My subject for this series is the Great Revolution that has obliterated our knowledge of human nature, eliminated the distinctions between man and beast, male and female, adult and child, just and unjust, beautiful and ugly, and re-invented the human race as a hybrid, part invertebrate and part robot.
The initial auspices for an endurable trip turned out to be justified. Most people were unmasked at O’Hare and on the plane, we left Chicago and arrived in Rome on time, and, although we arrived early at the Azeglio on Via Cavour, two blocks from Stazione Termini, the hotel had one of our rooms ready so we could stash the bags, take a walk, and eat a lunch that, while it was not offensive, was nothing to write home—or this website—about. Rome has changed in two years but the signs are not dramatic. A significant minority wear masks on the...
The trip begins on an auspicious note. Yesterday a Trump-appointed Federal judge in Florida struck down the Biden administration’s imprudent and unlawful extension of the mask mandate in airports, airplanes, etc.
At this point in John’s narrative, even a reader as obtuse as I am should begin to see the connection with Chapter 8, in which the Pharisees had denounced Jesus as a Samaritan and a demoniac.
As a child in the 1950s, my father–not a conservative but a Democrat–discouraged us from going to Disney movies, though he did not object to anything about Duckburg and its citizens.
Last Train to Dixie, a collection of essays by Jack Trotter, was published last year by Shotwell Publishing, a Southern press presided over by the grand panjandrum of Southern historiography, Clyde Wilson.
Of course the real interest in the question lies not in the grammatical confusion that partially obscures the meaning, but in the easy assumption that human suffering must be caused be caused by the sin of an individual himself or by the sins of his ancestors, whose guilt he has inherited.
September 15th, the day of liberty for Independent Padania, dawns fair and warm. I hurry into the center of Olginate–a small village, now suburbanized like so much of Lombardia–where I board a bus with the the local leghisti.
Of the first generation of top Hollywood directors—Griffith, DeMille, Stroheim, Walsh, Curtiz, Chaplin, Dwan, Fleming, Brown, Lubitsch, Sternberg, Ford, Borzage, Vidor, Keaton, Hawks, Wellman, Capra, McCarey… W(oodbridge) S(trong) Van Dyke II (1889-1943) is the most unjustly forgotten and underrated.
I have been asked, many times, to explain my objections to John Locke and his theory of natural rights and the social contract. One way to address that question is the discussion of Sir Robert Filmer Patriarcha I undertook some years ago.
