I am often accused of being an old-fashioned man. This, despite the fact that I’m using a keyboard to enter my thoughts into a digital medium via a thing called the Internet. And hey, I prefer brass cartridges over muzzle-loading, so I’m not that old-fashioned (unlike some of my Readers, who believe that this brass thing is just a passing fad).
If you want to know what gets me going, however, consider the following pics, and guess why I tend to prefer tradition over modernity. We’ll open with the modern ones:
And you all know about my preferences in architecture:
So yeah, I guess I am old-fashioned. Feel free to envy me.
November 26, 2008
5:04 AM CDT
In a long-ago discussion in Comments, I made the statement that if I had my preference, I’d like to die either asleep in my wife’s arms, or else on the barricades.
I think I’d better explain the latter, because someone may get the wrong impression, and I’d hate that to happen.
Although I’ve started to look like a Frenchman and am descended from the French, most Gallic qualities have long since been burned off by the passage of generations. Most especially, the need for le geste magnifique, mais inutile (the magificent, but futile, gesture) has long ago been purged from my psyche.
So don’t expect me to rush to the barricades when The Glorious Day comes, AK clutched in wrinkled grasp, with ringing exhortations coming from my lips.
I am uncomfortable in the role of “revolutionary leader”. I’m not a rabble rouser, or an agitator. I seek not to form an army, or an underground movement, or any kind of Maquis. I don’t care about glory, or notoriety, or any of that nonsense. I am, quite simply, a man who will go so far, and no further, and who will resist oppression without fanfare, without recognition, and without a qualm.
I am also not a terrorist, or “freedom fighter”, and I will never engage in any activities which are proactive against Our Enemy, The State.
I may, however, choose to resist, in a manner of my own choosing, because I have various boundaries, personal boundaries, which may or may not be the same as those of others.
So my “barricade” would be a lot simpler, and a lot more personal.
It could be at my doorstep, when agents of the State come to confiscate my suddenly-illegal guns.
It could be in a court of law, when I am forced to choose between paying a fine for disobeying an unjust law, and going to prison. (It will, I promise you, be the latter.)
It could be when the State tries to confiscate or trespass on my property.
It could be when the State threatens my family.
It could be when the State tries to load me, or any other “undesirables”, into the cattle cars (real, or metaphysical).
It could be when an agent of the State demands “Papieren, bitte” and I show them my tattoo instead.
It could be when I am restricted in, or forbidden to exercise my freedom of speech, or any of the other freedoms enumerated in the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. I will decide what constitutes “reasonable” when it comes to restrictions thereon, and not some Congressman, lawyer, judge, policeman or government bureaucrat.
Just like Nock before me, I’m not intent on “setting an example”, or influencing others, or making a splash of any kind. Those who wish, may do what I do, or not. Those who wish to castigate me for my choices may do so, but it will have no effect. Those who wish to use me as an example do so without my consent or blessing, and those who expect me to “lead” them will be disappointed.
I am a quiet man, a reasonable man, but I am not nor will ever be a slave to the State. I left one country to escape that, and I will not live like that in my adopted one.
So if I die on the barricades, it may be known to others, or else just an unseen spark which flickers and dies in the darkness. Either way, I am indifferent. But it will be known to the agents of the State, I can promise you that. I will not go quietly into that dark night of oppression. It may well turn out to have been a futile gesture, but it will not be futile for me.
I may have lost most Gallic qualities, as I said earlier, but the one I have most definitely lost is the impulse to surrender.
And that’s all I’ll have to say on the topic. Ever.
Time for me to take to the air again…
Yeah, today’s American Airlines economy class looks just like that. [/sarc]
Anyway, I’ve decided to take a little vacation time, to show New Wife around the country a little. Angie’s only been to most of north and west Texas, northern New Mexico and the bottom half of Colorado, so I decided to take her off to New England for a belated honeymoon. Also, she loves the sea and beaches are in short supply in this neck of the woods.
As with most of my vacations, there’s very little planning involved other than a putative destination and well, that’s it. We’ll be flying up there courtesy of frequent-flier miles, renting a car, then heading out to wherever. I know New England pretty well, having been there several times since I first saw it in 1985, so I have a short list of places to go to. Most of the trip, however, will be spent eating lobster, seafood bisque, clam chowder and fish ‘n chips, all washed down with copious amounts of Sam Adams / white wine. She also wants to do something she calls “walks on the beach”, so I’ll have to let her show me how this is done.
Blogging will be sporadic, depending on where we are and whether wifi is available, but I’ll be back in the saddle next week sometime. In the interim, content yerselves with some
old-time rock ‘n roll pieces from the archives (some old links may not work, but that’s not critical, mostly). See y’all later.
On May 28, 1986 I arrived in the United States to start my new life as a born-again American. Of course, New York City was my initial port of entry:
I just knew that I’d fit right in…and then I went on down to Texas to stay with friends while my paperwork was being processed:
…and then I really felt like I’d come home.