Don’t Cry For Me, Santa Barbara
I approach festivals — any community festival heavily managed by institutional types worried about their ESG/DEI ratings — with deep suspicion, since you never know when a congregational response will be required of you. (Priest: “May climate change worry be with you.” Worshippers: “And also with you!”)
So I was relieved to see very little of this at Santa Barbara’s Old Spanish Days: equestrian units displaying scores of US flags, city burghers sporting Franciscan attire, decidedly heteronormative Latina beauties, and lots of happily plump Americans enjoying pork, chicken, and BEEF tamales.
My brother-in-law drives his golf cart all over the city with absolute impunity. He drove us right into El Mercado de la Playa without asking permission, and only after consuming a few tamales and a churro were we questioned about it.
This “regulatory delay” is fascinating. Think about it: suppose you were on some highly regulated strip of California real estate (say, Santa Monica Beach), and an uber-large excavator rolled up onto the sand, complete with a few workers stringing caution tape. You would just assume this massive sand-digging was approved by the several dozen agencies whose rings needed kissing, right? If you hired a docent-type to explain the excavator was clearing the way for an archeological dig, in quest of ancient Chumash relics 20 feet below the soil, you might even be applauded. Our tendency is to believe anything out of the ordinary has been approved by our trusted experts.
In a way, this explains the pathological lying of Joe Biden, Anthony Fauci, and various FBI officials. They aren’t just performance artists with a big back-hoe. They are government officials, and people just assume they applied for their caution tape. If a citizen can replace Caltrans traffic signs, if Jim Riley’s brother-in-law can drive a golf cart into a restricted area, and not get caught, can you imagine what the “president” of the United States can do?
A Commie Virus Friendship Casualty
I have a dear old friend from college (let’s call him “Dan”) who no longer communicates with me. Our friendship fell victim to the Commie virus, but shortly before that outbreak, we were having a friendly debate about government policy. By way of background, this fellow’s father was a public university professor and his mother was a federal civil servant. After college, Dan received a PhD in economics from an elite east coast university. Since college, Dan has worked within the bowels of the federal government his entire life.
Over the years, Dan insisted he was no longer a liberal ideologue. He had lost some of his religious zeal, but he also insisted that the average American just doesn’t want “any” government whatsoever. Dan’s specialty focuses on how much federal tax is necessary to get Americans off carbon fuels.
Dan told me, “what’s frustrating to me is that Americans just don’t want to accept any regulation whatsoever.”
A child of government his entire life, a fellow whose toddler breakfast cereal was paid for by taxpayers, a fellow who pays for his six week federal vacation with your federal withholdings, just cannot understand why you won’t accept more regulation from him.
Thinking back on this conversation, I marvel at the irony: shortly thereafter the Covid hysteria hit and Americans were asked to refrain from earning a living, refrain from worshipping, refrain from gathering with relatives, and lose their jobs if they didn’t take an experimental “vaccine” which has since proven to be a) ineffective at stopping transmission and b) extremely dangerous to their health.
For “Dan,” my refusal to “play” was a clear sign that Americans refuse to be regulated. For me, it was a sign that I wanted to feed my family, and that the Constitution should not be protected by public health officials. A polite version as to how this conversation ended: I told him to go to hell.
In retrospect, who saw the situation clearly?
I know many fine civil servants, but I believe they should be removed from their post for 3 months a year, and forced to make an actual sale. Can you imagine how vastly improved our bureaucracy would be, if they had to engage in life-sustaining, private sector customer service on occasion? Dan — enjoying a work at home reprieve — simply couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to shut down my business entirely?
Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. You secular humanists should think about that one, on occasion.
Breaking a Zebra
The Santa Barbara fiesta is one of the largest equestrian events in California, if not THE largest. I got to thinking, “can you break a Zebra to ride?” (Later in the day, one of the horse ladies in our crowd said it was possible, but they are very ornery creatures.) Just as I was contemplating this, silently, an older guy on the sidewalk began staring daggers at me. Honestly, I hadn’t said a word up to that point. He was actually cranking his head around to look at me, and he didn’t redirect his gaze for at least a minute. Ever been there? Ever seen the pure eyes of hate trained on you?
Flag on the play. Public gathering parade foul. Where are the social referees when you need them?
The Weirdness of it all..
The Freedom Angels held an event up here on Sunday night. Our tavern hall was packed, with mothers who have been crying “enough” against policy elites who want their children jabbed with experimental vaccines. Three years later, those same elites don’t believe parents have a role in counseling their children about sex change surgery. Catch that? If a child wants her breasts cut off or a his penis removed, parents don’t even deserve to KNOW about it?
After a very inspiring meeting, outlining ways to defeat this evil nonsense, I walked a few of these beautiful ladies out to the parking lot.
I said to them, “ever since Covid, ladies, something very weird is in the air. If you had told me, four years ago, that policy elites could shut down an entire economy, and then follow that with advocacy for childhood castration, I would have said, ‘RIDICULOUS!'”
Well RIDICULOUS is upon us. We need to start pushing back very hard.