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For this season, a suntan disguises a lot. My skin takes color quickly. “You look good,” people say to me.
“What does ‘shattered’ mean?” I ask Joe.
“Broken into pieces,” I say. “What does ‘hulk’ mean?”
“Uhh…I don’t know.”
“A shell,” I say. “What’s left after all the pieces inside are broken.”
An old friend of mine wrote me a wonderful letter, referring to a couple of my columns. “I want you to have a ‘successful’ transplant, regain your health and stamina, and be prepared to raise hell with a vigorous voice.”
Funny. When I flew back from Los Angeles, the plane took a more or less straight route from L.A. to Chicago. On that entire stretch, through the clear sky, looking down from my window seat, I saw…nothing. Demographers say that 80 percent of us live within 50 miles of a coast. I can believe it.
I am less in the mood to raise hell than to get away from its earthly manifestations. Oh, that there were some gale into which I could step with sail ripping in the wind. Oh, Lord, deliver me.
A man of faith in a godless age is hitting Americans where it hurts.
Mr. and Mrs. American Spectator Reader, let P.J. O’Rourke talk sense to your kids.
In Britain, defending your property can get you life.
The debacle of this president’s administration is both a cause and a symptom of the decline of American values. Unless Congress impeaches him, that decline will go on unchecked. An eminent jurist surveys the damage and assesses the chances for the recovery of our culture.
It won’t take long for conservatives to scratch this presidential wannabe off their 2008 scorecard.
The American Christmas, like the songs that celebrate it, makes room for everybody under the rainbow. Is that why so many people seem to be hostile to it?
Was the President done in by the economy, or by the politics of the economy?