Shall I compare the Obama administration to a Zombie Apocalypse? The comparison is a bit too restrained and understated perhaps, but that’s only in keeping with my cool, not to say austere, personality and writing style.

Otherwise, I think it’s entirely fair to equate the current exponential growth of extra-legal czars, bureaucrats, debt, mandates and money-transfers and the concomitant pandemic of dependents and dependent-wannabes with a sudden invasion of soulless armies of the slavering undead intent on devouring our flesh and brains.

So. What to do.

Well, you’ve seen the movies, right? A small band of heroic and sometimes not-that-heroic survivors — let’s call them Conservatives — make their ways singly or in pairs to a secluded house or other shelter — let’s call it the Constitution — and settle in for a night of horror battling the trudging, muttering hordes as they try to break through the doors, windows and walls to consume as much human substance as they can get their hideous hands on.

Inevitably, however, the zombie attack turns out to be the least of the troubles on offer. Because the Conservatives — I mean survivors — can’t defend the Constitution — I mean, house — unless they can first learn to work together and fight as one. If they happened to be military people or people otherwise bred to obedience, there would be no problem. Their leader, whoever he was, would make a plan, give the orders, and the fight would begin. But it’s in the nature of a zombie movie that the Conservatives — I mean, survivors — are just a random group of individuals. Each was busy trying to live out his own life, fulfill his own goals and follow his own dreams, when the Obama administration — I mean Zombie Apocalypse — occurred.

So even as the drooling, hunger-driven creatures hammer at the boarded windows, grunting, “Pay for my contraception!” or “Do an environmental study!” or “Pay yourrrr fairrrrr sharrrre!” the Conservatives — I mean, survivors — defending the Constitution — I mean, house — have to decide who is going to lead them, which person is wisest, which plan is best. Should they go into the basement, which is easier to defend but impossible to escape from, or cluster in the living room, which has windows on all sides but leaves them the basement as a last ditch option? Should they listen to the Businessman, who has the experience of leadership but is too slick to trust? Or should they follow the Preacher, who has some good ideas but is operating under the delusion that this is all some sort of Biblical judgement? Or what about the Professor, who seems smarter than any of them but is known to be an all-around son-of-a-bitch?

One thing of course is certain. If the survivors don’t stop fighting among themselves at some point and turn to face the real enemy, the Zobambies are going to tear the joint to shreds.

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I wrote about this over on my personal website, but I’d like to mention it here as well.  My 1993 thriller novel The Animal Hour has recently been optioned for film by Double Life Productions, a small company associated with Millennium Films, who produced The Expendables. The option included my own recent screenplay adaptation of the novel.

What makes this especially nice is that Animal Hour has also, and likewise recently, risen from the out-of-print dead in the form of an e-book, which you can purchase here. Purchase it. Because it’s very cool. It’s the story of a young woman named Nancy Kincaid. One morning she goes to work as usual — and no one knows who she is. Expelled from her office, she soon finds herself being hunted by the police — and by mysterious strangers who warn her that the “Animal Hour” is coming and she has to stop it before it’s too late.

Again, buy the book here. Really. You’ll like it.

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Ed Driscoll and I mix it up on his PJ Media podcast here.  Talking Breitbart, Hollywood and the new nihilism.

Not sure which of the above is me, but here we are together on last year’s National Review Online cruise.

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Life circumstances have kept me from writing my usual Monday blog on time – sorry about that. But here’s what I want to say.

I want to comment on the commotion over Rush Limbaugh’s use of the word “slut” to describe law student Sandra Fluke. Fluke, as you know, argued before a house congressional committee that women need taking care of. That is, if they should take it into their fluffy little heads to have sex with someone, they can’t be expected to manage the consequences all by their little selves. Someone else has got to pay for their contraception – preferably a big strong man like Barack Obama. Barack Obama has lots and lots of money. Chicks dig that. In fact, he’s so powerful, he just took the money from other people. What a turn on for girly girls like Sandra!

Anyway, Rush called her a slut, probably hoping that that sort of ungentlemanly behavior toward women would land him a show on HBO like that super cool Bill Maher, who called Governor Sarah Palin the c-word (whatever that is) and entertained guests who fantasized about raping Michele Bachmann.  If only Rush could get a show like Bill Maher then he could be bitter and irrelevant too – probably the only things missing from Rush’s life.

So now the left is calling for Rush’s head and the right is arguing hotly that the left says equally misogynist things and even sometimes dumps their women into the water and then leaves them there locked in a car to drown while they go back to their hotel to chat with their friends and call their lawyer. And yet a leftist killer of women can go on to become the Lion of the Senate, and even a piece of work like James Carville who implied one of his boss’s sexual harassment victims was trailer trash gets a network gig. Hey, maybe Rush was trying to get a network gig like James Carville!

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Ever since I heard about Andrew Breitbart’s death, the poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay has been running through my mind:

My candle burns at both ends
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends -
It gives a lovely light.

Andrew’s was a lovely light indeed and did not last half long enough.  Here are my memories of him in City Journal:

I wrote somewhere once that Andrew Breitbart was “bizarrely lovable.” Andrew called that same day to confirm my impression. “I am bizarrely lovable,” he said. “I don’t know what it is about me.”

It was, in part at least, his solar generosity of spirit, an energy that poured out of him in every direction at once, whether for feud or friendship, conversation or work. I think he sometimes experienced this ambient vitality as a lack of focus. But for his friends and admirers, it was a delight and inspiration. It was also the power source behind a truly noble act of revolutionary mischief: his lifelong battle against the conspiracy of silence and lies that is mainstream American journalism.

I got a glimpse of his kinetic nature the first time we met—which was on the air, appropriately enough. He was sitting in for a talk show host and interviewed me over the phone about politics and the arts. Though many of Andrew’s most glamorous successes were in the arena of political journalism, the culture was his first passion. And as we grew excited discovering our shared convictions, we began to sound—as we both remarked later—like two stoned college roommates talking philosophy at four in the morning: “Yeah, yeah, yeah, man, that is so, so true!” In the midst of this, Andrew began to fire instant messages at me over my computer, insisting that I join him at meetings with other Hollywood conservatives. For me, who can only focus on one thing at a time, exchanging IM’s while talking on air was like juggling axes while playing piano. For him, who had to focus on everything at once . . . well, I’ve sometimes wondered what else he was doing at the time.

Read the whole thing here.

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Once again, tirelessly searching through the piles of obscure, unwatched spooky films that litter the floor of my elfin grot, Klavan on the Culture has unearthed a really good ghost story that you — going about your ordinary, humdrum, non-scary-movie-watching lives — might have missed.

If, like me, you enjoy pictures that deliver genuine spookiness instead of gore, shocks and startles, check out the terrific Spanish entry, The Baby’s Room.  If you get Netflix streaming, you can search it there and watch it directly. It comes up as part of a package called “Six Films to Keep You Awake.”

After a generally unnecessary and kind of standard prologue, the film delivers a really frightening premise and then develops it in a clever and original way. I hardly even want to tell you the idea for fear of spoiling it, but to be as vague as possible:  a young couple with a new baby move into a house and weird things start happening in the title location.

The picture has the good sense to remain a little bit fuzzy and mysterious with its explanations. As a result, it’s not all tied in a neat bow at the end and you may have some questions, but you’ll get the idea and it’s a scary one. It’s not a big picture — like The Ring or The Sixth Sense, say. Coming in at under an hour and a half, it’s more along the line of a large Twilight Zone episode. But it’s very satisfying and chilling and with its precise and subtle psychological insights, it sticks with you even after the last creep is crept.

One caveat, since it’s in Spanish with subtitles, you might sometimes miss some of the quicker, more subtle scares, so keep your eyes open.

If you like the spooky stuff but have no use for horror, this is a really good one to check out.

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Whenever I find myself swelling with a pleasant sense of righteous indignation, I wonder what exactly I’m getting wrong.

Thus, for instance, when I hear that Afghans and other Muslims are rioting and murdering people — including American soldiers — because the American military burned some Korans at Bagram Airfield in Kabul, I try very hard not to harrumph and start spouting such banalities as: “Ungrateful savages and their benighted religion! Ought to be gunned down, the lot of them!” Sure, the Korans had already been defaced by detainees trying to send extremist messages. And yes, American officials from the president down to a guy cleaning latrines at FOB Kalagush have apologized profusely. But before we condemn the rioters, American flag burners and murderers out of hand, let’s be fair.

After all, it was not that long ago, that this very blog — from which I get most of my information — included a post paying homage to the Jews of ancient Palestine, who stood up to the Romans in defense of what, to the Romans, must have seemed a pretty intolerant and backward faith. I argued that it was this very Jewish intransigence, later refined by Jesus, that ultimately gave rise to our western conviction that the religious conscience of man is sacred and deserves protection from rulers of all stripes. (Unless it gets in the way of my scoring some free abortion pills, in which case forget I said anything.)

Now you may respond: “But the Jews of ancient Palestine never wanted to spread their religion to the world. Plus, they took their stand 2,000 years ago and Jews have learned a thing or two since then. In fact, Jews, singly and en masse, are now among the greatest contributors to the good of mankind the world has ever known, whereas the Muslims invented coffee and then called it a day.” To which I would say: “Shut up. Who let you onto my blog?” Because you have to admit that these Afghan riots really could be a scene right out of Josephus. An imperial power — the Romans/us — marches into a backward nation — Palestine/Afghanistan — insults their religion — Judaism/Islam — and sets off exactly the kind of behavior one would expect from the locals — the defense of religious freedom/chaos and murder.

What else do you expect? Pre-medieval people who believe they are called by God to reduce the rest of the world to their own state of misery are going to kill people when you insult them. That’s how they roll.

The problem isn’t them. It’s us.

Consider the following:

In Denmark, author Lars Hedegaard was recently fined 5,000 kroner (roughly a thousand bucks), for pointing out that Islam seems to encourage rape. He was giving an interview in his own home at the time he made the remarks. Truth, under Danish law, is no defense.

In Iran, meanwhile, Christian pastor Youcef Nadarkhani was recently sentenced to death (roughly death) for converting from the religion of peace to a religion that actually believes in peace. Converting to Christianity is a capital offense in Iran, especially if there are aggravating circumstances, like you’re caught loving your neighbor or acting charitably.

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Turn off the TV when I say so.

I hereby provide my list of the Ten Hardest Movies to Turn Off Once You Start Watching Them. These may not be the best movies ever made — or they may be. But no matter where you come in on these films — no matter whether you intended to watch them or stumbled on them while lazily channel surfing — they grab you and won’t let you go. Or at least they grab me — which is more important, because I live here and you don’t.

Except for the first one — the most compulsively watchable film ever made — they’re not in any particular order. And any further suggestions will be welcomed and watched.

1. The Godfather

The black hole of movies. You’re turning the TV channels. You hit The Godfather. Two hours are gone. What the heck happened?

2. Heat

Jimmy Cagney and Edward G. Robinson reincarnated in the form of Al Pacino and Robert de Niro. Michael Mann directed and every actor in it went on to have a career, even a lot of the bit players. I have a copy of this in my small collection but I bury it under the floorboards with a magical sign scrawled on top of it to keep it from jumping up and stealing my life.

3. Ben Hur

Prime Chuck Heston in a story so big even the Son of God only gets a cameo. Recently I came in on the middle of this on Turner Classics while I was working out on the elliptical machine. I lost 35 pounds because I couldn’t stop watching. It was like that scene in movies where the hero gets locked in the sauna.

4. Gone With the Wind

Still the one. Not just unturnoffable, but probably the greatest movie of all time, too. People who say the greatest movie is Citizen Kane are just lying to sound smart. Also, Gone With the Wind is practically a school on how to deliver a strong female lead without turning her into a make-believe man. What a woman!

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Lou Requenia/A.P. Photo

My Wall Street Journal op-ed saluting baseball great Gary Carter now seems to be out from behind the paywall. I wish I had written it while he was still alive, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I’m not sure I would’ve done it even now, but one of my brothers browbeat me into it. Anyway, here’s the opening:

I never met baseball Hall of Famer Gary “Kid” Carter, but his death last week from brain cancer at age 57 moved me deeply. Some 25 years ago, his life and his style of play spoke to me and inspired me in a moment of terrible need. It was an example of what celebrity can do when it’s done well.

The second half of my life has been so bright with blessings that it’s difficult for me to think back to the 1980s, when I could see no end to my emotional pain. Personal demons left me blind to the gifts that God had showered on me so generously. I began to think my beautiful wife and baby daughter would be better off without me.

I can’t really say how serious I was when I began to contemplate suicide. But I remember one night, sitting alone in my room in darkness, smoking cigarette after cigarette as I considered the ways in which I might put an end to myself.

The radio was on, playing a Mets game. I’d been trying to listen before the dark thoughts took over. By the time the ninth inning came around, I wasn’t paying attention at all.

One sentence ran through my mind again and again: “I don’t know how I can live.”

As I write, you can read the whole thing here.  If they put it behind the wall again – buy the paper!

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Desperately racing to catch up with the conservative sociologist Charles Murray whom they so despise, the leftist New York Times front-paged a story Saturday that basically bore out the central findings of Murray’s new book Coming Apart.

More than half of births to American women under 30 occur outside marriage. … The fastest growth in the last two decades has occurred among white women in their 20s. … One group still largely resists the trend: college graduates, who overwhelmingly marry before having children. That is turning family structure into a new class divide, with the economic and social rewards of marriage increasingly reserved for people with the most education.

The leftist Times adds:

The shift is affecting children’s lives. Researchers have consistently found that children born outside marriage face elevated risks of falling into poverty, failing in school or suffering emotional and behavioral problems.

In other words, educated people do better because they marry more. They’re also, according to Murray, more religious and industrious, which further improves their lives.

The leftist Times, of course — and many of Murray’s leftist reviewers — try to slant these findings to suggest poor people are somehow being made to suffer by society’s unfair privileging of the marriage state. We can soon expect to hear a good deal about how a more tolerant Europe does illegitimacy better. It is frustrating to know we will have to wait at least a decade before the Times and its leftist camp followers are proven — as they are always ultimately proven in these social matters — wrong yet again.

Those unwilling to wait that long can turn directly to Murray, who tends to go blithely about getting things right even as the left excoriates him. Murray understands that the debilitating shifts of poorer people away from marriage and religion are culturally induced and that the prescriptions to reverse them must be cultural as well. Among those fixes, as he said in a recent article in the paper of record (the Wall Street Journal):

The best thing that the new upper class can do… is to drop its condescending “non-judgmentalism.” Married, educated people who work hard and conscientiously raise their kids shouldn’t hesitate to voice their disapproval of those who defy these norms. When it comes to marriage and the work ethic, the new upper class must start preaching what it practices.

This is so clearly true that the only real question is: why don’t they? If marriage and religion give smart people joy and improve their living standards, why don’t they spread the word?

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