Ben Stein’s Diary

Ben Stein's Diary

The Perfect Christmas Gift

By 12.20.13

Thursday
Now, it’s December 19, 2013. This has been a busy year for me and a year filled with sorrow and triumph and with far too much loss.

It rushed by, as time does when you get old, and now, a few recollections of the year come into my mind.

Lying in the sun room of our home in Sandpoint, Idaho, with the perfectly light blue sky of North Idaho out the windows to the west and to the east, watching an occasional eagle or sea bird or immense osprey glide by. Then closing my eyes as I heard and felt the immense rumble of Mr. Buffett’s BNSF trains going by. I did that almost every day last summer and by the end of the summer, I felt as if those trains and those osprey and that sky had kept me alive. My wife would almost always be in her reading room next door and I could talk to her in my train loving haze.

Mr. Buffett gets billions from the trains, I imagine, but I get far more than that. I get a euphoric feeling that I will not only survive but triumph. It had been a summer of extreme worry about whether the economy was slipping back into recession, and I felt reassured by the power of those trains.

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Ben Stein's Diary

Perfect Day

By 12.13.13

My pals, such as they are, in Hollywood, ask me why I love to travel to DC so much, why it’s a vacation destination for me. I say, “Because I sometimes have perfect days there.”

A perfect day would vary greatly from person to person, but here’s one that I had on December 11, 2013.

I awakened to the sound of WBIG on my clock radio playing sixties songs from The Who. I looked out of the window of my apartment at the Watergate. Blue skies. No snow.

I made English muffins, dressed in my glad rags, and headed over to CNN to be on with Wolf Blitzer (star of Skyfall) and Paul Begala. On the way up in the elevator, I discussed Chanel sunglasses with a young woman from CNN who was wearing a pair with real pearls in the frames. Naturally, she was from L.A.

On the show, we all made nice with each other and I emphasized what Nixon would have done about meeting Raul Castro and negotiating with Iran. I got to get in my plug for RN as Peacemaker.

Wolf wanted to talk about being on Air Force One. We all had been, but, I added, “Mine was when Air Force One was a bi-plane.” Hahaha. Ain’t we got fun.

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Bills to Pay

By 12.10.13

Sunday

An exhausting day shopping in Beverly Hills, then back to paying bills in my office… that bill paying part is hell.

But listening to the fifties station on XM… that is paradise. Those are songs from 55 or 57 years ago, and I recall every word. The Platters, The Drifters, The Olympics, The Cadillacs, Harvey and the Moonglows, Little Richard, Elvis, The Janettes, Ike and Tina Turner. Those songs take me away from my cares of bills and obligations and in my mind’s eye I am dancing with Gay Patlen in the gym at Montgomery Blair High School. I am not sure I ever did but the fantasy is very strong. Only XM can make it light up in my brain. The sock hops at the Silver Spring Armory. The cute Irish girls with their little crosses and their tight skirts and bobby socks. How I loved those girls. I sometimes even danced with them. It is hard to believe but I was once a good dancer of the jitterbug, Washington style. And XM brings all those memories back to me.

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Picking Up After Dogs

By 12.9.13

Friday
Yesterday morning I received a telephone call from a young woman — 23 — whom I knew through a friend in Los Angeles. She had come to LA to be a writer or a producer or something important. But she lived in a dream world. She definitely had talent as a guitarist and a singer, and I had her sing and play the guitar for me in my living room at the Shoreham Towers long ago when she was probably 21 or 22.

But as to how she was ever going to make it as a producer or writer… that was a mystery. You have to do that either by working your way up in a studio or a production company, or by writing a script that someone loves and makes you director of the movie based on that script, or, best of all, by having a dad or a grand dad or a father in law who is a high player in the biz.

As my super smart sister said, “There’s pre-law and pre-med, but pre-dad is the best business.” She’s almost too smart.

So, I have seen men work their ways up through patience and talent and connections. But a young woman who comes to Los Angeles on a plane with her guitar and her cool hat and her reefer? I have never seen that kind of girl get anywhere much.

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Christmas Gifts

By 12.6.13

Now for a few words about a great gift idea for those of you blessed enough to have living parents. Recently, I sat at lunch with two young women who were in a drug treatment facility. They rattled off their horror stories about their drug use, about how they disappeared from home for weeks or months at a time with shady boyfriends, about how their parents put them in one rehab after another at staggering expense, about how their parents could not sleep at night for years worrying about them, about how their parents showed infinite love and care for them year after year. They talked about what fabulous parents they had and how sorry they were for what they put their parents through.

I finally asked them, “Do you ever thank them?” They hesitated a bit and said they were sure they had thanked them.

I asked them, “Let me tell you as a parent the absolute hell you put your parents through. Your parents are my age now. You should make it a point to call them every single day and tell them how grateful you are. Every darned day. Every morning and every night.”

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Ben Stein's Diary

Present Dangers

By 11.25.13

Tuesday
Here I am in Mr. Tim Kerr’s Advanced World History class at Kent Island High School, visiting with the students. They are juniors and seniors and they look healthy and alert, This school is in Stevensville, Maryland, just over the Bay Bridge of the Chesapeake Bay.

It is a long story how I came to be here. Basically, I met a group of kids from the school at a Taco Bell and was impressed with them and their command of mathematics. So I called the principal, a man whose last name is impossible to spell, but his first name is John and he’s a great guy. John invited me over and so here I am.

I cannot recall ever meeting a sweeter looking, more solid looking, less disturbing looking, calmer looking kids. They looked like Montgomery Blair, 1962. Silver Spring, Maryland. The girls were neatly dressed. The boys were neatly dressed. Everyone looked confident. I was completely surprised at what a spectacle of reasonable charm the kids were.

We just talked about a few statistics like population, GDP, and then they had to go home.

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