This one had me howling, in Comments:
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Policy Change
As all Readers know, I prefer that comments be more or less attached to the post topic, because otherwise things can get out of control, and I lack the patience and good humor to keep going back to the thing to fix it up.
But I suspect that a lot of you would like to get things off your collective chest, and sound off about something that has irritated / angered / pleased / aroused you, whatever.
This has become evident in the popularity of “Open Post” features (Insty can get thousands of comments in his free-for-all posts, for example).
So from now on, I am declaring my News Roundup posts to be open for all or any comments, regardless of topic. As you know, they appear every Tuesday and Friday, so each week you get two whacks of the axe, so to speak. (If you have trouble logging in to comment, let me know by email; I’ll pass it on to TSII, and he will get to it as time permits.)
Enjoy — I’m not going to censor or delete anything, unless it’s completely horrible or egregious ad hominem attacks on other Readers (my back porch, my judgment, no appeal). I think you all know my limits by now, so it should be easy.
And FFS, please don’t use this freedom to try to fuck me over, because that will not end well (for you).
Today’s Earworm
From old rock band Sweet, all about changes.
I actually met the vocalist/lead guitarist (with the long silver hair, can’t remember his name) at the King’s Arms in Wiltshire with The Englishman.
I think the song is about his dealing with cancer, because apparently he died of it not long ago.
Or it could be about his getting married to some hottie in Vegas immediately after hearing the diagnosis — it’s difficult to tell, because he had a fantastic sense of humor. Lovely man: quiet, unassuming, just an ordinary bloke whose band made it big and never let it get to his head.
Good News, For A Change
You seen me rant about those evil assholes before. Now there’s this:
Diamonds were once a girl’s best friend, according to Marilyn Monroe in the 1953 classic film Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.
But the boom of lab-grown rocks has upset traditional mining firms such as Anglo American, the owner of De Beers, the world’s leading diamond company, according to The Times.
The FTSE 100 company’s shares dropped by 20 per cent after it announced production cuts at its mines. Meanwhile, De Beers sold just $80million of rough diamonds at the end of October, compared with $454million a year earlier, BNN Bloomberg reported.
In comparison, the lab-created variety – regarded as more ethical and sustainable than those from mines – appears to be on the up; 10 per cent of diamonds sold in 2022 were lab-grown compared to only 2 per cent in 2018.
Couldn’t happen to a nicer bunch of corporate assholes.
Someone Gonna Die Soon
Let’s see how interesting this gets.
Not A Chance, Mate
So you apply for a job, but they hire some chick because, in the boss’s actual words, they want to hire fewer White men.
Crystal-clear case of race- and sex discrimination.
So you sue the company on those grounds, and win bigly — millions of bucks which enable you to retire early and live in the South of France with a blonde nymphomaniac totty who has massive tatas.
Oh wait, I got that all wrong.
But the panel dismissed his claims – which the hearing heard had been branded ‘absurd’ – ruling it was not ‘indicative of an intention to discriminate’ when an employer mentioned its aim to improve diversity in an underrepresented workforce.
Slamming down his claims, an employment judge said that although a firm may aspire to be ‘less dominated by white men’, it does not mean there’s an ‘intention to achieve that objective by discriminating in recruitment against white men and in favour of women or minority ethnic candidates’.
I think the ruling was AI-generated.
I’m grateful for this opportunity to voice a question which has nagged me for many years: is Kim Du Toit really an American?
Look, I know you faced the choice: legally immigrate to America or be beaten to death in a cargo container. Anyone who has not faced that situation has no standing to say which is the moral choice. Nevertheless, your choice is questionable.
No reasonable person can doubt your commitment to constitutional, republican governance; to the public order so essential to the thriving of civilization; to entrepreneurship and the creative power of capital; to national defense; and ultimately to the rights and prerogatives of the individual.
However, you have certain… cosmopolitan tendencies, which cast doubt on your true allegiance. You have traveled to England and maybe even to Stockholm; places where child molesters are tolerated. We patriotic, heartland Americans might overlook such peccadilloes… except for one thing.
We can’t pronounce your name. Americans have made no secret of this: we cannot hear or pronounce French vowels or terminal consonants, and we understandably become violent when anybody points this out.
Previous generations of immigrants had the good sense to Americanize their names, is all I’m saying.
All good stuff, and it gave me much amusement. Let me take them in reverse order. Firstly, here’s the story of the name.
When I became a U.S. citizen — I mean, on the very day I was sworn in — I was asked if I wanted to change my name.
It was the first I’d heard of this option; nobody had ever told me I could do it when I became a citizen. All I had to do was give a new name right there, and that would be the one on my passport and naturalization certificate (and SocSec database, automatically).
Had I changed it — one option was “Dalton” because it sorta sounds like “Doo-twah” and had two syllables, but I needed to think about it — it’s a big deal, changing one’s name — and I had to make a decision right there and then.
So I didn’t.
And lo and behold, I found over time that people liked it — they said it sounded really cool and exotic — and it was quite a hit with the ladies, along with this kinda-fake Brit accent that I picked up at school.
Interestingly enough, when I asked both my American wives (Son&Heir’s mom, and Connie) if they wanted to keep their respective surnames instead of being saddled with this strange French thing, they not only refused, but refused loudly and emphatically. (New Wife, when I asked her the same question, just gave me That Look so I changed the subject hastily.)
As to the other charges:
However, you have certain…cosmopolitan tendencies, which cast doubt on your true allegiance. You have traveled to England and maybe even to Stockholm; places where child molesters are tolerated. We patriotic, heartland Americans might overlook such peccadilloes…
(I chuckle helplessly again, even as I type this.)
I realize that the charge of “cosmopolitanism” is a serious one, especially to Middle America (the class to which I aspire, and the one with which I identify the most strongly).
But FFS, just because I speak several other languages that most Murkins can’t, and I like visiting foreign lands, and can tell the difference between Baroque- and Norman architecture, and likewise between Academy- and Romantic art, and Chopin and Schubert’s music, does this make me less American?
I even admit to preferring croissants over Wonder Bread, sausage rolls over hot dogs, and Victoria sponge cake instead of apple pie. (I draw the line at BBQ, however: no other food can compare.)
And I’m really sorry, but Wadworth 6X is just a better goddamn beer than fucking Budweiser or Coors.
Frankly, I think that Americans could do with a little more cosmopolitanism, if for no other reason than to break the bonds of bullshit American marketing of mediocre/awful products like the above (and let’s not forget “American” cheese, which is truly fucking horrible and no man should).
And I’m happy to do my bit to advance that cause, on these here pages and on this back porch of mine.
By the way: I’ve never been to Stockholm, and I think child molesters should be burned at the stake, after extensive torture.