Sorry. Can't hit tab twice, apparently

Sorry, about that. Who knew? I was reflexively hit tab and the html monster took over.

Some year end stocking stuffers.


1. A recent article I put together: How the Economy Began I have no idea why clothes is underlined or a preposition is missing.... Could be me, but there is an editor.

2. FairTax.org believes in eliminating all taxes except for a sales tax. Some of their comments:

1. The federal sales tax would be 30%, the amount of all taxes put together. This will be a reduction for the normal, frugal family. I am not sure of the use of math, here, but I like the idea of honesty in taxation. Also, there would be smart shopping and a new interest in saving.
2. Lobbyists make 53% of their income working on the IRS Code.
3. The Fair Tax people figure the equivalent of 3% of our current revenue would appear from those who are underground, etc. I think it is more.

For my part, I always thought is was a waste that several million of the smartest people our culture ever developed are dedicated to tax and tax accounting. Really, they have incredible memories and sneakiness. What a waste of talent.

3. Thanks to Greg, The Liberal Mind. Much of the book is actually online. This is offered to annoy people, but it will let you see the confusion of the other side, the rational people. It leads us to Hayek.

4. For my part, also thanks to Greg, one of the more important books in recent history, no exaggeration, again much of it is online: The Road To Serfdom by Hayek. I find it hard to believe we are reliving history. This is the benefit of our schools which don't teach history, not that the teachers actually know it. Anyway, it is just a bunch of dead white people.

5. Finally,

A Visit from St. Nicholas

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tinny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and St Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"

Clement Clarke Moore, a dead white person, (1779 - 1863) - with the name he used, not the politically cleansed: Twas the Night Before Christmas.

Merry Christmas and all those other holidays I can't spell.