A return to L.A. coincides with a growing sense of doom.
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Our son watched TV. He is super good at that.
Then my wife went out to supper with an old pal, all the way to Topanga, about thirty miles away.
An iron rule: stupid people choose restaurants very far away from where you and/or they live. Obviously, my wife, a smart woman, did not make the choice.
(I have a lot of iron rules and laws. Most have to do with facial jewelry and I.Q. Some have to do with eating habits.)
I rested for a while, then went out to a meager supper at a Thai place on Sunset Strip. I could see the rock fans coming and going on the sidewalk outside my seat. (“In the room the women come and go and talk of Michelangelo….” and also how to gas the Jews, T.S. Eliot, you pretentious scumbag racist fraud two bit con man.)
It interests me how much variety there is among the women passing by. Some are shapely and beautiful. Some are not. The physical actions of the non-beautiful are invariably, and I mean INVARIABLY, about ten times as animated as the serene motions of the beautiful. Beautiful women know they are beautiful and have a certain calm about them. The non-beautiful have to fake a twisted enthusiasm. The difference in world outlook between these two types of human beings — ceteris paribus — is fantastic.
The restaurant was almost deserted until a middle-aged couple deposited by a Range Rover came in. I am guessing it was an internet J-Date blind date. The woman, I would say in her late 30s, had a simply maddeningly sharp, high pitched voice. She almost immediately began to lecture this poor man on his eating habits, about how he should never take any medicine but must instead eat raw fruits and vegetables from Whole Foods. When he talked about eating bread, she became literally hysterical. “You eat BREAD?” she demanded. “That has GLUTEN. I never eat bread. Not pasta either unless it’s gluten free.”
If I were that man, I told my companion, I would just get up and leave the table.
The woman was actually fairly attractive except for being emaciated. But her voice rang of insanity. Her hectoring him about his eating habits.… That’s criminal.
Well, small wonder she’s single. It’s hard to be single at her age and she bought it and paid for it with her nuttiness. Iron law: those who seek to control other persons’ eating habits end up alone. IRON LAW!!!! Well, wait. There was my mother….
When I got home, my wifey was already home. I was so happy to see her I can barely tell you. She is as close to perfect as a being can be. I’m not. I’m not at all. She never tells me what to do. Never.
We watched a documentary about the Nazis, as usual, and then we went to sleep. I was up most of the night from my Thai food. But I used the time to begin an amazingly informative book by a scholar named Jean Sedlar about the Nazi Empire in East Central Europe.
This astonishingly gifted scholar is the late mother of my dear friend, Eric Sedlar, a software genius at Oracle. He is the very pained widower of the beautiful Tatyana, who died on roughly July 4. What a smart family they are. How he has suffered. Heart rending.
More fatigue. I awakened and felt as if I had been hit on the head by a sledge hammer. But I dragged my fat old ponderous bulk out of the bed and, with Julie Goodgirl by my side, swam in our pool. The way it works is that I throw a ball for her. She runs after it and catches it and brings it to where I am in the pool. I throw it again and resume swimming until she gets it to me again. Then throw, retrieve, swim, throw again. That’s how it works.
I clambered out, showered, shaved, dressed, went off to the Santa Palm Car Wash to meet my pal M. It is a ritual. We get a car wash and a sandwich and watch the people go by.
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?