Another installment of America’s number one Diary.
(Page 3 of 5)
This is my third visit and I like it a lot. I am bound to say, though, that I consider Monet so superior to any other painter of the era that I would have rather seen all Monets. His Houses of Parliament and Cathedral at Rouen are hauntingly beautiful.
Then, a modest lunch at the cafeteria of the museum. I had a brownie, but what a brownie. Rich and delicious.
Then rest time.
Dinner at a Vietnamese place in Georgetown called Miss Saigon. The party was Alex, Russ Ferguson, Aram Bakshian, genius writer and marching comrade from the Nixon days. We had to wait almost an hour because the crowds in D.C. were so immense but we finally got fed. The Hanoi pork was perfect. The rest only so-so. For dessert we went down to the Georgetown waterfront for a chocolate milkshake. DEE-LICIOUS. Really yummy. Then back to the Watergate for a nice sleep.
It is Easter. A lovely day. We went to dinner with Russ and Bob Noah at a restaurant called the Blue Duck Tavern at 24th and M. The food was spectacular. I had short ribs and they were amazing. We sat next to a post-operative transsexual and “her” husband. I could tell she was not a natural-born woman because she was being so respectful to her husband. No real woman would do that. When “she” stood up it was obvious.
In the middle of the meal, I started sneezing maybe 30 times in a row. Uh-oh. Onset of a sickness. I sat outside so as not to disturb my fellow gourmets with my discomfort. A huge black man from Ghana came over and wanted my autograph.
It was a nice day.
In the night though, I started to feel really ill and exhausted.
This is bad. I bid farewell to my big wifey and I headed for the Reagan airport. By this time, I felt horrible. I dragged my fat old self through the TSA section and waited for my flight. I felt like death. I got to the plane and went right to sleep. Then, after landing at JAX, I got off the plane and went to the Waffle House, where three amazingly slow women — all highly cheerful — waited on me.
It was great how good those waffles tasted. But by the time I got to my hotel, a Hilton Homewood Suites, I thought I would die.
I rested for a while, then went to the extremely spartan hotel dining room, where I waited forever for a fairly tasty meal of some kind of hamburger I really enjoyed and some chicken that was not so good.
Back to my room to watch the Duke-Butler game. What an exciting game and how brave a show the Butler team put on. They came so amazingly close to winning with that final shot, but in my mind, they did not lose.
I awoke in the middle of the night with a searing pain in my throat and none of my pink amoxicillin suspension medicine for that condition. I drank tons of tea, because the room had a tea maker, but I felt terrible.
By miracles of prayer, though, I managed to get some sleep. The suite had two bedrooms and one of them was quiet and I could sleep in it.
Still, feeling sick and ill away from home is a bad, bad situation.
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?