DebraMilligan.com

 

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September 2021

De nos jours - In Our Days


De nos jours, In our days . . .


I’ve been attempting to create a system of gathering accurate news information, on my own, since I consider myself the best judge of what to read, what not to read, and what to believe, or not believe, from info resources.


The efforts have been frustrating, but, I think the frustration is leading me in the right direction. My search for a scrupulous news source forges a circular pathway across the electronic plain of digital despair; and I inevitably stop just short of the toll booth to the info road; then I leave that avenue of awfulness dizzy, if not fatigued and dispirited, but — I am nonetheless moving forward.


I’ve come to the conclusion that every one must be his, or her, own news source!


We are the sources of our own opinions and of our own decisions. We are also the founts of our liberations from ignorance, and of our own rescue missions from the dangers foisted upon us by our ever-lying career politicians. Why not write our own headlines? And then compose our own correctly worded narration of the history we’re now making?

One of the first steps that I take when reading anything — “news” blurb; soup recipe; the weight of tartan fabric woven in Scotland; and the specs, including Country of Origin, of a lighted Christmas wreath — is to find out the facts of the seller/sponsor/fabricator/maker/ manufacturer. I apply the same type of rigorous research if the commodity in question is of an intellectual sort. Actually, my scrutiny is even more intense in assessing the progenitor of the written word. I’m a stickler for purity in authorship. (I’m a stickler for purity in any art.)


I look up the writer’s age and background, experience, and motivations for writing this piece of verbiage. Usually, the resume is sketchy, and put in general, even vague, language. There’s not a lot of info about the info-presenter. A highly cagey scenario. If the real name is offered, it’s nearly always attached to a former print-journal that’s gone online and belly-up.

The ages-old saying, Consider the source, got revised by me into “Research the source.”

The past decade has brought to us:  Concoct the source!

Ah, the good old days — of being able to smell out and dig into the factoids within the made-up stuff on a person’s resume!


In our days, we’ve witnessed the newest professional practice of the news machine: Manufacture the News. It’s the only product manufactured in some sleazy sectors of America.

The tendency was always there, in media-land, for a slick reporter, or reporter-ette, to fabricate the truth he wanted to make, not merely plagiarize it. And now we have, like the oiled hand into the glove, Media Morons perfectly mirroring the narcissistic Government Quacks at the top of the stack of PhD grads, who know nothing about real life, especially about people. It’s my guess those dweebs, wonks, and poindexters are total misanthropes. They really don’t like humanity, and Americans in particular.


Within the past month or so of checking out these electronic emissaries of piqued point-of-view, I have concluded that the 40-50 year-olds of Coast-ally (East and West) Educated Elites in America have infiltrated the online propaganda spaces, an intellectual territory that formerly had been occupied by a much older group, perhaps the generation of their parents, who had penned to near-perfection logical and lucid thought, regardless of the political slant.


This generational change has not been a luminous event!

In the olden days, such a wholesale swapping out of veteran, seasoned and well-paid employees for younger, cheaper amateur whippersnappers was a sure sign of a recession, along with the certainty of certain industries cratering in terms of productivity, profitability, and growth. Today, this scenario means that the Info Industry is starting over at square one. The weeding out of inept wordsmiths has only just begun!


I suspect most of the current crop of self-enlisted journalists turn off the abominations of Spell-check and Grammarly while they compose, because the spelling and grammatical errors that appear on-the-screen are horrendous. There is no end to the supply line, online, of bloviating volunteers for the cause of being the Newest Wave of Digital Diarists of our time.

Of late, the late world of journalism needs the burial it sorely missed in 2010. There must be savvy scribblers, somewhere, in the snowy mountain wilderness of Montana, or that outback in Arkansas, who await a new communication medium other than gimmicky online newsletter subscription services such as Substack, which I call Subpar.


We in this nation have gone from the art of the letter to the butchery of the newsletter.


It’s more than a professional, and professionally trained, writer can stand!


I get far more correct data and reliable information from gleaning online retail sites for whatever it is that I needed last year, or last decade, but have waited until recently to buy — because there is hope, alive and well and thriving, of an American manufacturing colossus coming into being.

Case in point: two weeks ago, I decided to purchase some LED candles for Christmas window decoration. They’re made in Taiwan, which I consider a borderline acceptable purchase by a patriotic American. The candlestick base is quite nice, excellent weight and design, and I can use it as a real candlestick holder long after the LED candle wears out.


I went to the online vendor this afternoon to buy another set of 4. Last one in stock! Because if you are going to purchase any merchandise from Taiwan, I suggest you do it soon, or by year’s end, before Communist China makes its move.


Another telling market-trend has been ongoing for a long time, perhaps a decade or two. I’m not one to buy outdoor furniture, mostly because I don’t lolligag much in the outdoors. I work in it, or work out in it, or I play in it, but reposing by the backyard pool in it has not really been my thing. I don’t have a backyard pool, and don’t intend to get one.

A person used to bring the outdoors in; but, now, bringing the indoors outside has become a huge seller!


My beloved Grandma Woerner once gave to Dear Hubby and me a chaise lounge — as a reclining chair to use in our new, our very first, house. She was concerned that we could not afford to buy a nice sofa in the late 1980s. And we couldn’t. It’s 2021, and we’ve managed to buy a lovely couch, Made in the USA. Finding the folding metal chaise lounge of yore for outside has been all but impossible.


It took me months to track down outdoor furniture Made in the USA. I finally stumbled online across Nags Head Hammocks in North Carolina. The wait was about three months, not too long considering the tormented state of private industry in America. This past August, I got a start on next summer’s fun with two chairs that will let me look out upon my front world — with a view to the future.

My online order of a rattan chair in late May at Wicker Paradise was the result of nostalgia, a wish for frivolity, and a bit of romantic wanderlust by this Jersey Girl. I’d envisioned a Key Largo-type chair on my front porch. Vince, in Mount Vernon, New York, sells only the best wicker and rattan furniture in the tri-state area, and beyond. He’s working hard to help me fulfill my romantic vision! He’s also working overtime to overcome the anti-business climate of his region.


So am I, here in California!


That chair has not yet been delivered to my home in California. Vince has had a rough summer, but I have faith in his efforts to overcome the villainy that surrounds him. Next year, I might even be able to buy a wicker couch for outside!

Of late, knowing whatever I need to know has come to me through a process of osmosis. Images from the past, feelings from yesterday, visions of tomorrow, and the sense that there is, indeed, a plan for all of this anguish and sinister upheaval. Nothing is as bad as it seems; sometimes it’s worse, and sometimes it’s not that bad at all.


There’s an inner voice called a conscience, or the whisper of God, saying that the tragedies unfolding today must, in their own time and in their own way, put an end to the willfully and intentionally unsolved, and unresolved, catastrophes of yesterday. When history happens fast, the agitprop scribblers can’t keep up with it. Neither can the politicians or the pilot-fish-parasites with whom they swim, in those deep dark waters that are engulfing them.


In our days, the sounds of deceit from the cynics and the traitors and the shrill cowards try to drown out the quiet resolve of the patriots. That solemn spirit of an honorable people can, and will, and must, prevail over all those heinous failures, caused by the cynics and the traitors and the shrill cowards.


On les aura. We’ll get them.