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Praise The Lord, at least in Missouri

Well, I’m back from vacation and it’s time to inflict more punditry into the world. As I have nothing to say about royal weddings, I will ease back into harness by mounting an old hobby horse, in fact somewhat along the lines of a post of a few days ago where I noted the mysterious fact that Pat Robertson and his ilk have not discerned the hand of the Lord in the devastation in the deep red and holy state of Alabama.

My wife pointed this article in the Day out to me, knowing it would set me off, which it did. She found it among the piles of old newspapers awaiting us on our return, but its still timely, even though it relates to last weeks visitation, as distinct from that of a few days ago. I couldn’t find the article on the Day’s web site, but the article I’ve linked to is the same AP article. In the Day, the lead blares out, in large type “‘Grace of God’ cited for why no one died in tornado”, not, as one might expect, “Delusional fools thank alleged author of destruction for not killing them”. The sub-lead, in smaller type, almost as if in parentheses: “Weather warning also helped save lives in Missouri.” (Emphasis added).

How do we know that God was looking after his beloved children? Because a minister from a whack-job Church and an idiot mayor say so.

Now, at face value this adds some weight to my argument that God must have really had it in for the people of Alabama, as he apparently withheld his loving grace from them, since the added death to destruction. But I will not belabor that point. Let us instead look at what God, in his solicitude, poured forth upon his favored people of Missouri:

Entire subdivisions were destroyed. Cars were tossed about like toys, roofs tossed hundreds of yards and 100-year-old trees sucked out by the roots.

County officials said during a news conference Sunday that 2,700 buildings were damaged. Gov. Jay Nixon said Saturday that up to 100 were uninhabitable. The damage clearly will cost millions of dollars to repair, but a more precise estimate was unavailable Sunday.

The twister destroyed two of the homes John Stein owns on a street in the city of Berkeley, and damaged five others. “Everything you’d find in a war zone except the bodies,” Stein said.

Residents in nine communities and unincorporated parts of St. Louis County were still sorting through the rubble Sunday. Ameren Corp. had about 2,000 workers seeking to restore outages that affected 47,000 homes and businesses immediately after the storm. The utility said 18,300 were still without electricity on Sunday, and it could be several days before all power is restored.

It’s clear from the article that the reason no one died is that government-you know, those bureaucrats and other slimeballs with which we’re afflicted-worked. People were warned, with-can you believe it- real warnings that they could understand, not the kind that God tends to give, that you can only understand in retrospect. Yet, according to the Day’s editors (they write the leads for the AP articles they print) the people who actually prevented all those deaths placed an also ran second to the loving and merciful god who chose to wreak all that destruction in the first place.

I know there are people who believe this garbage, but it has always been my understanding that it’s the job of a newspaper to report facts. It’s a fact that people were warned about the hurricane. It is not a fact that anyone can prove that God in his mercy decided to wreak senseless destruction on thousands of people without killing one of them, an act which, by the way, had it been committed by a mere mortal would have constituted a crime against humanity. The fact that people believe such things might be an appropriate subject in an article about the prevalence of mental illness, but it has no place in a report on the aftermath of a devastating storm.


Friday Night Music

My wife and I just got home after two all day trips on the train up from Charleston. Dead tired, and home to a house in chaos. We’re having a new kitchen installed, and will be entering the modern age, where you can access things in your cabinets and a machine washes your dishes. For the moment, however, we are back to the 19th century. No refrigerator, no stove, no kitchen sink. Ah well, this too shall pass.

On to blogging.

Having just returned from the South, I thought I would put up some music that has at least a touch of the South in it. Then, after that, I promise, no more about the South until someone down there does something really stupid. Say, as stupid as the next thing out of Donald Trump’s mouth.

The first thing that popped to mind was The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down. No go. Embedding is disabled on all of the versions by The Band. Johnny Cash does a great acoustic version, but for reasons unknown, to me at least, only about a third of the song is available on youtube. I could never stomach Joan Baez’s version, whether she sings to Muppets (yes, she sings the song to Muppets) or an audience, so she was never in the running.

So, I settled on Creedence Clearwater Revival, most of whose songs have a Southern flavor to them.

Proud Mary


More tornadoes in the Southland

As I write this I am sitting in a train station in North Charleston, SC. We heard on the news this morning that a tornado ripped through Alabama and is heading into North Carolina, possibly back to the Fayetteville area, where we were a few days ago, and which suffered tornado damage a short while ago. So far as I know Pat Robertson has not yet pointed out the obvious, so I’ll have to do it: this visitation is the judgment of an angry God on the people of the South, particularly those in Alabama, for their sins. The problem is, the sins must be of an unusual kind, as the good folks in Alabama cannot be faulted for being insufficiently anti-gay, anti-poor, anti-choice, anti-big government (I’m sure, incidentally, that they’ll turn down Obama’s federal disaster aid) or, Lord knows, anti-black. If it’s one thing the people of Alabama, at least the godly white folks among them know how to do, it’s hate each and every group that the God of love commands them to hate.

So it is something of a mystery. What is the God of love punishing them for, since they are doing his work here on earth so well.

Vacation blogging

Some more pictures from the fair City of Charleston.

This is the old slave mart. Apparently, in 1856, the city fathers decided, in their wisdom, that selling slaves in the open air was a bit tacky, so the sales had to move indoors.


A few interesting structures :


We took a cruise to Fort Sumter. This bridge is upriver from the dock from which we took off. It’s that rare thing: a modern structure that is also esthetically pleasing. When I first saw it I noticed that it seemed to melt into the background.


The WW II aircraft carrier Yorktown is docked across the river.


The ruins of Fort Sumter are somewhat dominated by additions made during the Spanish American war. The brickwork we were told, is mostly original.


Heading back North tomorrow.

Noted in passing

The Supreme Court legalizes fraud.

I sorta predicted this one.

Greetings from Charleston

Paul Simon was wrong. Nashville is not the cradle of the civil war. This is the place. Charleston, SC.

We are staying at the Vendue Hotel, which is a stone’s throw from the water. They give you free wine and cheese at 4:00 PM. We were talking to the lady who was serving the wine and she told us something or other had been done to the hotel before the war. When I hear that phrase I always think WW II, but when I asked her “which war”, she jokingly said it was before “the war of Northern Agression”. It’s still a reality down here I guess, though the city itself seems fine, and all the people we’ve met have been very friendly. My guess is that it’s the folks in the hinterland that send people like Jim DeMint to the United States Senate.

Anyway, the place reeks history. These pictures are of St. Philip’s Episcopal Church, where several Pinckney’s are buried.


They’re in here somewhere, but I didn’t have the time to find them.


There’s another cemetery across the street. My brother in law read that John Calhoun was buried there, but his body was removed to stop the Yankees from taking it as Sherman marched North. Apparently the work was done too well, since no one is quite sure where his earthly remains were taken.

This is the Custom House, which puts New London’s to shame, but I still give Salem’s the palm.


A few other shots. It is regrettable but true that it is hard to take good photos in a city because of the ubiquitous automobile and the signs required by its existence, both of which mar the scenery to an unacceptable extent. Still, one must do what one must do.


This is a section of the Market, which consists of at least four such buildings, each of which is a city block long. It is a mystery to me why more cities don’t have such markets.


This is the Exchange, in which, I believe the sign said, South Carolina ratified the Constitution, after which it spent four score and 5 years threatening to back out.


Tomorrow we go to Fort Sumter, the very nursery of the Civil War.

I must say a word about the restaurant where we ate tonight, the Cafe Cru. The food is billed as quality American comfort food, which indeed it was. I had Poblano Fried Chicken with Mozzarella, which was yummy indeed. But, not only was the food comfort food, so was the music, a non stop diet of Beatles. You can’t beat that.

A Hellishly bad column

I have never before read a column by Russ Douthat, the columnist presently occupying the conservative slot at the Times. But I decided to do so today, since my wife told me that one of the people she follows on Twitter said his column today was the stupidest column he’d ever read. I couldn’t resist.

He was right. The column is called The Case for Hell, which right away tells you that we’re entering into a delusional state of mind.

Apparently, fewer people than ever, even the religious, are able to believe that a just God consigns the vast majority of people to eternal torment for disobeying some arbitrary rules, or for failing to accept the Lord Jesus into their heathen hearts.

Some of us might consider this a sign of progress, even if we put aside the larger questions raised by evidence-free religious faith. Not Mr. Douthat. He is, after all, a conservative.

Of course, he does not appear to be overly concerned with whether there is, in fact, a Hell. He does, however, argue that people should believe in Hell, apparently whether it exists or not.

Why?

Doing away with hell, then, is a natural way for pastors and theologians to make their God seem more humane. The problem is that this move also threatens to make human life less fully human.

Atheists have license to scoff at damnation, but to believe in God and not in hell is ultimately to disbelieve in the reality of human choices. If there’s no possibility of saying no to paradise then none of our no’s have any real meaning either. They’re like home runs or strikeouts in a children’s game where nobody’s keeping score.

If your having trouble following this argument, read the rest of the column. It only gets more incoherent from there. It appears, from what I can glean from Mr. Douthat’s muddled theological musings, that he is making the rather old and ultimately debasing argument that our moral choices are meaningless unless there is some otherworldly reward or punishment awaiting us. Why that makes such choices more, rather than less, meaningful is unclear. If I perform an act in hopes of a reward or in fear of punishment, why am I any different than a trained seal?

To the extent he is arguing that there must be a Hell, his argument is so intellectually flimsy that it boggles the mind. Hell must exist because we face moral choices, and there must be consequences to us for the choices we make. The earthly consequences we experience are simply not sufficient, for some reason he does not explain. It follows, therefore, as the night the day, that an after life of eternal torment must, or at least, should await us, so whether it exists or not, we should believe in it, or at least encourage our inferiors to do so. This is philosophy that makes Paul Ryan’s economics look rigorous.

Now Mr. Douthat has every right to try to match Scott Adam’s level of religious insight. But the New York Times, I thought, does not run cartoons, and I actually spend good money to buy it. I deserve better than this, even from the obligatory conservative. I know they’re in short supply, but there must be a conservative out there who is capable of some sort of rational thought. This may not be the stupidest column ever, but If there’s a hell for bad columnists, Douthat is bound for the center ring.

Heading South

We’re sitting in our hotel room in Washington. As I said yesterday, no tome to write, but I figure I’ll post some pictures.

We left New London during a cold wet rain. But since the trip must be fully documented, I took a snot of New London’s truly beautiful train station from the new, incredibly sterile New London parade.

In was in the 70s when we arrived, with a virtually cloudless sky.

This sculpture is newly installed in front of the DC train station.


Our hotel is near the Capitol. I decided to take some shots using my telephoto lens.


Pictorial cliches, I know, but we had no time to go anywhere else.

Good Friday Night Music

Last year we went down South to visit my brother in law, arriving on Easter Sunday, which was, last year, on the 4th of April. It was brutally hot when we got there. This year we’re repeating the trip, and will again arrive on Easter, which this year, by my calculations, is on the latest date on which it can possibly fall. Predictions for the Fayetteville area are for temperatures in the 90s, which we are anticipating with mixed feelings. On the one hand, it will be nice to be warm. On the other hand we will, if the predictions hold, be passing right through warm without stopping or collecting $200.00, straight into the inferno.

This year we’ll be leaving the exciting Fayetteville area for two days in Charleston, where we will be taking in the sights, and boarding a boat for Fort Sumter, where 7 score and 10 years ago the first shots of the Civil War were fired.

This is all by way of saying that political blogging will be even sparser than it has been. On the other hand, if you check back in, you will be regaled with pictures of that portion of our country that should be given a second chance to secede, this time by common consent.

And now for something completely different. This being Good Friday, and therefore be definition a Music Night, I present what has become a Good Friday tradition at this outpost of secularism: the final scene from what may be the funniest movie ever made.


But someone’s got to do it

The Pinheads step in

The probably go home to a dinner of arugula and Valvoline