Chill
I utterly despise the media, whether the news, popular culture, or what passes for “art” these days. A question came to me this evening and I turned to express it to my wife.
“When’s the last time you heard anyone mention monkey pox?”
She laughed, because she knew what I was getting at.
Before that stumpy, swarthy little illegitimate comedian’s appearance before Congress today in his grimy gym suit, how many of you had heard anything about Ukraine (formerly known as the Ukraine) in the news in recent days? Do chefs still prepare chicken Kiev, or is it now chicken KEEEEEEEV?
Covid is apparently cured completely, with flu and RSV taking it’s place. Any bets on when SARS or swine flu will reappear?
I’m in agony that I haven’t heard anything about Bruce Jenner’s latest self-mutilating delusion.
I suffer at the lack of updates on Blick Libes Mitter, or what Stacey Abrams is squeezing herself into, or what Donald Trump thinks of Burger King’s newest offering, or Sandy Cortez’s (aka Chiquita Khrushchev, hat tip to Severian) thoughts on the Pythagorean Theorem.
These references seem painfully dated. Because they are. The media heads know that the average American’s attention span is similar to an Adderal-addicted housefly. And everything coming out of any media outlet is a fast-changing lie. And yes, that means Fox News and EWTN and your local channels. A lie is any mixture of truth and untruth, and not one single thing produced by the media is unadulterated truth. This means that it’s all a lie. But you don’t need me to tell you this. You already know it.
Don’t you?
Some of you might recall the Big Renaming two years ago, when all those Southern bands changed their names in a frenzied rush to show support for de Blick Libes Mitter and St. George of Fentanyl. The already-moribund Dixie Chicks became simply The Chicks. Lady Antebellum became Lady A (because a Latin phrase meaning “before the war” is the Hitler-eeish hitlerization of hitlerism since Hitler), and former Dokken guitarist George Lynch, that big, bad bodybuilder, scrapped his band’s name (Lynch Mob) because, well, Emmitt Till called him from the grabe. Even a seedy, leering, over-the-hill vaudeville act like David Lee Roth dropped the “Lee” from his name because Robert E. Lee was the first dead white man to lynch a black man while drinking a mint julep and urinating a swastika into the front lawn of his home at Arlington. If you don’t remember any of this, I forgive you, because you were probably distracted by the tens of thousands of strong, muscular, slender Southern men who gave their last, full Baptist measure sacrificing their lives as they fought the defilement and destruction of monuments to Confederate heroes. Their numbers — and may the sweet, simpering celestial boyfriend named Jeezus whom they worship bless their sacred memories — will compare to the number of clergyfolks who will die defending marriage, the bible, and the importance of attending church, except when the government who hates them tells them to shut their doors and stay at home, but tithes may still be sent via Paypal, some settling may occur during shipping, certain limitations apply.
Hoo, boy. Just a winter night’s distraction while I’m reminded of a song that has nothing to do with any of the nauseating bullshit I referenced above. A close friend and I were talking about music and movies the other night, and he mentioned that he was unaware that Dwight Yoakam had played the greasy pastor in the Vince Vaughn comedy Four Christmases. My friend admitted that he doesn’t know a lot about country music, so I thought I’d include one of my favorite Yoakam songs here.
Enjoy your winter, dear ones. Gonna get cold here directly.
~ S.K. Orr
6 Comments
admin
I can’t think of anything to add to Lewis’s excellent response to James. Thanks to you both, gentlemen. And God rest ye merry.
James
“If you don’t remember any of this, I forgive you, because you were probably distracted by the tens of thousands of strong, muscular, slender Southern men who gave their last, full Baptist measure sacrificing their lives as they fought the defilement and destruction of monuments to Confederate heroes.”
The sad part of all this that It seems as though monuments to heros are a good thing; depending on whose heros they were.
I listened to a version of ‘Dixie’ where referance to “The First Alliance” was made. In my digging around I found a statement that this alliance provided that any new ‘State’ that was allowed to join the union could also leave if they decided it was in their best interest to do so.
Apparently, this applied up to the point where some actually tried to do so.
Lewis
I agree James. The traditional South has been part of this thing by the bayonet. Unfortunately, many influential southerners seem to have a form of Stokkholm Syndrom. The reconstruction accelerates. I guess that banksters and large corporations made money, while the traditions of the South were disregarded and ignored.
I don’t think that the purpose of business is more business. That just suppports carpetbaggers and scalawags. Instead, business should follow and support the culture of the traditional people – not destroy it for every short-run dollar.
James
Lewis, I could not agree more with that last paragraph.
Lewis
SK-
I recall that you recently mentioned that you were trying to understand the “Old Christmas” manner of passing the season. It was/is a cavalier, rural manner of expressing Christmas over 12 days as was done in “Merrie Ole England” that the cavaliers brought with them. Of course, the Scoth-Irish were more than ready to accept a 12 day bachanal rather than a 1 day respite from work. Those enemies of anything Cavalier, the Puritans, banned Christmas (Oliver Cromwell) in England and the Puritans in Massachusetts did their best to suppress it in the new world. But not the Cavaliers with the full support of the Scoth-Irish. I don’t know much, but this extended 12 days ending on the Feast of the Epiphany seems also appropriate in any country setting. It is a natural period of relaxation for country people. Farmers finally complete the harvest and want to relax until time to work on equipment to get ready for Spring. I/they/we would hang around the cotton gin, the Farmers Co-Op, feed store, or anywhere that farmers could count on similar company. I always thought of it as a special time for the animals, as well. It was also a great season for serious courting.
But this is all more than I know, although I was blessed to see some of it in my rural youth. But, to finally get to the point here, the best explanation and interpretation of Old Christmas is to be found in Washington Irving’s “Sketch Book” which was so popular that the chapters on the Old Christmas were published as a separate book entitled “Old Christmas”. It is a short, wonderful book to read at Christmas. You only need a night or two by the fire, not the whole 12 days. It is great to read out loud because Washington Irving definitely had power of observation and a way with words. He got his first name because his mother took him to President Washington to be blessed.
Also, “The Golden Christmas” by William Gilmore Simms tells of Christmas in the antebellum South Carolina low country. But for the Old Christmas explalined in wonderful prose, you need Washington Irving.
(The foregoing comment was sponsored by Old Grand-Dad.)
I agree with your post tonight entirely. Human progress is a death march. I always look to the old ways, the old days, for happiness. At Christmas, I will not allow evil modernity to disturb my humble celebration of the birth of our Lord.
Thank you for your wonderful posts this past year.
Have a very Merry Christmas!
admin
Lewis, thank you my brother and friend. And thanks to our co-sponsor, Old Grand-Dad. He’s a good ‘un…
That was some good stuff you sent along. I’m already looking for the resources you provided. Many thanks to you, as always. I admire your grit in being able to preserve your Christmastime peace against the assaults of this evil age.
And as always, thank you for being such a faithful and encouraging reader and friend. Merry Christmas to you and yours…