See Stephen Kinsella in action here

Oh, wait. That’s not Stephen Kinsella. That’s “Bob Greasy, Attorney at Law.”

Same difference, though

I took my sons to Cost Cutters for haircuts yesterday. The young lady behind the counter asked for our names, which makes sense, since we would have to wait for our turn and she would need to know who to call.

“Andy, Geoffrey, and Dylan,” I replied.
“Telephone number?” she asked, oh-so-casually.
“You don’t need that.”
“Last name?”
“You don’t need that, either.”
“Well,” she explained, “we need to know the name to call.”
“You can just call Andy, Geoffrey, and Dylan.”

She then entered three customers as “No Name” in the computer, as I watched, but I could tell from the look on her face: I was “difficult.” As we sat waiting, another employee came to the computer and said, loudly, “what’s with all these ‘no name’ entries?” I raised my hand, “that’s us.” The look on her face was a combination of confusion and disapproval.

About five more customers came in during the next ten minutes. All of them gave full names, telephone numbers, and addresses, without hesitation, even spelling out names and streets that gave the employees trouble. The same people are no doubt annoyed with the quantity of telemarketing calls and junk mail they receive, but are evidently unable to think enough to connect the two, or even to ask the obvious question: why do you need this information to cut my damn hair? The punch line is that every one of the stylists has prudently covered her address on her framed State Cosmetology License, which is displayed on the wall as required.

Best Buy and Toys-R-Us are two stores I occasionally buy from, where the cashiers ask for a telephone number from each and every customer at the checkout. I used to give random fake numbers, but a couple of years ago I decided that this didn’t properly communicate my disapproval of the process, so I started simply responding with a firm “no.” The first few times, I received dumbfounded expressions, protests that “well, it’s the computer that needs it,” (answer: “oh, the computer needs it, why didn’t you say so?… no,”) and semi-panicked calls to a manager because the cashier didn’t know what to do. Lately, though, they don’t do more than just look a little affronted, before going on with the transaction. I don’t shop at either store enough to fantasize that they remember me specifically, so they must be getting enough “difficult” people, who aren’t going along with this silliness, to have an official procedure now.

I’m not, by any means, trying to portray my refusal as some kind of protest against the state. It isn’t. However, I think that there is a relationship in the reverse direction. The state has, through its petty bureaucrats at the DMV, IRS, Social Security Administration, and similar pointless wastes of time, created a populace that simply doesn’t question requests for such information. Refuse one of these mini-tyrants a piece of information, and you know you won’t get your driver’s license, construction permit, or whatever piece of paper you’re trying to get today. They have no motivation to work with you (unless you’re bribing them appropriately, of course.) It simply never occurs to most people that, conversely, Best Buy will still sell you the printer, Toys-R-Us will still sell you the bicycle, and Cost Cutters will still cut your hair, even if you refuse to add yourself to their database. Sellers in a free market know that if they won’t, someone else surely will.

Oil and Blood (1933) by W. B. Yeats

In tombs of gold and lapis lazuli
Bodies of holy men and women exude
Miraculous oil, odour of violet.

But under heavy loads of trampled clay
Lie bodies of the vampires full of blood;
Their shrouds are bloody and their lips are wet.

Bush the Younger was in Russia recently and managed to drop a few gems worth taking note of at a joint press conference with Putin. These weren’t the usual “Russiastan” or “I’ve got a lot of commititude” bumbles, these were special. In fact, there’s a lesson in government there, if we look closely:

I live in a transparent country. I live in a country where decisions made by government are wide open, and people are able to call people to — me to account, which many out here due on a regular basis. Our laws, and the reasons why we have laws on the books, are perfectly explained to people.

Of course they are, Citizen. Secret laws aren’t things that the United States of America has, no: the President himself has denied that.

America has a perfectly transparent government, and it says so right there on the box.

So I’m perfectly comfortable in telling you, our country is one that safeguards human rights and human dignity, and we resolve our disputes in a peaceful way.

Now this statement doesn’t have to be the outright lie that it appears to be, in fact it’s probably technically true. Note the first part of that sentence: “I’m perfectly comfortable telling you…”. The rest of the sentence doesn’t have to be true for him to be “perfectly comfortable” telling it to us, in fact there are at least two possible explanations, here. First, it could be that he’s simply bought into his own propaganda about the matter. Second and more plausible, he’s “perfectly comfortable” telling bald-faced lies.

And lies they are: any dispute that you have with the government is certainly going to get resolved peacefully. Or else. And of course all of those kids that this government set fire to in Texas, back a decade ago, had their human dignity respected, didn’t they? And the Weavers - they had their rights safeguarded as well. Let’s not forget what happens to blacks that get out of hand - they get their dignity respected, too. On and on and on it goes: this list could continue for pages with names like Alberto Sepulveda and obscure historical footnotes like the Bonus Army or the Whiskey Rebellion and still not scratch the surface of the vast record of crimes perpetrated by the American government.

And so we come to President Bush’s lesson: if you contrast his rhetoric with reality, it serves as a pointed reminder of what supports this government, and all governments:

Force, and lies.

Above: The American government safeguarding human dignity

The person leaving comments here under the name of “Lefty” is actually rotten liberal/fascist bitch “Deb Frisch”. Although she pretends to disdain Hans-Hermann Hoppe, it’s obvious that secretly her loins must become moist when she thinks about the small, treacherous little Las Vegan professor - as their great minds think so much alike. Look here for an example of her Stalinoid approach to public education:

As George Lakoff and Mark Johnson showed, there’s a lot of truth in the metaphor “Ideas are food.” But there is good reason to allow the market to allocate food and the government to allocate ideas.

There is a difference between the choice between wheat and rye and the choice between evolution and creationism. In the bread case, there’s no truth of the matter. Different strokes for different folks works just fine. But in the case of evolution vs. creationism, there is a right answer. It is the kiss of death for a democracy to allow parents to send their children to schools that teach what the parents believe.

In general, it’s a good idea if school curricula are determined by educated people. Even if there’s a market for schools that have courses like NASCAR, Nintendo, creation science, Bible literature, etc. do we really want to allow our neighbors to “educate” their children that way? Isn’t teaching children things that are trivial or false a form of child abuse?

Does this not remind us of Professor Hoppe’s attitudes towards the time-preferentially challenged? (Note the Dawkinsesque suggestion that parents who dare to pass on their religious beliefs are practicing a form of “child abuse”. Perfect! “There are Christians down the street - call CPS!”) And, even more significantly:

I agree with dubya-squared that the controversy about putting warning labels on biology textbooks is related to the much larger issue of the increasing tension between reality-based Americans and faith-based ones. I disagree that the solution is to agree to disagree. This one needs to be duked out.

Duked out! Why not be honest, Deb - come right out and say that you think those evil Creationist parents ought to be beaten with rubber hoses and their “abused” children taken away by the State, you rotten liberal bitch? One, two, many Wacos!

Normally, I would end this post by speculating on the exact nature of the horrible mysterium conjunctus to be expected between our two ill-starred lovers - perhaps describing Hans-Hermann Hoppe’s applying his lying tongue to the inner recesses of Deb Frisch’s lushly upholstered ass. But that would be crude, and wrong. Instead, I note Frisch’s predeliction for atrocious poetry and respond in kind:

I see Deb and Hoppe
In a tree,
K. I. S. S. I. N. G.

“Grand Rounds“, a round-up of medical-bloggery, is up on Catallarchy this week. They have kindly linked to my finger. Thanks, guys. I think I’m famous now.

Artist Ed ‘Gonzo’ Stross, with whom my family has had some dealings, has gotten into some trouble recently. Apparently Roseville finds bare breasts and the word love objectionable. It just strikes me as odd that artists enjoyed more freedom five centuries ago in Papal Rome than today in the U.S. Of course, then there was a similar reaction, but nowhere near as outrageous. In the Creation of Adam, there is a lot more than just breasts. Even if I could understand the breasts, what is wrong with love? I guess that’s just what you get.

Hunter S. Thompson is dead

To Failure

You do not come dramatically, with dragons
That rear up with my life between their paws
And dash me butchered down beside the wagons,
The horses panicking; nor as a clause
Clearly set out to warn what can be lost,
What out-of-pocket charges must be borne
Expenses met; nor as a draughty ghost
That’s seen, some mornings, running down a lawn.

It is these sunless afternoons, I find
Install you at my elbow like a bore
The chestnut trees are caked with silence. I’m
Aware the days pass quicker than before,
Smell staler too. And once they fall behind
They look like ruin. You have been here some time.

- Philip Larkin (1949)

God have mercy on his soul.

One of my favorite bits in the Hoppe flap was in a letter from Tom Woods:

Dear President Harter:

I am a Columbia University Ph.D. and the author of a recent New York Times bestseller on American history. I join the rest of the academic community in calling upon you to overturn your university’s punitive measures against the world-renowned Hans-Hermann Hoppe, a scholar of great renown whom you should be thankful to have on your faculty.

Is it just me, or is Hoppe primarily world-renowned on Lew Rockwell’s web sites?

Roderick Long has posted a brief call for courtesy amidst the angry debate between various factions of libertarian types. I can see his intent, but I don’t agree.

Let’s get something straight: I’m not here for the libertarian movement. I judge that the libertarian movement (whatever it is, with whatever sorts of people graft themselves onto it) is a waste of time at best. And I don’t care overmuch about you, Gentle Reader, either. Specifically, I don’t care whether I convince you of anything in particular.

I’m here for me.

I judge that having a worldview that’s more in accordance with reality is of value to me. As Mencken put it,

I believe that it is better to tell the truth than a lie. I believe it is better to be free than to be a slave. And I believe it is better to know than to be ignorant.

Thus, I continually look for things that refine my perception of reality. If those things come without effort on my part, that’s fine. If I have to work for them, then that’s fine too. An example of something that came without effort on my part is this entry on the subject of abortion by fellow No-Treason’er Joshua Holmes. I’d thought about the subject in passing before, even gathered tantalizing hints from other people I respect, but Holmes knocked the argument out of the park in seven paragraphs. Something that took a tiny bit of effort was getting this correction from Stephan Kinsella. Despite the sharp tone of the discussion, I could and did recognize that I was wrong. And by doing so, I’m personally better off. I judge that neither Kinsella nor Holmes were looking to do me any favors there, they wrote what they did for their own purposes. And that’s just fine with me.

So what’s wrong with a sharp tone, anyway? Given my goals (which again explicilty do not consist of persuading anyone of much of anything) it’s at worst irrelevant. In actuality though, I judge blunt honesty to be a benefit. “I believe that it is better to tell the truth than a lie.” I have no problem whatsoever with exposing my ideas to the criticism of others, I judge that they can stand or fail on their own merits. I don’t ask for or expect any quarter whatsoever if I’m wrong: instead it’s in my interests to be corrected as quickly as possible.

My goals as a principled individualist are perhaps different from those who view themselves as part of some greater movement. I have no desire to build coalitions with or gently persuade people who can’t deal with blunt honesty. To put it quite simply, people who can’t handle criticism aren’t going to be of any use to me at all: I judge that folks who crack when their flaws are exposed are never going to have a signifigant amount of ability to expose mine.

I don’t expect many people to agree with any part of the above. I flies in the face of what a political movement is supposed to be about, but I’m not a part of any movement. I’m looking to better my own self, and if other people gain value from my content, that’s just gravy for them. To sum it up once again, I’m here for me.

Yesterday’s
Today’s

I can think of only one plausible explanation: Wally is turning into John T. Kennedy.

I did a dumb thing the Saturday before last. While sawing a rabbet in the edge of a board, my table saw kicked the board back at me. As the result of my instant, unthinking attempt to catch the flying board, I opened my left index finger up, down to the bone.

I initially called to my lovely wife for help, but then decided that she probably didn’t really need to see it. I wrapped it in a towel and baggie, and, since it was past 8:30 at night and the Prompt Care was closed, drove myself to the emergency room.

I spent the next three hours recieving a total of 20 minutes of medical care, in three different rooms. I don’t fault the doctors, of course, and I’m happy to have their expertise, but the sheer institutionalism and bureaucratic mindlessness of it all is worse every time I end up in a hospital.