A magazine installment from the world’s leading Diarist.
(Page 2 of 3)
Well, I had the great pleasure of working with Chuck Colson on a project he had going about the ethical dimensions of the collapse in 2008. He was a thorough gentleman, gone far too soon. Too many going too soon.
Then, a late supper with my wife at a restaurant on the Intracoastal Waterway across from our hotel. The night was balmy and pleasant. An immense yacht was parked right in front of us. Its owner, a pleasant Texan who manufactures everything from controls for torpedoes to locomotive parts, told us all about the boat. Two 2,000 horsepower diesel engines. Unbelievable. That boat was like something out of a dream. An 88-foot Pershing. It was out of a great dream.
So…let’s take it away from him, sell it, and give the money to Solyndra! Then, let’s put him in prison for being a smart, energetic guy. Doesn’t that make sense?
I stayed up very late watching a great steamy show on Showtime called The Borgias. It stars Jeremy Irons, a talented, super-talented British actor who was brilliant as Humbert H. Humbert in the remake of Lolita some years ago, and what a painfully sad movie that was. Pedophilia is not really anything but cruel for everyone involved.
Jeremy Irons plays a Borgia Pope and he plays him for laughs. He is really funny and the whole storyline is extremely funny. I am not sure it was supposed to be funny, but it has such perfect Brentwood/Santa Monica story twists (a single mother daughter who will not breastfeed her crying baby unless her father buys her a Porsche, or something like that…maybe it was to grant her dead lover a decent burial) and Jeremy Irons plays it for such canny self-mocking humor that it works as a medieval sitcom with a good bit of nudity.
Then I watched a simply fabulous movie, also on Showtime, called Drive Angry. It is about a man who comes back from the dead, Nick Cage, to save his granddaughter from satanic worshipers. He is aided and abetted in this task by someone from Hell, played by a very funny guy named Fichtner, and by a spectacularly perfect looking woman who I thought was Denise Richards but was really Amber Heard. She is so beautiful it should be a crime.
The movie had way more sex than was necessary and way too much graphic violence. But it also was extremely funny in its own campy way. I would watch it over and over, but then there is no better actor on the scene than Nick Cage. So, anything he’s in…I’ll watch it.
I WAS AWAKENED by a scary dream about my son bothering me while I was napping and wanting to go drive to Richmond. Where did that come from?
Then various sobering thoughts about life in general. Then off to give a speech to super nice people who distribute trash can liners, paper products, hand cleaner, to institutions all over the country. Super-duper friendly, smart people. I could have spent a week with them.
Now, let me tell you something. I literally felt ultra-depressed this morning. Like I wanted to jump out of my window here on the 30th floor. I don’t know why and probably it was just indigestion. But, when I finished shaking hands with hundreds of men and women, getting my picture with them, talking to them, making them laugh, I felt totally great.
That’s what work does for you. Work is a sovereign cure for despair. I cannot recommend it highly enough. It is better than any drug. Work is a gift from God. Depression is death blows of low self-esteem. Work is self-esteem.
A nice walk along the Intracoastal, then dinner on the water, served by a sweet woman from Austria. Then lots more picture taking. One of the men I took my picture with pointed at an immense cruise ship nearby and said, “I guess to you, that’s a dinghy.”
Why do people think I’m rich? I am mystified about this. I am not at all rich except in my family and friends and my country. I am not rich and never have been rich and never will be rich. Warren Buffett is rich. Larry Ellison is rich. I am not rich. I have never said I am rich. There is nothing in my life to indicate that I am rich. Oh, well.
“It looks like a huge boat to me,” I said and smiled wanly.
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