Some occurrences have a touch of unreality about them. They seem so unlikely that an alternative explanation must be in order. Indeed, last week’s Oslo massacre has many speculating about a vast conspiracy of some sort orchestrated by a shadowy, all-powerful cabal to manipulate world opinion in some nefarious manner.

Yet the simplest explanation of events—however seemingly outlandish—is usually the parsimonious one. Thus, it appears that Anders Behring Breivik—this preening 32-year-old Nordic pretty boy with a narcissistic proclivity to photograph himself playing dress-up—really did commit one of the worst atrocities in recent Scandinavian history all by his lonesome.


The issue of gay “marriage”—so perpetually in the news these days—in itself little concerns me. I find the very notion grotesquely absurd, but then it’s really no skin off my reactionary Catholic nose if men want to live with other men or women with other women in arrangements that they consider to be, in some warped way, “matrimonial.”

I am, of course, troubled by certain patently totalitarian aspects of the homo matrimonio crusade, which I have already discussed at length, but I’ve really got no serious beef with gays who seek only to “live and let live,” and don’t intend to harass the rest of the world into acceptance or approval of their behavior. I’m far too much of a solitary-dwelling, crusty-crabbed curmudgeon to get the least bit exercised over what other people are doing with their genitalia. I don’t really want to know—I won’t ask, so please don’t tell. But in the privacy of your homes, or bathhouses…whatever, man. Just keep it far away from me.