Culture

December 17, 2014

amish beards2

My Amish Beard

 When I reached sixty-five, and I began working out of my home office, I gradually stopped shaving.  Shaving is a bother.  It adds another task to the day.  And once you have failed to shave for a few days, (okay, a week or so), your beard becomes like a lawn which has outgrown the mower.  The shafts of the grass get long and tough.  And you need the weed whacker.  The razor no longer cuts it.  Snipers are a rough tool.  And electric devices either bog down in the thick hairs or begin tugging and yanking.

My beard trimmer bogged down.  So I tried the new razor I bought.  I began with the moustache, but quit after the work bogged down too.   All of which left me looking like a Mennonite.

amish beards3

Now I’ve always felt this was such an odd way to wear a beard, that the people who did so must be quite odd themselves.  But, really, I feel about the same.  And though the wife calls me Enoch, from time to time, she likes it!  She never liked being poked by my moustache hairs.  She says she always enjoyed the shape of my mouth.

And these beards are handy in wintery Ohio as a pair of mittens, when on my walks.  So I did a little research.

Apparently, the first Amish were persecuted in old Germany by the military types whose fashion then was to wear elaborate mustaches.  So the Amish declared themselves by refusing to grow mustaches.   The carry-over of this habit continues to this day.  In addition, the beard is allowed to grow longer once a man marries.  Hmmmm…  I’m married.

amish beards1

Photos from Google Images

The Short Version / Reviews

December 8, 2014

Newsboy

“Read All About It!”

(The Growth of Government)

 Crisis and Leviathan

Crisis and Leviathan by Robert Higgs

 The growth of the private sector is rather magical.  You simply enforce property rights and a few other nurturing legal traditions, and commerce grows.  It’s rather like planting seeds in the proper soil and providing them with sun and water.  The miracle of economic growth occurs, and with it, the rise in individual income and comforts.

There is nothing magical about the growth of government.  It happens because certain people enforce it, and many more persons either allow or agree to it.  Most governments began as what nowadays would be seen as criminal enterprises.

The nature of the private sector is rather splendid and wonderful, both because of its natural quality and diversity – and because of its complexity that passes our understanding.

The complex, brutal, many times exasperating nature of government, on the other hand, can be byzantine, but it rarely appears wonderful, except in its self-limitations.  For example, with our own system of “checks and balances”, the Constitution, and the Bill of Rights, the wonder of humility has been introduced to government.  A twig of humanity has been grafted onto an otherwise powerful, unfeeling enterprise, which, from time to time, casts its entire monolithic pre-eminence in a noble light.  (Picture the glowing Dome of Congress.)  Other citizenry have found other ways to ‘humble’ their governments.  But, for the most part, “shock and awe” and raw power, the barrel of a gun – and not wonder – are the glistening aspects of most government.

Because the private sector grows from a natural action, whose nature passes our complete understanding – when it fails, when the economy fails us, we believers are left with little but our faith to sustain us.  When the seeds of enterprise we have planted grow and wither, there are many factors we can look at, and remedies we can try… but mostly we must have faith that the seeds still contain life and the plants can be saved.  And that the miracle which passes our understanding will blossom again.

Believers in government, however, need no faith.  In fact, they often disparage faith.  Believers in government are natural atheists and pragmatists.  They are “show me the money”, people.  And when a crisis occurs, the government offers to “show people the money”.  It’s rather like looking for your keys outside the tent, rather than inside where you lost them – because the light outside is better.

The theme of Higg’s book is that what happens when a crisis occurs depends upon the prevailing ideology of the times; that is whether we will hew to a faith in our natural occurring systems, and the value creating miracle of the private sector – or whether we have more faith in governmental directives, whose nature would seem more rational and apparent, and who can print money at will.

In Crisis and Leviathan, Robert Higgs traces the evolving nature of our national ideology, and the crisis’s which have formed it.  And what he has shown, is that in times of crisis, action tends to be valued over faith by the populace.   These crises’s stimulate governmental action which manifest as governmental expansion, which, assuming that the crisis is surpassed and the nation survives, creates a change in ideology.  This changed ideology, which is more comfortable with a larger government, insures that the governmental expansion which occurred, never shrinks to pre-crisis size but solidifies as real growth.  And, over time, and successive crisis, our faith in the natural guiding order of the private sector shrinks in comparison with our comfort in governmental solutions.  And just as a plant grows exponentially, the government grows as each succeeding crisis provides it with the ideological support to do so.  Of course, much of this growth depends upon concealed costs and fiat (printed) money.  And from there comes a sobering foreboding.

Higgs also notes that an ideology is a creation of its time.  Just as a plant cannot shrink back into a smaller plant or a seed, neither can an ideology ever become what it once was.  There is no going back to the yesteryears.

Crisis and the Leviathan is an engrossing, step by step, factual, sobering account, of why our government has gotten to the size it is, and why we are where we are as a nation – and he offers a rather dismal outlook, for anyone who values individual freedoms and the joy of personal enterprise.

Nevertheless, it’s a fascinating tour through history as situations are seen through the differing ideological lenses of history, as black becomes white and white, black – and laws are taken to mean just the opposite of what they appear to have said, when written.  You can almost hear the street paper boy shouting, as if hawking some lurid murder, “Read all about it!”

Picture from Google Images

What’s Happening in Obscurity?

December 2, 2014

Kid hunter

Deeper Into the Woods

 

 People like to decorate back here.  But they can be a little slow to take things down.  A porch one half block north of us is currently displaying the American flag, a hanging corpse, and eves hung with Christmas lights – plus a wreath and bells.

My son wanted our home decorated better than his friend’s (different home) up the street, and to have a ‘lighting ceremony’ to celebrate it.  So we scheduled it to be on the evening of Black Friday, and got to work with lights and extension ladder.

Once the relations had all arrived and had their drinks, we marched them back outside into the cold and dark to witness.  As they stood muttering through shivers, I laid the intellectual foundation of the event with a short speech about the historical sources of our current lighting ceremony; from the first candle-lit German Christmas trees, to Queen Victoria’s embrace of the tradition, to the lighting of the first electrified Christmas tree in a ceremony at the Grover Cleveland White House in 1895.  From there we touched on the “Grand Illumination”, in which whole towns would participate in a lighting ceremony – first begun in Williamsburg, Virginia in 1935.  All of which led eventually to lighting ceremonies, throughout the country, including fireworks and parades, and the eventual term, “turning on the lights” (I said, with a bit of flourish.) –  and with the tradition of fireworks added – …which is believed to have been descended from the custom of putting lights in the windows to celebrate an armistice, or a disaster.

Our designated ‘Grand Illuminator’ was my father in law.  Once I had adequately roughed in the intellectual foundation of our event, he flicked the switch, (with the help of my son) and POW!  …almost daylight.

All sang, “We Wish You a Merry Christmas”, while waiting for the inflatable dachshund on the porch roof to fill – just finishing the last verse as our Great Weenie fully engorged!  to a great hue and cry!   Then we all went inside to watch a Griswold Christmas.

But enough of that.  All of this is a lead-in to my being kicked out of my wife’s bed for snoring last Sunday night, and sleeping in my son’s, who was not there, due to his sleeping over that night at his friend’s.

“Why do you think you can sleep over on a school night?”  I had asked him earlier.

“Because Monday is a holiday.”

I couldn’t think of any holiday that fell on December 1st.

“What do you mean a holiday?”

“It’s a school holiday!”

“You didn’t have enough of a vacation with 4 days off?  They had to add an extra one?”  I huffed.  I wasn’t swallowing this easily.

“It’s the opening day of hunting season.”

“?”

Apparently everyone takes off the first day of hunting season around here.  Over 450,000 hunters will enter the woods.  And over 75,000 deer will be carted out, say the newspapers.

As it so happens, I had been talking about hunting earlier with a relation that wasn’t long married, had a ‘teething’ baby, just moved into a new home whose walls they were trying to get painted first, plus a part-time job shepherding cancer patients to their labwork through the outside wintry cold, while her new husband had just spent the last month hunting.

“They all have a piece of land you can’t live on, and you couldn’t farm, hours away, where they go.  And he has these cameras planted all through the woods, and he pours over the recordings.  He knows everywhere they go.  And he has every deer named, and has picked out just the one he wants to kill.  But, he hasn’t killed him yet.”

She nodded grimly over the steering wheel at the lit nighttime highway ahead.

“I told him, just kill one!”  She sighed.

“But is has to be THAT one.”

 

Later at the dinner I related all this to his father.

“Yeah,” he said, not at all astonished, but a little tired of the thing.  “He’s been trying to get that one for the last four years.”

 

All of which brings me back to the story of sleeping in my son’s room.  He leaves his drapes open and at the tick of 5 – all of the outside icicle lights clicked on…  …POW!!!

I awoke.

And as I watched, a huge dachshund slowly enlarged, filling the window.

 

Photo from Google Images

Postscript:  This just in!  Apparently they got THAT one: their buck, a record 162 on the Big Buck rating.  But it was an uncle, rather than her husband who shot it.

What’s Happening in Obscurity?

November 17, 2014

Ohio River1WEb

Deep In the Woods

Editor’s Note:  I touched on this is a previous post: “In the Big Cities There’s Really Only One Game in Town, and It’s Out of Town”.   (http://schn00dles.wordpress.com/2014/07/31/from-the-editors-perch-111/)

I write, eat, sleep, read, and pee…  while the Ohio river flows past, a couple of blocks away.  Parkersburg is across the bridge.  From there the hills and hollows of West Virginia stretchto the East.  The Hatfields and McCoys fought not so many hours drive through the woods to the South.  And the nearest cities of any appreciable size – for example Pittsburg, Wheeling or Columbus – are two or three hours of woodsy scenery away also.

Marietta flower2  Porch2

We are very much a part of American History here.  The template for Westward Expansion began just up river in Marietta, gateway to the Northwest Territories.   At the end of my street is a historical marker denoting the location of a major stopover on the Underground Railway for slaves being snuck across river from what was then the slave state of Virginia.  The end of the street also boasts a museum, which is open a few hours/week.  Like mine, the flipside to a lot of small towns around the Mid-Ohio Valley which post signs boasting of their history, is that there is nothing happening presently.  I mean, it’s still.

All of which suites me fine.  Gridlocked Congress?  Could a rational citizen ask for more?   Lackluster economy?  Today’s gonna be pretty much like tomorrow.  Lack of intellectual inquiry?   Leaves me time to set on the porch.  And the mail still runs.  I  can download movies.  The store is only a few blocks away.  And I can argue with whomever I please about whatever I please on the internet all I want.     Marietta flower

Currently we folk in Belpre, Ohio kind of mosey about in obscurity.  Which, as the culture heats up, has become not a bad place to be.  As a recent article in the Atlantic points out, the densely populated liberal urban areas with their higher housing costs and taxes are squeezing out the middle class.  The income gap liberals so bemoan, is widening there.  And it makes me suspect  if  perhaps they (the liberals) don’t “protest too much”.  But I’m not protesting at all.  Because in these small towns a low income person can still live in a fine neighborhood, as can someone of middle income.  We are not as segregated as the larger metropolises.   Two blocks to the northeast of me is a trailer court.  Two blocks to the south, old, stately homes along the river.  There are abandoned homes here and there, but even the abandoned homeowners mow their yards.  Go figure.

Here, in the Mid Ohio Valley, the neighborhood is quiet at night.  No burglar bars.  People sit on their porches.  They smile and wave.  And they leave the light on for you.  The worst you hear is a car driving past which rattles or rumbles a bit, driven by a smoker with her druggie husband and the tattooed kid.  (Hey!  Just joking… almost.)   The bars are few and the churches many.  The ideology which drives the big cities wafts through and pulls a few away.  The rest remain, satisfied to assemble their own meaning from experience and personal reflection.  “The poor will always be with you,” seems an established and accepted biblical truism – and like as not, they are with you right next door.  So you’re not going to forget them.  Still, they keep their lawn mowed, as I’ve said, and mind their own business.Porch1

There are certainly a raft of what my city friends would call problems: poverty, low wages, lack of jobs, obesity, poorly educated populace, few opportunities, and voting Republican… the list could go on and on.  But it’s a liberals list.   The employment here is predominantly tort and personal injury law, the government, pensioners, burgeoning medical facilities and funeral homes… all feeding off of the chemical plants up and down the river, and the old coal and gas industry with its expanded fracking activities.  But from a local conservative’s point of view, the problems are that the ‘country’s going to hell’ while they’re happy to be here.  Life is real.  It hasn’t got half of itself lopped off and run through a governmental re-education grinder (sometimes called colleges)… until it is some kind of torpid, characterless, whining mass of metaphysical complaints kept alive by press coverage and a solution of haphazard entitlements and benefits.  My neighbor’s home is slowly falling down around his ears because he’s lazy.  But he’s honest and ethical and isn’t asking me for anything, and we get along fine.  He’s pretty much how human beings are built… when they’re run right, and left to their own devices.  As am I.

Photos by Carl Nelson

What’s Happening in Obscurity

November 16, 2014

Deep In the Woods

Editor’s note:  Wordpress has really screwed the pooch, as far as I am concerned.  They’ve taken a format I could work with and changed it to suit their needs somehow… but it doesn’t suit mine.  I can’t post a coherent article with the software snafu they’ve created.  How programmers can be so high-handed has unhinged me since I’ve had my first computer… and left me screaming )(*%*^((*&!!!!!  Why do mass murders never strike out against programmers?  It seems such an obvious public service.   Sigh….  Goodbye world.

The Short Version / Reviews

October 31, 2014

tony-hoagland1

Tony Hoagland / Poet

 

 

Every time I come across an article or poem by Tony Hoagland, I either turn to it immediately, or savor the thought as I thumb my way through.   He is smart, witty, enjoyable… and in his bio photo looks as I would imagine a leprechaun would as it had just cast a spell and/or achieved a little mischief with words.  The truth, for Mr. Hoagland, is mischievous.  I have no higher praise.

The fun begins, right off the bat, with his titles:  “What Narcissism Means to Me” and “Unincorporated Persons in the Late Honda Dynasty”, among  others.  His criticism has the bite and crunch appeal of granola and milk sprinkled with fresh raspberries.  As he says himself:  “This collection of essays about poetry, (from the book “Real Sofistikashun”), neither academic nor exactly for the reader off the street, is in fact a mostly homemade set of geographies, jerry-rigged descriptions, and taxonomies. They are intended for the reader who loves poems and likes to think about them.”

Tony_Hoagland2

Well, so are the poems.  I opened my most recent issue of “The Sun”, to happen upon three of them.  In “Ship”, he complains:

 

At dawn I get up from my bed and draw the blinds;

            the light through the bedroom window is too strong.

            I don’t want the sun entering my house so early,

            when the dreams inside my head are still wet paint.

 

In “Upward” he laments the loss of a friendship:

 

With the help of Zen,

            my old friend Jack

            dissolved his disagreements

            with the world,

            purified his quarrels,

 

            sushed his ego,

            stopped biting back

            when bitten,

            and gradually had

            no opinions

            other than wise ones.

 

            …

 

            Goodbye, my friend, goodbye, I say

            quietly to myself

            like a character

            in some science-fiction novel

            as I watch the

 

            smooth spaceships of Zen

            slip the heavy harness

            of the earth

            and rise into the weightlessness

            of space,

 

            …

 

Reads almost like some monologue in a movie full of warmth and oddities – doesn’t it.   Tony makes me wonder if they haven’t a stable of poets somewhere on the movie backlot, who drift from light comedy to light comedy sprinkling bits of fairy enchantment.

His stuff just feels like it’s been around; never borrowed, but wise.

tony_hoagland3

Photos from Google Images / quotations by Tony Hoagland

The Short Version / Reviews

October 15, 2014

The Fifty Minute Hour

A Pearl of a Story

All of the good books aren’t necessarily the new books.  Grubbing through the Olde Book Store, an enterprising reader can discover many treasures.   The Fifty Minute Hour by Robert Lindner is such a book.

I must have first purchased it used.  (Okay, partly perhaps because of the lurid cover.)  Then, I uncovered it again while unpacking from a recent move.  It looked interesting all over again, so I began reading.

When you read a book of a past era you find things that are spoken of and wisdoms imparted which you will not find in books of the present era.  Different environments hatch different people.  If it is a good book, you will find yourself missing the entire period as if you’d lived then.

The book is a collection of five case histories from a psychoanalytic perspective.  And as the cover suggests, they are not dry.  The best, however, is the last: the “Jet-Propelled Couch”.  This pearl of a story, I discovered myself after doing a bit of research, was initially published as a two part series in Harpers.  Steven Sondheim spent some time trying to produce it as a musical, before abandoning the project.  It “1957 it was finally dramatized as an episode of TV’s Playhouse 90”.  – wikipedia

The story is of a brilliant scientist who – while otherwise quite normal and engaging – is sent to the psychiatrist because of the mad belief that he visits other planets (where he rules, of course).  The psychoanalyst, after failing and abandoning all other strategies, decides that what is needed is for him to immerse himself likewise in the delusion.  The rationale is that two psychoses cannot inhabit the same space.  One will inevitably ‘call out’ the other.  In psychoanalysis this is called the principle (and strategy) of “participation therapy”.

Perhaps you can imagine what happens?

Our contemporary culture is quite adept at sniffing out what we would like and supplying it.  You participate long enough and you will find that our culture has located an area in you vulnerable to addiction – as you begin to feel the uncontrollable pull.

What our psychoanalyst finds is that if you filter your way through enough psychosis, it is likely you will find one which can harbor itself – finding a personal vulnerability – in you.

None of us is that far from going mad, is what this tale has to say.

Illustration from Amazon

Poesy

October 7, 2014

Shopping Cart1

Sunday Edition

I read in the Sunday paper this morning

that a man had been arrested transporting a body

in a shopping cart nearby where I used to live.

He had been trying to get him to a dumpster.

It’s nice that the people there, since I’ve left,

have been trying to pick up after themselves.

 

It can be the little things that breed crime:

broken windows, graffiti,

speaking to your neighbors.

Apparently the fellow and the corpse

had known each other.

 

So it didn’t start right out in violence.

Heck, it might have taken years

of conversation over the back fence.

He may have borrowed a rake or a hoe,

or been a little late to return

an axe or a bullet.

 

Definitely it had become something more

than a hot casserole could handle.

The tighter you become, the more at stake, that’s for sure.

Until one thing leads to another, and it all goes downhill…

and out of hand so fast,

it’s as if things begin to occur of their own volition!

 

While you were… detached, floating above it all,

as if from another world,

as if watching yourself in a movie.

In a word, it seemed fated.

 

Which is why I moved to an uphill neighborhood.

 

Photo from Google Images

From the Editor’s Perch

October 3, 2014
I Promise to Keep All Speculation Under 25 MPH

I Promise to Keep All Speculation Under 25 MPH

Rampant Speculations

 

Perhaps Poets describe this best, because they seem to rock the mental boat more often than most.  But it seems we live upon a raft of assumptions floating upon a reality that is often quite fluid.

 

At one time we assumed the earth was flat and that the sun passed overhead of us and that the Gods and Angels would from time to time visit.   Now we assume the earth is round, that we orbit around the sun, and have our suspicions that those odd creatures which visit us from time to time might be aliens, or government agents or most likely the hobgoblin of susceptible minds.  Our assumptions about the Creation have changed.  Assumptions about our place in the Universe has changed.  Enter quantum mechanics and our assumptions about physical laws have changed.  But as to these odd manifestations who visit us; largely only the names have changed.

 

In John A Keel’s book, The Mothman Prophecies, which is largely an examination of paranormal experiences in and around West Virginia in the early 60s, he points out the various assumptions concerning reported paranormal experiences.  He details the parallels in descriptions of meetings with Angels, Demons, Gods, Aliens and Men in Black, down through the ages and across cultures.  And he speculates that it makes more sense to think that these representatives of another world might have happened through what he imagines as portals to another dimension than as aliens who have travelled light years through space.  He speculates that this might explain their presence in tales of the obscure down through history.  That it might explain their purported foreknowledge of events coupled with a rather bumbling understanding of our ways.

 

In effect he is speculating that it makes more sense to attribute events to imperfections in the fabric delimiting one dimension from another, than to aliens with such supernatural intelligence as to travel light years from their homes and then to appear clumsy, inept, incommunicative and without a discernible purpose when they finally arrive.  They appear more to want to study us, than to harm us.  Which is what one might expect of some creature who has found themselves suddenly adrift in a strange world.

 

After all, there is hardly anything more common to our lives’ experience than imperfections.  Imperfections and deterioration seem to be the natural nature and course of events.  What Keel seems to be suggesting is that there might also be imperfections in the natural laws confining one Universe from Another.

 

And if we have imperfections in natural laws, might this most likely be due to deterioration.  After all, life’s battle is largely one against the forces of deterioration.  So why should Platonic Ideals not be victims of wear and tear like everything else in the Universe?  For example, has the force of gravity always been thus – or is it a remnant of a much more coherent and enveloping (shiny and newer!) physical law?

 

We look back and theorize what must have been and what must have occurred to create what we have now.  But isn’t that assuming the same natural laws?  What if the past were created under physical laws which may have functioned quite differently prior to their deterioration.  If we understood what those laws might have been, might the historical record make more sense, or arrange itself quite differently?  Is there a physical law we might hypothesize to explain concordances which currently appear random?  What might be the next physical law to deteriorate?  Can we find evidence of the deterioration of physical laws currently, either nearby or in deep space?   What would happen to a traveler who has passed into a region where a further deterioration of a physical law has occurred?  Would their ship be rendered useless?  Would they die?  Would they have strange powers?  Would it create a hell of a problem, or just a tiny one – say, if they kept their speed down below 25 mph?

 

We make a lot of assumptions when we peer into the past.  And then we extend those same assumptions into the future.  Is anything else in Nature so confined by the present as our mental capabilities?  It doesn’t seem so.

Photo by Tin Tin Nelson

From the Editor’s Perch

September 26, 2014

The Climate Change Business

 dead horse4

If you’ve ever bought a product, especially one for which you have a quite specific need, you’ve probably found that the information a manufacturer offers about their product can be less than full disclosure.   For example, the manufacturer will seldom tell you what the product won’t do.  They will seldom tell you the problems their product might cause.  They will seldom tell you all of the limitations of their product.  In short, they fail to mention their product’s shortcomings.   It’s up to you to do the full diligence.

This is also the case with the Climate Change Business.  I say ‘business’, because nearly all of the experts who chime in about this matter earn their living from it.  I also say “business” because like any other organization, their business model is protected by self-serving disclosures.

This gives the Climate Change Customer a tremendous advantage.  All the promotional material is there for the taking.  The graphs and charts and expert testimony has all been prepared.   You are given tested responses for the common challenges, and given tested rejoinders.   And you join a wide population of like-minded customers, with the current customer privileges of being the possessor of an ‘informed opinion’, who is bathing in the correct consensus.  It also comes with the right to jeer.

While accomplishing due diligence is not easy to do.

When Global Warming was first raised as an issue quite some years ago, there was one reporter at the Seattle Times who seemed willing to cover the opposing view.  He was a business reporter and from time to time would report on the issue of Global Warming and cover an occasional Climate Warming debate hosted by business interests.   He disappeared, and likewise the coverage.

For a time later, a large part of the brouhaha involved melting icecaps and rising sea levels.   Sea level areas of the world were soon to be inundated.   Mass migration and population disruption were widely predicted.  A lawsuit was begun involving the Maldives (plaintiffs vs. the carbon dioxide producers of the world) – a nation of islands in the Indian Ocean, whose existence was threatened by the anticipated rising sea levels.  What happened?

Well, you wouldn’t know from following the news.  But while doing my ‘due diligence’ on other Warming matters, it was noted that the suit had been quietly dropped as the threatened sea level change had not occurred.

Later on, what was referred to throughout the news as Global Warming became referred to as Climate Change.  Who decided this?  It’s easier to say why.  Apparently the alarming ‘scientific’ models of global temperature rise over the first decade of the 21st century hadn’t occurred.  The acknowledgement of this in the news was a contested ripple, while the alarmists sights moved elsewhere.

Global inundation was back in the news!  Apparently the reason the Globe had not warmed as predicted was because the heat had been absorbed by the oceans.  This was causing melting of the icecaps.  And ‘scientists’ now  feared that a huge shelf of ice in Antarctica was being undermined by warming waters and would soon break off, falling into the sea and causing massive flooding in the lower lying regions bordering the oceans.

Recently I was wondering why I had not heard more of this projected catastrophe, when the answer became apparent while doing more due diligence upon a scientific finding of ‘alarming’ shrinkage of the Greenland icepack.   I was told in no uncertain terms that this was a solid scientific finding which was true and irrefutable, and was a definite alarming indicator.

Well everything is irrefutable, if you don’t attempt to refute it.  While doing my due diligence upon this matter, it was revealed to me why I had not heard anymore recently about the Soon to Collapse Antarctic Ice Shelf.  Apparently it has been found that whereas the ice in the northern hemisphere appears to be retreating – the ice in the Antarctic region is doing the opposite.

So, the Climate Alarmists and the media quietly move on.  Currently it appears that the Climate Change Alarmists have gotten fed up with waiting for the global climate to demonstrate what they clearly see to be true.  They are taking to the streets.  400,000 of them recently marched in New York.  (Leaving their trash behind, thank you.)  You get enough people marching and Global Climate Change of Dire Prediction will occur!  This is how science is done currently.

Next, we’ll be using political activism to change the sex of gerbils.

Beating a dead horse.  When does it get tiring?

Illustration from Google Images.

 


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