January 5, 2004 by s.z.

Don't Worry.  Be Happy.  And Dump Dean. Shorter American Thinker: "Smile, girlie.  Nobody likes a sourpuss." Thomas Lifson, looking out for the Democrats, advises them to give up the hate, and learn not worry and to love the bomb. . . .I mean, George Bush. Here's a good bit: Let the Balkan peoples define themselves by their ancient wrongs waiting to be avenged. Let clans like the Hatfields and McCoys in the hollows of West Virginia carry their grudges for generations.  They are the curious exception to our general rule of concentrating on what we can become, rather than what our ancestors were.  Americans take seriously their birthright, and would rather wipe the slate clean than nurture a collective grudge.  Anger is like an acid which curdles the sweet mother’s milk of happiness, whose pursuit is so much a part of our national character. So, while it may infuriate the "American intelligentsia" that George Bush doesn't read, doesn't speak well, and doesn't have any doubts about the utter rightness of his actions as he leads this country into wars, suspension of civil liberties, and massive debt, they should just let it go, because it takes more muscles to frown than to smile. 3:53:41 AM

A Way to Make Mean-Spirited Blogging Pay The Washington Times has an interesting article about Episcopalian bloggers (well, about those who are blogging about the Episcopal Church and its recent changes -- there are probably lots of Episcopalians blogging about other stuff, but they're not part of this article). The most prominent among them is "David Virtue, founder of www.virtuosityonline.org," the guy who posted the story about then bishop-elect's Robinson's connection to a youth ministry Web site that had links to hard-core pornography.  The vote was delayed because of his message. Although Mr. Robinson was cleared a day later of having any connection to the pornographic links, the lesson was clear: any self-appointed Web master could influence an entire denomination. And that is now MY goal: to influence an entire denomination.  I pick the Mennonites.  (See the Official State Religion List to find a denomination of your own to influence.) Anyway, it appears that Mr. Virtue, like Andrew Sullivan before him, has found a way to make professional blogging viable: He estimates he works 70 hours, seven days a week.  Contributors send in about $80,000 a year, he says, which, after expenses, ends up at $35,000 a year.  All of his postings are first checked by an attorney. Okay, we learned from that USA Today article that even a really popular blog requiring its own server costs less than $6000 a year to run.  I guess that other $39,000 a year in expenses must be for the lawyer.  Which still leaves Mr. Virtue $35,000 a year salary -- not bad for basically just doing internet searches and then copying newspaper and wire service stories to his blog.  But supposedly he also has "an extensive network of church contacts who send confidential reports."  So, he's the Drudge of the Episcopalian world. "It's what I feel called to do," he says, "to bring the light of the Gospel on the revisionist nonsense of the Episcopal Church and to show it's morally bankrupt. To do this, you have to bring the sludge to light." Whatever.  But I have to say that Quean Lutibelle's "Queer Eye for the Heterosexual Imagination" sounds like more fun.  And that the name "David Virtue" sounds like it was invented by the same advertising people who came up with "Joe Isuzu." 3:04:57 AM

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When a Stranger Calls the Fever Swamp, Part 2 By Mumsy Cox Gorgon So, I left my precious children in the capable hands of John Derbyshire, and drove to the offices of The Hill, where my husband is editor-in-chief, to see why he hadn't been home all week.  I suspected Democratic thuggery.  More about that later.  But now I will recount what happened while I was gone, as shown on the house's nanny-cam system.  (The house-wide system, which was installed by the previous owner, a pornographer, has come in handy on numerous occasions -- I strongly recommend that the "Family Circle" parents get one,  to get to the bottom of that "Idano" business.  I activated the system before I left the house.  Not that I didn't trust Derb, but "Trust, but verify," as a great American once said.  I think it was Ronald Reagan.  Or possibly Bush senior, who reportedly had to install a nanny-cam in his house to keep the boys out of his liquor cabinet.  And that was just last year!)  And it was good that I had turned it on.  For even as I walked (or ran) down the sidewalk to make my escape, adorable and column-worthy events were occurring.   6:12  Living Room "Where does the baby come out when a baby is born?" Florence asks Derb abruptly, a little wild-eyed. My son is not used to having men in the house, and apparently the presence of Derb has rattled him. An impatient Derb replies, "Oh, everybody knows that one.  The real question is, 'How would a gay couple consummate their marriage?'  As it happens, I've been giving the matter some thought, and if you will bring me some paper and a pencil, I will illustrate the problem for you, using stick figures." Derb's question has completely captured Florence's attention, and he quickly gathers up a notebook and a Sharpie, and brings them to Derb, who starts sketching.  But this educational moment is interrupted when Eglantine shrieks, "Derb, Hyacinth is bleeding!" 6:17  Dining Room Derb, trailed by Florence, arrive in the room to find an ashen-faced Hyacinth lying on the floor, blood trickling from her nose.  A brick rests next to her. "What happened?" Derb demands of the stricken child. She says weakly, "I opened the door, and a brick fell and hit me on the head.  I bet Gnat put it there!  Or Twitchy!" "Who the hell are Gnat and Twitchy?  I thought there were just four of you brats." Florence replies loftily, "Twitchy is our pet rabbit.  He's got lost in the house and is feral now; he keeps biting Hyacinth.  But I seriously doubt that a rabbit would be able to boobytrap the door.  On the other hand, Gnat, who is Eglantine's imaginary friend, dislikes adult men because they remind her of the father who violated her privacy and destroyed her life.  And she has eerie paranormal powers.  So, it was probably her." "And how could an imaginary child place a physical brick on a physical door?  I think Aristotle would respond . . ."  And then he rattles off some Greek phrases to the less-than-impressed children.  Despite the lack of enthusiasm to his little Aristotelian demonstration, Derb continues.  "And here's another philosophical problem I've been considering: Imagine the following experience. You are driving on an expressway with a posted speed limit of 65 mph. Everybody is going at 75 mph. The police pull you over and give you a ticket for speeding. You complain hotly that this is unfair, that everyone else in your lane was going at the same speed, yet only you have been ticketed. The police offficer indicates that this may be so, but you were definitely speeding, and you might be a terrorist.  He asks you to strip, so he can check you for weapons.  You hestitate, then notice that the police officer's trim yet muscely build -- he could make you strip, if he wanted to.  So, you comply.  Then  he says he has to pat you down, just in case . . ." "Yes, that's all well and good, but what about Hyacinth's wound?  Shouldn't you call the ambulance or something," asks an impatient Eglantine.  She, like Gnat, has little patience with ineffectual, nattering adults. "We can't call anyone; your mother gave me strict instructions not to do anything which might bring your situation to the attention authorities.  But my mother was a professional nurse, and I picked up a great deal of medical knowledge from leafing through her nursing books, looking for pornographic illustrations.  So, I think that if we just put a cold washcloth on the girl's nose, she'll be fine.  You, older girl, hop to it." Eglantine disgustedly finds a cloth in the buffet, soaks in cold water, and smears Hyacinth's face with it. [Author's note: I have to admit that I was rather annoyed when I saw that she had used one of my good towels to clean up Hyacinth's blood, since you can never get blood stains out of linen.  But then I realized that a ruined towel was insignificant in comparison to the life of my young daughter, who could have been seriously injured -- and so I merely deducted the cost of a replacement from Eglantine's allowance.] Then suddenly, there is a raucous tone that seems to transfix the children. After a few minutes of this, Derb asks "Isn't one of you going to answer the phone?" "Not me!  It's Hyacinth's turn!" says Florence. "Nuh uh!  And I'm bleeding!  I'm gonna tell Jesus that you guys made me suffer, and then you'll all burn in hell, along with the hippies and the Democrats!" "Oh, shut your traps.  I'll get it.  Where do you keep the bloody thing?"  Derb looks around the kitchen, fruitlessly, to find the source of the ringing. "Its up in the attic," a weak Hyacinth volunteers. "Surely you have an extension down here." "Nope," contributes Eglantine.  "The only phone is in the attic.  It was like that when we moved in.  And between caring for us children, writing about our most embarrassing moments and sharing them with the readers of the NRO as if we were animals in the zoo for them to gawk at, catering to Father, and conducting an occasional workshop for conservatives who want to believe that they too can force their children to live as if it's 1890, Mumsy never had time to change it." "Oh, blast.  If I had known that Meghan was such a twit, I never would have taken this baby-sitting job, even if it will keep some illegal alien from profiting for your family's need for cheap labor.  You, boy, show me where the attic is." 6:48  Attic The phone is still ringing. Florence leads Derb to where the 1960's vintage phone is mounted on the wall.  He picks it up, then drops it in horror. "The caller wants to know if I have checked the children.  Just like in that movie!"  Derb grabs Florence's shirt.  "Wasn't there one more of you when I first got here?" "Yes, my little sister Andaluce.  Say, I haven't seen her for quite a while -- I wonder what happened to her.  But first, you never did finish showing me that drawing about gay marriage.. ." [To Be Continued] 1:34:00 AM