Category Archives: Scribbles

Why Obamalot can win again

“….no modern president has won re-election when unemployment was at 8 percent or higher. Most economists predict joblessness will still be above that number on Election Day 2012.

“Obama still may win….by winning group politics. He ‘polls at 95 percent of the black vote and above 60 percent for Hispanics,’…[a] Washington strategist says, adding that if he continues to draw white female voters… ‘value voters’ may matter less.”

A lot less. Women and minorities are the key, dude. Women and minorities who are tired of white male presidents. Except, uh, white women seem to be catching on. Might be they won’t be playing the race game next time.

You can’t convict on circumstantial evidence

Not easily, anyhow. It raises reasonable doubt in a juror’s mind, which usually leads to acquittal. And so, as Bernie (who paid some attention to the trial while I paid none) neatly predicted a few days before the jury acquitted her, Casey Anthony walked. Well, by August, probably.

The news and entertainment media will now proceed to destroy her, one headline at a time, probably for the rest of her life. But comparing her to O.J. Simpson, as some talking-head nincompoops have, is just stupid. The cops had him cold, but they screwed up their evidence, also creating reasonable doubt.

The doubt was there from the get-go with Casey because the inept cops and the abusive prosecutor never had anything except innuendo and name-calling. And for that they kept her in jail for three years. Suspicion ain’t supposed to be enough, folks, and (whether she’s guilty or not) it’s a good thing, too, or the mob would rule us all.

Little African-American cocktail dress

A fellow recovering journalist has reminded me of a spell checker problem that once afflicted a newspaper we worked at. Some multicultural zealot among the editing caste had programmed the computer system’s spell checker to change every use of the word “black” to the more politically-correct “African American.”

Which, naturally enough, immediately resulted in a screwup. The phrase “little black cocktail dress” in a fashion article was changed to “little African-American cocktail dress.” Fortunately, it was caught and fixed before it got into print. Still makes me chuckle.

Image

Robber baron

Capt. Israel

A (comic book) super hero for our time, brandishing his Shield of David and his seven-branched Temple menorah. Certainly about time, too, for some pro-Israel propaganda that only a super hero can bring. Read a copy of the first issue here.

Mr. Boy at camp

Very quiet around the Rancho these days, with Mr. B. at his week-long camp at Lost Pines, the pine forest near Bastrop, about an hour east of Austin. Weather service says it’s a bit cooler out there than here, especially at night with the breeze off the lake.

This is Boy Scouts, so much of their time is spent in classes (yep) on merit badges and Eagle Quest and advancement generally. Mr. B. excepts to finish his Tenderfoot board of review there and come home on Saturday with many of his Second Class requirements also finished.

But it’s also just fun, with pool time and canoeing and fishing. And, uh, demos of “tomahawk throwing,” according to the scoutmaster’s latest email to parents, which assures us that homesickness among the youngest first-timers (like Mr. B.) is a minor issue so far.

“To put your mind at ease,” the scoutmaster wrote, “none have wanted to call home, and no one had any intentions of going home, just expressed themselves [about it], which is very good.”

They’re also playing Gaga, an Israeli version of dodge-ball, which seems to have migrated to the Scouts from the day camp at Austin’s Jewish Community Center which Mr. B. has attended every summer since kindergarten. “They come back sweaty and FILTHY every time they play.” Mr. B., an old hand at Gaga, probably is enjoying showing off his expertise.

UPDATE:  Oops. Spoke too soon. Mr. B. sent today a scanned front-and-back letter via the scoutmaster telling of his homesickness and (twice) requesting us to come to the Friday night barbeque to which parents are invited. So we’re going.

Image

Nastassja Kinski: Rule 5