The lawn guy seeded today, the plumber comes tomorrow, the landscaper comes tomorrow to see if anything can be done with the hill, and I have to mail a check to the fence guy. I feel like I should be standing in the back yard wearing a barrel, looking at an open wallet out of which comes . . . what?

Right: flies. Because when you have no money flies get trapped in your wallet, and they are the iron flies of poverty that cannot be crushed when you fold your wallet. The barrel image is less common these days, and rightly so; it’s ridiculous. So . . . you had to sell your clothes to eat. Got it. But you had the time and materials to construct straps that let you wear the barrel to cover your nakedness. How about selling the barrel first?

What? Then what would I wear after I sell my clothes?

You don’t sell your clothes, that’s the point. You keep them, so you can find gainful employment. Say you show up at McDonald’s. They’re always hiring. They’re going to take one look at that barrel and think it’ll be hard for everyone behind the counter, always having to get around you. No wait, they’d provide a uniform. Bad example. How about roofing? You couldn’t do a roofing job in a barrel.

I could cut out arm holes.

So you own a barrel, two leather straps, nails for the straps, a hammer to attach the nails, and a saw? And you’re selling your clothes?

Okay I just like being naked in a barrel. Don’t judge me.

Of course I’ll judge you. But quietly. It’s one of the few pleasures left in life.

As you may have noticed, I've been light on the Wednesday Review of Modern Thought, because there isn't much. There are positions, and there is disputation, but everything's ossified, and new issues become frozen before there's any chance to discuss them. Or they emerge from the forehead of Zeus, cross-eyed and babbling:

		I don't think anyone in the MSNBC audience thinks "sure, the religious right's obsession with destroying pubic schools is insidiously racist, but it seems harmless to me. Wait a minute, it'ts not?"
		This was the issue of the day. As ever, this is scary stuff! Because that's the word grown-ups use nowadays, it seems. Everything's scary! Mommy, will you look under the bed for Dave Chapelle?

You may have heard the story. Most people believe an insurance company should confine themselves to selling insurance and paying claims, and the idea that they ask their agents to hand out books about transgenderism aimed at kindergarten+ school groups seems unwise on a variety of levels. But the onliners are eager to interrogate every entity, to ensure they align with the new enlightment:

The author of the article said he polled the companies because they had previously spoken up on other issues, like BLM. But now, on this one, silence?  How can anyone play Grand Theft Auto if they suspect the person in charge of coding the way the light plays on the blood spatters doesn't back 100% the ACLU position on the impact of Roe V Wade's reversal on gay men?

Apparently, people at the gaming companies, hearing nothing at all from their managers that would validate the exact parameters of their personal opinions, were shook. I know the feeling. My company has been violently silent on the Pelagian Heresy, and it makes me feel unsafe.

		A sensible response to the State Farm decision not to assist in the effort to introduce sexual identity issues to the Romper Room set.
		Charles made a sensible point. His mistake was calling it a hot-button issue.It is meet and right and true for State Farm and all other commercial entities to assist in instructing five year olds in matters of gender and sexuality, and anyone who opposes it is starting a culture war. As a replying tweet put it:

Opposition to any aspect of any of this is monstrous evil that sacrifices children on an altar of hate.

So no, fruitful discussions are not to be had. State Fair came out, so to speak, and said "nope, sorry, not going to do that, really a matter for parents to discuss." Really? Parents? Those people? The amateurs, not the ones with teaching degrees? Are we letting veterinarians operate on human brains now?

Seriously, it's 2022, and we've seen videos of these "parents" talking back to school boards, and we're suddenly granting them all this power? You know what they call it when the state cedes a space to the family, don't you? Right. Fascism.

This may be the most insightful thing I've read all year.

It's an all-purpose maxim. But in many cases, the rule-stigmatizing was not done in a rush to achieve another goal; for many, it was the point. It's not enough to build a place of coexistence: the order has to be inverted and the laggard thinkers punished. Eventually the old rule will not be spoken of anymore, because it summons memories of the Old Dark Times, and threatens the new Goodness simply by suggesting an alternative idea. Don't write down the rule for the sake of study or discussion. Year Zero has no need for historians.

It’s 1922. We’re in Arizona. A big paper with one idea: Copper!

From the piece the editor obviously wants us to readL

		Given that the title is BASE POLITICAL INGRATITUDE, is is intended to insert the knife and start twisting.

Wikipedia on the matter:

By early 1920, Hunt was believed to be planning a run for Mark Smith's U.S. Senate seat. To counter this possible threat, it is rumored that Smith, with the help of Henry F. Ashurst, asked President Woodrow Wilson to appoint Hunt to a diplomatic position that would take him away from Arizona. The story continues with Wilson placing his finger on a globe and asking "Would this be far enough?” Hunt was confirmed as the U.S. Minister to Siam on May 18, 1920.

The newspaper’s ire was ineffective. Hunt would serve a total of seven terms as governor.

		I wonder if the editor sent the story back to the reporter with a scrawled note: readers will want to know about the car and what its current value might be

		It’s a tale out of the old west, with masked train robbers pursued by lawmen on horseback.

		“Write short, punchy sentences. That grabs ‘em. Right?”

		The paper is full of these notices. Dozens. It’s not a big town now; I wonder if it was then. You probably knew Cocking was running anyway, because he said so at the barber shop - but the formalities had to be observed.

“What did he say? It’s obvious she shot him, and he said something that made everyone believe she was in the right. Did you get the dying man’s words from the doctor or the cop?”

		“Sorry, I didn’t think to ask.”

That’s it. Not a lot. But what a wooly era.

That'll do! Enjoy your midweek moments. More Canuck beer ads await.