsi, not Coke. Go read.
The Department of Agriculture needs to pay me to not grow weeds.
But first, they must help me get rid of the weeds I already have. They do that, and I'll gladly take their money participate in future non-weed-growing programs.
Look, they have more of a budget than I have, and we're all in this together, right? If my property doesn't look good, then America doesn't look good. So they need to come up with the cash in kind payments, or whatever kind of New Dealish title they have for getting me the money improving America's physical image to the world.
Now, we wouldn't want a failed government program, would we? Who benefits from that? So what they have to do is subsidize my purchase of some kind of herbicide. Now, herbicide simply means "weed-killer," and a herbicide is more accurately described, as all experienced gardeners know and as virgin gardeners learn to their dismany, as growth hormone for plants, if not outright plant steroids.
Be that as it may, that is the accepted way of ridding one's plot of unwanted vegetation, so they need to bring it on. Frankly, what they really need to do is fund enough for me to resell it on the black market hold some in reserve for later in the year. So I suggest a variety of chemicals and brand names and media: fluids, powders, pellets, the whole range.
I can in no wise parade as a good citizen and at the same time fail to do my part to strengthen the nation's economy, so I suggest that some manpower help be provided as well. That should not be difficult: one or two weed experts from the Ag Department, augmented by I think no more than five volunteers from AmeriCorps to do the weed-pulling itself, and one to go fetch the beer.
This can't all be done for my own private benefit. That wouldn't be right, in fact it would be outright anti-capitalistic and downright un-American, and I think anyone can see that. Hell, even I can see it, so it must be right. But I can beat this game there's an obvious way to play these suckers solution: ask yourself, what's another use of the word "weed?"
That's right, "weed" is a common street name for marijuana. A drug. An illegal drug, used to enrich all manner of farmers and college students drug lords and narco-terrorists the world over. And that leads me to my next part of the scam patriotic offer:
We'd need some DEA agents and an FBI special agent or two -- surely, any more than a few would attract auditors from the General Accounting Office unwarranted attention from the bad guys -- and a couple of interpreters, including one to go help fetch the beer. We all benefit if we all keep this quiet need to be partners in the War On Terror.
I believe I have demonstrated that if there's a government check to be cashed, I'm on it I'm willing to do my part.
There will be nay-sayers out there, mostly those cranky libertarians and what few fiscal conservatives are left. They will object most vociferously to this, but I'm not swayed by any of their arguments. In fact, they all share the same fallacy, and can be answered with the same argument, to wit:
Why should I be made to go fetch the beer? I have an Ag Department program to run!
Campaign 2004 is heating up, and the hottest issue has turned out to be public restrooms.
In what many analysts and pundits see as his most powerful speech to date, President Bush declared:
The terrorists want to attack us because they hate our freedoms. The freedom to vote, the freedom to pay, the freedom to urinate in someone's shop or store without having to buy anything. That is central to our democracy. Don't misunderestimate that.But we can't afford to surrender our way of life or our freedom. Our new regulations on public restrooms will make sure that never happens. And the new penalties and fines give those regulations real teeth.
In what the White House Press Office claimed was a "complete coincidence," a man wearing a First Amendment t-shirt was arrested when he tried to enter a public restroom during a White House tour.
Democratic candidate Senator John Kerry released a statement which read, in part,
I was opposed to the president's plan when I voted for it in the Senate, which is why I was so enthusiastic about it. The Republicans are simply trying to impugn my patriotism. We cannot cut and run. Make no mistake about that. Hope is on the way.
Unconfirmed rumors continue to circulate that there isn't a dime's worth of difference between the two major parties.
Ralph Nader released a statement which read, "They only care about public rest rooms for the rich. Public restrooms for the rest of us are unsafe. They're only interested in keeping me off the ballots of the fifty states. It's all about me."
Later that day a homeless man, ignoring the "Office Space For Rent" sign on the front door, broke into a Nader campaign office in Bozeman, Montana, to use the men's room. The plumbing was out of order.
Libertarian candidate Michael Badnarik, speaking at the county courthouse in Broken Shovel, Texas, said, "After we tear down the UN building, there will be plenty of spaces for public restrooms in southern Manhattan. Privately owned, of course." The Badnarik campaign later issued a statement saying that the candidate was "kidding." Badnarik, serving a ten day sentence in Broken Shovel for driving without a license, could not be reached for comment.
In a related story, Todd Rodd, an unemployed porn star visiting Badnarik in jail, attempted to use the courthouse men's room in Broken Shovel and is now the Libertarian candidate for governor of California.
UPDATE: Typo corrected, courtesy of Andrea Harris.
My Labor Day column is up, over at The Atlasphere.
I have a cure, or a palliative at least, for having to sit in municipal court:
Deadlifts.
I'm serious. This evening I was left unsupervised and I did a few squats -- my first ever ass-to-the-grass squats the way Olympic weightlifters do. All the way down, strict form, steady, no belt. Felt great.
Good session with the bench press, too. Haven't done anything like this for a while, due to the ongoing tennis elbow pain. But said pain is almost entirely gone lately, so I figured a shot at a decent bench session was worth the risk. It was.
And then the deadlift. The reason the barbell was invented, if you ask me. I don't know what else happened in 1910, but David Calvert invented the Milo adjustable barbell that year, and that was a good thing for the human condition.
Conventional style or sumo style: which is better? I don't know and in one sense I don't care: I am not a competitive powerlifter, and I probably won't ever be one; for me, the powerlifting events are the core of my bodybuilding program, not events in which I ever intend to compete. Sumo emphasizes the thighs and glutes, conventional shifts the emphasis to the lower back; so in a real sense, they are two different lifts.
So I do both. I do both during a workout not because I'm awesome (I'm not), nor because I'm inadequate (I'm not), but because it is so damn satisfying to get it done. And it's the one lift that can claim to be a whole-body workout. It damn near is. You can incorporate some of what Olympic weightlifters do, and add a calf-raise thing at the high point of the deadlift; or you can incorporate an idea or two from Kelso's Shrug Book, a fantastic resource. Both would be great ideas, and would add variety to your workouts, but you don't have to do either one.
You do the deadlift, and the deadlift does the rest for you.
You'll need some sleep, too -- but you'll have earned it. As I have. Good night, John Boy.
She who knows informs me that my Labor Day column for The Atlasphere goes live tomorrow morning.
UPDATE Sep 2: {/snarky comment deleted}
Ever spend a day in municipal court or traffic court?
Don't.
You already know that there exist some, er, intellectually challenged folk. And there are those bereft of common sense. "Dumber than a bag of hammers" could describe the first group; the valiant members of the US Army gave us "He couldn't pour piss out of a boot if the instructions were printed on the bottom!" to describe those belonging in the second.
What you don't, really, really don't, want to learn -- have unpleasantly thrust into your consciousness, really -- is just how many adults properly belong in both categories.
Parents, I swear to this: teach your kids to read and write and to do arithmetic, and they'll grow up to rule the world. There is no competition.
My favorite example: a man was appearing in front of the court because he was cited for not wearing his seat belt while driving his car on Mesa Street, one of the main drags here in El Paso. Mind you, I yield to no one in my opposition to seat belt laws and to the necessity of privately-owned streets. But today, in El Paso, Texas, in the real world, streets are public, not private, and are patrolled by police, and seat belt laws exist. And all licensed Texas drivers know that such laws, and such police patrols, exist.
Pesky word, that: "knowledge."
This genius actually spoke aloud to the judge, asserting that the reason he hadn't been wearing his seat belt was: "There wasn't time, Your Honor. The officer was right there."
Well.
So you're in a parking lot and you pull out into a busy thoroughfare without noticing a marked police car. You are basically in the bag-of-hammers category and that is not an unjust conclusion.
Contesting the citation in court, and arguing that there wasn't time to avoid the ticket by putting on the seat belt because the officer was right there, Your Honor, puts you deep, deep, deep into pouring piss out of a boot territory.
Gentle readers, these people pilot 2000-pound (and larger) vehicles on our streets. They own firearms. They could secretly be breeding pit bulls with backhoes. They work in establishments producing goods and services upon which we depend (Mr. Wasn't Time was wearing a suit. My god...). And there's more...
What's going on in New York City right now? The Republican convention, right? It's an election year, folks, and these people vote. They are urged to vote.
They follow other urges, too: they breed.