Ding Dong….

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Ding Dong…. by James Howard Kunstler

How hilarious is it in this pornography-saturated culture of anything-goes-and-nothing-matters that a long-ago session of awkward teenage necking becomes the most horrifying crime since Eve consorted with a snake in the original wayback?

One theory: having worked tirelessly to destroy behavioral boundaries in its quest to transform human nature for the greater good of society, the Prog-Left has no idea anymore how the world works or how to interpret what human beings actually do in it. Hence this effort to turn the Brett Kavanaugh nomination proceeding into a retroactive abortion of the nominee.

The Democratic Party seems to be afflicted with a vicious sort of PMS that has turned the brains of even its theoretically male members, Senators Chuck Schumer and Richard Blumenthal, into polenta with red sauce on top. They see blood everywhere, and even appear to be thirsting for it like a gang of Old World Nosferatus, or giddy Jacobins merrily geeing up the guillotine blade in a frenzy of summary execution.

My own sense of the situation is that Christine Blasey Ford’s accusations are going exactly nowhere, no matter how carefully and elaborately conditions are set for her to lay out her case. It couldn’t be more firmly established that she doesn’t remember what year or what place the alleged necking happened in. Is she going to change that part of the story now? Surely lawyers, gumshoes, and phrenologists on the Democratic Party payroll would like to engineer some magic memory retrieval so she’ll be supplied with dates and addresses when her turn at the microphone comes. By the way, the boundary between truth and untruth is one of the lines that has turned all squishy on them. Because they can’t tell anymore, they must assume nobody else can either.

Who knows if Ms. Ford is sturdy enough for this ordeal-by-testimony. CNN asserted last night that this episode has “destroyed her life.” Of course, that claim, too, might be viewed as just another manifestation of hormonal disturbance which, less face it, women of a certain age are subject to. She can always retreat to her “safe space” back at Palo Alto U, with all the perqs and emoluments of her professorship, or perhaps even make a run for congress. God knows, California could use another victim of white male sexual abuse to advance the project of getting rid of men altogether. Hollywood would sign on for that in a New York minute.

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James Howard Kunstler

James Howard Kunstler says he wrote The Geography of Nowhere, “Because I believe a lot of people share my feelings about the tragic landscape of highway strips, parking lots, housing tracts, mega-malls, junked cities, and ravaged countryside that makes up the everyday environment where most Americans live and work.” Home From Nowhere was a continuation of that discussion with an emphasis on the remedies. A portion of it appeared as the cover story in the September 1996 Atlantic Monthly. His next book in the series, The City in Mind: Notes on the Urban Condition, published by Simon & Schuster / Free Press, is a look a wide-ranging look at cities here and abroad, an inquiry into what makes them great (or miserable), and in particular what America is going to do with it’s mutilated cities.