I love this:
http://www.energygrid.com/society/jb-ashcroft.html I’d be the first to admit that sitting here in this garden shed drinking Jim Beam and feeding pork rinds to my dog Bingo (a black mutt of the type we call a “piss hound” around here) may not be the be the best vantage point from which to examine national security affairs. However, it must be said that when the nebulous tendrils of U.S. security policy begin to reach down this far into everyday life, far enough to rattle a 57-year-old pee dribbler such as myself, it sure as hell can be called pervasive, at the very least. Not only pervasive, but also downright personal too. John Ashcroft publically insulted my wife. I kid you not. I never thought I’d see the day when I would be ready fo a balls-to-the-wall scrap with the Attorney General of the United States. I really didn’t. So last week I sent him a nasty note, from which I quote, in order to explain to you, dear reader, the sordid details:
“John, goddammit, we are going to have to thrash this thing out! Thanks to you, my librarian wife, who is pretty much the stereotypical, quiet, matronly archivist down in the basement of the local scriptorium, can be fined and sent to prison if she refuses to hand over library records and public internet logs to federal agents. In fact, under the USA Patriot Act, she can be prosecuted if she tells anyone at all, including coworkers and me, that the government came snooping around. And YOU, Mr.Ashcroft, made wisecracks about the National Library Association’s objections to this spying on citizens, calling the librarians’ concerns “baseless hysteria,” and a “hissy fit over Tom Clancey novels.” At the same time you and I both know there are plenty of librarians more than happy to hand over records to government spies, for political reasons or merely for the excitement of it all. My wife is not one of these people. (Nevertheless, I find it rather chilling that she and I seem to have an unspoken agreement not to discuss it, so potentially shattering are the repurcussions. Also, she knows I have a big mouth.)
“Living here in a bedroom community of Washington D.C., it is only a matter of time until the feds come to our library — if they haven’t already. And only last weekend I learned that the Department of Homeland Security has put restrictions on what geneologists can request. Geneologists for god’s sake! For the record Mr. Ashcroft, I am being neither paranoid nor having a hissy fit. I am asking a simple question. And this time none of your arrogant, smart-assed replies. How does preventing some old blue-haired geneologist from looking at my aunt Gertrude’s baptismal certificate prevent terrorists from blasting me and old Bingo out of this garden shed? And exactly how does surveillance of the reading habits of an aging redneck pud like me make this nation one bit safer?”
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