Mother of the f**king year.

[Sorry about the f-bomb, folks. I try to save it for special occasions. At least I censored a bit. You see? I'm growing.]

This makes me ill. First of all, I would just die inside if my daughter chose to have an abortion. Children, whether they are planned or a surprise, are the most amazing creatures. It is impossible to hide from oneself as a parent. Children throw our worst, laziest, most destructive traits into sharp relief. They are also experts at pulling down walls that have taken a lifetime to build, as well as softening the hardest edges. When I was surprised with my first child at the highly disorganized and irresponsible age of 23, abortion was never on the table. I was scared and really freaked out, but I knew I loved her. I’ll never regret it.

So, if faced with the prospect of a pregnant 15 year old, (how the very thought of that makes my blood run cold), I would pray that I had given my daughter the tools to make the right decision. (And yes, there is a “right” and a “wrong” decision in this case. I won’t apologize for absolutes.) I wouldn’t stand back and let her make the decision alone, however, since her life would not be the only one impacted. That would be my grandchild, and I would see the beauty of my daughter in that child. I’d fight for it, and I hope she would too. Stories like these absolutely remind me to take nothing for granted. Teaching my daughter about the sanctity of life and the miracle of God’s little surprises is one of my top priorities as a mother, as well as taking responsibility for one’s stupid and reckless decisions. There is very little emphasis in this culture on personal responsibility, which may be why we have elected an unabashed socialist as president. My child will learn responsibility, honor, respect and a sense of duty that is almost absent present society.

The mother in the story is disgusting. While I sympathize with her desire to do what was best for her daughter, if she had taken five minutes’ time to reflect upon the decision she practically made for her daughter, she might have been able to see that surgical termination of her daughter’s unborn would not contribute to the mental wellbeing of her child. Idiot. Sex and all that it entails is no country for 15 year olds to attempt to negotiate. It’s complicated at 30, for heaven’s sake. There are so many emotions involved, as well as the physical complications that can arise. I’m no nun; I speak from experience. Kids in their early teens don’t have the emotional walls built up to deal with casual intimate relationships. We build up our callouses later in life, enabling us to survive the damage. Sex is one thing, however; abortion is an entirely different animal. That young girl in the story didn’t have a chance. Of course she’ll initially opt for the “easy” way out. It is up to the mother to guide and counsel her, to make sure she’s seen the situation from all sides. Idiot woman.

I haven’t even gotten to the fact that this woman refused to tell her husband what was going on with his little girl. If I were to ever pull something so stupid and selfish, I’d hope to God my husband would divorce me. I know my husband, and I know how much he loves his girl. He’d be heartbroken if his grandchild–however much of a surprise–were killed out of convenience. Even thinking of his reaction to  completely hypothetical situation just tears my heart out.

This woman has got to live with the decision she so thoughtlessly made. A 15 year old is not an adult; she has no idea how to navigate the murky, deep waters of adult consequences. It was her mother’s job to help her come out the other side of a bad situation, and yet she just made it worse, ensuring her daughter a lifetime of pain, guilt and sorrow. Good job, Mom.

Quite lengthy, but awesome. Worship me.

To answer Kathy Shaidle’s rhetorical question: I don’t think Meghan McCain ever gets tired of being wrong. Her cluelessness has evolved from pitiful to tiresome in the space of a few columns, and I can’t be bothered with her anymore. She’s an intellectual lightweight with an influential father. She may be perfectly nice, but she’s hardly the next KLo. Her columns always make me sad, mostly because she’s getting paid and I am not.

The problem with Baby McCain is that her groundbreaking vision for the GOP is predicated on the false assumptions pressed by the left, i.e. the GOP is out-of-touch, full of old white guys, not inclusive enough, &etc. While there is a case to be made for modernizing the GOP, it must not be at the expense of our core principles. We need to return to our fiscally responsible, small government, pro-capitalist roots because though it may seem that these values are out of fashion at this moment, they are vital to the Republic. If one decides that these “old-fashioned” views are too extreme to be marketable, then where does that leave us? What then differentiates one major party from the other? We can–and must–debate these issues amongst ourselves, but we cannot abandon what defines us as the unglamourous but decidedly more adult Other.

I also think that we waste our time on peripheral issues like gay marriage and immigration. Don’t misunderstand my intent–immigration is, to me, a national security issue and therefore terribly important, but I am willing to give a little if it means the GOP can solidify itself a bit. Gay marriage–you know where I am on that. Therefore, they are “peripheral.” Things like abortion, fiscal responsibility, the free market and personal freedom, however, are the bedrock of this party and we cannot compromise them without losing our identity. “Reformers” like Baby McCain and David Frum are advocating a temporary solution to make us “electable” again, while I believe that if we have to forfeit short term electability to actually stand for something again, then so be it.

It’s as if Baby McCain and her fellow travelers are lifting their understanding of the party they purportedly belong to from The Simpsons–perhaps Baby really believes that heartless old men run the GOP from secret, Mason-like clubs, plotting and scheming in robes along with bloodsuckers and hypocritical clowns. The impression she seems to have is cartoonish and wrong, and ultimately, uninformed by reality. She gushes over Congressman Hotness’ (debatable, in my opinion) ability to, like, totally think outside the box when it comes to, like, demographics and stuff.

“That doesn’t mean you take the party platform necessarily and throw it out the window, but also that you don’t become so exclusive to say ‘Well if this person doesn’t agree with me 100 percent, then they aren’t a true Republican.’” Unlike the response so many older Republicans have given me before—I’m young, I spent time at college in Manhattan, etc.—Schock approached the question honestly and realistically. Just the fact that he recognizes the problem the GOP has reaching out to my generation is in itself impressive.

Schock also insisted the party need not dismiss any one demographic simply because, historically, it has not voted Republican. “The sad part is that some people say ‘Why are you talking to young people? They don’t vote for us.’ Or ‘Why are you talking to African-Americans? They don’t vote for us’ or ‘Why are you talking to Latinos?’”

This is not new thinking. Apparently, Baby McCain and “her generation” are, collectively speaking, G.K. Chesterton’s intrepid explorer who “discovers” Brighton after a circuitous traverse of the Atlantic.

There will probably be a general impression that the man who landed (armed to the teeth and talking by signs) to plant the British flag on that barbaric temple which turned out to be the Pavilion at Brighton, felt rather a fool.

We’ve all done it, we’ve all “discovered” the obvious, but what is so pathetic in “Generation Y” is its complete lack of context. In 2000 and 2004, we had a Republican president speaking bad Spanish and pushing a “moderate” version of conservatism called “compassionate conservatism.” W was not quite the hardliner that he’s been made out to be. His brand of conservatism was far more inclusive than any that had been offered in recent years, and yet it still failed–thanks in large part to his inability or unwillingness to communicate his agenda clearly and a combative, leftist media bent on his defeat. Gen Y seems to buy into the popular mythology regarding the GOP, and their collective lack of historical perspective causes them to make stupid assumptions about a party they apparently don’t understand. Just because you are young doesn’t mean you are qualified to speak to your generation.

As for Congressman Hotness–uh, no thanks. This man has always been my idea of a very hot politican. I am fanning myself in an exaggerated, Southern belle manner so as to illustrate the hotness of Mr. Ford. Swoon.

Lastly, I must respectfully disagree with Kathy Shaidle’s assertion that “guitar” beats “abs” in the “Rock-Paper-Scissors of ‘hotness’”. “Abs” will always beat “guitar” (though I am more of a wide-shoulder/big-arms/big, rough hands girl myself), but “intellect” beats them all any day of the week and twice on Sunday. Maybe I’m lacking context here, but that’s my take.

Modesto.

I like cops. I’ve never been in major trouble with the law, but I’ve had the great fortune to have known quite a few very good, very honest, and very caring cops throughout my life. I’ve worked out with cops, have friends who are cops, and have a general appreciation for the challenges facing our policemen and women.

I couldn’t help but shudder when I read this. I can’t even imagine how terrifying this must have been for the officer in this story. The nasty mob even attacked his K9 partner–and you know what I think about people that will hurt an animal. Beasts, all of them. I’m so glad the officer and his partner made it out alive, for a one point even that seemed unlikely.

The officer’s two-way radio was broken during the struggle. The officer then used his gun to hold off the crowd as he tried to tell neighbors to call 911. Someone in the crowd had a police scanner, Findlen said, and told the rest of the crowd that other officers weren’t responding to the scene. It was then that the officer was told he wouldn’t be leaving the scene alive, according to police.

Yikes. I haven’t been to Modesto in ages, though from what I’ve heard about it, this isn’t surprising. I’m so glad the officers are okay.

Family time.

I’m no fan of Joe Biden, but I always hated it when the press would hype the antics of the Bush twins, as if they were the only college kids to ever get drunk and act stupid. I know that Biden’s the anti-drug crusader or whatever, but this is a family issue. Kids mess up. It’s sort of their specialty. It’s like they were put on this earth to one day embarrass their  parents.

Of course, cocaine is an illegal substance, so the law will have to get involved, but as for press coverage, I really don’t want to see any more.

Creepifying.

At this rate, I may just turn this blog into a pop culture space.

I’ve liked Angie Harmon for years now. She started modeling around the time I got interested in fashion, and I love her dramatic look. She and Jennifer Connelly are my main hair icons. (I really do have hair icons. I’ve got style icons–Dita–so why not hair icons?) Anyway, I find her honesty to be very refreshing, and I love her feistiness. At an event where she was surrounded by hostiles, she made her feelings known. I adore her for it.

She had this to say about Sarah Palin, my favorite Alaskan:

“I admire any kind of woman like her. My whole motto is to know what I stand for and know what I don’t stand for and have the courage to live my life accordingly and she does exactly that. The fact that this woman has made the decisions she’s made and literally lived her life according to that and takes heat for it is absolutely disgusting to me,” she added. “People cannot look at this woman. I really think they’re afraid of her and her morals, ethics and values and the fact that she hangs on them. Is she the most experienced person in the world? But she was running to be the Vice President, so we then put the most inexperienced person as the President. That didn’t make any sense to me.”

Palin is this great role model for women, regardless of one’s politial affiliation–she’s done what we’ve been told we can do–should do–and she’s been vilified for it. Contrast Harmon’s statements with this creepifying madness:

Everybody’s broke and everybody’s struggling and he makes me feel like I know him and that I know Michelle and that they’re like us and they’re out to try to save the USA.

Creepy. I mean, I actually know some of my personal heroes and I’m absolutely rigid with my assumptions of how well I “know” them. Until I get an engraved note declaring me someone’s intimate, I’m not going to assume anything. Perhaps that’s my WASPiness asserting itself, but there’s nothing worse than being that chick. You know the one I’m talking about. If I’m not assuming intimacy with people I’ve met in the flesh, I’m not going to start assuming intimacy with presidents and First Ladies. I loved W, but I never felt like I “knew” him or his wife–that’s stalker talk.

Dollhouse.

I hate to pull the shallow card again, but I’ve been watching Joss Whedon’s latest television venture, Dollhouse. I wasn’t necessarily sold at the beginning, but it’s grown on me. Delicious Canadian Tahmoh Penikett, (Helo of BSG), in a starring role didn’t hurt. Did I mention the deliciousness? Because he’s the reason I’m determined to get through the disappointing last season of BSG that is fermenting on my dvr. Bare-armed and sweaty–that’s how I like ‘em.

One of the most interesting things about Dollhouse is its subplots. My favorite is the relationship between Penikett’s character and the neighbor, a more full-figured gal than we’re used to seeing on Fox. She’s gorgeous and I’m not saying she’s actually “fat”–she’s just “Hollywood fat.” I’d assumed incorrectly that she’d be pining for her delicious neighbor for the duration of the series as he obsessed over Eliza Dushku, but that wasn’t at all how things worked out. Of course there are complications, but it’s nice to see something a little different. And this is why Joss is the man. We can always count on him to step outside the box once in awhile.

Did I mention that Tahmoh Penikett is delicious? I’m talking mouth-watering. I’ll stop now. At this point I’m just embarrassing myself.

What she’s having.

I quite like vampire stories. I’m a bit ashamed to admit that, but it’s the truth. I’ve read so many terrible vampire books and watched so many unintentionally funny vampire movies, it’s kind of sad. But I hold out hope that someday I will accidentally stumble across the perfect vampire story–not too mushy, not overly romantic, not ridiculously gory, not homoerotic or pretentious. I love a good backstory. Oh, and it must be written well. Not just readable, not just tolerable, but written well. I did enjoy Dracula quite a bit, but I have a pet peeve about stories told entirely through correspondence. Unreliable narrators and limited point of view. It’s like playing a first person shooter. Gives me vertigo.

Anyway, I sort of agree with Tony Woodlief’s Twlight Chic over at NRO. Vampires have certainly been glamourized to death, and the culmination of all of this stupidity seems to be Stephenie Meyer’s insipid Twilight series–a series aimed at silly preteen girls and their silly mothers. On every point made by Mr Woodlief pertaining to the series, I’ll agree. However, I’ve got to side with Caitlin Flanagan in her letter to the editor: I’ll definitely have what Lucy’s been having.

Having so recently reread Dracula, I’ve got to admit that I was mildly surprised by the overt sexual imagery used to describe the interactions between Lucy and the Count. I hadn’t read it since high school and I’d forgotten how much I love Victorian fiction. They were so creative with their repression.

Emotional rescue kit.

I may need an emotional rescue kit for myself on account of what this administration is doing to my country. Dismantling my capitalism, piece by piece. The worst part about it is that the people of this country, though some of them are starting to get uncomfortable with the cheerful exploitation of this crisis, most are just watching it happen. Are you comfortable with this?

Eager to reassure consumers, Obama also announced the federal government would immediately begin backing the warranties that new car buyers receive _ a step designed to signal that it is safe to purchase U.S.-made autos and trucks despite the distress of the industry.

In a statement read at the White House, Obama said he was “absolutely committed” to the survival of a domestic auto industry that can compete internationally. And yet, “our auto industry is not moving in the right direction fast enough,” he added.

[. . .]

In an extraordinary move, the administration forced the departure of Rick Wagoner as CEO of General Motors over the weekend, and implicit in Obama’s remarks was that the government holds the ability to pull the plug on that company or Chrysler.

You know, I’m just not. There is no conceivable scenario in which I’d be comfortable with this. I’m concerned about the country my daughter is inheriting. This debt, this government control of the markets… I’m just not liking the direction this is going. I feel a bit hopeless about it all, as I can’t see how anything I say will make a difference. Maybe I should pack it up and write fiction. Try to get a book published. Turn this blog into a movie and book review site.

I suppose that if this ship is going down, however, I should make the most of it. Sort of like making out with a stranger when the elevator cable breaks. (Does anyone here watch Scrubs?)

le sigh of relief.

I can’t ever imagine anyone in their right mind saying that Sinatra had a “lousy” voice, but I suppose it happened. My four year old daughter happens to love Sinatra and every time we put him on in the car, I’m amazed at the effortlessness of his voice. It’s just beautiful. Slightly sad, damn sexy, and smooth.

Anyway, Steyn’s Song of the Week is “All or Nothing at All”, a gorgeous song that appeals to hopelessly romantic girls like me. I know, I know–you can’t imagine me as a hopeless romantic, but I really am. Secretly or not so secretly, I love a good ballad filled with sorrow, longing, obsession and love. Good stuff. I had no idea that the same guy who wrote this song also wrote “Beyond the Sea,” another favorite of the wee one. That particular song makes mevery sad, for reasons that would take too long to fully explain, but this Jack Lawrence fellow was an excellent lyricist.

I’ve said it a million times, but I cannot adequately articulate how interesting the SotW columns are. I look forward to them every week, knowing that I’ll learn something new that has nothing to do with Barack Obama’s dismal on the job training. As my friend teresa says, le sigh. In this case, it’s a sigh of relief.

Getting the cobwebs out.

Sometimes I open my iPod and just hate my musical catalogue. Seriously, I hate it. A lot of the stuff I’ve been listening to since high school or early college and I just can’t handle it anymore. So I’ve decided to explore the psychobilly/gothic americana/whatever fascination, a venture that is already paying off with an interesting detour into alt.country (whatever that is). (I hate labels. They’re stupid and confusing and completely inconsequential.) I’ve always known that I liked “old school” country while that I hate “pop” country, so I’ve been looking for the one sound and avoiding the other. I do really like Neko Case’s Blacklisted–all haunty vocals and steel guitars that just seem to invoke my beloved desert. Her voice is very clear, very beautiful.

I know I’ve been on a sort of fluff-laden, pop culture-centric kick these last couple of days, but it is an absolute necessity if I am to continue writing on a semi-regular basis. I’m nearly done with my Brideshead Revisited revisit, so something terribly interesting should be forthcoming. If you’re dying for some substance, you know Steyn’s got a fabulous column up, as usual. And do you ever read his “Reader of the Day” links? Some of them are very nice and complimentary, but the majority of them are downright deranged. It’s a sort of frothing-at-the-mouth, rabid hatred. The left truly gets its panties (no word on whether they are frilly or plain) in a mighty twist over Mark, don’t they? I’m rather jealous of the level of psychosis he induces, as I’d love to drive the boys crazy like he does. I’ve never seen so many beta males speculating on another man’s sexuality as I did when I read the Crooks and Liars comment section last week. It seems to be a common theme amongst Steyn-haters and one has to wonder why they’re all so concerned about it.  Just sayin’.

(The C&L losers were also very upset about the way Steyn dresses, which I found rather humourous coming from folks I’m fairly certain were wearing skinny jeans or faded rock band tees. Steyn dresses like a grown-up, and a rather dapper one at that. I’ve been completely infected by SoCal in that “dressing up” for me means that I wear my nice jeans and ballet flats. Sometimes I’ll even wear one of my 45 strapless sundresses. Polka dots, flowers, or plaid? Big choice.)

Nice.

This is awesome. I’m a bit squeamish about surgery and whatnot, so buying an impressive rack seems like just an impossible dream. Now, thanks to new British stem cell research, that dream may someday become a reality, without the icky silicone melon boob look. And–here’s the best part–no embryos have to die to grow me a rack.

A STEM cell therapy offering “natural” breast enlargement is to be made available to British women for the first time.

The treatment could boost cup size while reducing stomach fat. It involves extracting stem cells from spare fat on the stomach or thighs and growing them in a woman’s breasts. An increase of one cup size is likely, with the potential for larger gains as the technique improves.

A trial has already started in Britain to use stem cells to repair the breasts of women who have had cancerous lumps removed. A separate project is understood to be the first in Britain to use the new technique on healthy women seeking breast enlargement.

Unfortunately, this particular procedure is pretty cost prohibitve, so until I win the lottery, I’ve got to make due with what God gave me. Bummer.

Dirty, dark, hillbilly punk.

This evening I discovered that I really like psychobilly. I’ve liked this particular form of music for a long time now, I just didn’t know what it was called. Dirty, dark, hillbilly punk. I’ve often wondered what my disparate musical tastes say about me. I like baroque choral, metal, blues, swing, some opera, piano concertos, postmodern college rock, the standards, dixieland–I don’t know what to make of it. My musical preferences are kind of like my literary preferences in that they don’t make much sense when viewed together.

It must be that I’m complicated, dark and misunderstood. I’m that girl your mama always warned you about.

Heh.

I don’t know much about the world of professional wrestling–other than Dwayne Johnson used to be The Rock–so I have no idea who this guy is. Apparently he’s a Canadian pro wrestler/rocker who’s feuding with Mickey Rourke and unimpressed by President Obama’s tax proposals. Looking at him, I’m pretty sure that his abs are better than Barry O’s.

Barbarians.

I’ve been thinking about barbarians quite a bit lately. At the moment, I happen to be watching an History Channel program on the Germanic barbarian hordes that gave Rome such a headache. It’s pretty interesting to think that hairy, ignorant dudes with wooden clubs dealt a staggering blow to one of the most powerful empires the world has ever seen. How embarrassing.

But isn’t that always the way? Rome was the most technologically advanced society of its time, and yet she was ultimately picked off by wave after wave of barbarian raiding parties. They had no respect for her pomp and circumstance, her accomplishments–they saw weakness and they struck. In the end, Rome was disintegrating, eaten away from the inside by its own indulgences and self-absorption, with leaders too concerned with shoring up their own power to pay attention to the literal barbarians at the gates. Therefore, the great Rome became easy prey for simplistic warrior tribes.

The nice thing about history is that it almost always repeats itself. This is why studying history is so very, very important. All the mistakes that are available have usually been made before, which is why it is so surprising to see a president who claims to be such a history buff make such easily recognizable and stupid blunders.  But maybe it’s not about the economy, or foreign policy, or even the precious European relationships that must be restored at all costs. Perhaps it’s only about the changes that can be made within our borders–massive government, the defeat of capitalism, the expansion of the welfare state.

[T]he way to think about Obama, I’ve concluded, is that essentially he’s not, he doesn’t have a political philosophy or a geopolitical vision. He’s a social engineer. And so his priority is always to grow government at the expense of any rival sources of legitimacy. . .

I think history has shown us that when our horizons shrink, when we become a navel-gazing society, there is nothing left between us and the truly inhospitable world outside. For as much as we’d like to convince ourselves that the barbarians are long gone, human nature doesn’t change. When instability threatens to upend civilized society, humans revert to their most basic nature. I’d feel a bit more secure if we had a leader who recognized that.