The Battle of the Barricades
Few things bring one down to size than being surrounded by a seemingly endless desert. From one horizon to the other there is nothing but dirt, scrub brush, jagged rocks scattered about the ground, jagged rocks the size of motor homes stacked precariously on top of each other, and mountains with still more jagged rocks dispersed about like candy sprinkles. The wind whips the dirt up across the horizon making it difficult to tell where the earth ends and the sky begins. Such desolate, dangerous, unchanged and prehistoric beauty! Impossible to really tame, the very openness and character of the landscape spells freedom in a primordial sense. A gaggle of self-proclaimed smart people inside the beltway are the last thing one thinks of out here. Certainly there is freedom of commerce here because in no time at all, the billboards began advertising a travel plaza containing all sorts of things including Authentic Indian Jewelry, made presumably by Authentic Indians. And, since it had Authentic 18 Wheeler Parking, I decided to stop and take a gander.
It was a large rectangular store equipped with a stuffed buffalo, two stuffed bears, assorted turquoise and Black Hills Gold jewelry, and enough nicknacks to cave in any coffee table or book shelf, and the store was itself bookended by a Dairy Queen on one end and restrooms on the other. The latter amenity held my immediate interest, but my progress was arrested by two middle-aged couples having an impromptu conference in the middle of the aisle.
“Excuse me,” I said.
No response. I couldn't quite make out the language they were speaking. It wasn't German. It had more of an Eastern European sound to it. They evidently had not heard me.
“Pardon me,” I said more loudly this time.
Still nothing. In fact, one of the ladies nearly backed into me after that comment and there was a prodigious amount of her to back. Now there was no mistaking that they knew I was there. They simply didn't understand my words, I supposed.
“Cheese Grits!” I announced.
Sublimely oblivious, they would not yield. So I took the scenic route, navigating the maze of coat racks, nicknack stands, and stuffed animal displays on the way to my destination.
A few minutes later, I made my way toward the jewelry. I don't need the stuff, but it is fun to browse a bit. Nothing doing. The men from the Aisle Conference had moved and were standing right in front of the turquoise. Well, since the only buffalo I had seen all day was on a billboard, I thought it might be interesting to survey a stuffed specimen. That didn't work out either, since another of the conferees, Our Lady of Perpetual Aisle Blockage, was double parked in front of the buffalo. But the stuffed Kodiak Bear was unattended, so I hurried over and snapped a photo of him. Turning 180 degrees, I also snapped a shot of an odd stuffed bear wearing a sombrero. I'm not sure if it was real. The bear that is, not the sombrero.
Time was wasting however, so I started for the cooler to get an ice cold Coke before going back to the truck, except I couldn't get to the cooler. Yep, you guessed it. Old Roadblock Butt was doing an inventory. Oh well, I have bottled spring water in the truck.
Later, back on the highway and listening to Mark Levin, I heard him ask the question, “Do you really think you are free?” He then invited his listeners to try and purchase the kind of toilet or plumbing they want, or to try and cut down a tree on their own property, or heaven forbid, build a little pond in the back yard. You simply can't do it without one governmental roadblock after another! A caller to his show explained the predicament of simply painting a house in some states. You must place a layer of plastic on the ground to protect it against paint spillage, and yet in so doing you run afoul of OSHA safety requirements that prohibit placing a ladder (which you need to paint a house) on something like plastic which can cause the ladder to slip and result in an injury.
Like trying unsuccessfully to get from Point A to Point B without running up against the human barricades in the gift shop yesterday, the American citizen can't do much of anything without running afoul of one bumbling bureaucratic outrage after another. From Obama's 15 member Independent Payment Advisory Board, who will run the nation's health care system and decide who gets what treatment and when, to the hundreds of new agencies and unelected entities who will make increasing inroads into every aspect of your life, the question of whether or not we are really free is a good one. Look no further than North Carolina, where the Albemarle Road Presbyterian Church has been fined $4,000 for “excessive pruning” of the trees on its own property. In North Carolina! Try telling the state that it's your property, and your life, not theirs. As far as they are concerned, you might as well be saying, “Cheese Grits!”
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Dec '10
Re: The Battle of the Barricades
I feel your pain Dave.
You want to see paperwork? Try building a firearm (or many) from scratch with the intent of selling it (them).
Or for that matter, try doing any dirt work that encompasses more than one acre. That puts you into "writing a best practices manual" territory. You don't have to show it to them, but woe be unto you if they happen to ask for a copy later and you don't have it done.
And don't get me started on the DOT and their tyrannical definition of what is a "taking", and what is not, which dovetails ironically with their somewhat novel take on driveway permit fees (that is, if they'll allow you to have a driveway or access to the road at all).
This sort of crap is what made me hate the construction business.
Edited on Jun 14, 2011 at 8:23pmJun '10
Re: The Battle of the Barricades
I have a confession to make; I am a rain thief. I installed a cistern on my property without a permit. At the time certain members of the city council were making noises that the rain that falls on your property doesn't belong to you. I tried to comply with city hall, I really did, but the process of pulling a permit would have cost me the entire summer. So I installed a privacy fence instead so I could shield my nefarious plans from code enforcement. I am a very bad person.
I'm convinced that collectivists would try to communalize God's own grace if they could. There is no folly too extreme in the minds of bureaucratic tyrants. Socialism eventually criminalizes all free activity and makes lawbreakers of us all. Now that I am forced to work under a city-wide "living wage" mandate, which becomes de facto also a maximum wage, I have become the proverbial boiled frog. I am not sure when it happened, but I am most definitely cooked.
Mar '11
Re: The Battle of the Barricades
Sounds a bit like Wall Drug, Dave.