Sunday
My slightly late 2023 New Year’s resolutions, starting with deep gratitude that I am an American…

1. My wife is my link to the heavens and to God. If she exists, all is well. No matter what she does, I forgive her and pray on my knees that she will forgive me.
2. My life is dedicated to gratitude, to every man and woman and child on the planet who has helped me by combat against the Nazis, the Japanese, and communists everywhere.
3. I am blessed beyond words that even at my advanced age — 78 — I still have the emotional reservoirs to fall in love and feel the pain that often goes with that.
4. I do not have to be afraid of running out of money today, so I’ll put that aside for just this one day.
5. I have a roof over my head and more than enough to eat. My parents made that possible and I am forever grateful.
6. God has given me several different rostrums to speak from and I will be grateful for each and every one of them.

This is just the beginning for Jan. 29, 2023.

Tuesday
I really cannot believe how time has flown by. I am 78 and my right knee still hurts like hell after my “complete knee replacement” surgery close to two months ago. I fear for the future, though, for me and for my granddaughter, Coco. The country is becoming Bolshevized at a breathtaking rate. The fake use of racism charges is the lever by which the Left/media axis is tearing the nation apart. But I spend some time researching how much racism there really is now in America. I find very little.

But I’ll come back to that later. In the meantime, let me talk positively: I worry a lot about running out of money and becoming homeless. But when I add up my assets, I have to admit that the chances of that are not great.

I have one asset that is just breathtakingly valuable and even the IRS cannot take it away from me. Nor can old age or pain. I have my wife. She is a genuine goddess. A true angel. She is brilliantly smart, totally forgiving, beautiful beyond any other woman I have ever met — and beauty counts for a lot. She lies next me for hours while we watch 50-year-old editions of Perry Mason. I have the distinct feeling that I am in heaven. We rarely speak. Just holding her hand is the most powerful psychotherapy, the most powerful antidepressant, there is on this earth. She is a genuine saint.

I have said this before and I’ll say it again: a good marriage is God’s gift.

Saturday
A quick trip down to the desert just to check on my house in Rancho Mirage. It’s in a gated club called “Morningside.” We had a great meal and then headed back to L.A. It was a fine trip with my pal Judah driving my supercar, the Audi S8. We got off the 10 Freeway at Robertson and headed north into Beverly Hills. Just as we turned left on Wilshire, we passed a luxury car dealership. Standing in front of it was a large black man drinking from a bottle. As he spotted us — we were the only car on the road — he tossed his bottle on Wilshire right in front of us. Then he jumped with one big jump in front of my car and glared at us. I shouted at Judah to swerve around him, which he did. The man just stood there.

We went on to my house, only a few minutes away. What was that man doing? Looking for a lawsuit? Looking for suicide?

This was Beverly Hills. There is almost no more elegant residential neighborhood.

I was very happy to get home and lock the doors.

What is happening to our beloved America?