Leaving jokes aside for the moment, I wanted to draw your attention to the most important sentence in Trump’s foreign policy speech:
The nation-state remains the true foundation for happiness and harmony.
With all of the Lyin’ Teds, Little Marcos, Berniebros, small hands, rallies, and drama, it’s easy to lose sight of what this election is really about. Namely, the central question of our times: do we try to cling to the nation-state model or do we accept that it’s dead and move on to the next state form. Should we try to gain advantage by getting to the next stage before everybody else? Or by lingering in the previous stage until there’s no more juice to suck out of it?
Nation-state or fluid state?
This is the real question here, and the answer is very hard to find.
The pig corpses and the women cards are all a diversion, a way of drawing the attention of the easily distracted majority that falls asleep when anybody mentions words like “state form” and “nation-state.”
So Google came through for us and after conducting a review discovered that there is no malware on this blog. We all knew it from the start but Google got false reports of malware and started blocking us.
While I was waiting for Google to do its work, I listened to a very Baroque speech by Trump – something about 50 bullets inside a pig’s corpse and 49 human corpses – and realized he’s trolling. It was between that and heavy use of PCP, and trolling seemed more logical.
For my sins, a baby clothes store was opened half a mile away from my house. And yes, Klara has more outfits than an aging socialite, but how can I resist going to the store? I was literally their first customer when the store opened this morning. They didn’t even have the computers running yet when I showed up. Of course, that’s when I discovered that baby clothes are expensive, especially for something that only serves you for a couple of months.
Another expression I find to be overused is “I’m proud of you.” It bugs me when people address it to complete strangers in lieu of “I admire you.” For instance, Dr. Phil often says “I’m proud of you” to guests on his show who share how they overcame adversity (without any help from him and many years ago.) Or Obama put these words in his response to a little girl from Flint who wrote him a letter. If the girl were his daughter, it would make every sense of him to say “I’m proud of you” because he could reasonably claim a degree of responsibility for her achievement. But it’s a girl he never met. What’s he to be proud of?
When we substitute “I admire you” with “I’m proud of you”, we adopt a somewhat condescending position that is better than “I approve of you” but falls far short of the more sincere “I admire you.” “I’m proud of you” also claims one person’s achievement as at least partly one’s own. I, for instance, feel happy to share the credit for my achievements with people who were there for me, supported me and contributed to my success. But I find it off-putting when strangers try to make my achievements about themselves by claiming to take pride in them.
If you managed to beat your way through the false warnings of malware on the site, let’s discuss pride vs admiration.
The posts that were hacked by trolls are:
- Rauner’s Assault on Freedom;
- Naked Men;
- Social Engineering.
My bet is that it all started with Naked Men, which is bad because that’s seriously the title of the novel I’m working on in my research right now. What, I can’t mention my research now?
Strangely, this never happened with my very popular post on naked Israeli soldiers.
Turns out women were avoiding peanuts during pregnancy in order to prevent the baby from developing a peanut allergy. Now this practice has been debunked as counterproductive. This is good news because I was eating peanuts by the trainload in pregnancy. It was the only way not to feel hungry on the severe diabetic diet.
One thing that wasn’t easy was finding unsalted peanuts and sunflower seeds. I find it absolutely bizarre that people would drown nuts and seeds in salt.
And by the way, guess who went to a real restaurant for a 3-course dinner and whose 11-week-old baby behaved perfectly throughout the outing?
The waiters looked a bit shell-shocked and kept trying to dispatch us fast (“I don’t think you’ll be interested in dessert, right?” – with a scared look at the baby) but we held firm. Especially since Klara made not a peep unlike a very fidgety 11 – year-old at another table whose voice still rings in my ears.
It was really great to dress up, go out, and feel like ourselves.