Guest post

Democrats stew in loathing

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Curl

(President Trump gave an excellent State of the Union address last night. No matter. Democrats loathe everything about him and, apparently, everything about America too. Guest poster Joseph Curl describes the situation beautifully.)

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If you were an alien being who swooped down to earth and landed inside the House chamber just in time to catch President Trump’s first State of the Union address to a joint gathering of Congress, you would think that one side of the room loved America, and the other sides literally hated its guts.

Praise to the U.S. flag? One side stood and cheered, the other side sat silent. Applauding America’s gritty veterans? A no brainer, right? Wrong. Republicans stood and clapped, Democrats didn’t budge. Freedom and democracy? Yawn, said the Democrats, as Republicans whooped and hollered.

When Trump touted the fact that black unemployment has hit a record low, you’d think the Democrats — the party of black America, seeking always to divide the races — would have at least fallen into a polite golf clap. Think again.

That’s right, black Democrats hate Trump so much that they refused to cheer the rise of the black community — or even acknowledge that whatever fears they may have had about Trump, he’s done, so far, anyway, all right.

Throughout the 80-minute speech, Democrats were downright glum. None apparently wanted to be captured by cameras applauding anything Trump said, but it all just got weirder and weirder as the night went on.

“That is why, tonight, I am asking the Congress to pass legislation to help ensure American foreign-assistance dollars always serve American interests, and only go to friends of America, not enemies of America,” Trump said. Applause from the right side of the room, crickets from the left. So, Democrats object to that pledge — that America only aid friends, not foes? That’s a tough sell in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, or Abilene, Texas.

When Trump told a heart wrenching story about two young girls killed by MS-13 gang members — their parents were in Trump’s box and sobbed softly — he said: “Tonight, I am calling on the Congress to finally close the deadly loopholes that have allowed MS-13, and other criminals, to break into our country. We have proposed new legislation that will fix our immigration laws, and support our ICE and Border Patrol Agents … so that this cannot ever happen again.”

The camera panned the room: One side clapping, the other side, nothing. In fact, boos and groans were heard when Trump began his story. Again, so Democrats are on the side of MS-13 and they DO want that to happen again?

It all got more silly. At one point, dissing the NFL, Trump said “we proudly stand for the national anthem.” Republicans stood. Democrats sat. So petty.

“Since we passed tax cuts, roughly 3 million workers have already gotten tax cut bonuses – many of them thousands of dollars per worker.” Democrats didn’t applaud that, either. They seemed sad — angry, even — that Americans are getting some of their money back. The Middle Class they’re always saying they fight for? No joy for them. But then again, Rep. Nancy Pelosi has called those “thousands of dollars” mere “crumbs,” so that makes sense.

At another point, Trump expressed solidarity with the people of Iran. “When the people of Iran rose up against the crimes of their corrupt dictatorship, I did not stay silent. America stands with the people of Iran in their courageous struggle for freedom.” Republicans cheered, Democrats sat stonefaced.

CRUX — THEY REFUSED TO APPLAUD FREEDOM IN A COUNTRY THAT OPPRESSES WOMEN AND GAYS! ALL BECAUSE THEY HATE TRUMP SO VERY MUCH.

A shot on Fox News at one point caught Democrats looking at their phones and chatting with each other during the speech. They had decided, en masse, that they wouldn’t listen to Trump — and they certainly wouldn’t agree with anything he said. But they missed a helluva speech.

In a section on North Korea, Trump told an amazing story that led to the picture of the night. He told the tale of Seong-ho, who in 1996 as a small boy tried to steal a lump of coal to trade for food. Exhausted and starving, he passed out on some train tracks and was run over and gravely injured. He underwent multiple amputations, but still had no food — his family sometimes ate dirt.

But he made it out. “Today, he has a new leg. But, Seong-ho, I understand you still keep those old crutches as a reminder of how far you’ve come. Your great sacrifice is an inspiration to us all. … Seong-ho’s story is a testament to the yearning of every human soul to live in freedom,” Trump said.

Seong-ho stood and, with tears streaming down his cheeks, held aloft those old crutches, worn and beaten. The room erupted in applause.

But only a smattering of Democrats stood. They couldn’t give Trump even this small moment — they couldn’t cheer one man’s escape from tyrannical rule merely because it was Trump telling the tale!

In his famous orations, former president Barack Obama was all about himself. In his first State of the Union, he said “I” nearly 100 times. In another speech, he praised himself a whopping 156 times.

But Trump was different last night. He said “we” 129 times, and offered his hand repeatedly to the Democrats.

Too bad they hate Trump so much they now hate America.

At the end of the speech, Trump launched in to some soaring rhetoric about America. The audience, moved, began chanting “USA! USA!” Rep. Luis Gutierrez — an advocate for letting illegal aliens stay in America — was clearly triggered. So distraught was he at the chants that he rose quickly and fled the House chamber.

That’s how much Democrats hate America.

Mexican life

The Prussian and the hippie

HAVING HAD three wives means that my life on occasion has been visited by the ancient Chinese curse: May you live in interesting times.

I’ve never decided if I should be envious of people who get married young, and stay hitched to the same person till they die. I appreciate that there’s a long-term solidarity, but they’ve missed the fun times of shrieking terror that multiple spouses occasion.

ox
Till death — or the farmer — do us part.

Hitching two people together long-term usually is a challenge because folks can be quite different. I’ve read that two-ox teams pull badly till they become accustomed to one another and learn the other’s personality. Sometimes the oxen never get in lockstep, and must be paired with other, more amenable oxen.

Are humans and oxen really all that different?

My first wife was quite messy, which was not surprising considering the chaotic home in which she was spawned. That one aspect was a challenge for me. We only lasted five years, but her messiness had nothing to do with my departure.

prussianLet me inject here that a Prussian drill sergeant and I share many traits. You can see how this could provide problems in a matrimony.

My second wife was fairly well-organized, so that was not an issue, which explains, in part, why we were together almost two decades. We likely would still be together if she hadn’t become smitten with an illegal-alien yard boy half her age.

I think my Prussian-ness was a major factor. How much further is it possible to stray from a Prussian drill sergeant than into the arms of Mexican yard boy?

Wife #3, my child bride, lacks my Prussian personality, but it’s not been a problem because I am older, wiser, softer. When we first met, I asked what her worst traits were, and she said disorganization and distraction.

She was not lying.

hippieShe’s something of a hippie in spite of being politically conservative. I watch her life swerve this way and that, and I marvel, usually with my mouth shut.

I think the path to a successful marriage often is no more complicated than keeping your mouth shut.

Mexican life

Miles of counter space

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Shot last night just before I hit the sack.

ONE OF THE MANY advantages of designing your own home is that you need not follow the dimensions of other people. And size does matter.

In the five-year period between when my last wife tossed me on the street in Houston in favor of her new boyfriend, an illegal-alien Mexican half her age,* and the day I boarded a Delta jet in Atlanta headed to Guadalajara I lived in three apartments in Houston.

Their kitchens were laughable in size. The strangest of all was the second place, a huge, two-bedroom, living room, dining room, office, spread that had a kitchen you could hardly turn around in. And the counter space? Virtually zero.

The other two abodes were not much better.

When I designed the Hacienda on graph paper (no architect in sight), an effort I shared with my child bride though I did most of it, I decided to go big.

The kitchen counter measures a bit over 23 feet, and yet my wife and I bump into one another if we’re both fixing something. And that 23 feet does not include the separate work table there at the right, added a few years later.

Then there’s the bathroom where again I decided to go long. The bathroom counter is almost 11 feet, but it has a major defect, a reflection of my stupidity. There is just one sink. It never occurred to me to install two sinks, which is all the rage.

Lord knows there is space. Again, we bump into one another.

I am tall, and all my life I’ve been bending over to get under showerheads which sprayed me nicely … on the back. The two showers here come straight down from high overhead. It’s really sweet, akin to bathing in a jungle waterfall.

Designing your own home is preferable, and if you do it in Mexico, cheap.

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* The relationship did not last long. Shocker!

(Note: Tomorrow marks the end of President Trump’s first year in office. I have an exciting roundup of his remarkable accomplishments. Stay tuned. You don’t want to miss it. Manaña on The Unseen Moon where the news is biased but never fake!)

Memory Lane

The in-between time

CHRISTMAS, FESTIVUS and Kwanzaa are all behind us, and we’re careening toward the New Year. It’s an appropriate time for memories.

I went to the photo album, found these shots and, being a sharing sort of fellow, I’m putting them here for you … and me.

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This is the house I grew up in, the Arlington area of Jacksonville, Florida. The house looked far better back then. This photo was taken by my daughter about five years ago. There was no sidewalk in my time, and the yard was well-tended by my father. There was a mimosa tree to the left. There were flowers everywhere.

The house was painted aquamarine.

My parents purchased this place brand new in 1952. I lived there from the Third Grade until I graduated from high school. The window on the left was my parents’ bedroom. The one in the middle was my bedroom. My sister’s room was in the rear. Due to my father’s drinking, this place does not hold fond memories for me.

houstonhouse

This small apartment is in a high-rise called the Houston House or, as it was known locally, the Heartbreak Hotel due to the number of divorced guys in residence. It was where I moved when my last wife decided to take up with an illegal alien yard boy half her age in 1995. Like the home above, it too holds no fond memories.

But it had a spectacular view. I was on the 22nd floor.

fly

I’m including this shot just for the heck of it. It was taken in rural Texas, as the time stamp clearly indicates, on July 30, 1994. That was about a year before my second wife developed goo-goo eyes for the yard boy.

That’s me on the right, and we’re about to take off in an ultralight. I already had a private pilot’s license, but I didn’t know how to fly ultralights. The guy on the left was the pilot. I never got around to learning ultralights. Life intervened, and not in a good way.

patio

The photo shows a happy time, my Mexican wedding in 2002. Well, for the two on the left, me and my child bride. I was 57 at the time, and she was 41. The not-so-happy folks are the other two, my wife’s sister who spent the evening glowering with jealousy. Yes, that’s a double-dip ice cream cone over her head. Irony.

The guy at the right was her husband. Long-time readers here may remember him as The Eggman. They later split up, and a couple of years after, in a cry for sympathy, he shot himself with a .22-caliber pistol. He did not intend for it to be fatal, but it was. He now lies beneath the floor of the Basilica here on the mountaintop.

Forevermore. Like the Raven.