Chronic self-flatterers mystified by mockery of chronic self-flatterers:  

Update, via the comments:

Welcome to Seattle, where a dislike of being robbed, or seeing others being robbed, is disdained as “anti-poverty bias.” 

It’s called “the poverty defence,” and would not only make stealing legal, but apparently fencing items as well, and would cover over 100 misdemeanour crimes.

Because enabling criminals and demoralising their victims will result in flourishing neighbourhoods, a boom in employment, and a future that’s more progressive and compassionate. Full of hugs and puppies.

Update: via the comments: 

As noted in the piece, the most enthusiastic supporters of the proposal, the ones disdaining objections as “anti-poverty bias,” are remarkably contemptuous of the people whose lives will be degraded, should the proposal succeed. And who almost certainly have a much clearer understanding of the proposal’s supposed beneficiaries, having encountered them first-hand, most likely more than once. But the compulsion to indulge criminal choices, from a safe distance, and to then bask in the subsequent in-group elevation, is, for some, quite strong, despite the contortions it can entail.

And regardless of the consequences for the victims of such posturing.

Update 2:

Contraband detected. || Before and after. || Face time. || Assorted shipping forecasts and other radio jottings. (h/t, Things) || Lifestyle choice. || I don’t think that’s real lava. || When you have one of these at the end of the hall. || The thrill of 1970s carpeting. || The thrill of dryer lint. || Assorted Swiss chalets. || At last, a mushroom claw machine. || Headphones suggested for The Lure of the Hole. || The Manual Library, from tractors and firearms to Roland synthesizers. (h/t, Things) || Failure is not forgiven. || Forbidden love, 1 and 2. || Good deed. || In San Diego schools. || Scenes from Mother Russia. || Vintage Las Vegas. || Today’s word is parenting. || And finally, groovers, it’s time to pump up the jam.

Mr Bob Chipman, a woke scold, avowed feminist, and film reviewer – in pretty much that order these days – shares his deep, uplifting philosophy. The dynamic may not be entirely unfamiliar.

Mr Chipman is an enthusiast of socialism (albeit, it seems, for others) and a man entranced by his own allegedly vast intelligence, which he mentions frequently. He is, he assures us, “an American of intelligence,” unlike people who are insufficiently leftwing, whom he views as “not redeemable” and indeed subhuman. His favoured terms for those who would dare to vote differently include “obsolete trash,” “backward people,” “obsolete whites” and “Nazi motherfuckers.” These lively definitions would most likely be applied to the readers of this blog, its host, and presumably our friends and families.

When not sharing his eugenic fantasies of a world forcibly depopulated of people who disagree with him, Mr Chipman suggests that his fellow leftists pleasure themselves by finding a non-leftwing person, any non-leftwing person, and making their “day/week/life a little bit miserable.”

Mr Chipman appears to have difficulty being happy and struggles to understand why anyone might dislike him.

Also, open thread. Share ye links and bicker.

A group of 13 “abolitionist librarians” from Ivy League universities… is demanding that their colleagues “immediately begin the work of divesting from police and prisons.” […] The group wants Ivy League librarians to “explicitly name policing itself as the problem” and take actions that will lead to the “complete abolition of law enforcement.”

Something-something “white supremacy” something-something “privilege.” I’m paraphrasing, of course. But really, it’s the same doctrinaire horseshit we’ve seen a hundred times. And according to which, the world will be enormously improved by the “abolition of policing in all its forms.” If that isn’t sufficiently unambiguous, our Ivy League librarians insist that their “ultimate goal” is, and I quote, “the complete abolition of law enforcement… everywhere.” Because “a world without policing” will somehow, rather conveniently, be a world without crime. And because helping people find the books that they’d like to borrow is just too boring and insufficiently high-status for minds such as these.

More than 700 individuals and organisations have signed the petition.

By the way, and before you ask, that sickly-sweet odour is the ongoing decay of your civilisation. A society in which the children of the elite are immersed in such dogma – and are told that their civilisation shouldn’t defend itself against sociopathy and predation – isn’t, I’d suggest, in the best of health. And when these mouthings are deemed high-status, both sophisticated and aspirational, a marker of in-group belonging, then the words preening degeneracy seem entirely apt. 

Previously in the world of uppity librarians. 

Cats sending signals. || Corner piano. || Some precision parking. || AI-generated comic panels. || Great moments in pillow innovation. || Paranormal activity. || Plot twist detected. || Little nymph. || Festive temptation. “It should be wet in the middle,” says Fanny. || Their first time. || Flexible stems. || At last, selfie cake. || How to eat cake with a wine glass. (Spoon optional.) || A long walk. || Bread lights, obviously. || Ready for battle. || Miracle breakthrough. || Subdivision detected. || Switched-on blonde with bagpipes. || Bold marketing decision. || “Horse semen is one of the most expensive liquids on the planet.” || And finally, and piously, a claim is made. Readers will, I suspect, draw their own conclusions.

The British countryside remains a distinctly white and often intimidating place for BAME communities.

So says the Guardian’s north of England correspondent, Nazia Parveen.

The British countryside being the preserve of the white middle classes is a perception that is backed by stark figures, with ethnic minorities often deterred from heading into the outdoors due to deep-rooted, complex barriers… Only 1% of visitors to UK national parks come from BAME backgrounds, and statistics from the outdoor sector paint a similar picture, with only around 1% of summer mountain leaders and rock-climbing instructors in the UK from ethnic minorities.

I’m sure the relative scarcity of brown-skinned rock-climbing instructors plays a pivotal role.

The reasons behind this reluctance to venture out are complicated.

Ah, but of course. Though some may be more obvious than others. The concentration of minorities in urban centres and the consequent logistics of travel to the countryside being fairly self-explanatory. We’re also told of “a lack of culturally appropriate provisions,” though details as to what these culturally appropriate provisions might be, or indeed why they should be provided, seemingly at public expense, are left to the readers’ imagination. We are, however, steered to the distinct impression that these “last bastions of whiteness” are a very bad thing and that something must be done.

Yes, it’s time to remind patrons that this rickety barge, on whose seating your arses rest, is kept afloat by the kindness of strangers. If you’d like to help it remain buoyant a while longer, and remain ad-free, there’s an orange button below with which to monetise any love. Debit and credit cards are accepted. For those wishing to express their love regularly, there’s a monthly subscription option top left, use of which almost certainly earns you a place in heaven. And if one-click haste is called for, my PalPay.Me page can be found here. Additionally, any Amazon UK shopping done via this link or the search widget top right, or for Amazon US via this link, results in a small fee for your host at no extra cost to you.

For newcomers wishing to know more about what’s been going on here for the last thirteen years, in close to 3,000 posts and over 100,000 comments, the reheated series is a pretty good place to start – in particular, the end-of-year summaries, which convey the fullest flavour of what it is we do. A sort of blog concentrate. If you like what you find there… well, there’s lots more of that.

If you can, do take a moment to poke through the discussion threads too. The posts are intended as starting points, not full stops, and the comments are where much of the good stuff is waiting to be found. And do please join in.

As always, thanks for the support, the comments, and the company. Also, open thread. 

We’ve neglected the arts of late. That simply won’t do:

“Trees are like human beings,” says the performance artist Marina Abramovic. “They have intelligence. They have feelings. They communicate with each other. And also, they are perfectly silent listeners. You can complain to them.” And letting out your frustrations about a dire 2020 to a tree is exactly the advice the artist is giving the public.

Ah, the practical and the profound, together at last.

The participatory performance Complain to a Tree is the latest addition to the “Abramovic Method”—a series of exercises developed by the artist for practicing being present—which she will reveal on a new Sky Arts programme. Abramovic is taking over the TV channel for five hours on 5 December, to teach audiences about performance art.

At which point, regulars of this parish may feel a little superior, more culturally elevated, given their familiarity with said artistic form.

But back to the humanoid trees:

Don’t immediately hug the tree.

No, of course. That would be foolish.

Just feel the energy of the tree. Even not touching it but just holding your hands a little bit above.

Much better.

And then complain your heart into it. This is the whole idea.

The entirety, one might say. The total vastness of the idea.

Whatever you do, young warriors, don’t wake the dragon. || Giant anamorphic toilet. || Nommy-nommy-nom. || Our betters say cheese. || Somewhat related. || This is one of these. || Rough neighbourhood. || Nude scenes. || How suitcases are born. || Forbidden love. || Modified wheelbarrow of note. || Rolling pin of note. || It’s a prize, nonetheless. || A project for the weekend. || Wildlife overpass, Interstate 80, Utah. || Prototype photocopier, 1803. “It was nearly impossible to make it work correctly.” || The record deal simulator. Hours of, er, fun. || Strange attractions. || The thrill of scaffolding. || Ancient artefact detected. || Fun while falling. || And finally, paranormal scenes of not-quite-levitation.