OOPS!

“And then he also mentioned that a lot of times,” Anaya added, “unless it’s something breaking, the questions that the reporters actually ask – or the correspondents – they are provided to him in advance.”

“So then he knows what he’s going to be answering and sometimes those correspondents and reporters also have those answers printed in front of them, because of course it helps when they’re producing their reports for later on.”~ Cub Reporter, Catherine Anaya…from the White House Wood Shed

I have to say…I love my wife. She is one of the most generous, loving and patient souls I have ever known. She asks me why I’m so angry…why I don’t write about other things. It’s a good question actually. God made me a writer, but why didn’t he make me a sports writer? After all, happiness is Opening Day is it not? Of course there is plenty to get angry about in the world of sports these days too, but alas…slugging, sinking, smashing and swishing balls have never amounted to more than distracting forms of social anesthesia to me.  

But when an American journalist can actually step up to the plate in the field of political dreams, smile for the camera and cover the scripted kabukiness with absolutely zero comprehension of and for the significance of what she has just witnessed…that my friends, is something to write…and cry about!

While free from Force the Press remains,

Virtue and Freedom chear our Plains,

And Learning Largesses bestows,

And keeps unlicens’d open House.

We to the Nation’s publick Mart

Our Works of Wit, and Schemes of Art,

And philosophic Goods, this Way,

Like Water carriage, cheap convey.

This Tree which Knowledge so affords,

Inquisitors with flaming swords

From Lay-Approach with Zeal defend,

Lest their own Paradise should end.

The Press from her fecundous Womb

Brought forth the Arts of Greece and Rome;

Her offspring, skill’d in Logic War,

Truth’s Banner wav’d in open Air;

The Monster Superstition fled,

And hid in Shades in Gorgon Head;

And awless Pow’r, the long kept Field,

By Reason quell’d, was forc’d to yield.

This Nurse of Arts, and Freedom’s Fence,

To chain, is Treason against Sense:

And Liberty, thy thousand Tongues

None silence who design no Wrongs;

For those who use the Gag’s Restraint,

First Rob, before they stop Complaint.

~ Benjamin Franklin

“Where the press is free and every man able to read, all is safe.”                         ~ Thomas Jefferson

But I would ask you Mr. Jefferson, what is safe when freedom’s press is entrusted to gushing, giddy school girls on a class field trip to the seat of power?

…for “Nurse of Arts, and Freedom’s Fence”

To Catherine’s mind makes no sense…

She thinks 1600 is Carney’s home…

and the 10 Commandments,

the Blarney Stone. 🙂

I’ll leave you with the following observations to ponder…

A country without a truly free and independent press is a country without respect for itself. If the quality of relationship determines experience, a relationship without respect will become a relationship of abuser and victim. Eventually someone leaves or someone dies. Until such time, the cycle of abuse continues…the wife-beater brings the flowers after the beating; the oligarch waxes patriotically just before the next election…

“But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new guards for their future security.”

It is not war with the Russians they fear, it is the one here at home! The abuser is here to stay. This war is coming my friend. I have never been more certain of anything in my life.