seejanemom

I'm Still Having Fun, But Am I STILL The One?

Stretching on the deck of my cabin, deep in the woods of the Blue Ridge, inhaling the roar of the river, I can almost cast my memory back to the tension of suburban Virginia.

Almost.

Adding to my growing chigger collection while running beagles in the dew of a broad meadow with Favorite Uncle has become a dangerously addictive early morning ritual from which I may never recover to return to the hunt of the news wires.

Pity.

The dial-up that I cursed for the first week of this exile has now become my security against the inevitable stress of the Real World, a warm blanket under which to hide from my obligations on the racing Highway. It has also caused me to leak indefinite prose.

Indulge.

For now though, I need to prolong my contact high on the simplicity of life in the country, surrounded by folks who say "back when I growed up", "set down and tell me 'bout cherself" and "have ya another one-a them fritters" before I must return to the land of implacable politicians, egotistical pundits and carb-counting housewives.

If you will allow me to continue my fabulous news fast, and instead gorge myself on Southern Gothic short stories, a great 70's FM station that plays all my favorites (from my veeery young childhood, mind you ;), and fried green tomatoes by the barrow load, I promise to return, a refreshed well of acerbic opinion on all the things that really don't matter a hill of cucumbers anyway.

Be comforted.

Jane will be back to scratch your itch in a few...

Angelina Jolie To Play Dagny Taggart In Next Year's Release Of ATLAS SHRUGGED : Jane Slates Her Dream Cast

And with mentions of Brad Pitt in a major supporting role?

Brangelina is no John Galt, but might make an excellent Ellis Wyatt.

The controversial and misunderstood concept of Objectivism woven through the 1,074 pages of ATLAS SHRUGGED, written by Ayn Rand and released fifty years ago this October, has been a perennial favorite since I was forced to read it in high school. I came to adore its weighty, clean lines, its spare rationalism and its nuanced introspection of the human psyche. For all these reasons, I am skeptical to justify Hollywood's attempt to bring this fabulous tome to the big screen after half a century has blurred its context.

But if it is handled correctly, it could be a most timely ticket. Sadly.

My reservations are that Hollywood's malevolent class envy agenda folded into the stew of ignorant, ill-read American movie-goers may inevitably create a blockbuster more about what is evil, than what is good, as was Ayn Rand's original intent. My own experience bears this out.

Though my AP English teacher and Woodstock alum, "Star" Swanson, dispensed it as a point of political agitation, it settled on my young soul as divine inspiration. Glorification of Divinity is hardly the point of this Humanist (dare I say Scientological?) work of fiction, but illustrated within its pages remains a purity of the human spirit that some part of each of us yearns to embrace.

I do not view my naked longing for a more rational American society as conflicting with my decidedly Judeo-Christian world view. Hardly. I practice a healthy dose of Isolationism within my own brain. To wit, while I do believe that human accomplishment should be left alone to expand and fill every void that exists in a free market economy, I hardly believe that it is the innate superiority of the human soul that deserves this freedom, but rather our rights as dispensed by our Creator demand the responsibility to see that it is done for His glory.

Because He who is in me is greater than he who is in the world.

So if you have not read it thrice as myself, I beseech you, at the very least, obtain the CLIFFS NOTES version of this American classic so that you might fully appreciate the strength of the argument that Ayn Rand presents, lest the Hollywood Spin Machine whip you into a predictable reactionary froth.

The Brangelizing of literary history makes Jane shutter. But ATLAS SHRUGGED may very well make you cheer. Or at least a small, dark part of you.

>>>>>>>>For further enjoyment, add your own casting picks in the comments>>>>>>>

Here is the link for the character sketches as written by the Atlas Society, but they contain spoilers.

JANE  DREAM CASTS ATLAS SHRUGGED:

Dagny Taggart (Cold, intelligent, Self-Actualized, scary sexy protagonist, second at the helm of a transcontinental railroad) : Angelina Jolie (Objectively(!), I think she is very well cast.)

James Taggart (Dagny's older brother, Limousine Liberal apologist, oaf , pasty, limp whiner): Kevin Spacey, Tim Roth

Cherryl Brooks (Taggart) (James' idealistic, pure-hearted, truly tragic, trophy wife): Scarlett Johansson

Eddie Willers: (Young childhood friend and Dagny's honest confidant) : Edward Norton or John Cusack

Hank Reardon (think Gordon Gecko, in Wall Street): Jim Caviezel, Russell Crowe, Daniel Craig at a distant last (but ideally, a YOUNGER Harrison Ford), maybe a bit young, but Christian Bale?

Lillian (Hank's limp, FRIGID, aloof, WASPY wife, polar opposite of Dagny): Cate Blanchett or Gwyneth Paltrow...who else?

Francisco d'Anconia (Copper Heir, Genius, Spanish playboy): Johnny Depp, a distant second- Jim Caviezel, (but ideally, a MUCH YOUNGER Antonio Banderas)

Ragnar Danneskjold (One of the original three strikers, turn reverse-Robin Hood pirate.): May be a stretch, but I think Matthew McCaughnehey could be a sleeper in this role. And would look DAMN FINE in an eye patch (not that he wears one....but a shirtless shot would not be out of order  ;)

Ellis Wyatt (Grizzled, self-made Texas Oil man) : Brad Pitt (if he has to be cast at all) Bruce Willis, Bill Paxton, or Sam Shepard

But one question remains >>> Who is John Galt? ( Edward Norton ?)

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

UPDATE: GOOOOOOD GAWD: Look what I found after I finished this post: A LINK TO AYN RAND'S (mid 60's) OWN PICKS for the perfect cast and the Atlas Society's own UPDATED choices for casting. I hit it SQUARE ON THE MARK on several of the cast. Damn. I liked this book more than I had realized.

Georgia Boy Sees the Future

Newt gives Bloggers the time of day. He understands the power of the web to shape public opinion. You think he might be onto something?

Michelle is posting her interview with him probably Monday, but he is headed down the row now giving us all a crack.

When asked about the FAIR TAX. He was not willing to take the beating that DeMint took on it. Mostly because he thinks folks don't understand.

HH is complaining about the posting pace.I thought I shot this out hours ago. Guys..the chaos....I'm sorry.

Robert Spencer, Southern at Heart

As I coursed through the maze, having frittered away almost a solid hour checking into the hotel here, I only caught Robert Spencer as he was trying to leave the hall. I waited patiently and he was so gracious. He could tell I was waiting and made beutiful eye contact and I introduced myself.

Now about two weeks ago, I left a comment on HOTAIR that said , "When I see Robert Spencer I am going to hug his neck!". Well who would have ever thought he would read that, and then remember that?

Well, no sooner had I sputtered my name and blog that he beamed, and opened his arms wide. "I thought you were going to hug my neck!". What joy!

No one can underestimate the power of person to person foreign relations. He is a brilliant and sensitive man. And a great hugger.

Janiacs Question the Big Guns

Next Thursday I am off to blog the Conservative Political Action Conference in Washington. I WANTED TO POST THE FINALIZED AGENDA HERE for an entire weekend so that you could look it over and begin to formulate thoughtful questions for the assembled leaders of our party who will attempt to dazzle us with their Conservative acumen.

It is no secret that Jane is a rabid supporter of The New Media. I have long agitated for the total unlatching from the idiot teat by people of intelligence an good conscience. Short of watching my beloved DAWGS play, there is little redeeming about the big black hole in our living room that serves us a steady diet of "pro-progressive agitprop" and material discontent while draining our God given creativity and communication skills.

On the face of it, a laptop is no better. But unlike television, in small doses, a computer can equalize communication in a top down Lame Stream Media world. And that is why little Janie being granted the opportunity to blog in first person about her political community is capital "R" Revolutionary.

Make time to pick over the fabulous buffet of authors and speakers on all three days of the conference. Help me communicate your ideas clearly by targeting your questions to specifics. I am merely a little "j" citizen journalist who wants to return some of the power to people like us. What would you ask The Vice President if you could? What would you ask Dick Cheney? David Horowitz? Niger Innis or Sean Hannity?

Comments are unmoderated as always, so post as many times as you like on this thread for the next week as you think of things. A good many of you are feeling disaffected. Speak up! But Janiacs, please no "Boxers or briefs?" questions.

Though Jane must confess a bit of a latent kink for G. Gordon Liddy's armory, he would probably snap, "The G-Man goes COMMANDO, baby!"

A REAL American Life

Norma Jean and now Vickie Lynn. Stars living tragic lives, dying young, and America can't get enough. When will it end?

Never.

American Culture has been supplanted by Pop Culture. In our short history we have gone from being One Nation Under God to American Idol. Whole networks devoted to the obscenely hypocritical lifestyles of the rich and clueless are a celebrity worshiper's Crack. What is admirable, redeeming, or productive about spending hours enthralled with the highly manufactured "intimate" details of a Botoxed ego maniacal stranger who will never know you exist?

Think of the creativity, originality, and ingenuity unused by the shallow engagement of American gray matter on such trivialities as which starving starlet went commando to the secret wedding of some other pathetic drop-out. If it wasn't for the idle brain power wasted on the Olsen Twins, some smarty pants might have actually cured anorexia by now. Do not think for a moment that I am suggesting you sit around and recite works of Shakespeare by candlelight. Please. (But Jane has read every book she promotes on this website. Cover to cover, every one.)

So when I hear my more Conservative acquaintances wax poetic about the travails of some fictional character hyped on the latest big box drug  show, I am more annoyed than ever. Sure, everyone is allowed an escape. But avoiding very real political anxiety in painstaking real time? Somehow a fantasy shoot 'em up is preferable to confronting our own lives minute by minute. The real world is falling apart at the rapid rate and all we can do is drool over the hero's delicious, unapologetic decisiveness as if by clicking our heels together he would jump through the super mega wide plasmatical teat and save America for the little guy.

Well here's the deal, little guy, if you don't get off your dead load, unlatch from the pop self reality nipple and contribute your vital part on the stage of history, America's glorious run will be a limited engagement. Be Jane's hero. Spend those otherwise wasted hours (yes, hours!) confronting the very real future of this country, steering state Primaries and using your precious time wisely.

Because the days of a handsome actor on a white horse riding to the rescue of America are long gone. They ended on June 5, 2004 .

Civilized War

Ladies, the next time you are playing fill-in at the local Bunco klatch and your vapid hostess throws the dice and blithely brags that she is too busy to pay attention to politics, lock in your slot on the Black List by suggesting that she turn blue. (And technically, she probably is, with an attitude like that.) Saying you don’t care about politics is like saying you don’t care about oxygen. You need it, but you just don't care to acknowledge how much. You're too busy. Too self-important. Somebody else worry about that while I go fetch my latte.

If you are here, reading this, you care. *Applause*. Many of you have fabulous Righty blogs of your own. But what of those Conservative friends of yours who only rouse themselves from their pop culture coma once every four years, if that? You have tried your best to inform them, I know. Give it up. They richly deserve what they have coming to them.

A compelling new work of fiction, Empire, by more Dixie then Democrat, Orson Scott Card, gives us a harrowing peek at life in America during its next Civil War. Nice America. Polite America. The Gray brightens to Red as this nation dissolves once again over the deeply held ideas of a statistical minority of citizens from the extreme fringes of both Parties while the catatonic majority become refugees in their own country. Americans are so arrogant  ignorant in their certainty that , "Oh, pah-leez, Civil War? In America? Today?". Short will be the ties that bind this fragile Union when asked to endure another external stress-or like 9-11.

I don't need a note on God's letterhead to start building my ark. I am far from alone in my vision of the future, I assure you. Those tepid little public service announcements from Ready.gov you always hear? That's the CYA advance party. Your Bunco buddy? She'll care. Finally. When her Volvo runs dry of its last drop of rationed gas in the Starbucks drive-thru and people start throwing things.

By that time, we'll be tucked away in our respective hideouts in the hills and the rest of them can all go to Hell on the short bus.

Like flies to a "honey pot"

Reality television. Help me understand. I spent six hard years collecting my papers from two respected institutes of higher learning. Why, then, should I slowly allow it to drain away in rigidly scheduled hour long sessions designed by the Liberal Media Machine to anesthetize my creativity and bathe my brain in mediocrity? Reality Television in its purest form is only one branch up the tree from its bastard cousin, Tragedy Television. And who admits to watching that?

It is no secret that there is no "real" in Reality Television. The faux voyeurs who fancy themselves privileged flies on the wall, in on some real moment, deserve to be lied to. They sop it up, lick their fingers and delight with great authority and enthusiasm in regurgitating all their "knowledge" at the water cooler the next  morning. Can they hear how inane they sound? How shallow? What if they had spent even half that time reading a classic work of fiction? Or better yet, writing one.

Silly me...flies don't read. Flies don't write. Flies eat shit. Don't be a fly.

Oh Captain, My Captain Crunch

Thanks to normal guy Rod Dreher, "Crunchy Con" is a term more Republican Conservatives are embracing with greater enthusiasm as the last of the aging X'ers search for a comfortable thirty-something niche to settle into. (The paperback edition of the book by the same name hits the stands at midnight.)

Yes, I wrote “niche” and “settle” in the same sentence. It did not hurt a bit.

What would hurt more would be to wedge my larger Self into the narrow jacket of ideals from my twenties. No sage here, but rather a woman who is willing to age and mellow gracefully as every Miss America must.

My happiest childhood memory is surviving ROE v. WADE.

I have hunted big game on the Dark Continent and enjoyed every bite.

I am a habitual entrepreneur.

I have given birth without drugs and nursed a baby for three years like every good Lola Granola should and sometimes--- GASP---in public.

I think public schools are broken and know better than to sacrifice my child’s one chance at an education to make some futile, high minded political point.

I recycle every scrap of anything because when God made this is the planet, He made me a steward.

I can grow anything edible and believe "organic" should mean that I did just that.

I listen to "I'll Fly Away" and "Back in Black" on the same stereo in my shitty new minivan. LOUD.

I don’t believe that Big Government has ever solved anything.

I don’t believe that Big Business is at fault for everything--except Big Business.

I have sent my best friend to lay his head in the filth of a hostile, foreign land so that I can nestle mine in the bosom of a free one.

Keep your Birks, can your hedonism and join me in the newest niche of the larger Conservative movement. Be a proud CRUNCHY CON! Thanks Rod!