Friday, September 12, 2014

Everything That Is Wrong With New Jersey, In One Email....

Someone needs to burn this whole damn state to the ground, sprinkle it with Holy Water - with an exorcist nearby to shoo out the demons - and rebuild it from scratch.  What a waste of prime real estate...

Received the following email (cut & pasted below) from Keswick Cycle of Cherry Hill, New Jersey:


After several lengthy and heartfelt discussions between the Brian and Dave (the owners), it is with great regret and disappointment that we are announcing the closure of our Cherry Hill, NJ location. We have enjoyed working with the cycling community in Cherry Hill and its neighboring communities for the past 8 seasons.

However, due to the sale of our building, the current economic climate and dramatically escalated operating costs, it is unsustainable for Keswick cycle to do business in Cherry Hill and the state of NJ. Our building has been sold and we are losing our lease. We have also seen a 54% increase in our real estate and school taxes since 2006. In addition, it is now 2 times the cost for us to insure one store and building in Cherry Hill verses 2 stores in Pennsylvania. We have searched for alternative locations to alleviate those financial restraints with no success. It is a very frustrating situation for all of us. Keswick Cycle as a whole is a very fiscally sound business. Our West Philadelphia and Glenside, Pennsylvania stores with continue to operate as normal....



Thursday, September 11, 2014

Falling....

{reprinted from a post originally written here on September 11th,2005  11 years later, I can't think of any way to say it better.  Sometimes I cringe at my prose - which I believe, at least, has improved with time - but to change it would be to sully it.  So here it is, a picture and a thousand words... }

This photo, for me, is the most haunting visual from September 11th. This man went to work that beautiful Tuesday morning, perhaps kissed his wife and children goodbye, and soon was faced with a choice presented to him by Islamic terrorists: To die by fire, or to die by falling.

What went through his mind as he pondered his options? Was there ever the hope he could survive the 100-odd story fall? Or was this the American version of the ancient Israelites' Masada, where they fell on their swords rather than be taken by the Roman enemy? Did he chose to take his own life in a defiant plunge rather than burn in his enemy's fire?

We'll never know, and it doesn't really matter anyway. What matters is that in his death, Falling Man did something meaningful, something great. He shows us, in the starkest terms, the choices being offered to us by the Islamic enemy. Peace and friendship are not present in this photograph, nor is the possibility of future existence. The only choice being offered by the Muslim Terrorist is the method by which our lives are to be ended to serve their dream of an Islamist globe.

I look at this photo and wonder how many Americans will be faced with this man's choice in the future. After 9/11, we said Never Again and Never Forget, but with the help of the liberals and their lackeys in the media the horror of that day is being sanitized, equivalized, and minimized. Will it soon be taught that Falling Man's death was, in actuality, his own fault?

We must fight. Now. In the Middle East and wherever the terrorist calls his turf, lest he return to our soil to perpetrate his hatred again. We must ignore the sweet siren call of the Left, calling for acquiescence and appeasement with those whom want our blood. Let us turn away from the weakness of "understanding" our enemies; for I do not want the poisonous ideology of those whom caused my friend to jump to ever enter my soul.

There is right and wrong. There is good and evil. Those whom refuse to define it do not know the difference, and their morality (or lack of it) will eventually kill them.

I will define it; I will call a thing what it is, political correctness be damned. I was there; an eyewitness; I watched the buildings fall and heard the people scream; I saw more funerals at a young age then I ever imagined possible. The cry of the bagpipes echos in my head, and forever chills my heart.

Falling Man, again. He made a moral choice that turned into a symbol for September 11th. In the face of our enemy, we are all faced with a similar choice. Fight with whatever we have, or be consumed in his flames. Not happy choices, but neither were his. We cannot chose the times we are given to live in, we can only chose what we do with that time.

Let us chose wisely, then. On a day that we mourn the slaughter of thousands of innocent Americans, it is incumbent upon us to Never Forget, and to do all in our power to make sure this never happens again. Lest our generation be cursed by those that follow.

May God bless and keep the souls of those whom perished on this fateful day.  And may our actions never bring shame to their memory...

Thursday, September 04, 2014

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

I've started to stretch my writing muscles again, as the good folks at Conservative Blogs Central have allowed me to post on their blog.  Just a few entries so far, they can be found here.  Let's see where it takes me; if I start to blog again, you guys will be the first to know.  Promise....

Sunday, April 14, 2013




"Thinking about signing off, the listener also could have a curious feeling, too. He/she could be listening to a human voice and feel a kind of connection back then. Announcers were supposed to talk in a relaxed, informal and friendly manner, unlike what you hear on today's radio. You felt as if you were being talked to, not being talked at.

When you heard the sign-off, there was a feeling of disconnection with that person who had been sharing something with you. At the end of sign-off, there would be a brief moment when the sound was over, but the transmitter was still on. Then the transmitter would go off, and the hiss of and open frequency would be heard along with a background scramble of distant stations still broadcasting. The connection was severed, leaving a moment or two of continuation of thought and feeling...."



Tuesday, March 26, 2013

In Which I Do My Best Bilbo Baggins, And Disappear Forever...

Bilbo's "Farewell Address", at his birthday party - from The Fellowship of the Ring:

After the feast... came the Speech. Most of the company were, however, now in a tolerant mood, at that delightful stage which they called 'filling up the corners'....

My dear People, began Bilbo...Today is my one hundred and eleventh birthday: I am eleventy-one today! 'Hurray! Hurray! Many Happy Returns!' they shouted.... This was the sort of stuff they liked: short and obvious.


But Bilbo had not finished. Seizing a horn from a youngster near by, he blew three loud hoots.... I shall not keep you long, he cried. Cheers from all the assembly. I have called you all together for a Purpose..... There was almost silence....


First of all, to tell you that I am immensely fond of you all, and that eleventy-one years is too short a time to live among such excellent and admirable hobbits. Tremendous outburst of approval.


Secondly, to celebrate my birthday...


Thirdly and finally, he said, I wish to make an ANNOUNCEMENT. He spoke this last word so loudly and suddenly that everyone sat up who still could. I regret to announce that — though, as I said, eleventy-one years is far too short a time to spend among you — this is the END. I am going. I am leaving NOW. GOOD-BYE!




I thought it would be an apt moment  - on my 8th blogiversary  -to announce that this is THE END of Right, Wing Nut!

And it was too short a time to spend among so many excellent friends and visitors.  But this decision is the culmination of a thought process I began in November, a post-debacle post-mortem in which I tried to figure out if what I am doing here makes even the slightest difference whatsoever in the grand internet scheme of things.

Turns out, I don't.  Or at least I don't feel like I do.  And that's not self-pity, but just the realization that a lot of people do conservative political blogging, and many of them do it better than me.

And I'll admit it - sometimes I ran a particular line of reasoning, or made a certain comparison, or dug up an interesting story...and like the tree falling int he woods, it didn't make much of a sound.  But let a better-connected political blogger make the same connection a week later, and they are hailed and linked worldwide.

The plight of the small blogger everywhere, I suppose. And I'm not sure it's healthy for the genre; we don't want to turn into an online version of the mainstream media, dominated by a few voices.  Still, I'd like to give props to some of the big players who did link here, often more than once - Legal Insurrection, The Other McCain, Michelle Malkin come to mind.  Not to mention every small to mid sized blogger that threw a link my way (Jim at Parkway Rest Stop, Barking Moonbat,  Right Truth, Liberty at StakeCBC...it's a long list, but thanks to all), and every Twitter follower who re-tweeted a post....

Look -  in general, I wrote because I loved to write.  So many of these 4,635 blog posts were just bursts of political frustration that Right, Wing Nut! gave me an outlet for.  The fact that so many people came by every day to read (600-800, on average) pleased me to no end.

So I'm still gonna blog.  Just not here.  Just not under this particular name.  Just not at this particular blog.  And just not on this particular subject.

I'm going to work the culture angle, because that's where I feel the next battle lies.  And I'm not talking about gay marriage, or abortion, or the proliferation of porn (not specifically).  I'm talking about the complete subjugation of the culture (and the media) to the worldview of the Left, and of the Democratic party.  If we remain a nation where Americans are taught that it is not only proper, but morally correct, to mock every Republican and every conservative concept, then the GOP is dead in the water, regardless of what cosmetic  changes it may make.  And I will address the three topics above, by the way - just in reference to how the culture tries to sell us these oft-distressing behaviors as "normal"...

I'll be coming from the right, of course, and it will be a target-rich environment.  And I'll be doing it because I love to write, and I don't want to give up the fight.  It's just that after eight years, I need a new battlefield.

And I promise I won't forget Jersey.  How can I?  I love this freakin' place. Besides, I need to stay in the good graces of the Jersey bloggers (like More Monmouth Musings...)

I'll probably be ready to go in just a few weeks.  I'll either do a redirect, or just post a link on the top guiding you to where I may be found.

Finally, let me say, from the bottom of my heart...thank you.  Thank you for reading, for linking, for commenting.  I remain honored that I have been found worthy of your attention at all, actually (despite that little bit of bitchiness above).

As I wrote on my darkest day:

Sometimes, when you hurt, you should wallow in your misery. Allow yourself to feel every stab of pain, every pang of loss. And when the black cloud finally passes, you'll find that you suddenly possess the renewed vigor and sense of purpose necessary to move forward. Steely determination replaces weak resolve, and the desire never to return to that dark place propels you ahead, sometimes boldly, sometimes recklessly, sometimes foolishly. But always ahead.


I'm almost there now. I'll let you know when.

Peace.  Love.  And Jersey...






Sunday, March 24, 2013

Fascism, Jersey-Style: New Jersey Transit Edition

So I commute from Old Bridge to Midtown Manhattan every day, a 90+ minute trip that involves three legs: Driving (to a park & ride), hopping on a bus, and then either taking a subway or hoofing it to the office, depending on my morning mojo.

The bus trip is the longest segment, usually close to an hour, if not in excess.  And it was perhaps the only saving grace of the commute, as it is oft possible to spend a bulk of that time sleeping, and thus make up for any quality REM missed due to an ungodly wakeup hour.

Bus silence in the AM is pretty well maintained by unspoken (no pun intended) rule: No unnecessary taking, voices kept to whispers, cell-phone chatters frowned into muteness.

But there is no more silence on New Jersey Transit buses anymore.  For as of a few weeks ago, all buses appear to have been pre-programming with a small series of intrusive, offensive, repetitive announcements. All spaced out just far enough to allow you to doze off, only to be awakened by a syrupy-sweet woman's voice laying down the law:

"Smoking, drinking, and eating are not allowed on New Jersey Transit buses"

There's the obligatory nannyism:

"When exiting the bus, please use the handrails, and hold the hand of small children"

There's hucksterism of the NJT product:

"NJT monthly passes can save you over 30%"

And the announcement that seems to be in the highest rotation is the most aggregious of them all:

"Be aware of suspicious behavior.  Report it to NJT at 1-888-TIPS-NJT."


So there I am....nodding off, about to grab a little extra shut-eye, when I am awakened by a voice demanding that I treat my fellow citizens with apprehension, and narc on them should I feel they are somehow...out of line.

Only to doze off again, and be roused minutes later by the same voice, reciting, with forced niceness, the "rules", according to NJT. Followed shortly by some propaganda about saving money by using  government-operated transportation.   And then, as I begin to drop off one last desperate time, the voice of the state returns....reminding me once more of the number I should I call if I feel any of my fellow riders are possibly enemies of the state.

“There is no absurdity so palpable but that it may be firmly planted in the human head...by constantly repeating it with an air of great solemnity.”


And when I finally just give up, and lean my blank face against the window to watch the industrial scenery roll by, I get to see billboards with full color "wanted" pictures, while others tout the strength and resilience of New Jersey, assuring us we are strong enough to rebuild.

Turn grief into strength, carry out Chris Christie's’s behests and carry the proletarian revolutionary cause through to the end...


Think I'm going a bit over the top?  Well, read this little tale out of Jersey from a few days back, and try to tell me that these two incidents are not connected, at least on a philosophical level.

You know what else I think?

That somewhere, at some time, we went horribly off-track....and are accelerating rapidly.  In the wrong direction...