David Mamet the playright you had to love. He got to the point, frequently with fucking expletives. His characters were aggressive and un-subtle. They talked about subjects in open and combative ways. The arc of a particular conversation could be eccentric, but it always landed with the adversaries hot on its heels, faces flushed. The argument felt visceral, real.
David Mamet the wingnut you gotta hate.
All of us have had dealings with the State, and have found, to our chagrin, or, indeed, terror, that we were not dealing with well-meaning public servants or even with ideologues but with overworked, harried bureaucrats. These, as all bureaucrats, obtain and hold their jobs by complying with directions and suppressing the desire to employ initiative, compassion, or indeed, common sense. They are paid to follow orders.
This is no better than comma-scarred dreck. Third rate high-falution. Mamet sounds dangerously close to the spineless academic who lectures throughout Oleanna. For the two of them, the means are the ends.
As rules by the Government are one-size-fits-all, any governmental determination of an individual’s abilities must be based on a bureaucratic assessment of the lowest possible denominator. The government, for example, has determined that black people (somehow) have fewer abilities than white people, and, so, must be given certain preferences. Anyone acquainted with both black and white people knows this assessment is not only absurd but monstrous. And yet it is the law.
It is not the law, but doesn’t it sound pointed to pretend? Isn’t that enough? For David, the Rushbo banalities suffice. Anybody who thinks black folks are as generally well equipped as whites to enter Fortune 500 management is blind. Anybody who thinks they’re as universally ready to become CEOs is seriously fooling themselves. But who cares? They’re okay by you, aren’t they? So what’s the point?
David’s not making any arguments anyways, at least any lasting beyond a paragraph. It’s Townhall-style oatmeal substituted from the appetizers to the port. Enjoy. Did I mention this is an anti-gun control tract?
These forms, tens and tens of millions of them, rest, conceivably, somewhere in the vast repository. How are they checked? Are they checked? By what agency, with what monies? The country is broke. Do we actually want another agency staffed by bureaucrats for whom there is no funding?
Factory-made NRA talking points, as if any one of them could end the argument.
Walk into most any pawnshop, jewelry story, currency exchange, gold store in the country, and there will be an armed guard nearby. Why? As currency, jewelry, gold are precious. Who complains about the presence of these armed guards? And is this wealth more precious than our children?
David never gets any more intelligent than this. Shall we sum up?
[President Obama] has just passed a bill that extends to him and his family protection, around the clock and for life, by the Secret Service. He, evidently, feels that he is best qualified to determine his needs, and, of course, he is . .
I cannot endorse his performance in office, but he wins my respect for taking those steps he deems necessary to ensure the safety of his family. Why would he want to prohibit me from doing the same?
The President has chosen the Secret Service for his family. How fucking stupid.