Amid the jasmine, the swimming pool, and the Lakers.
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I talked for a while to a beautiful poll watcher, who turned out to be Judge Claypool’s mother.
Then I walked back out, on a cloud. How lucky can one man be? How BLESSED. Not luck. BLESSINGS.
I went home and changed into my bathing suit and waded into my fabulous pool. Then I swam black and forth, smelling the night blooming jasmine, the chlorine, blown onto me by that perfect breeze.
After a while, I started blessing and praying for our armed forces with every stroke. I thought of my nephew, Paul Landau, a well-known historian about Africa. He lives in D.C. and also loves to swim. “It’s the closest there is to flying,” he told me recently and wow, is he right.
I took a shower, got dressed, walked up the steps to my office. The evening sun was sending its last rays onto my tile and stucco stairs. The dogs were right behind me.
I slept for a short while, then watched the Lakers-Celtics playoff game. What a great game. I love especially Pau Gasol of the Lakers. Spanish guy, tough as nails. Nobody pushes him around. Most of the players on both sides are black, of course. They are so talented, so smart, so determined, it is as if they were beyond human. To think that within the lifetime of my great grandparents, men and women like this were routinely owned by people, could be worked to death, could be beaten, raped, had no rights at all. It is incredible. How horrible and how far we have come. To think that in my lifetime Jews like me were consistently murdered just for the “crime” of existing, is blood curdling. Nothing quite like that could happen again, could it? Only in a year if Iran gets the bomb. Well, no point in worrying. Mr. Obama has it well in hand. Hahaha.
The game fluctuated wildly and at the end, The Lakers won. I LOVE THE LAKERS.
I had some leftovers and just thought, “This has been a perfect game. PERFECT. I thought that all of the sacrifices and blessings of the whole history of mankind have devolved upon me. Thank you, God.”
I slept happily with my Brigid by my side. No one dares think how late it is. Certainly I don’t.
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?