Even Famous Christians Find it Hard to Witness.

We find ourselves in distinguished company! We will keep plugging away...

Jack Kemp, 1935-2009.

Bill Bennett had a marvelous three-hour tribute to his close friend this morning. He and his guests completed all of their passes: Jack Kemp worked tirelessly for the message of opportunity in the American conservative movement. He "got it" way before most did. He was the blacksmith who hammered out the exciting ideas of economic liberty into practical political tools, such as the great tax cuts that Reagan adopted. This author was an enthusiastic supporter of Jack for the Presidency in '88. He will be sorely missed, but he has nurtured a new generation to take up his torch. R.I.P.

The More Things Change.

You know the rest. Reposted as periodic required listening.

Ethanol Rises from the Grave.

A farmer lobbying group is leaning on the Congers to have the EPA bump up the blend requirement on ethanol in gasoline. Their talking points can be found here. Ah, what the free market kills government can revive. Find a way to make it a lot cheaper and using less fossil fuel and water, and we'll talk boys...

Socialism Comes to Town.

After the White House and the UAW shook down the bondholders of GM, they set their sights on the senior secured debt holders of Chrysler. The bondholders held their ground, and now bankruptcy court will resolve the disposition of the company's assets. The President may rant and rave about the treachery of the bond holders (many are retirement and pension programs), but the essential issue was whether the federal government and the union would be allowed to destroy corporate legal structure by usurping the holders of senior secured debt first claim to restitution in restructuring. Larry Kudlow described the actions of Obama and the UAW accurately and succinctly: theft. And socialist expropriation.

What Price Socialism?

Robert Tracinski recounts a conversation with a recent emigre' from Russia, and discovers the essential risk of a socialized America.

What Happened At The Opener.

Our anticipation for this year's Trout Opener neared delirium by Friday morning, and we struck out for Grayling at noon after putting in a few hours' toil for The Man. The weather was warm, the sun was bright, and the weekend's forecast for the Ausable and Manistee River areas was for high temperatures in the upper sixties with a less than likely chance of rain. It promised to be a very good Opening Day with good conditions for hatching mayflies and rising fish.

We landed on the banks of the North Branch of the Ausable at 4pm, met our First Platoon of comrades, and commenced dry hackle offerings thrown among the rocks and riffles of fifty-six degree water. The platoon's reconnaissance told of a few fish taken earlier in the day but with action now at a lull. In the next two hours our efforts came to nought, but no matter, for two more solid days of fishing lay ahead. Surely, we thought, things would improve. We sounded recall and headed for Penrod's, our base of operations. We joined the Second Platoon and sought refreshment at Grayling's version of The Russian Tearoom - Spike's "Keg O'Nails" Pub: anybody who is anybody in Crawford County is in Spike's for Opening Eve. We had a wonderfully creamy pint of Guinness, and watched various mating rituals between semi-sober fisherman and the domestic and imported brood mares. Further liquid inspiration followed back at camp, summoning rousing declamations on the glories that awaited us. We also learned that the words for "prairie" and "fire" sound very similar in the Ojibwa langauge, and our Resident Fish Scholar postulated various theories on the future of Michigan salmonids and the Return of the Grayling. He was remarkably coherent even after a substantial helping of a brand-new bottle of Scapa. Hemingway would have been proud to have his company.

With the dawn of Opening Day the stragglers of our Band of Brothers arrived at camp, just in time for a superb breakfast. The group was surprisingly ambulatory given the fervor of the previous night's bacchanal. We girded our loins, packed up our gear, and as we headed toward the cars...

A great KABOOM! heralded the arrival of a fierce and nasty squall line into Grayling. We hunkered down for driving wind and rain for the better part of a hour. The temperature plunged twenty-five degrees. This is not good, we thought. Had one of us sinned against God? Should we stone that transgressor and bring the rest of us back to righteousness and reasonable fishing? No one offered themselves up in sacrifice and we concluded that the sinner was amongst the outsiders from our group. If he had any conscience he would tear out his eyes with No. 2 sized streamer hooks and beg our forgiveness, as well as that of God's. The rain abated, and we set out for the CCC Bridge on the Manistee, where we commenced fishing.

"Slow Fishing" does not do justice to our experience for the next four hours. The sudden and severe change in conditions had put our little friends into a coma. Between bouts of cold, soaking rains and biting winds, our group of five (a sixth was an early casualty to storm-induced demoralization and skeedaddled back to Alpena) landed two fish. One of the fish was identified as a brook trout only after undergoing magnification by reading spectacles. The Master Angler of our group, one with whom we had presumed God was obligated to provide at least one fish per outing, was skunked. This had, in effect, defined the day as a disaster, the flyfishing equivalent of The Apocalypse. We slunk back to Grayling to lick our wounds and to hope for a better Sunday.

No such luck. The Fish Scholar peeled off for home Sunday morning, so demoralized that the prospect of finishing his chorelist at home seemed more appealing. After the remnants of our party reconnoitered the Main Branch of the Ausable and found conditions inimical to even fair fishing for our last day, we headed to Dam Four on the North Branch. Alas, another four hours produced no landed fish and precious few strikes in forty-eight degree water. We surrendered in the midafternoon, struck camp, and headed home.

What is there to be learned from such a Last Saturday in April?

The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley - Robert Burns

Fagen on Shep.

Steely Dan Founder Donald Fagen recalls late nights spent with Jean Shepherd, and what he learned from Shep.

Does Penitence Work in Foreign Policy?

President Obama has decided to either apologize for American past "misdeeds" around the world (for example, not defending US attempts to oust Castro after he betrayed the Cuban Revolution), or to act much more deferential and conciliatory to international bad apples like Iran. So much for changing the tone: Iran arrests a journalist and a blogger, gives them hour-long trials, and delivers stiff prison sentences for "spying". The New York Times assures us that
Mr. Ahmadinejad will do his utmost (read: not much) to guarantee them due process. Gee, thanks.

Just Around the Corner...

Things are shaping up for Da Openur. Now the last-minute scramble to ready the tackle and gear!

The Ethanol Industry Implodes.

The Manhattan Institute's Max Schultz provides an update of the corn-fed, government-led debacle.

The Invisible Tea Parties.

Reports on the attendance to the Tax Day Tea Parties across Michigan are quite impressive, from the several hundreds to the few thousands at several locations across the state. If such enthusiasm is being repeated in other states, this event is remarkable.
But not to the New York Times, who confines their coverage to a derisive blog entry.

Tax Day.

We have a real fear - yes, fear - that our government is going past the point of no return on spending and taxes. Entitlements now constitute 38% of the federal budget; including quasi-entitlement social program spending brings the total to 57%. Service on the debt adds another 9%, defense accounts for another 20%. This does include the new bailout and stimulus spending.

It's clear that there is no political gain for any leader to restrain entitlements: it will require an act of political sacrifice by the country's leadership to bring this under control. If the President could bring this financial hemorrhaging to an end, would he sacrifice a second term to bring it about?

The Sixteen-Dollar Breakfast.

There is a deli/restaurant in Washtenaw County that Sensitive Types incessantly rave about. It's heralded for its bakery, its yummy food, and its funky style and cute cartoon advertising. It's been featured on The Sensitive Radio Food Show as the jewel of Ann Arbor eateries. The foodery makes money hand over fist, it pays its employees well with good benefits and its business model has been advocated as a progressive ideal.

The only bug in the whitefish salad about this place is, well, it's expensive. Really expensive. Actually, obscenely expensive. Like thirty-dollar olive oil (it's incredible olive oil!). Or like the recent experience of a friend of mine who stopped there for a bagel with lox & cream cheese, and a side of whitefish salad. After parting with sixteen bucks, he was left with bellyache from the red onions on the sandwich and an inescapable sensation of being had.

This business model is not revolutionary nor progressive. It's the same one that P.T. Barnum employed, or that a famous magic and gag gift company used to lure your author at ten years of age into parting with his chore earnings for a box of tricks the would amaze and astound his family and friends, that would bring to the waiting world a Young Svengali. A photo in a family album records the moment of revelation after opening the box: is this it? Five bucks for this???
Then again, this may be a lesson that one periodically relearns (see previous entry).

B-E-S-U-R-E-T-O-D-R-I-N-K-Y-O-U-R-O-V-A-L-T-I-N-E

A Quest Finally Concludes?

We're always looking for perfect flyboxes to have in the vest while fishing. Perhaps even finding the One Box that will hold all of the streamers, nymphs, pupae, emergers, duns, adults, and spinners that we could possibly need for Opening Day. There have been several failed systems, with results such as having the one particular box holding exactly the fly we need left warm and cozy on the cabin table, or watching a flotilla of boxes drifting downstream after spilling from our vest. The Flambeau Blue Ribbon Fly Box may, finally, be the One Box. It contains three Vertical-Friction Foam (VFF) Technology™ panels (gasp!) for smaller flies and one streamer panel. It's compact and waterproof. Stayed tuned for an after-action report on its performance. If the Flambeau Blue Ribbon box lives up to its potential, prepare for a sudden flood of used flyboxes to appear on EBay...

Holy Week.

Erik Reese has penned an op-ed for the Washington Post, "Save Jesus, Ignore Easter". It concludes with:

...The fact is, American Christianity has historically been focused so obsessively on the Nicene Creed -- which says Jesus was the son of God, who was crucified for our sins and rose from the grave three days later -- that it never made much room for the actual teachings of this radical Jewish street preacher. This is why I'm against Easter. It celebrates the death of Jesus nearly to the exclusion of his life. If the Easter miracle can save us from this life, then why bother with the harder work of enacting the kingdom of God here? It is, after all, much harder. Which brings me back to that word faith. I believe it plays such a disproportionate role in mainstream American Christianity, be it in the rock and roll mega-churches or the humbler places were I worshipped as a child, because it is a belief in what one cannot see. But that belief -- that faith in a salvational Christ -- is what will guarantee everlasting life. But
when such faith is lost, as in my case, what am I left with?
I'm left with the teachings of Jesus -- words so radical, they got him killed, words so radical, they might still bring about the end of empire and the beginning of the kingdom of God.

One can agree, somewhat, with Mr. Reese's first assertion: there appears to be, in some expressions of Christianity, a superficial depiction of Jesus' suffering and crucifixion that emphasizes Christ's physical pain and the guilt that we should feel about it. That guilt, for these dogmas, propels one towards God and Christ: one is obligated to accept Christ because of his suffering. This embrace of Christ is like an atonement for the guilt one may feel after being rescued by a hero who in turn forfeits their own life. But doesn't that place the value of mortal existance and comfort above everything else? That we owe Jesus because he gave up what we value most?

Perhaps the real sacrifice made by Christ in this week was to become totally separated from God in the course of assuming all sin to destroy it ("Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?"). And Easter has unbounded joy for us because Christ is reunited with God in ressurection, and with him we are reconciled with God.

For God's Sake - Literally - Just End It.

There is a terrible, terrible arguement in the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America (ELCA). This arguement has been a hammer and tong affair for at least two decades now, with no signs of resolution.

Isn't it simply an immutable fact that there exists a fundamental and irreconcilable schism in the church between those that believe that homosexual relationships can be consistent with living a God-directed life and those that believe that such relationships are contrary to God's directives for our lives? If so, we must end the relentless cycle of one side employing the political and bureaucratic hammers of the church to attempt to repeatedly bludgeon the other side into submission or silence. Let's stop this nonsense and agree to a divorce. Yes, divorce. A tragedy? Yes, but inescapable. Is this a radical view? How can we think so after all of the pain received by and delivered to both sides by the other?

The Evil One has really enjoyed this one.

Palm Sunday.

John 12:12-16:

12:12 The next day the great crowd that had come to the festival heard that Jesus was coming to Jerusalem.

12:13 So they took branches of palm trees and went out to meet him, shouting, "Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord-- the King of Israel!"

12:14 Jesus found a young donkey and sat on it; as it is written:

12:15 "Do not be afraid, daughter of Zion. Look, your king is coming, sitting on a donkey's colt!"

12:16 His disciples did not understand these things at first; but when Jesus was glorified, then they remembered that these things had been written of him and had been done to him.

Who Drives What at Obama Motors.

They've been assigned to save the American Automobile Industry. It's time to meet the heroes of Obama Motors and the cars they drive:

• Steve Rattner, the "Car Czar", hedge-fund manager, specialist in media mergers and alumnus of the Council for Foreign Relations. Drives a Lexus, an Audi, and slums it with a Lincoln Town Car.
• Secretary of the Treasury Timothy Geithner drives an Acura.
• Larry Summers, White House Economic Adviser, is a Mazda Man.
• OMB Head Peter Orzag loves his Honda.
• Carbon-hating Carol Browner doesn't own a car, nor does Energy Secretary Stephen Chu.
  
• EPA Chief Lisa Jackson raves about her Prius and her Honda minivan!

Not a Real American Car Guy ("guy" in the generic sense) among them. God help GM and Chrysler.

Obama Motors.

The Obama Car Team is forcing the ouster of GM's CEO Rick Wagoner, and probably most of the board of directors of the corporation. Apparently "change" at GM is not happening fast enough, namely the shafting of GM share and debtholders by massive equity dilution and forced bond conversion, and the building of "Smart"-style toy cars that bureaucrats love. The Administration is also dictating that Fiat shall own Chrysler. So much for corporate governance.

It's not clear how introducing this chaos into GM's management will help them to meet the sixty-day deadline to complete their restructuring, the criteria of which seems only to be known to the Administration.