If therefore a people will not be free; if they have not virtue enough to maintain their liberty against a presumptuous invader, they deserve no pity, and are to be treated with contempt and ignominy.
Had not Caesar seen that Rome was ready to stoop, he would not have dared to make himself the master of that once brave people. He was indeed, as a great writer observes, a smooth and subtle tyrant, who led them gently into slavery, 'and on his brow, wore daring vice deluding virtue smil'd.”
By pretending to be the peoples' greatest friend, he gain'd the ascendency over them.
By beguiling arts, hypocrisy and flattery, which are even more fatal than the sword, he obtain'd that supreme power which his ambitious soul had long thirsted for. The people were finally prevail'd upon to consent to their own ruin.
By the force of perswasion [sic], or rather by cajoling arts and tricks always made use of by men who have ambitious views, they enacted their Lex Regia; whereby Quod placuit principi legis habuit vigor em; that is, the will and pleasure of the Prince had the force of law.
His minions had taken infinite pains to paint to their imaginations the god-like virtues of Caesar. They first persuaded them to believe that he was a deity, and then to sacrifice to him those Rights and Liberties which their ancestors had so long maintained, with unexampled bravery, and with blood & treasure. By this act they fixed a precedent fatal to all posterity.
_________
Remind you of anybody? With the exception of the rather flowery language, this could have been written today. It certainly applies.
Hat tip: William D. Bailey and his excellent Founder's Blog. I might not have read the words of the honorable Samuel Adams otherwise, as incendiary as it could be perceived in light of current events.
Yeah, I guess it's safe to come up. Actually, the last two days have been brilliant, weather-wise. If you didn't know that a major storm had passed through here, you wouldn't be able to tell by the current weather. But then, that is one of the absolutely pistifying parts of Mother Nature. One day she's all evil and bitchy, and the next, the sun is out and the breeze is pleasant. Father Nature must have a hell of a time in that house.
I've noticed that the anticipated level of danger projected in a storm is directly related to how many of the tchotchkes come off my neighbor's porches. They must have been spooked, because I don't think I've ever seen it that bare.
We put the harness on Freckles and took a walk around the neighborhood (yes, "walk;" I fell off the C25K wagon shortly after I started due to a shoe issue and haven't yet gotten back on) yesterday morning. There's very little actual damage in this part of the universe. Some branches down; a few Bradford pear trees split; pine needles and cones everywhere; oak leaves and acorns; the odd shingle or chimney cap. We only saw two actual whole trees down: one in a backyard that narrowly missed a deck, and one in a front yard that took out the feeder lines to its house. Other than that feeder line, there was only one other report of power lines down in this development, and we got that secondhand from kids on bikes (as in: "Don't go that way; there's power lines down") as we walked around. That's actually pretty good. The last storm really ripped up my quiet little corner of the city, isolating whole parts of the subdivision and knocking out power, phone and water for over a week. It was heartening to see that we made it through this one relatively unscathed.
Speaking of phone, I'm really getting sick and tired of hearing everyone prattle on about how your mobile phone will be your lifesaver in these kinds of emergencies. Empirical evidence in my own personal experiments conclusively proves otherwise. My landline worked (even though it was sporadic) during Isabel and it was steady and reliable during Irene. Our mobile phones were useless for calling during Isabel and very spotty during Irene – even yesterday I couldn't call out with it. Yes, we could text, but in a relative emergency that's not my first method of communication. Me, I'll stick with the landline, thanks.
HSH is thrilled that school was closed today. The sun is out and the temperatures are damn near perfect, but there's still a lot of road closures and standing water. Her school is what you might call regional vs. local and I don't blame the administration for shutting down for the day. I know the major roads/towns involved had a lot of blockages and outages and until those can be fixed… well, she's willing to take one for the team.
I haven't been out of the neighborhood yet. Curfew, dontyaknow. I can tell you that traffic was light on the main drag past my house yesterday, but it was moving. This, as opposed to Friday, where it seemed as though the entire region was evacuating and chose one main route. How do I know? Well, my normal trip to HSH's bus stop is two minutes each way, and that's if I catch the light. No… it took me 20 minutes to get home after meeting the bus Friday. If I hadn't been certain of getting run over, I'd have ditched the car, walked across the street and back, and cut my losses. I expect traffic to pick up again soon, especially trucks.
Oh, and I managed to finish a shawl and get half a sock done. I had to knit something, because the nerves knotted themselves as the storm ratcheted itself up. Consequently my gauge is a little… tight. Oh well… 11 sts/inch has to fit somebody….
_____
In other news:
It was nice to see that Fearless Leader could interrupt his pricey little vacation to address us peons about the storm and tell us that Mother Government would make it all better. Pfah.
The media reaffirms it, so it must be true: New York City IS the center of the universe! Buncha freaking whiners. If they'd gotten half the storm the OBX got, then there might be something to bitch about. Shutting the city down and screaming "the sky is falling" over a little rain? Really? P*ssies.
The top five entries in my Google News "world" feed are all about Islamic violence. But I shouldn't judge.
Steve Jobs retired. I'm not optimistic, and I'm a Mac. Last time he left (or rather, was ousted), Apple went off on a wild hair and the products took it in the backside because of it. I can only hope that the new PTB continue with his vision instead of trashing it again.
If this is true, I will live forever. But I will caution everyone to heed Dr. Franco's advice:
"… if you are not eating chocolate, our advice is not to start eating chocolate."
Why? Because I don't need y'all gobbling it up and creating a shortage. It's mine, damn it.
And football season starts in earnest this coming weekend. I'm ready. Hurricanes be damned… I want my football fix!
Firstly, happy 8th birthday to Her Serene Highness. She's grown into a beautiful, intelligent, clever little lady and I love her with all my heart.
I would also like to apologize to her for the weather clouding her birthday celebrations. Nothing we can do about that, though.
If you do not hear from me for a long time, you know why. Electricity will go out here, I've no doubt of it. Communications will be spotty at best, and I'm still primitive phone-wise. I will post when I can but I make no promises as to when that will be.
So here's some Irene-related FAQs:
Are you going to be okay? In so far as it's possible. We're far enough inland as to be out of the worst of the stuff, and flooding isn't a huge concern here unless we get, say, 6 inches in 30 minutes or so. (Which is possible.)
Do you need anything? I need for the storm to move offshore as quickly as possible. I still need a full-time job. I could use a winning lottery ticket. And I should really lose some weight. Unless you have the solutions to these problems, then no, we're good. Thanks for asking.
What are you going to do when you lose power? Sit in the dark, I suppose.
What about the dog? She doesn't mind the dark.
Do you want to come here? Maybe. Depends how things go. Gas tanks are full and we'll be prepared to evac if the situation turns to shit.
____
Anywho, the laundry's done (so we'll have clean britches during the subsequent power outage), the house is clean, the fridge is packed full of ice, water, beer and emergency chicken. We have plenty of batteries (and some are even for flashlights). I bought canned goods and bottled water. We found all the flashlights and charged what needs charging.
Don't worry about us, but if you can send up a prayer to the weather gods, I expect the whole region would appreciate it.
One of the notable things in today's American popular culture is marking personal milestones and accomplishments with a tee-shirt.
"So-n-So Family Reunion." "2008 Company Picnic." "Schmoe Family Goes to Disneyland." "I'm the Big Brother." "My Grandma Went to Lake Placid And All I Got Was This T-Shirt." "I Rode the Superbighonkin Rollercoaster of Terror and LIVED!"
To this I add my own inscription: "I invited six 8 year old girls to a slumber party and still have my sanity intact."
Now this may well be because only three showed up. However, there were plenty of moments when I had to get up and take a physical headcount, because the noise level at times indicated the presence of six.
I didn't realize little girls screamed that much.
I also think my daughter's teachers don't get paid enough.
For the most part, all three guests were well behaved. There were no crisis moments; no turning up of noses at food; no picking on each other; very little in the way of argument; and the mess was fairly minimal. I got off easy. I did have to play bad cop at least once – when they couldn't decide who was going to sleep where – and volume of various electronics was adjusted more than once.
Would I do it again? Not voluntarily. Invite friends over for a couple of hours? Yes. Invite someone to stay over? Certainly. Have a houseful of screeching nearly-tweenies for more than four hours at a stretch? No.
So I teased you with this and now it's time to give you the full story. It's funny. Kind of. As in, we can laugh a little bit about it now, but it still kind of bites.
Time: 1:0something a.m. Place: Casa DBT Setting: Dark, quiet, and otherwise peaceful. Everyone's asleep.
[cue doorbell] DING dong!
I sat bolt upright in bed. The dog goes effing BALLISTIC, tearing down the hallway in a Tasmanian-devil* inspired lather, barking as if the very world depends on it, snarling, growling, probably drooling. Hizzoner sits up and scrambles for his glasses. I'm grabbing for my pistol.
Hizzoner heads for the doorway and, drawing himself up to his full height, peers out the windows at the top of the door. In a menacing tone, he says, "What the hell do you want?"
Meanwhile, I've told HSH to stay in her room until I come to get her, close her door, and am half-hidden by the bookcase. We both hear the clear reply from the porch: "Police Department."
Hizzoner immediately turned on the porch light and unlocked the door. I grabbed a still-hysterically barking dog (appearing fairly threatening, yet not a threat except for shedding white hair all over the officer's black uniform), hauled her down the hallway, and put the gun away. (I dunno… I don't think approaching a cop with a gun in my hand is a smart idea. Call me silly.)
My second coherent thought popped up when I got a good look outside. The swamp's currently on fire, and the wind's blowing north. The smoke was so dense that for a split-second, my fear was, "We're being evacuated?"
Realizing that we are a good 10 miles from the swamp itself and that it hasn't spread anywhere NEAR that far took a bit, but eventually sunk in. Especially since the officer continued speaking with Hizzoner on the porch. "There's been a rash of tires being slashed in the neighborhood," he said. "Looks like they got one of your vehicles."
"Shit," Hizzoner muttered. "Which one?"
"The pick-up," the officer replied calmly.
"Goddamnit," Hizzoner said, turning for the front door. He got a pair of shoes on and went outside with the police, grabbing a flashlight on the way. While the two inspected the damage, I checked on HSH – who had unconcernedly gone back to sleep – and Freckles, who really, really wanted to go meet the policeman. I didn't indulge the dog, but closed the bedroom door behind me as I went into the living room.
Hizzoner had, by this time, come back into the house. He was understandably pissed off as he told me what the cop had relayed to him. Apparently, someone had been walking around our fairly placid neighborhood, slashing tires, and managed to get spotted. They called the cops, but by that time, there had been a lot of damage done. And naturally, the idiot(s) got our most expensive vehicle.
"It sucks that they got the truck," I said. "I wish it had been the Cruiser. I needed tires, anyway."
Hizzoner didn't appreciate my stab at humor.
Well, long story short, we invariably calmed down enough to go back to sleep. Got up fairly early – I had to go to the store and Hizzoner wanted to get the spare on and the tire replaced without wasting too much of the day. He called me mid-morning.
"Hey, I've got some news."
"Oh really?"
Turns out that the police, who had told us that they had a name and address of a person of interest – and figuring that this, as with most vandalism cases, would be marked "closed but active" – had in fact nabbed the perp. Not one of a bunch of teens on a spree of idiocy: one guy. An adult. One of the other affected neighbors had stopped by on his way back from the tire place and filled Hizzoner in on the scuttlebutt. Apparently this piece of shit hit cars up and down the street, around the cul-de-sac at the end, and around a side street. Multiple cars at some houses, and he even got into a boat, trashing it, snapping fishing poles, etc.
If I've read the police blotter and connected the right dots**, the perp is what some on the left might affectionately label a "disaffected youth." I call him a piece of trash with too much time on his hands and not enough brains, who is in serious need of a thorough ass-kicking. And I know quite a few people who'd be more than willing to do it right now.
When I got home Saturday evening, we sat and talked about it some more. Hizzoner sat morosely, thinking about the money we didn't have, but had to dig up to spend on two new truck tires***. "Sweetie," I said, "at least we've learned something from this whole mess."
"What?" he asked, studying the label on his beer bottle.
"Well," I replied, "we know that the dog works!"
He's still not impressed with my sense of humor.
______
*
**And I have, according to the local news. Blotter lists 18 separate counts of vandalism and petit larceny.
***No, it wasn't worth getting the insurance company involved. Deductible and whatnot.
…I'm slowly emerging from my self-imposed exile not because I particularly want to, but I feel I ought to. Inspiration comes and goes and disappears faster than not lately, and I've been teetering back and forth over whether or not I should shut this particular corner of the innerwebz down for good.
Honestly, I'm still debating.
depression is a strange thing.
The weirdest thing about it – for me, anyway – is not that I necessarily feel bad, sad, glad, or had. I almost cease to feel. Or care. That's where I've been lately, in my head. Whether those surrounding me would agree that this is how it outwardly manifests itself, well… I dunno.
I do know that it's become very difficult as of late to affect the same Pollyanna attitude that's carried me through the last two and a half years of un- and under-employment.
No longer can I pretend that this isn't hurting us. No longer can I go on pretending this is a temporary thing that will soon pass. Keeping a stiff upper lip isn't possible. The hoped-for change and limitless potential for the same… well… it's not there.
And so, the inevitable lethargy seeps in, affecting both my attitude and my health.
I've fought this fight for a long time – probably longer than the eight years I've been aware of a problem – both with the aid of chemical intervention and without. Most of that was when the external situation was normal. Now I'm fighting for our very existence, and losing the battle.
Two years of being turned down, turned away, and essentially having it reinforced that you aren't necessary is taking its toll. I spent the first twenty years of my working adult life as never being without employment. I never went on an interview where I wasn't offered the job. I was relatively indispensable.
I am, now, essentially useless. Or at least, that's what the outside world wants me to believe. I've had four (4) interviews despite applying for hundreds of jobs. I've had my resume looked at to make sure it's not sucktastic and been assured that it reads very strongly. I've put profiles on all the major job/professional networking sites. I update them. I reword them.
I got my latest rejection letter last week. Oddly enough, this one was a relief; I wasn't a match for the job and we both knew it. I was honestly surprised to have been called in for a meeting in the first place. The author was very gracious, and I'm truly grateful for having had the opportunity to talk with her.
Yet I can't be blamed for thinking myself totally unemployable. I can't find a job that suits my skillset; I can't get in to talk to anyone when I do. Letters are written, emails sent, follow-up calls made, and nothing appears. I can't help but think that I'm condemned to a life as a Walmart checker. (Except that they won't hire me because I'm ironically overqualified.)
Do you know – can any of you understand what it's like to come down to this level? To go from being in-demand; an integral part of a team producing actual concrete work to being invisible, ignorable, and insignificant? To go from being able to pay your own way to now being totally dependent on someone else – and having to worry every stinking day that passes if you'll be able to cover all the bills that month, and wondering what you'll do when you can't?
I know some of you can. I know more of you will say you can, even though you really can't.
I can't watch teevee anymore. I can't see people in fake yet realistically portrayed successful situations and not feel sick. I can't watch really successful people without feeling angry that they've gotten the breaks and I haven't; that they've excelled and I can't; that they've had a drive and a goal and a purpose and really, I never have.
I've removed myself for the most part from social media because I can't stand to hear about everyone's vacations and new cars and happy times without getting sick-to-my-stomach jealous. Why? Because I can't share mine. Because I can't do the same for my household. Because I can't give the same experiences to my kid. I look around at my tired décor and my worn out car and ancient wardrobe and recall the fact that I haven't had a real vacation since my honeymoon, and I just … can't cope. Do I begrudge any of you what you've worked so hard to earn? Hell no. I mean that – with every fiber of my being. But it hurts so badly to read these things that the best thing for all is for me to just… not do it.
so now what?
I don't know anymore. I know what I don't need: I don't need pats on the back and pleasant platitudes. I don't need sympathy. Well meant, all of it and of that I have no doubt. But… I don't want it. I can't handle it. It ultimately does nothing. I'm not able to "do anything," I'm not special, and it only builds the bile to hear or read that stuff.
What I need are results. I need real, honest, concrete change in my life and specifically, my current situation. And it kills me to acknowledge this, but I need help getting there, because doing it on my own isn't cutting it.
Supposedly, asking for help will make it all better. Asking's not going to be enough here. Helpful suggestions are hampered by realistic limitations: I can't move; I can't be too flexible with hours; I have a limited skillset; I don't know enough people to effectively network and I don't have the personality to schmooze. I'm working with a local economy where people with jobs are being asked to do what's normally done by two or three people and people without jobs are thick on the ground, effectively cutting out the probability of entry-level, trainable positions. Local situations are wholly dependent on the government and the DoD and with Washington in financial chaos everyone's on pins and needles, whether civilian or not. I can't retrain because I don't have the tools I need to do it at home nor the ability to pay for said tools or classes. (And I'm not borrowing money from anywhere or anyone, because I can't afford to pay it back. Period.)
And I can't see through the sea of I can'ts. Or be positive any longer.
and so…
You see where I am mentally. And you can understand why I've been pretty much silent. Maybe now that it's out there, I'll be able to write about other stuff again. Like why the police were ringing my doorbell early Saturday morning.
"How can it be a large career to tell other people’s children about the Rule of Three, and a small career to tell one’s own children about the universe? How can it be broad to be the same thing to everyone, and narrow to be everything to someone? No; a woman’s function is laborious, but because it is gigantic, not because it is minute." G.K. Chesterton,
What's Wrong With the World,1910
