Lift Up Your Hearts!

I just watched Robert F. Kennedy, Jr.'s Phoenix speech live, and admit I was transfixed by every word. Politicians, it turns out, can still speak intelligently, rationally, and with substance!

It's not as long as it looks (90 minutes)—the video says 90 minutes, but his speech doesn't start till 41:29. I highly recommend it.

Thanks to all the leaks, everyone was expecting Kennedy to endorse Donald Trump. And that he did, without drama, but with conviction, because he believes he can worth with President Trump, especially on the issues that drive his own vision: freedom of speech, war policy, and the unspoken epidemic of chronic disease in America. On these issues Kennedy spoke at length from his heart, taking advantage of this "bully pulpit."

I strongly recommend taking the time to listen.

I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will protect and defend the Constitution of the United States 

This is what I had to agree to when I changed my political party affiliation several months ago. I don't remember it from Pennsylvania, New York, or Massachusetts, nor from the two other times I've registered to vote in Florida. I knew it to be required of the president and other high-level officials, but didn't know it applied to ordinary voters. Maybe it's new; maybe I just missed it or am remembering poorly. Whatever the case, it's a good idea, and I'm taking it most seriously.

The least I can do is vote with my mind, my heart, and my conscience.

The Constitution of the State of Florida is a bit more fragile, harder to protect and defend, because it's so easy to amend. But I'll do my bit by voting down some truly egregious constitutional amendments on the ballot this year.

(Click to enlarge.)

Last night, I listened to most of the conversation between Elon Musk and Donald Trump, and this morning I picked up the 30 minutes remaining when I went to bed. I assume they were on Pacific Time, but we are not, and there was nothing in the conversation that couldn't wait till the morning.

I didn't know about the event till yesterday, and might have been intrigued enough to listen. As Musk himself said, you don't get a good feel for a person through campaign speeches, interviews, or even debates. He wanted a free-ranging conversation between himself and Donald Trump, and I thought that could be interesting.

What clinched my participation, however, was a question from yesterday's White House press briefing. I don't know the name of the journalist, or what organization he represents, and the C-Span cameras remained focused on Ms. Jean-Pierre, but you can hear well enough. The question begins at 20:00, if you want to confirm it, but this is from the transcript, with a few minor corrections to make it more readable. (emphasis mine)

Journalist: Elon Musk is slated to interview Donald Trump tonight on X. I don't know if the president is going to—feel free to say if he is or not—but I think that misinformation on Twitter is not just a campaign issue. It's an American issue. What role does the White House or the President have in sort of stopping that or stopping the spread of that or sort of intervening in that? Some of that was about campaign misinformation. But you know, it's a wider thing, right?

Jean-Pierre: You've heard us talk about this many times from here about the responsibilities that social media platforms have when it comes to misinformation, disinformation, [I] don't have anything to read out from here about specific ways that we're working on it, but we believe that, that they have the responsibility. These are private companies, so we're also mindful of that too. But look, it is, I think it is incredibly important to call that out as you're doing. I just don't have any specifics on what we have been doing internally as it relates to the interviews. It's not something that I'm tracking and I'm sure the president's not tracking it either.

What did I just hear? A jounalist calling for the President to stop Musk and Trump having a conversation and sharing it on X with the American (and worldwide) public, First Amendment be damned? Of course I had to listen in!

It turned out to be a rather exciting event even before it started, because I couldn't get in to the conversation. Now, I had joined X back in 2015, when it was still Twitter, inspired by the Arab Spring and the realization that social media might be the best way to communicate in times of crisis. But I never did much at all with it, just kept it in my back pocket. So I figured my problems were just because I didn't know what I was doing.

Except that no one else could get in, either. It was rather fun, actually, trying one source after another, each one scrambling to see what was going on.

Just as the conversation was about to begin, X's servers had been hit by a massive DDOS (distributed denial of service) attack, presumably by someone who was even more disturbed by the prospect of Musk and Trump talking to the world than the anonymous journalist.

Do I really think that our government was behind the DDOS? No, though I wouldn't put it past them. But the coincidence of the journalist's question, and Jean-Pierre's non-specific "what we have been doing internally as it relates to the interviews," is noted. Hopefully we will eventually find out what happened. (Personally, I hope it was some prodigy hacker eager to test his cyber muscles against Elon Musk.)  For now, it is enough that the busy computer bees at X managed to get out from under the problem quickly enough, and the show went on.

This link should take you to the full three-hour recording. No doubt there will be highlights or summaries to come, but there's a good deal of value to original, unscripted, unedited data. Collected excerpts always reflect bias one way or another. Judge for yourself if there was anything so frightening you think we need to abandon our Constitution.  UPDATE:  Musk just posted a link to a version with higher quality audio. It's also only two hours instead of three, but at a quick glance appears to be complete. I have no idea how they did that, but it does like a more approachable conversation at 2/3 the length!

Was it worth listening to? I think so. Was it spectacular? No. Was it frightening? No. Was there anything there at all that could possibly have been worth throwing out the First Amendment, let alone so casually? Absolutely not.

At first the conversation was actually boring. As impossible as this seems for two such men, both Musk and Trump seemed a bit nervous. After touching briefly on the near-assassination, Musk merely let Trump speak away, in whatever direction he wanted to go. Not surprisingly, it sounded like a campaign speech, with far too much emphasis on the flaws of his opponents and the wonderful things he did when he was in office. For all I can see, he's right, but I'm tired of hearing it. He did much better when he focused on the positive things he plans to do if he gets elected this time.

As time went on, however, Trump's obvious excitement at an "interview" in which he was allowed to keep talking wound down, and both he and Musk relaxed. From then on, the conversation became worth listening to. Again, there was nothing spectacular about it, but free-ranging conversations among highly intelligent people who respect each other are almost always interesting.

I think the conversation was a good idea, and I hope Kamala Harris takes Musk up on his invitation to do the same.

I'm willing to bet that none of you woke up this morning wondering what all the fuss was about the Supreme Court's recent "Chevron" rulings. However, for those of you who might have at least given the question a passing thought, here's a good article by John Mauldin and Rod D. Martin, explaining how important these decisions are in restoring to elected officials some powers that had been ceded to unelected, and largely unaccountable, federal bureaucrats. (You should be able to read the article at that link. One of the things I like about Mauldin is that while you're strongly encouraged to subscribe, there's a lot that's not behind a pay wall.)

The Supreme Court’s overturning of Chevron was an early Independence Day gift. Chevron stood for an imperial bureaucracy, neither responsible to the people nor accountable to anyone, a priesthood of experts pursuing what Thomas Sowell called “the vision of the anointed,” interpreting, adjudicating, and above all, making the laws we must live by, however they saw fit.

Last week, in their Loper and Jarkesy rulings, the Court overturned that half-century travesty, partly upending the statist technocratic order and, at least to a degree, replacing it with the Constitutional vision of the Founders.

Take the Environmental Protection Agency as one example. The EPA, like countless other agencies, concentrates the powers of all three branches of government in its agency administrator, the de facto dictator. The agency makes law, and its lawmakers work for the administrator. The agency enforces the laws that it makes, and those enforcers also work for the administrator. Worse still, the agency employs a small army of Administrative Law Judges, or ALJs, whom it may haul you in front of whenever it chooses. They work for the administrator too.

All of this is a grossly unconstitutional violation of the separation of powers. It eliminates virtually all checks and balances. And the Chevron Court acknowledged that, to a degree: It said that by 1984, things had been done this way so long that it would just be too disruptive to change things.

In short, Chevron established constitutionality by longevity. You can apply that logic to Plessy v. Ferguson which said in 1896 that segregation was legal within limits and tell me whether you think it’s a good idea.

Under Chevron an agency could sue you in front of its own judges, over its own made-up rules, enforced by its own bureaucrats, and you had no right to an appeal. You didn’t even get a jury of your peers.

At every step of the process, Chevron replaced “government by the people” with that priesthood of experts, those who must simply be trusted to be benevolent, all-knowing, and true.

It’s worse. Increasingly, agency regulations are “strict liability,” which means that your intent doesn’t matter. By this standard, an accidental killing becomes murder. And speaking of murder, agencies issue not just civil but their own criminal laws, by some estimates as many as 300,000 separate agency-made offenses, all adjudicated solely by their own ALJs with no juries and no possibility of appeal.

These out-of-context quotes are just a taste; if they intrigue you, you might enjoy the whole article.

Here's a question I'd like to ask of political pollsters:

What is the ideal position for a political candidate in the polls, at various times before an election?

Clearly, to be leading in the polls on Election Day (or whatever passes for Election Day in these days of early voting and mail-in ballots) is a good thing. But what about earlier? To be doing well at any point feels great, and can boost support due to the "to him who has, more will be given" effect. People like to be on the winning team, and tend to flee people they feel can't win.

I think there's more to it than that. The following excerpt is from Robert A. Heinlein's Citizen of the Galaxy; it has haunted me since I first read it in elementary school. (emphasis mine)

Weemsby stood up and looked happy. "In my own person, I vote one share. By proxies delivered to me and now with the Secretary I vote—" Thorby did not listen; he was looking for his hat.

"The tally being complete, I declare—" the Secretary began.

"No!"

Leda was on her feet. "I'm here myself. This is my first meeting and I'm going to vote!"

Her stepfather said hastily, "That's all right, Leda—mustn't interrupt." He turned to the Secretary. "It doesn't affect the result."

"But it does! I cast one thousand eight hundred and eighty votes for Thor, Rudbek of Rudbek!"

Weemsby stared. "Leda Weemsby!"

She retorted crisply, "My legal name is Leda Rudbek."

Bruder was shouting, "Illegal! The vote has been recorded. It's too—"

"Oh, nonsense!" shouted Leda. "I'm here and I'm voting. Anyhow, I cancelled that proxy—I registered it in the post office in this very building and saw it delivered and signed for at the 'principal offices of this corporation'—that's the right phrase, isn't it, Judge?—ten minutes before the meeting was called to order. If you don't believe me, send down for it. But what of it?—I'm here. Touch me." Then she turned and smiled at Thorby.

Thorby tried to smile back, and whispered savagely to Garsch, "Why did you keep this a secret?"

"And let 'Honest John' find out that he had to beg, borrow, or buy some more votes? He might have won. She kept him happy, just as I told her to."

A really commanding lead can discourage competitors from pouring money and effort into a losing cause. But somewhere in between that kind of lead and the bottom of the heap there's a point—I'm going to call it the Garsch Point—where a lead is dangerous. Two terrible things can come into play:

• A candidate's own supporters can become complacent, let down their guard, and like the overconfident hare, risk losing to the lagging but persistent tortoise.
• A zealous opponent, who would rather win honestly, may be tempted to resort to nefarious means of helping himself to victory. After all, when you're fighting infidels, it's okay to lie, cheat, steal, and even kill, right? Well, no, it's not. But the temptation can be great if you think the contest is critical and you might get away with it.

Beware the Garsch Point. It's okay to be happy to be leading in the polls, but it ought to be less a time for celebrating than a time for doubling down on honest and honorable effort. And maybe for not letting your enemy know your full strength.

I've written here several times about Tom Lehrer, the Harvard-educated mathematician/musician/comedian whose That Was the Year That Was was one of my favorite childhood albums.  (Another was Music, a Part of Me, a collection of oboe works by David McCallum—yes, that David McCallum—but that's another story.)

Although I've frequently replayed some of my favorite Lehrer songs, such as Pollution and New Math and The Elements, this particular song is one I probably haven't heard since I was in my teens.  Nonetheless, I could still sing much of it from memory, even though it wasn't until now that I finally understood the line about Schubert and his lieder!

Whatever Became of Hubert? needs no commentary, although it's enhanced if you know a little about the Lyndon Johnson years.

Every important question is complex.

I'm as appalled as anyone at the irreversible mutilation being done to children by their parents and their doctors, under the guise of "gender-affirming care"—a term that's as bizarre an example of doublespeak as George Orwell ever dreamt of. Parents and doctors, abetted by teachers! Three of the strongest forces in life charged with keeping children safe! Surely this inversion of reality is one of the greatest horrors of our day.

And yet. And yet. It doesn't take much thinking to realize that societies, over all time and all places, have had a very inconsistent view of what, actually, is considered mutilation.

As a child, I remember seeing pictures (probably in the National Geographic magazine) of African women with huge wooden disks in their lips or ears, their bodies having been stretched since childhood by inserting disks of gradually increasing size. I called it mutilation; they called it fashion.

Not that many years ago, the Western world was horrified by the practice in many cultures of female circumcision, dubbing it "female genital mutilation," and putting strong negative pressure on countries where it was common. As recently as 2016 we saw billboards in the Gambia attacking the practice, and I was in agreement. But who was I—who is any outsider—to burden another culture with the norms of my own? Cultures can and sometimes should change, but from within, not imposed by outsiders.

What about male circumcision? That has been practiced for many millennia, in divergent cultures, and is far less drastic than the female version. If we'd had sons, I don't think we would have had them circumcized, there being no religious reason to do so—but when I was a child, it was the norm for most boys in America, regardless of religious affiliation. By the time my own children came along, there was a strong and vocal movement to eliminate male circumcision. Where are those folks now, when we are routinely removing a lot more than foreskins?

Okay, how about piercings? Tattoos? Frankly, I call both of them mutilation. Obviously, a large number of people disagree with me.

Some cultures in the past had no problem with "exposing" unwanted babies, leaving them to die—unless some kindly, childless couple found them and raised them as their own, thus creating the foundation for centuries of future folk tales and novels. We in America can hardly cast stones at those societies, given how few of our own unwanted babies live long enough to have a chance to be rescued.

Where do you draw the line? Maybe between what adults do of their own free will, and what adults do to children who are not yet capable of making informed decisions? Yet there are parents who have the ears of their babies pierced, or disks put into their lips, or parts of their genitals removed, and the societies they live in have no problem with that.

Where do you draw the line? I agree it's a complex and difficult issue.

All I know is that if America has become a place where parents, doctors, and teachers—those we trust most to do no harm to children—are facilitating the removal of young children's genitals, flooding their bodies with dangerous drugs, and encouraging them to believe that this is the best course of action for their mental health, then we haven't just crossed a line—we've fallen off a cliff.

I am a woman.

There are some who say I am not, but I have two wonderful children and two separate DNA tests to prove it.

Since childhood, I have thoroughly disliked the color pink, curling my hair, letting my hair grow long, wearing makeup, skirts, dresses, or anything fancy or frilly.

That doesn't make me any less a woman.

I hate romance novels (except those written by my friend, Blair Bancroft). I'm much more a mystery or straight science fiction (think Isaac Asimov, or Robert Heinlein's juveniles) kind of person.

That doesn't make me any less a woman.

All my life I've been interested in (and good at) math and science. When I was a child, I did play with dolls on occasion, but you'd have been much more likely to find me reading, climbing trees, or exploring in the woods next to our home.

That doesn't make me any less a woman.

I firmly believe that the abortion procedure, while necessary under a few, very rare circumstances, is the deliberate and horrific taking of an innocent human life, as well as being one of the most egregious acts of self-harm there is. (Every abortion has at least two victims, both of whom need our compassion.)

This, too, does not make me any less a woman, though there are many who deny it, in language similar to President Biden's regrettable comment, "If you have a problem figuring out whether you’re for me or Trump, then you ain’t black."

I fought enthusiastically in my youth for the right of women to participate in activities that were traditionally male-dominated. (I was the "first/only girl" several times in high school and college, which was far from easy.) Nonetheless, when the time came, I willingly and joyfully gave up a high-paying computer job in order to nurse, rear, and educate our children full time, not to mention make a home, support my husband, feed our family, and yes, Hillary Clinton, bake cookies.

That definitely doesn't make me any less a woman, although again, many people think so. They go further—many see me as less than human, or at least as an inferior sort of human, because of my chosen profession.

So stop. Just stop, all those of you who presume to speak for women, or to know what a woman is supposed to think, say, and do, or how she should vote.

A woman is defined by her gametes, and her DNA. Not by her career, her likes and dislikes, what she wears, her opinions—and above all not her politics.

The women's movement was supposed to take us out of our cages, not force us into cages of a different color.

I am a woman, and I have two children and two DNA tests to prove it.

What many people don't understand about dementia is that it can be inconsistent. For a period of time, sometimes even years, those who are losing their faculties can occasionally hold themselves together long enough to fool all but those closest to them—even doctors.

So it doesn't surprise me that President Biden pulled off a brilliant political move.

He couldn't stop his former friends and fellow Democrats from forcing him to resign his candidacy, but his revenge was quick and sharp: he immediately and enthusiastically passed the torch to Vice President Kamala Harris.

If I were a gambler, I'd bet heavily that that move was not in the plans of his betrayers. I don't know who they had in mind to take Biden's place, but I'm pretty sure they could have done better than Kamala Harris; certainly they must resent having had to give up their smoke-filled-room negotiations.

Way to go, Joe.

I know the details of the following tale intimately and personally. But it is Everyman's Story.

There once was a man who worked tirelessly at his job for many years, and was widely praised for his accomplishments. However, his employers became dissatisfied with him, and began undercutting his authority and making his job miserable. When this was not sufficient to drive him away, they forced him out.

This is not actually an unusual story; It's frequently played out in corporate boardrooms, research laboratories, schools, churches, and non-profit organizations. What made this one a bit different is that the man was strong enough to refuse to attend his own farewell party. He was intended to be sent away with extravagant accolades, heaped with praises for the excellence of his work and service, and tearful farewells, but he would have none of it. It would have been insincere, hypocritical, and unbearable.

Much like the accolades heaped on President Biden once he decided to withdraw his candidacy for the upcoming presidential race. If it was his decision, which I highly doubt.

I may disagree with much that Joe Biden has done and wants to do. I would go so far as to label many of his actions evil, even traitorous, though I will grant him the courtesy of assuming his intentions were good.

But he doesn't deserve what has been done to him over the last four years, and especially recently. If you're going to abuse an elderly man, and then stab him in the back, for goodness' sake don't pretend to be doing it out of love.

As I explained before, I know I'm late to this party. But people are not done talking—so I've been jumping in.

No one seems to have the proper level of respect for 20-year-olds. I keep hearing the Butler shooter referred to as "a kid." Others are asking, "How could a 20-year-old manufacture the explosive devices supposedly found in his car without blowing himself up?"

At the risk of sending the FBI to his door, my 20-year-old grandson could easily and safely have made explosives. As far as I know, his gun experience may be limited to a few target shots at camp, but it would take him very little training and practice to get to the point where he could have made that shot. He wouldn't do anything of the sort, but he could have.

Has everyone forgotten that we routinely send 18-year-olds to fight in wars? That Admiral David Farragut commanded a prize ship in the War of 1812 when he was 12 years old? In the past, both men and women were routinely competent to do "adult" tasks at much younger ages than the majority of Americans teens are now. It is nothing but ageism to underestimate the abilities of a 20-year-old—or a 12-year-old, for that matter.

In all my decades of life I may have met more members of the United States Congress, but I only remember four.

I met Daniel Webster at a meeting of a group of homeschooling families that we were considering joining. He was at the time a member of the Florida legislature, and had worked tirelessly for educational freedom; it was a pleasure and a privilege to meet and talk with him.

I met Bill McCollum when our kids were in high school, through the Band Parents' Association and the most efficient and excellent work of his wife. They are still on our Christmas card list.

Next up was John Mica, who at the time was our own representative. That was at an event for members of the Morse Museum. He wasn't speaking, just attending, but he did make the rounds greeting people, including us.

I voted for our next congressional representative, Stephanie Murphy (one of the last Democrats to receive my enthusiastic support), but never did run into her.

She was followed by our current congressman, Cory Mills, whom I met while our respective units were waiting to step off in the Geneva, Florida Independence Day parade.

After that long introduction, the purpose of this post is to highlight Cory Mills in this CNN interview, where he brings his experience as a former Army sniper to his analysis of the security situation at the near-assassination of President Trump. I'm not sure which one of them I'm more impressed with: Mills, with his clear explanations and his call to turn down the heat in our rhetoric, or the interviewer, who listened and let him speak, a skill I've found to be rare among interviewers, including this one at other times. The interview was aired 10 days ago, but is no less valuable today. It's worth listening to the whole thing (11 minutes), including the brief Q&A afterwards.

If there ever was a time in my life when I enjoyed Whirl 'n' Puke rides at amusement parks, it was too far back in time for me to remember. Living in Central Florida, we spent more than our share of time at Disney parks, and could not wait for the kids to be old enough to ride the Mad Hatter's Tea Cups on their own.

I'm getting the same feeling about my former political party.

You may recall that I broke my lifelong association with the Democratic Party earlier this year, the final straw being when they disenfranchised me by cancelling Florida's presidential primary election.

Turns out, I was just ahead of the game. If I'd stayed a Democrat, they would have disenfranchised me more spectacularly, along with everyone else. Not that there isn't precedent—there's a long history of political slates being decided in smoke-filled rooms. (I do wonder what they're actually smoking these days.)

Here is the far-from-amusing, no-end-in-sight amusement park ride I feel stuck on:

• President Biden's cognitive decline has been obvious to much of the country at least since 2020. Even to me, and I tend to give public speakers a lot of leeway, because my own brain, which functions quite well when operating my fingers on a keyboard, seems to lose all sense of direction when it tries to operate through my mouth.
• I am also not surprised that there are many ordinary citizens who did not notice this decline, because, frankly, most people are just too busy to pay attention to anything more detailed than carefully edited sound bites, if that.
• But those closest to the president? The vice president, cabinet members, secret service agents, the press corps, his doctors, his own family? How could they not have seen it?
• And yet for years, right up until his performance in the presidential debate (which was called "disastrous" but should have been no surprise at all), they assured us, in a united front, that the president was very healthy, sharp as a tack, and more than fully competent. Was it mass delusion, willful blindness, or simply lying?
• "Do not call conspiracy what these people call conspiracy"—but if all these people have been lying, what else would you call it?
• But if they were lying, and not deluded, why didn't they stop Biden from agreeing to the debate in the first place? How could they possibly have been surprised by what occurred?
• Even after the debate, many of them still maintained that it was just "one bad night," until the tide of opinion turned against them. What were they thinking?
• Maybe that's what puzzles me the most: What were they thinking? Did they think he'd get lucky and make it through all right? Under those circumstances? I think my own faculties are doing quite well, but I sure wouldn't trust myself standing under hot lights for 90 minutes beginning at 9 o'clock at night. And those closest to me know better than to expect much sense out of me at that hour.
• Here's where my cynical brain takes over: Was it a purposeful take-down of the president? Were they convinced he couldn't win in November and couldn't find a more graceful way of getting rid of him? But if they wanted to get rid of him, why did they work so hard to make sure he had no opposition in the primaries? I would happily have voted for a better choice if they had given me a chance.
• If President Biden is not competent to run for the office again, is he competent to be in the office now? What about for the last four years? I know I said I understand not being competent to make sense after 9 p.m. but can't we expect more of our commander-in-chief? What if "one bad night" occurs when we're on the brink of war?
• (Not, mind you, that I want to see Biden removed. I always thought Kamala Harris was a great choice for vice president because she served him well as both assassination and impeachment insurance.)
• What unelected and unknown person or committee has been running the country for the last four years? Do they hope to continue in that role?
• Are they using Kamala Harris as a placeholder until they can manoeuvre someone better into the nomination, or do they think she will be as manipulable as Biden?
• If this is a conspiracy, it sure seems as if it could have been done better. I've always said that there is no need to cry "conspiracy" when events can just as easily be explained by plain human stupidity.  Or maybe the conspirators, whoever or whatever they may be, are far smarter than I am and are playing a long game whose end I cannot see.

Even the Mad Hatter's Tea Cup ride never left me this dizzy and disoriented.

You all know I can't resist commentary. So why have I been so silent—or, rather, why have I been making unrelated posts—when so much of import has been happening?

One word: Family.

Eleven out of our 13 grandchildren, along with their associated parents and extended family, were together for the first time since 2017. They live an ocean apart from each other, and this was a very special time that could have trumped anything but the Second Coming.

My recent posts were written weeks ago, to be posted automatically while my priorities were elsewhere.

As I work on catching up, I'll jump back in—not with any particular order, but from the heart.

I can't wait to see one of these new signs the next time we return to Florida by car.

I'd like to add, "Let's Keep It Free" to the sign, because freedom is a fragile thing. (Quoting Ronald Reagan, though I'msure it wasn't original with him.)