Chris Cuomo has finally succeeded in attracting public attention. Cuomo was with his family in a bar on Shelter Island, New York, when a Dittohead stranger approached him and made the mistake of calling him “Fredo”—a not very imaginative nickname coined, apparently, by Rush Limbaugh. Cuomo exploded
I don’t own a TV. But during the last week I occasionally have been watching the TV news, which has been dominated by the killings in El Paso and Dayton. FoxNews has been defensive; even Tucker Carlson, by far the best host. CNN, which is nothing but lies. As Tucker said, CNN and other networks – as well as the NY Times, WaPo, etc. – replaced the Russia Hoax with the Racism Hoax. Although I haven’t watched it continuously, which would have landed me in nearby Hoag Hospital’s psych unit, from what I could tell CNN never mentioned the Dayton...
I’ve seen a lot of different iterations of “conservatism” in my life, so I think I’ll pass on the new National Conservatism movement, which just held a conference in Washington, D.C. The least they could have done was hold the shindig out there in the “nation,” somewhere down in Flyover Country. How do you find out if it “plays in Peoria” if you’re not in Peoria? I’m also allergic to using “nationalism” instead of “patriotism.” Dr. Fleming criticized “nationalism” here. He makes the salient point that “nationalism” erases localism. It’s ironic the National Conservative movement is run by something called...
Called “Google Camp,” presumably because to Google’s event organizers being camp is always a good thing, the party drew some 300 of the great and the good who had used 114 private planes and an armada of megayachts to get here, expanding Sicily’s carbon footprint, by nearly one thousand tons of carbon dioxide, to the size of a Neanderthal’s flip-flop.
There is no secret plot or conspiracy to undermine our national sovereignty, unless by conspiracy we mean the collective will of the political class. The Bushes and the Clintons would be rightly outraged if they heard rumors of such suspicions. Opposing globalization today is like criticizing affirmative action, challenging women’s rights, or pointing out that homosexuals are a serious drain on our finite medical resources.
Events of the week gone by have rent me in twain, with tears of impotence and helpless laughter contending for preeminence. The tears came from watching the Kevlar-clad armada of Putin’s private army, known euphemistically as the National Guard, stomping on women and children in the center of Moscow. Trust me, I’m not a claret-swilling sentimentalist who blubbers at the sight of roadkill. Moreover, I’ve seen as much footage of police brutality in France, in Germany, and in the U.S. as the next guy. But this was different. Probably like the gentle reader, I have in my mind a composite...
For something like a decade I’ve referred to America’s Rancid Ruling Elite – RRE. Ruling elites are supposed to protect their people, giving them at least reasonable leadership, as well as cultural splendor. In return, they get to run things and enjoy a lot of money and prestige. Ours do the opposite: They parasite off the rest of us while attacking us. Ultimately, it’s self-defeating, as they will end up like the French and Russian elites of 1789 and 1917, headed for the guillotine or the gulag. No decent elite would have allowed the Mueller farce to begin, let alone...
I often think that when the devil was designing his snares, he fretted about the most basic things like increased efficiency, ease of operation, and mass appeal.
Whether it is merely a temporary aberration, a ray of hope, or purely a method of getting new music (that might actually be performed) published, a number of composers over the last decades have returned to some semblance of tonality and melody. Few things divert my mind and heart from the ugliness of current politics and popular culture better than the beauty of creation during high summer or excellent music. These two poems, on summery themes, and the musical settings of them I have selected may momentarily lift you from the drudgery. Gwyneth Walker is a Vermont composer who resides...
Now to Agrigento, nay, to the selfsame hallowed spot where our Foundation’s eponymous helmsman passed the better part of last winter. The annual weekend of mulberry picking was upon us, with tubs of pure grain spirit wherever you looked – the better to preserve the foragers’ prize in the cold months to come – and white shirts splattered with the fruit’s arterial blood, crimson as the famous Kensington Gore stage prop. As the day’s harvest was jarred and dinner drew near, a remarkable spectacle unfolded. The people in a house next door harbor a multitude of cats – perhaps as...
