On Punditry
I must confess that as a young boy, I never fantasized about growing up to be a political pundit. The truth is that even though I have been devoting most of my attention to the political scene for the past 16 years, if I were out walking and someone were to holler “Hey, pundit!” I would probably look around to see if someone like Charles Krauthammer or George Will was in the neighborhood.
I must confess that as a young boy, I never fantasized about growing up to be a political pundit. The truth is that even though I have been devoting most of my attention to the political scene for the past 16 years, if I were out walking and someone were to holler “Hey, pundit!” I would probably look around to see if someone like Charles Krauthammer or George Will was in the neighborhood.
It’s not as if I think they’re better than I am, but I suspect that the rules governing punditry demand that a practitioner stick to a single subject for at least 750 words. I can barely get through a hundred before something else that I consider equally important distracts me. I like to think it makes for a lively, readable style, but the fact is that, aside from myself, there are few topics that hold my attention for that length of time.
One of the drawbacks to doing what I do is that a lot of the people I write about have difficult names and sometimes it seems as if by the time I finally master the spelling, they have moved on. For instance, no sooner had I mastered “Mahmoud Ahmadinejad” then he was out and “Hassan Rouhani” was in. Right now, I live in dread that Chairman of the RNC “Reince Priebus” will give way to someone named “Frtwitz Hoxquyke.”
A reader knowing that I was going to be in Newport Beach to deliver an address to a Republican Women’s Group two days after the election, wondered how I would celebrate a Trump victory. He said he would be hoisting a cup of cocoa with a splash of an adult beverage. I explained that because my doctor said that booze would conflict with the meds I’m on because of my rheumatoid arthritis, cocoa was now my idea of an adult beverage!
In case anyone wonders how much I despise liberals, I’m willing to go on record and confess I can’t even stand the way those people clap their hands. I happened to see a campaign event about a month ago when Mark Cuban, the billionaire owner of the Dallas Mavericks and a generous supporter of Mrs. Clinton, joined her on stage. While she was giving one of her hackneyed “I Am Woman, Hear Me Whine” speeches, Cuban began to applaud. And wouldn’t you know it? — he clapped the same way as Hillary, along with nearly every little girl and dues-paying member of NOW does — with hands held upright and parallel, as if in order to play patty-cake.
It reminded me of the ridiculous way that willow-thin males at rock concerts used to look when they’d hold candles and sway to the music. Frankly, if I played for the Mavericks, I wouldn’t let Mark Cuban get anywhere near the showers.
Speaking of little girls, I can’t believe what the left-wing social engineers are doing to the military. People like the politically-appointed Secretary of the Navy Ray Mabus are doing everything in their power to make the military as effeminate as our college campuses. Whereas the mission was at one time to defend our nation and defeat our enemy, today it’s become a place where politicians endeavor to show how sensitive and tolerant they are by ensuring that women, children and transgenders, will feel equally at home. It’s only a matter of time until they institute safe zones where inductees can get away from those overbearing sergeants with their unpleasant orders to march, drill and do KP.
Worst of all, these lamebrain bureaucrats insist that their mischief be compared to the integration of the races that took place 60-odd years ago. The difference is that nobody ever doubted that black men had the strength and stamina to serve, and that they required nothing more than an open mind to be accepted by their comrades-in-arms.
That is certainly not the case where women and those who are terminally confused about their gender are concerned.
I realize there are some women who are stronger than most men, but soldiers are not most men. In no other field that demands extraordinary physicality — be it professional sports, logging or ironwork — do you find women capable of competing with men. Only in this one area where political correctness can be employed to make the playing field unlevel do we find women, no matter how well-intentioned or patriotic their motives, using greased tracks in order to make inroads.
I realize it’s too late to use as a campaign slogan, but it belatedly occurred to me that those who were unwilling to fully embrace Donald Trump as a presidential candidate might have been enticed by a bumper-sticker that read: “Better Half a Loaf Than Having to Settle for a Crumb.”
I’ve never been there, but relatives have just returned from a vacation in Aruba, a Caribbean island paradise about 18 miles east of Venezuela that’s owned by the Dutch.
In addition to photos of crystal blue waters and white sand beaches, they brought back the news that Aruba has a far better immigration policy than we have. Although Aruba warmly welcomes tourists, you don’t get to move there unless you possess a skill they consider useful or you have sufficient funds to convince the authorities that you will always be able to pay your own way, and never be a financial burden to their taxpayers.
In other words, it is sensible, meaning it is the absolute opposite of the one with which our politicians have saddled us; one that requires no discernible skills, no money and precious little desire to assimilate or even learn English.
Although I am or have been friends with a fair number of actors, including George Kennedy, Alex Rocco, Susan Strasberg, Jamie Farr, Lizabeth Scott, Norman Lloyd, Harvey Korman and Orson Bean, I fully understand why so many people tend to hold them in low esteem.
For one thing, they tend to be outspoken liberals, openly intolerant of those whose politics are in conflict with their own, and with an idiotic tendency to announce every four years that if some Republican or other wins a presidential election, they’re packing up and moving to New Zealand. And then, on those rare occasions when a Republican pulls off a miracle, they stay put, adding hypocrisy to their stupidity.
Recently, my wife and I happened to wind up talking about how much both of us disliked Gary Oldman’s acting. My curiosity piqued, I googled him to find out how many times I had seen him in movies. It turned out that my distaste for his ability was based on five movies. I also discovered that he was born 58 years ago in London, that he had been married four times — once to Uma Thurman for about 18 months — and that he is given to foolish statements.
The most foolish statement of all had nothing to do with politics, but apparently has a lot to do with the profession because I’ve heard equally inane statements of the same sort from other actors. It seems to be particularly true of English actors, but perhaps I’m basing that on anecdotal evidence. I do know for a fact, after all, that Laurence Olivier, John Gielgud and now Gary Oldman, have all felt the need to explain why they accepted a role in some movie they felt was beneath their talent.
In Oldman’s case, he apparently felt he had betrayed his God-given gift by accepting the role of a Russian terrorist in “Air Force One,” a high-budget thriller that involved Harrison Ford as the President.
Oldman explained this moral lapse by pointing out that he had children to support. A noble obligation, but this is a guy who has been making movies for over 30 years and for most of those years been able to command paydays of $3 million (“The Dark Knight”) and $5 million (“Lost in Space”).
This is a nation in which a normal person works for, say, 40 years and doesn’t earn anything close to what Oldman makes in a few months of playing dress-up. And yet the average guy still manages to raise a family, take care of his bills and pay off a mortgage.
Do people like Oldman not have any idea how foolish and patronizing they sound when they try to rationalize career decisions that involve millions of dollars?
Sadder yet, is Oldman’s head so far up his artsy-fartsy butt that he honestly believes that “Henry & June,” “Prick Up Your Ears,” “Sid & Nancy,” “Basquiat” and “Rosencrantz & Guildenstern,” are better movies than “Air Force One”?
It occurs to me that the next time Hillary Clinton says “Pardon me” to Barack Obama, it won’t be because she burped, and she had better have her checkbook handy.
