This essay is not for everyone. Fair warning.
I think I am going insane. There, I said it.
Today I perused Besty's Page and it is just as awful as it always has been. I have seen rave reviews about Betsy's Page before on the interwebs and thought that the reviewers were nuts for raving so about the Page of Betsy. What does she add to anyones life? Here, let me try blogging Betsy style.
That Murtha, what a piece of poo (insert loooooooooooooong column cut from someone else here).
I still think that people that visit that blog are nuts.
Maybe that is because I am nuts.
She is selling ads on her blog for two hundred dollars a week and has 3500 readers a day.
Good for her. I just don't get it. How do folks like Betsy who simply link and say "I agree" and folks like Glen Reynolds (Instapundit) who does the same thing get so many readers? How can you possibly go to Betsy's Page and actually go back?
Because I am crazy, that's why. Bat shit crazy. I have come to realize that I simply don't understand what the masses are doing because I am totally and completely nuts.
Can you believe some of the officials we have elected to represent us in the Congress of the United States? Harry Reid? Charlie Rangle? Herb Kohl? Nancy Pelosi? Trent Lott? Teddy Kennedy? John Fucking Kerry?
We most certainly get the government we deserve. I have resigned that if our government goes too far, I will explicitly and implicitly disobey said government and run my life according to our Constitution. The Constitution that our Founding Fathers wrote and meant for me to enjoy and live under. I will not surrender any of my firearms. I will not live my life according to anybodys religion but the one I choose or do not choose. I will not have my right to free speech trampled upon.
There is only so much I can take, then, as Jim says, all bets are off.
Perhaps it is part of my going crazy that causes me to feel as though I am turning into a shell of an American, a poor rendition of what James Madison and the rest thought I should be.
As I sat in the waiting room getting my oil changed the other day I stared at the wall. It had hanging on it a very large plasma screen TV with Fox News on. Two older women were in the room with me. The ticker raced across the bottom of the screen. A news anchor spouted meaningless headlines. Nothing in that 45 minutes that I heard or read affected me.
The blank wall next to the TV contained my reality. Something I could touch. It was here with me as I sat there, waiting for the technicians to finish their award winning service.
Images from thousands of miles away that everyone has forgotten already were pumped into the room and through my eyes. Dialogue between persons not knowing their ass from a hole in the ground is stowed away in the Fox News vault, never to be read or seen again. Empty words from empty people. Forgotten pictures, deleted tape, erased audio. One woman read a magazine, the other stared at the empty wall, much the same way I was.
The wall...the wall held reality.
She said to me that the coffee sure was good. I said that it sure was.
Where are you from originally?, I asked her. Kansas, she said. Lost her first husband in the Korean War I came to find out.
Funny how her reality is so very different from mine.