New York, Washington – they’re not Sandpoint.
Now, let’s see. Here I am in New York City. I am here with Big Wifey for my sister’s 70th birthday party. We’re here at the Essex House. It is a great hotel and my room is perfect except that it took forever to get the Internet to work and there is no radio. Other than that, it’s great.
I met my pal Joel Block for lunch. It’s his 66th birthday. We have been friends for many years and it’s truly magnificent to have him as a loyal friend. I think in some ways he was my first real friend, even though I didn’t meet him until I was 17. All of the others were jealous and competitive and some were downright mean and tricky. But Joel has been a great, wonderful friend for close to 50 years now. He is a scholar of French and of watches and a generally impressive man. We had some snacks at the Essex House and then said hello to Alex, and then Alex and I had to go to my sister’s birthday dinner.
The dinner was fine and I don’t really have much to say about it. The main point here is that my sister is probably the best sister in the world.
She is extremely intelligent, totally loyal, lovely to look at, knowledgeable about life, and just a great human being. I think I may have told you this story before, but it sums it up.
When I was 16, I had my first drunken evening — on vodka and Hi-C. I felt great until I went to sleep and threw up all over my sheets and myself in my sleep. I awakened to a vile smell. Naturally. My mother said, “Let him sleep in it,” which seems unkind but I guess it was her way of teaching me a lesson about drinking. My sister got up and washed and dried the sheets and put them back on the bed, without even having to be asked.
That was perhaps the most saintly thing anyone ever did for me in my youth.
My sister is the fount of many incredibly astute and insightful comments about life. Some are a little too true to be mentioned here. But just let’s say, she has a great understanding of la vie.
As far as I know, there is no better sister than mine and I feel grateful to God every day for allowing me to have such a fine sister.
My mother and father somehow taught us to stick together and we really have never had a quarrel that lasted more than a few hours, always my fault. She’s not on the same political page that I am on, or maybe she secretly is, or maybe I secretly am on a bit of her page.
Anyway, she is the best sister ever.
My wife and I walked the almost twenty blocks back to the hotel. I like walking in New York very much. We saw a variety of people. At a Starbucks, a homeless man tried to pick up my wife while I was in negotiations with the clerk about cupcakes.
At the hotel, time to sleep and listen to the sirens. How I miss the sound and rattle of the trains in Idaho. At some point, I turned on TV and watched a replay of the women’s tennis match. It was Serena Williams vs. an incredibly brave Polish woman. Serena was unstoppable. What a machine of skill and endurance and courage. Surely, she cannot possibly lose the final to Stosur.
A visit from my pal, W., who is a woman of almost 50 who is a workout maniac and looks great. She has many questions to ask me about investing. I have known this woman, this W., since roughly 1988. She was beautiful then and she is now.
Alex sat patiently while we talked and then wifey and I set out with our driver, Bob Noah, to Washington, D.C. It was 9/11 and I was reluctant to fly or take the train.
Besides, I love being driven in a car on the freeway. I sleep soundly. We stopped at an incredibly clean rest stop in New Jersey and got some magnificent Roy Rogers Chicken. Wow, they make good chicken.
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?
H/T to National Review Online