One More Day

As 2004 slowly winds down, and Christmas of this year slips slowly into the backrooms of our minds, it's increasingly clear that we've only got so much time left. Whether it's high school, college, or life in general, time escapes us - with or without Dick Clark. I've been blogging for quite some time now, and though this is the first New Year we'll ring in together, I extend a sincere and hearty thank you to all my readers. Without you, I'd not have been read. Actually, I'm not convinced that I'm being read now, but with all things considered, I'll go right ahead and tell myself what I want to hear. So, thanks again to all of you who make this blog semi-worthwhile. Still undecided whether it's late-night delirium or prospective paranoia, I'm not entirely sold on what the future has to offer. Eventually the world's going to end. That's in the future. Sometime the sun will expire and we'll suffocate and die. That's in the future. And, slightly more depressing, a Democrat will probably win another presidential election. (Hopefully) that's (not) in the future. But, regardless of affiliation and natural science, the future does have one thing set in stone. And that would be nothing. Yes, for the time being I'm fully assuming nothing to mean something, and if this makes any sense then I'm amazed. To clarify, I probably mean that 2005 could be a year of triumphant successes and humiliating defeats, or both. However, fully predicting any option as the route your life will take is simply impossible. The future, the matters of fact that we desperately long to familiarize ourselves with, is exactly what it is: yet to happen.

Notice, as I jump around from topic to topic, that I've posted this entry with one day remaining in the year 2004. As I was thinking of some sort of theme for this message, I was just carousing the page and noticed the date of publication. Roughly three in the morning, December 30, 2004, I'm sitting here without a clue as to what I'm actually talking about. But, the sheer terror that might befall some in my situation is actually having little of that effect. To be quite honest, I rather enjoy not knowing where I'm going, and I hope you all feel the same way. I've been traversing the confines of my mind, presumably maturing from the adolescent posts of way-back-when. I've mentioned snowdays and mirrors and sappy sonnets, but when I think about it, I wasn't selling myself to anyone, nor was I setting camp in the places I wanted to be. This year, 2004, has seen me expand my reaches from meaningless drivel and hasn't seen me stop. I should hope that meaningless drivel continues to flow from my fingertips and into the minds of all of you because, as I've realized, meaningless drivel is the essence of this site. More than that; it's the essence of me. In order to attain whatever goal it is I want, I've got to write myself to the top of that summit. And, with this realization becoming clearer and clearer as I go on and on, where that summit rests is somewhere I've never been. The funny thing is, and this is more sage advice than anything, I know that I won't enjoy the summit unless I enjoy the climb. Yes, sometimes the climb more keenly resembles a steep, steep decline into godknowswhere, but all in all, I'm still climbing - and you're still here. Needless to say, I've enjoyed myself, and it's been a pleasure to enjoy myself in the company of such a delightful reader base.

One thing about the future is that it's always there - even if we're not. With one day left in the 2004th year AD, the concept of 2005 is wholly material and real. Friends, with one more day left before the future arrives, if I fail to see it's arrival - it still comes. And with that coming there's hope. There's always hope. We've heard it time and time again: hope is always there. Hope, hope, hope, blah, blah, blah. I hate to admit it, but it's true. The conceptual 2005 shouldn't been pre-determined for misery before it sets foot inside our active calendars. On the contrary, 2005 should be welcomed as an opportunity to start anew, with hope. So, with one day left before the future is no longer so distant, it's time we realize what it is for which we hope. Do we hope for love, peace, and a Conservative dynasty in Washington Politics? I sure as hell do. Yes, with one day left before we start all over again, why don't we ponder just exactly what that means. Start all over again. And rather than starting with the notion of having one day to right the wrongs of 364, let's have 364 to right the wrongs of one.

Happy New Year.

Let Me Tell You

To keep the chain of seasonal Christmas posts going, I've decided to sneak in one last entry. Although I haven't really decided what to post about, I know that there are millions of adoring fans who just might kill themselves if I abstain for too long. Abstain - from the blog that is. Ok, awkward inuendoes, that's enough of that. It's seems that Christmas this year is somehow different than years prior. Maybe it's the fact that this could very well be the last Christmas I ever have. No, I don't mean that I'm going to die before next December. I'm talking about conversion. I could just as easily convert to Judaism and celebrate that one holiday they have - Charmichael I think it is. Or, and this would be fun, I could very well become African-American and enjoy Kwami. Or I could baske in the faith of Islam and practice Ramada. There's nothing an over-commercialized holiday to toast my insides and make me smile. The sad part about it: I'm not kidding.

There's always been something about Christmas, especially commercial Christmas, that makes everything seem right in the world. Sure, the whole thing about giving and praying and Jesus is nice, but there's nothing better than seeing Santa on a 2 litre of Coke. And I'm not the only one to think so. All of the corporate execs in my choir group happen to feel the same way. It's actually quite nice. Anyway, Christmas is certainly the time of year that, for some reason or another, drives people completely insane. I'm not sure why this is, or how it started, or what it means, but it's never bothered me - at all. Maybe it's because my mom's done all my shopping for me. Maybe it's because I can't even spell Sohp, let alone do it. Maybe it's because I somehow run out of money in between December 15 and December 26. I'm not really sure, and to be honest, I don't really care. All I know is that Christmas comes, I get things, and I'm happy. Isn't that the true purpose of Christmas: to make me happy? It was the last time I checked, and it should be still.

However, as I've progressed intellectually and matured mentally and all of that nice stuff that comes with age, Christmas has definitely become a more extroverted holiday. Oh God, here comes an overly-emotional dedication to one of my more loyal readers. But never fear, I should hope that namedropping need not apply to this segment. What I would like to say, as Christmas creeps closer and closer, is that Christmas is never better spent than spent with someone else. As cliche and overused as it may be (and you know what I'm talking about), it's true. It's true, it's true, it's true. It's a fact of life, at least of my life, that giving a gift and receiving an intangible response, something that can't be wrapped or bowed or returned at the store is much more desirable than opening meaningless packages with perishable items.

If there's one thing that Christmas brings, besides Coke, it's the yearning for someone to brighten a day that seems lost. It's the comfort of knowing that there's someone out there who thinks of you just as much as you think of them (and it's a helluva lot). It's the ease of relaxing one on one and knowing that time is finally on your side - at least for the time being. And, of course, it's knowing that Christmas doesn't have to be but once a year. At least I hope not.

The (Perforated) Hard Line

As Christmas fast approaches (oh no, I feel a lame, clichéd intro coming), I'm continually being asked what I'd like to receive. While there are a number of things I'd love to have, such as total conversion of the leftist movement, and other delightful holiday treats, it's hard to take a firm stance on one solitary object. Therefore, I've changed my tune and decided that I want nothing more than ideological peace of mind. In this case, I told myself, it's important that I immediately forget any logic I may have developed and take part in the bipartisan effort to transform myself into a genuine liberal (or secular progressive, whatever that means). Yes, I want to be liberal for Christmas. I don't want a fire truck, batman toys, or national security - I want world peace and blankets of love for the homeless people in Kuala Lumpur. Is it a lofty goal, an unrealistic ambition? I should hope not. American liberals seem to be fairly satisfied with the results of such thinking.

Ok, so maybe I don't want liberalization for Christmas - just a little fib for all of you equipped with a slight sense of humor. It's something that I've come to see as necessary, a sense of humor, that is, especially after this election season. Liberal outcry has been absolutely hilarious, and the state of the Democratic Party after blowing a shoo-in election (or so they thought), has left me with something of a smirk. But be warned, this country is in for four more years of homophobic hatred and unconstitutional legislation that caters, surprisingly enough, to rich, white, fatboys who oppress everyone below them. That's Tom Daschle's going away/Christmas (or Holiday) present to myself and the rest of Conservative America - the "truth". The sad thing is, as Daschle joins the "growing" list of the unemployed, that Americans just don't believe his truth. And they shouldn't. Don't get me wrong, Tom Daschle has done wonders for America (although they escape me at the moment), and it's probably unfair of me to target him specifically, so I'll just make rabid generalizations of the whole radical left.

For Christmas this year, the liberals of America have a special gift for you and me. That gift, neatly packaged in a bundle of ribbon and righteousness, is a detailed list of how America's headed for the proverbial crapper. Firstly, our illegitimate President can't be trusted with the War on Terror. They might be right. I'm sure Saddam would have gladly abdicated if he'd only faced the army of Sycamores and Willows with which (President) Gore planned to beautify Iraq.
Secondly, as we see the passing of broadcasters such as Rather and Brokaw, the liberals have introduced us to the next generation of hard line journalists. Yes, hard on everything (including the eyes) that calls itself conservative, but soft on everything else. They're amazingly soft on a cutthroat enemy that eats, sleeps, and defecates destruction of the west, yet somehow are portrayed with the same moral equivalence as our American troops. They're irreverently soft on radical "civil rights" leaders (Jesse Jackson, Louis Farrakhan) who preach ideologies of ludicrous intolerance, racism, and anti-Semitism. They're horribly soft on deceased advocates of Israeli demise and threats to prosperity in a war-torn region (namely Yasser Arafat). But, the hard line, as perforated as it may be, does have some solid segments. They're hard on Clarence Thomas, one of the few stand-up figures that black Americans should view as a definitive role model. They're hard on American troops for defending themselves in the heat of battle and breaking the occasional "rule" while the enemy doesn't even own a translated copy of the code to begin with. They're hard on conservatives who favor American prosperity and security first and foremost. The list goes on and on, friends. The truth is this: liberals are the most generous people ever. Especially during Christmases following defeat.

The liberal hard line, as soft and flaccid as it may be, oddly enough resembles the famed (and extremely successful) Maginot Line of France. This engineering masterpiece firmly fortified sections of France from future German assaults. With intricate tunnel systems and dozens of concrete turret hubs, the Maginot Line was destined for victory. Until it failed. Miserably. The liberal hard line is full of holes, holes that it simply cannot defend with right-minded logic. Our job as rational conservatives is to simply go around this line. But don't expect the liberals to fold as shamelessly as France (although you might expect it). They've got passion and ruthlessness that some of us simply just aren't ready to combat. However, we have no choice. As liberals take up their arms of slander and libel and seek to destroy the foundations of America, it's time we strategize. There's nothing wrong with a pre-emptive strike. Right, Bill?

Friends, as I settle down for my long winters nap, I look forward to waking up on Christmas morning. Not expecting much of what I actually did want, there are certain things that I know I'll get regardless - and they're listed above (along with grievances too numerous to mention). However, there's one thing about Christmas that's always reliable. There's one thing, one powerful eraser of the liberal hard line that just might do the trick. Any guesses?

That's right - a good, old-fashioned return policy.

Merry Christmas.

It's Dr. Rice, Not Dr. Dre

Ann Coulter
December 1, 2004


In light of their reaction to the nomination of Condoleezza Rice as secretary of state, I gather liberals have gotten over their enthusiasm for multiculturalist milestones. It's interesting that they dropped their celebrations of the "first woman!" "first black!" "first Asian!" designations at the precise moment that we are about to get our first black female secretary of state.

When Madeline Albright was appointed the FIRST WOMAN secretary of state, the media was euphoric. (And if memory serves, Monica Lewinsky was the first Jewish female to occupy her various positions on the president's, uh, staff.)

With Albright at the helm of the State Department, Osama bin Laden ran wild throughout the Middle East, the North Koreans began feverishly building nukes under her nose, and we staged a pre-emptive attack solely for purposes of regime change based on false information presented to the American people by Albright about a world leader who was not an imminent threat to the United States. Slobodan Milosevic wasn't even a latent, long-term, hypothetical threat.

But the girls in the mainstream media were too smitten with Albright's brooch collection and high heels to notice the shambles she was making of foreign policy.

The New York Times raved about Albright's brooches in an article titled, "A Diplomat Who Says 'Read My Pins.'" In the San Francisco Chronicle, Leah Garchik was amazed by Albright's "jewel-encrusted flag" pin -- Albright's clever ruse to prove that Republicans did not have "dibs on patriotic jewelry." Perhaps Rice could impress American journalists if she talked more about her accessorizing.

People magazine quoted an aide gushing that Albright "stays in her heels all day." Albright herself told Harper's Bazaar, "I've kidded that the advantage of being a woman secretary of state is makeup." This was a great leap forward for feminism? At this point even Paris Hilton was rolling her eyes and saying, "Oh, come on now!"

But Bush nominates a brilliant geopolitical thinker who happens to be black and female and all of a sudden she's Butterfly McQueen, who don't know nothin' 'bout birthin' no Middle Eastern democracies.

Earlier this year, the flamboyant Richard Clarke claimed that when he briefed Rice in early 2001 about al-Qaida, her "facial expression gave me the impression that she had never heard the term before." It's good to know that Clinton's chief terrorism "expert" believes himself to possess paranormal abilities such as ESP.

Why couldn't Dick Clarke have used some of those mind-reading skills on Osama before al-Qaida blew up the USS Cole in October 2000? Or after? To the bitter end, the official position of the Clinton administration was that it couldn't say for sure who was responsible for the Cole attack.

Apparently, liberals believe Rice compares unfavorably to Madeline Albright, whose principle accomplishment before becoming secretary of state was managing to attain the age of 60 without realizing she was Jewish. That was raw competence.

I take that back: Albright also taught at Georgetown University. Of course, American universities make professors of people like Eldridge Cleaver's wife. (Kathleen Cleaver is currently at Yale law school; Susan Rosenberg, a participant in a Brinks car robbery, teaches at Hamilton College; former Weatherman Bill Ayers is a distinguished professor of education at the University of Illinois-Chicago; and former Weatherman Bernardine Dohrn is the director of a legal clinic at Northwestern University.)

Or how about Clinton's first secretary of state, Warren Christopher, a lawyer whose dazzling foreign policy experience consisted of being President Carter's chief negotiator for the hostages in Iran? That's almost as impressive a resume entry as "Chief Iceberg Lookout, the Titanic," "Senior Design Engineer, the Edsel," "Navigator, Exxon Valdez," or "Writer/Executive Producer, 'Alexander."

"The closest black woman to Bill Clinton was his secretary, Betty Currie -- whose principal function was penciling in "Monica" on Clinton's "To Do" list every morning. The closest black woman to most of the liberals accusing Rice of being incompetent is the maid they periodically accuse of stealing from the liquor cabinet.

George Bush chose a black woman to be his top adviser on national security. Now he wants her as his secretary of state. And when she becomes the first black female secretary of state, Rice will replace the first black secretary of state -- both appointed by right-wing Republican George Bush. The entire Bush cabinet is starting to look like an Image Awards telecast minus the fisticuffs and gunplay.

Democrats are terrified that black people might start to notice.

Say, there's a black woman standing next to President Bush ... who is that?

Never mind! It's probably somebody he's arresting!

It's extremely valuable for Democrats to be able to campaign in black neighborhoods while talking about the "white boys" running the Republican Party. When she was managing Al Gore's 2000 campaign, Donna Brazile said she was not going to "let the white boys win in this election." (If I had a nickel for every time I've confused Al Gore, Joe Lieberman, Terry McAuliffe, Paul Begala and James Carville for the Jackson Five ...)

Sure enough, Brazile was instrumental in not letting a couple of white boys -- named Al and Joe -- win the election. I guess that's liberals' idea of a "competent" black woman.