That is what I have finally reached this week, in the wake of the Rush Limbaugh-Slutgate imbroglio: the far frozen limit. I’ve never been one to flounce off in a huff, having neither the figure for flounces or possession of a late model huff-mobile. That was my Granny Dodie’s style; she was the one who was prone to throwing hissy-fits in public places at being the recipient of bad customer service. I personally always rather preferred the model provided by my other grandmother, Granny Jessie, who would simmer quietly, depart silently … and then never darken the door of the offending establishment ever again. Which, as Granny Jessie lived to the age of 96, probably resulted in a lot of establishments being vaguely puzzled as to why the heck they didn’t ever see the tiny, grim-faced old lady in the print rayon dress ever again … or maybe not. Say what you will, at least Granny Dodie’s method left the offending establishments in no doubt that they had offended grievously, which from a customer-service point of view, at least clued them in to the fact that there was a problem. And that they just might have to take steps to fix it.

This is not actually about Rush Limbaugh, actually. I’ve never listened to the guy: I’m more a classical music person, when I need audible wallpaper to work by. Or about poor little Miss Fluke, the barracuda-style capital-F Feminist career activist masquerading as a dewy-eyed innocent undergraduate … darlin’, we know what you are, now we’re just haggling over the price that we all will pay for it. You’re a public figure now, having put yourself out there in the service of whatever it is that you are in service to … forcing Catholic institutions to provide certain birth control services that are contradictory to their stated values seems to be the goal that you are in service to, never mind how crude that sounds when put in that way…Where was I?
Oh, yes – Slutgate. Yes, it’s not nice to call women you disagree with nasty names. Agreed? So, no, it doesn’t matter if it is Sarah Palin, or Michelle Malkin, or Michelle Bachman or … heck, the list goes on and on and on. So, hold HBO and Bill Maher to the same principles as Rush Limbaugh? Oh, yes … most definitely. I’ll fetch the spike and hammer, and let’s nail them to those principles. Alinsky Rulz OK.

I also relish the squirms and wriggles which result when a celebrity, an establishment or a company which depends upon consumer choice for their livelihood, try to walk back from having grossly insulted a substantial portion of that audience. I was savagely amused by the Dixie Chicks, explaining how they really, really did want a more limited appeal, and now I am amused again with watching HBO. Or rather, not watching it – since it wasn’t ever part of our limited cable package, I can’t call up and cancel it. But I wish I could have, just to make a point about Bill Maher, and even more – that Hollywood hit piece disguised as a movie about Sarah Palin and the 2008 presidential campaign. I make absolutely no secret of the fact that I thought it was the first bold move on the part of John McCain’s campaign, when he pulled in Sarah Palin as his VP pick. I have the blog-archives to prove it. What wasn’t to like? A public-spirited, hard-working, home-town, home-grown local pol, pretty shrewd, nice family and handsome hubby, pretty well devoid of any establishment connections, worked her way up through local interests in the immediate and larger community – from PTA on up. I’ve known any number of Sarah Palin-types throughout my life, starting with Mom, working through the military and then in my involvement with the Tea Party. I talked to my neighbors, immediately after she was nominated – mostly women of a certain age – we were all impressed and delighted.
And then – the horns kicked in. I won’t go through the spew of calumny about Tea Partiers one more time, or the slime-making Hollywood machinery that moved into high gear WRT Sarah Palin and the Tea Party generally. I won’t go into the betrayal by the hard-line capital-F Feminist establishment … nope. I’m just done with blog posts about it.

I’m just done with HBO, and their output. I’m done with the stars and producers of that vile political hit-piece. Woody Harrelson – done. Ed Harris – done. Julianne Moore – done. And I am also done with Tom Hanks, after his daring turn in the role of Joseph Goebbels as producer for B. Obama’s movie spectaculars. Done with Bruce Springsteen – whose early music I used to love, before the callus-handed Joisey working-stiff-shtick pose got cold and faded away. I’ve long given up on Garrison Keillor, and I’ve been off the illimitable Jane Fonda for decades.

Pity about HBO, though – there were shows of theirs that I would have wanted to watch: I’ll just have to buy them used on DVD. Which seems both suitable to my purpose and my pocketbook: the profits from my purchase will not go to richen any of those aforementioned … instead, they will go to those retail entrepreneurs trying to make a dollar or to in the economy which the Fresh Prince of Chicago has bequeathed to us all.