In the present election, we have to choose between a confidence man and a courtesan, two types the American people warmly approve as less obese reflections of themselves. Trump’s talent is the power to embolden nervous investors and make them sign checks they would not sign if they were not under the spell of Trump. Harris’s talent is the power to do whatever she is told to do while cluelessly enjoying dumb luck.
A hundred and more years ago, Trump and Harris might have been working together in a sideshow of a travelling circus, Trump outside the tent persuading the yokels to part with a quarter to take an edifying gander at the Queen of Sheba, Harris inside the tent beguiling the yokels with phony-exotic allure.
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I myself am still more likely to write in Dave Barry for his stand on plumbing issues1, though I am considering Vincent D. Furnier for his policy on school reform.
The American Lytton Strachey is probably H.L. Mencken his own self, and he’s a very late, very poor imitation (in that sense; I’m not sure if calling him “the American Strachey” is an insult to Mencken, or Strachey, but frankly I hope it’s an insult to both).
(“Scribner’s” magazine is publishing a series of three articles: “If Booth Had Missed Lincoln,” “If Lee Had Won the Battle of Gettysburg,” and “If Napoleon Had Escaped to America.” This is the fourth.)
The morning of the ninth of April, 1865, dawned beautifully. General Meade was up with the first streaks of crimson in the sky. General Hooker and General Burnside were up and had breakfasted, by a quarter after eight. The day continued beautiful. It drew on toward eleven o’clock. General Ulysses S. Grant was still not up. He was asleep in his famous old navy hammock, swung high above the floor of his headquarters’ bedroom. Headquarters was distressingly disarranged: papers were strewn on the floor; confidential notes from spies scurried here and there in the breeze from an open window; the dregs of an overturned bottle of wine flowed pinkly across an important military map.
In a way, I do envy the people who are experiencing tribal joys around the election. To go into raptures over a candidate together with everybody “on your side” must be pleasant.
But then I think nah, I’d rather have my brain all to myself and enjoy it in a lonesome fashion.
Here’s the conclusion of an article that I came across today.
After thoroughly examining and analyzing the distinct patterns detailed above, it is evident that each sequence forms unique combinations which can be utilized in various areas such as music creation, coding systems, or solving mathematical problems, among other applications.
The flexibility and diverse range of combinations reflect the broad applicability these sequences may possess.
This study underscores the cardinal role of permutations in numerous fields, bringing to light the profound connections and impacts these numerical sequences hold within our daily lives.
Ultimately, this highlights the significance of such distinctive patterns and their expansive potential in fostering innovative solutions and breakthroughs.
Can you guess the subject of this article? Read it here.
Donald Trump is no saint yet, certainly; but he has the curious quality that many saints have, of revealing serious hatred problems deep in people’s hearts, even when those people have always seemed good or normal. Some of these “good” people go stark raving mad when exposed to someone sweet, kind, and gentle, possibly because they suddenly feel inferior somehow, or feel disturbed in their view of what is possible for a human to do and be.
Trump Derangement Syndrome has a similar quality, where something innocuous or funny done by Trump suddenly works like splashing holy water on a vampire, shrieks and all. I have seen it with a member of my own family, and still don’t understand it.
… if you write down the names of a hundred people who have done something that matters in science or literature or any other branch of culture, you will find that two at most of the hundred come from the most privileged part of the social scale, and one at most from the least privileged…
This is an extremely simple statistic, and one which is very easily verified: anyone who is prepared to take a small amount of trouble can satisfy themselves as to the fact. Yet it is of the greatest importance. If it were attended to, it would be enough on its own to silence forever revolutionary or bohemian ranting about “bourgeois culture”; for it proves that culture is everywhere, and always has been, a middle-class monopoly.
Last fall there were two first-rate shows broadcast, Frieren at the Funeral2 and The Apothecary Diaries. It’s generally years between series of this quality; I can’t remember the last time two aired simultaneously. This renaissance couldn’t last, of course. The second seasons of both shows were inferior to the first, and no other show I’ve recently sampled has approached the quality of the tales of Frieren and Maomao. Nevertheless, there are a few that I managed to watch all the way through that deserve mention.
Helck3 is second-rate Tatsuo Sato but still pretty good. Unfortunately, it stops two-thirds the way through the manga, leaving everything unresolved. Until the third season is animated I can’t recommend the show.
Mr. Villain’s Day Off concerns an alien general engaged in the conquest of Earth, and his activities during his down time. His time off is precious to him; he uses it to marvel at cute things and savor the simple pleasures of life on Earth. He takes pictures of the panda at the zoo. Nothing much happens, but that’s fine. Watching an episode is like taking a nap, which is not a bad thing when you have insomnia.
Villainess Level 99: I May Be the Hidden Boss But I’m Not the Demon Lord is another damned isekai, but it is surprisingly watchable. In this one the protagonist discovers that she is the final boss of a fantasy otome game, fated to be killed by the game’s heroine. She is not enthusiastic about this. Fortunately, she is level-headed, intelligent and practical, and Villainess Level 99 is one of the very few isekai I’ve watched more than one episode of.
In Train to the End of the World, Masami Eiri’s Protocol 7 (here called “7G”) is implemented when a girl presses a golden button. The result is chaos. Four schoolgirls commandeer a train and travel through a Japan become alien in search of the girl who pressed the button. The show was directed by Tsutomu Mizushima, who previously directed Girls und Panzer and Dai Mahou Touge/Magical Witch Punie-chan. Train is closer to the latter, but far more bizarre.
Escape artist
That brings us to the current season. Most of the offerings look like drivel, not worth $8/month. However, I did check out the first episode of The Elusive Samurai, and it might be watchable. The “elusive samurai” is the eight-year-old Tokiyuki Hojo, who has an exceptional ability to run away and hide — a useful talent in that dangerous era. The first half of the episode, in which Tokiyuki gleefully and acrobatically escapes from archery practice, is light and goofy. The second half is bloody, as nearly everyone he knows is killed. I expect that the story will play fast and loose with Japanese history, and there may be some fantasy elements as well. The series is based on manga by Yusei Matsui, who earlier wrote Assassination Classroom. This could be a good show if the humor and violence are as well-balanced as in the story of Koro-sensei.
If The Elusive Samurai is indeed good, or I discover another watchable show, I’ll maintain my Crunchyroll membership. Otherwise I’ll cancel it and wait until Maomao’s return next year to join again.
Remind you of anyone?
Update: Crunchyroll cancelled comments. I cancelled my subscription. The hell with them.
Uncle Sam was a plausible personification of the United States of America a century ago, back before the USA became Absurdistan. In this silly age of Tapioca Joe and 57 genders, he’s no longer appropriate. We need someone more in harmony with the spirit of the times. Here’s a possibility:
Clownpiece is a character from one of the later Touhou games. According to the Touhou Wiki,
With the flame of her torch, Clownpiece is able to drive others insane. According to herself, any human looking at the light of her torch would be unable to maintain their sanity, making her able to mess with their minds. In the Human Village, she used this ability to make villagers extremely irritable and short-tempered, attacking each other for trivial reasons….
The flame of the torch is able to affect the lifeforce and make it go berserk….
Clownpiece is similar in nature to many of the other fairies in Touhou: she is playful, mischievous, childish, and a little bit dumb. She enjoys the aesthetics of Hell, often leading to strange looks from others; however, this is because it reminds her of home.
Clownpiece is also the “Embodiment of impurity.”
That sounds more like 21st century America than old, irrelevant Uncle Sam.
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There’s another election this fall, where once again the choices will be between Very Bad or Even Worse. I suggest sending the regulatory state a message by writing in “Dave Barry.”
In his spare time, Dave is a candidate for president of the United States. If elected, his highest priority will be to seek the death penalty for whoever is responsible for making Americans install low-flow toilets.
If you’re going to give someone a Nobel Prize in economics, shouldn’t the standard be “their economic policies were put into practice in a certain community and worked as intended to the benefit of the said community”? Because otherwise, isn’t it just judging who has the most appealing theory? Which is to say, fiction being written and judged by people who don’t realize it’s fiction?
