As if Obama could just press a button on a computer game and “reset” relations so we are all friends.
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So, they have a lot to hate us for.
Meanwhile, to think we once had presidents like Reagan, or Richard M. Nixon, who really knew the score, and now we have surfer Punahou grad Barry Obama—well, it’s like, sad, dude.
Never mind. Off to give my speech to a business development group at the Portland Art Museum. I got there in time to hear a fine speech by a software entrepreneur from the subcontinent who made a great point about building up a successful business.
“There is no secret sauce,” he said. “There’s just hard work.”
What brilliant advice. Really, really smart.
It was a smart audience and Portlandia is a super cool place. Lots of parks. Lots of coffee. I don’t drink coffee, but obviously someone does. Lots of wine, and again, I don’t drink wine, but someone does.
I gave my speech and the audience liked it or me or some combination. I signed a few autographs, posed for many pictures, then back to the hotel to pack and head for the airport.
The flight back, on Alaska, was perfect. I did have a strange encounter with a flight attendant, though. She asked me about where I lived. When I told her I probably spent about 60 nights a year in Sandpoint, Idaho, she thought I was kidding.
“Idaho?” she kept saying. “Idaho?”
Yes, and I showed many of my great photos of Idaho. By the time I was done, she said she wanted to move to Idaho. How I miss Sandpoint and the Sandpoint Super Drug Store. That may be my new favorite store on this earth. It is huge and it has a perfect climate—like the “Pure Floor” at the Marriott. I want to be back in Idaho.
MY PAL AL, MY GREETER, greeted me at LAX. As we made our pitiful way through the airport (always like a street scene out of Blade Runner) Al told me I must watch a new show called Person of Interest on TV.
So, sure enough, I did. It was HILARIOUS. I don’t think they meant it to be hilarious, but it was. It is about a Bill Gates sort of guy who has invented something like the cell phone that tracks where everyone is all the time and can tell you what cards to play at blackjack. There is also a bruiser of a fighter and a very pretty villainess who loves blood (but this is not a vampire story) and a black woman who is a policewoman and a great shot.
I could not for the life of me figure out what was happening, but I know that part of the plot involves the Aryan Nations, my erstwhile and long-gone neighbors in Sandpoint. A fellow has been investing for (and I am not kidding here) what the writers call “the corporate arm of the Aryan Nations” and has embezzled many millions from them and they are trying to get it back.
Wait a minute! The “corporate arm” of the Aryan Nations? Where did that come from? What makes the writers think there is a “corporate arm” of the Aryan Nations? There are maybe a few dozen members of the Aryan Nations (except for in prison, where they are VERY strong). How can they have a “corporate arm”?
This is the perfect extension of what I wrote about in The View from Sunset Boulevard decades ago. That was a book about the political views of prime-time TV shows and how they mesh with the political views of the writers and producers. In that book, I document how the TVland world thinks that outside of Brooklyn, America is basically fascist Klan country.
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.
It won’t take long for conservatives to scratch this presidential wannabe off their 2008 scorecard.
Was the President done in by the economy, or by the politics of the economy?