Okay, yours portly is behind the eight-ball a bit with the blog, so here is a super quick edition of Phone it in Friday, in which I sing ABBA to my dog, Murphy, while putting on my shoes. It has some real Mr. Rogers vibes to it.
Happy Friday!
—TPP
Okay, yours portly is behind the eight-ball a bit with the blog, so here is a super quick edition of Phone it in Friday, in which I sing ABBA to my dog, Murphy, while putting on my shoes. It has some real Mr. Rogers vibes to it.
Happy Friday!
—TPP
The 2024-2025 school year resumes this coming Monday, 19 August 2024, and yours portly has already been back on campus for the past few days, busily preparing for another school year.
Without any warning, my administration has given me two sections of World History to teach, rather than my usual US History classes. While they should have told me about the change two months ago, I’m excited to dive into a subject I have not taught in many years (the last time I taught the class was in the 2011-2012 school year, and I taught its kissing cousin, Western Civilization, off-and-on in 2014 and 2015 at the local technical college).
Last school year was a fairly brutal slog, and I’ve been alternatively dreading this year and looking forward to it. Perhaps the opportunity to teach World History will reignite the spark (plus, World History is just cool).
But what of our good friend Richard Weaver and his book Ideas Have Consequences? At the time of writing I haven’t dipped back into Weaver the way I would like, but I find that his ideas always help to crystallize for me what teaching and education are all about—the preservation of civilization for at least another generation.
With that, here is “TBT^16: Back to School with Richard Weaver“:
Yours portly is back at work, although students don’t return until this coming Monday. Naturally, I’ve been getting prepared for their imminent return this week.
Yours portly released a new album earlier this month, Heptadic Structure. It’s an exploration of pieces in 7/4, 7/8, and 7/16 time. Each piece is twenty-one written measures, for a total of 147 measures across the seven pieces. Also, 14+7=21. Math is fun!
You can listen to and/or purchase the album at the following links:
This week I’m featuring the fourth track from the album, “Jaunt.” Jaunt is a duet for tenor saxophone and vibraphone, and it possesses a whimsically jaunty feel.
The Age of The Virus may be a distant memory now, one we’ve all done our best to forget collectively, but it revealed a great deal about the compliance of Westerners to technocratic authoritarianism in their respective nations. Yes, there were pockets of ornery resistance—thank God I live in South Carolina!—but the full might of the weaponized media, elite toadies, and cat moms came out to scold us all for wanting to breathe free and enjoy public gatherings (the latter protected, albeit seemingly only on paper, in the First Amendment).
It’s little wonder that we try to suppress the memory of that benighted time, but like all such attempts to forget the past, it only serves as an unhealthy way to deal with deep trauma. By pushing all of those bad memories down, we avoid thinking about the unpleasant consequences that our society-wide foolishness wrought.
Of course, part of that response is that everyone got super bored talking about The Virus because, after awhile, it did get boring. Like all diseases, it reached its critical mass and then ebbed away, each new wave being less virulent, less lethal, and less widespread. The Left seemed eager to memory-hole the entire thing, and the Right was just glad we didn’t have to read another boring article with a lot medical lingo that we all pretended to understand. The Age of The Virus really did reveal how shallow and gutless we all are.
One realm in which the trauma has endured is film. Whether intentionally or otherwise, it’s hard to suppress those memories in works of art; after all, art is, at least in part, an expression of our innermost feelings and struggles. In vino veritas, yes, but also In arte veritas est.
The Age of The Virus crystallized a number of unpleasant Truths: the cowardice of our populous; the brazen indifference and hypocrisy of our elites; and the paradoxical grasping to stay alive at all costs while viewing millions of other, “lesser” lives as expendable. No film more aptly captures these wretched qualities of the twenty-first century developed world better than 2024’s Humane.
Last Monday I wrote a review of 1999’s Stigmata at the request of our senior correspondent, Audre Myers. That got me thinking: Audre has recommended some great films over the years. Why not look back at my reviews of films she’s recommended?
The following three reviews are each about films Audre recommended (indeed, she mailed me a DVD of the first film on this list):
Happy Viewing!
—TPP
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On Saturday, 3 August 2024 my friend Ashley and I went hiking in the Florence Nature Preserve, accessible via the Upper Hickory Nut Gorge Trailhead, just outside of Gerton, North Carolina and down the road from Chimney Rock.
Ashley had proposed the trip a couple of months earlier, with the inviting question “do you like hiking?” I couldn’t respond to that query quickly enough, and within minutes we had planned the broad outline of our excursion to the trailhead.
We left right around 6 AM that morning in Ashley’s sweet 2021 Ford Bronco, which she was eager to road test on winding mountain roads, and after a couple of missed GPS turns due to the distraction of conversation, we made it to the trailhead around 10:15 AM. By 10:30 AM we were lathered up in sunscreen and on the trail.
By noon we were drinking in this beautiful view at Tom & Glenna Rock over some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches:

The entire trail is roughly five miles up and back, but there are various side trails and alternative routes available that can reduce the trek depending on experience level and time constraints. We opted for a modified version of the “blue” trail rather than the whole loop, which would have taken us pretty much the entire day to complete.
Here’s a map of our route (I’ve used the map from the Conserving Carolina website and added our route in pink):

According to some rough math based on the interactive map for the trail, Ashley and I hiked around 3.82 miles in total. Naturally, roughly half of that was uphill, so coming back down the trail was a bit quicker. We also paced ourselves heading up, as Ashley was documenting our hike via video for her mother. That deliberate pace was smart, because we did not wear ourselves out on the hike.
The trail is rated as “challenging” and/or “strenuous,” and after my “Summer of George” I was a tad concerned about my ability to huff and puff up a mountain, but yours portly performed admirably.
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Well, I’m back to the grind. Who knows what fresh miseries I am currently enduring?
Fortunately, dear readers, you get to watch videos of my fat bull terrier, Murphy!
This week I’ve got Murphy attempting to eat peanut butter and giving potentially lethal kisses:
My two-plus months of living like a French duke and/or welfare queen have come to an end. Yours portly returns to the salt mines of secondary education today. Classes won’t start back until Monday, 19 August 2024, but teachers reports back today for the usual bout of annual trainings, AFLAC representatives, handbook excursions, etc.
[UPDATE: due to Hurricane/Tropical Storm Debby, we won’t report back until Monday, 12 August 2024—whoa! But I’m still going to grouse about going back to work. —TPP]
I’ve never quite understood why we report back on a Thursday, when we could easily cover all of this foolishness in a day or two of meetings the following week. It seems like a way to deprive us of one, final, long weekend before the drudgery returns.
To be frank, I am not much looking forward to this school year—a sadly common refrain from yours portly the past few years. Our enrollment is way down, which will bring with it all sorts of austerity measures and demands for teachers to sacrifice more time and energy for the good of the school.
Last year was absolutely brutal, and while I’m always cautiously optimistic, I am having a hard time talking myself into a good attitude this year. Perhaps simply getting back into a rhythm will be its own reward.
With that, here is 3 August 2023’s “TBT^4: Back to the Grind 202[3]“:
Regular readers will know I have a strong, even pathological, anti-femite streak. It’s perhaps ironic, as many of my readers are women, and I actually find most women quite charming and pleasant company. That said, I can’t ignore how terrible things tend to go when women are in charge of anything more substantial than the local church bake sale or the PTA.
With the notable exceptions—and I have to mention them because women in particular don’t seem to understand the concept of “generalization“—women are not really suited for politics, governance, management, etc. What they do really well, however, is act as the social glue that binds a community together. Again, if you want your church bake sale to be a success or your PTA to hound delusional administrators, women are your best option.
If you want to direct grand strategy and pursue a sane domestic policy, leave it to the men. Women in politics seem to boil down to “kill babies, give me free stuff!” It was Republican women in South Carolina, for example, who blocked a total abortion ban in my State; all three of them were booted from the South Carolina Senate in their primary elections, leaving our State Senate blessedly free of female meddling.
Lately there’s been some hubbub over J.D. Vance’s past comments about women, particularly his claim that our country is being run by “childless cat ladies” and the “childless Left.” National Review, the bastion of fake conservative handwringers, fumed simpishly over Vance’s comments, while not exactly addressing the substance of what he said. After all, Vance said the unpopular part out loud—the cat ladies “are miserable in their own lives and the choices they’ve made, and so they want to make the rest of the country miserable, too.”