Greetings from Missoula
Pleasantville behind enemy lines
Just dropped off Stan Delaney and family at the airport this morning, and as it’s too dark and early to go to work at the Missoula worksite, I figured I’d kill an hour or two at a local coffee place. We’re in the thriving, liberal metropolis now, and the maps app spouted out all kinds of options. I chose a good one near the university. OK, fellow paleo-cons, let’s admit it- the Covidians are better at coffee-house cool than we are. Sure, they are fully woke, cull-shot jabbed, and a year ago they would have all been dutifully masked up, but somehow they are better at music, decor, ‘n stuff. And caramba, almost everyone in here is thin- I feel like I’m in Bonn, not America. The groovin’, morning-joe atmosphere- maybe it’s something like rock music and comedy- the best stuff is unfortunately the devil’s domain.
The place is full now and I see that finally the tip jar is starting to fill up. Proudly I’ll announce that none of the first ten patrons, besides me, was willing to contribute to baristas Caleb and Jessica’s tattoo fund. Early-bird Missoula cheapskates.
This is where I’d hang out if I was a college student here; I can’t help noticing some fine co-eds, all but one with laptops- she’s (xe’s/they’re?) copying passages from her gender-studies 202 textbook onto her recycled-paper notebook. I can understand why young men prefer to not go full John Birch until their later years, if ever; I reckon it knocks you down the sexual marketplace about a hundred fathoms, at least at public university like U of M.
I’m definitely not looking the part here- not that anyone cares. All the men here are either cleanly shaven, or have managed beards. I have my dirty baseball cap, and my beard has grown to the point where it’s getting unruly on my neck and interfering with food intake. It’s time to shave it off. I respect some Bitterroot Valley men’s decision to go full Sikh with their beards, but hey, bring a mirror at mealtime so you can easily identify the bechamel blob that everyone else can see.
I pick up yesterday’s Missoulian, to see what the local fish wrap has to say about the world. The standard crap- they are reporting on Paul Pelosi’s love spat as you would expect- what a shock!- how did this unknown psychopath gain access to the multimillionaire’s home!? Nancy is 3rd in line to the leadership of the free world! Local law enforcement is befuddled and very concerned!
In the obituaries, today’s shocking and totally mysterious death is Julie Powell, bestselling memoir-author of “Julie and Julia”. First thing I did was skim to see if this was ‘another one’. There’s a substack I subscribe to that reports all sorts of clot-shot kills and injuries. I checked it and I think I’ve beaten Mark Crispin Miller to the punch this morning. I think I’ll make a point of reading the obits first whenever I happen to come across an establishment newspaper, just for a little plandemic bias-confirmation reading (without any schadenfreude, I pray).
The article briefly mentions the cause of the 49 year-old’s death, “cardiac arrest Oct. 26 at her home in upstate New York,” then quickly moves on to cover her rise to sudden fame and her two books. No mention of a lifelong battle with heart disease, or any contributing factor. I guess we’ll just have to speculate. It’s a vaxing vexing mystery.
Billy Joel has that catchy and sacrilegeous song, Only the Good Die Young, which I suppose comes from Herodotus’, “Whom the gods love dies young.” The meaning of the title is a still a bit ambiguous to me in the Billy Joel hit, but I think I’m wondering if there’s a sort of opposite, divine protection of the good from death in this plandemic, in the form of discernment unavailable to the wicked and/or unfaithful.
Was this Julie Powell wicked? Well, judge not that ye not be judged, but one might take note of her recent shenanigans. In particular, we have her infidelity and her decision to tell the world about it. Apparently her second book, Cleaving: a Story of Marriage, Meat and Obsession, which didn’t enjoy the rave reviews of her debut, was all about meat and infidelity. According to the Amazon description, “Her marriage challenged by an insane, irresistible love affair, Julie decides to leave town and immerse herself in a new obsession: butchery.”
The top review puts it like this:
It details her two year long affair, her yearlong plus despair after her lover ended the affair, and her ongoing minimal regard for her husband's anguish before, during, and after (he knew virtually the whole time).
It is frankly the most selfish, self absorbed, self delusional book I've ever read. Everything is couched in terms of well "I needed this", "I had to do this". She justifies the whole thing by saying well our picture perfect marriage really wasn't picture perfect and sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do to find yourself and find your way back.
The obit in the Missoulian ends like this: “She is survived by her husband, Eric.”
She makes a fortune off the book and the Meryl Streep movie based on it, then she makes you, hubby, cuckmeister extraordinaire with her second book. I’m all for fidelity and till death do us part, but seriously, dewd!
I’m gonna go out on a limb, but I think ol’ Crispin will agree; she took the jab.
