Welcome to the Circular Firing Squad
Charles Hugh Smith

If you find my scribblings upsetting, there's an easy solution: stop reading it. We'll both benefit.  

I'm never more than one inch away from converting my site from essays to photos of kittens and puppies as the only means to gain respite from being hammered for my many failings as a human being. But alas, were I to do so, some readers would detect an insufferable air of elitist superiority in my selection of kitten photos, others would trash me for my worthless posts, and should I post a photo of a sad puppy, I'd promptly be denounced as a bitter old man. 

Welcome to the circular firing squad. As a culture, we seem to have reached a permanently high plateau of extreme touchiness, a sensitivity to slight coupled with an urgent need to lash out not just at opinions but at those who present them, a touchiness which manifests as an irrepressible flood tide of righteous indignation: how dare you! 

I've been bitterly denounced as an elitist for spending two days preparing a homemade Thanksgiving dinner for a few dozen guests, as only elites could possibly afford a home-cooked Thanksgiving dinner. How dare you prepare a home-cooked meal! 

In what ward of the insane asylum is a guy who's spent his entire life on the tattered margins of the economy and society, a guy with absolutely no status, inheritance, family connections, elite credentials or position in the power structure--all the traits that characterize elite membership--be denounced for preparing a home-cooked meal to be shared with others? A guy who scraped by in genteel poverty on the crumbling edge of free-lancing. a guy who's only corporate gig was picking pineapple one summer for Dole Pineapple at 16, a guy who never worked for any government agency or anything remotely connected to the Power Elite, a guy with 50 years experience behind a worm-drive Skilsaw? 

Back when I started my blog, I never expected to have an audience. Dummy that I am, I used my real name and called my blog Of Two Minds, expressing my willingness to change my mind and my general view that there was capacious open ground to explore between any two polar-opposite positions. 

I should have hidden behind something like Insufferable Elitist, Worthless Writer or Bitter Old Man, or cut to the chase and called it How Dare You! 

My critics overlook one of my deepest flaws: I'm overly civil. I was taught that saying horrid things about people you didn't know, and people you did know, was, well, horrid. Yes, I know: how dare you because only elites with an air of superiority are civil.

As for my air of superiority, I can't help it: I'm half Irish, with the rest being Scots and Norse / Norman. My sense of superiority is genetically hard-wired, along with my obstreperous, cantankerous, cocky nature. How dare you be half-Irish! Yes, well, please accept my apologies on behalf of my DNA. 

All of which leads to an unsolvable mystery: how did this Insufferable Elitist, Worthless Writer and Bitter Old Man get 150 million page views on his own sites and a couple hundred million more page views on sites with large audiences such as Lew Rockwell, Daily Reckoning, Seeking Alpha and Zero Hedge (all terribly elitist sites, slithering with insufferable elites)? If you figure out how this Insufferable Elitist, Worthless Writer and Bitter Old Man got a third of a billion page views, please let me know. I agree, it makes no sense. 

Clearly, somebody else far more deserving should have gotten the third of a billion page views. Or, horror of horrors, for unfathomable reasons, people want to read stuff composed by an Insufferable Elitist, Worthless Writer and Bitter Old Man. Believe me, I'm as mystified as you are. But go ahead and say it:  How Dare You! 

If you find my scribblings upsetting, there's an easy solution: stop reading it. We'll both benefit. I implore you to ignore my scribblings, for both our sakes: it will relieve my sense of guilt at upsetting anyone, and you'll be spared the tribulations of becoming upset. 

I looked around for some photos of kittens and puppies, but rather than risk a copyright violation, I'm going with this from Hannah Arendt: 

And because I'm an Insufferable Elitist enveloped by a vortex of Superiority, I'm adding this bit. Yes, I know: How Dare You! 

Welcome to the circular firing squad. Civility is being shredded, but never mind, because civility is elitist. 

At readers' request, I've prepared a biography. I am not confident this is the right length or has the desired information; the whole project veers uncomfortably close to PR. On the other hand, who wants to read a boring bio? I am reminded of the "Peanuts" comic character Lucy, who once issued this terse biographical summary: "A man was born, he lived, he died." All undoubtedly true, but somewhat lacking in narrative.

I was raised in southern California as a rootless cosmopolitan: born in Santa Monica, and then towed by an upwardly mobile family to Van Nuys, Tarzana, Los Feliz and San Marino, where the penultimate conclusion of upward mobility, divorce and a shattered family, sent us to Big Bear Lake in the San Bernadino mountains.

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