Knitters go nuts

91bMAsgf8bL._UL1500_JUST WHEN YOU think America can’t get any crazier, this comes along.

A major online knitting society known as Ravelry — get it? — has banned Trump supporters because, as everyone knows, they are “white supremacists,” which will come as a surprise to Candace Owens, Ben Carson, Azealia Banks, the incredibly hot Stacy Dash, Dennis Rodman, Omarosa, Herschel Walker, Diamond & Silk and scads of others.

The list is lengthy, proving that not all black voters are nincompoops. Sadly, however, too many are. But the list is shrinking. See #WalkAway on YouTube.

Ravelry ironically claims it banned Trump fans to promote “inclusion,” proving that Ravelry members can knit, but they cannot think in a straight line.

This move touches me personally because my daughter is a rabid knitter and so is my child bride. A couple of years ago, I saw my daughter wearing one of those “pink pussy hats” online. Dear God, where did I go wrong? My child bride wears no hats of any sort.

While my wife does not actively promote the Trump presidency, she does appreciate what he’s doing and how he does it. She “gets it.” Thank me for that. She has a far better opinion of Trump than she does of Mexico’s president, whom she loathes, an opinion she reached on her own. I had nothing to do with it, though I do agree.

My child bride does not participate on Ravelry, which is a good thing. It would present the nutty knitters with a dilemma. They would have to ban a brown-skinned Mexican mestizo for being a “white supremacist.” How silly would that be?

About as silly as calling Stacy Dash a white supremacist.

Three cheers for old white men

Screenshot

A FRIEND SENT this, and I am sharing it with you. It is fun. And accurate.

The midterm elections above the Rio Bravo occur in less than two weeks. How will they turn out? It seems that a significant portion of the citizenry sides with the party in the bottom of the illustration, a fact that makes one’s eyes roll.

The whole lot of them should be sporting propeller beanies. And did you notice Michelle and Barry peeking in from the windows? A nice touch.

But let us pray that sufficient common sense will bubble to the surface, and the party in the top of the illustration will not only stay in the catbird seat but will increase its representation around the nation.

What stands out in the top illustration? It’s the prevalence of old white men. Let us pray that they continue to carry the day. They are your best bet.

For those who want to receive accurate reports on the ever-increasing successes of the Trump Administration, something you will never get from most of the American media, go to the White House website. Sign up for the occasional newsletter and other reports.

Yes, do what I do. Always a good idea.

All shrugged out

I MET AYN Rand, briefly, at a talk she gave in 1963. It was in a smallish meeting room in a second-floor walk-up in San Francisco. I was 19 years old.

I do not recall the circumstances of being there. I had not read Rand and only knew she was famous, and the talk was free. She was there with her sidekick Nathaniel Brandon.

Flash forward more than half a century. About a month ago, I decided to read Atlas Shrugged, her magnum opus. I skipped the warm-up novel, The Fountainhead, which is somewhat less wordy, and went directly to the 1,188-page Shrug.

One of my few conscious objectives on retiring 17 years ago was to read more books. I have always been a reader, but I decided to do even more. Before retiring, I had generally avoided extremely long books for no better reason than shiftlessness.

Plus, it interfered with my drinking.

Since moving over the Rio Bravo, however, and sobering up, I turned to some really lengthy works. War and Peace, Anna Karenina, The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich, etc.

All great books and, brother, are they long.

Tolstoy, I like. Dostoyevsky, not so much. I bogged down in Crime and Punishment. I made even less progress with One Hundred Years of Solitude, which I tried to read long before moving to Mexico. Maybe I should try again, but doubt I will.

Back to Ayn Rand. She’s famous, so I thought I should read her main work. I bought it on Kindle for under $5.

And I dove right in.

A wag described Rand’s works as twice as long as phone books and half as interesting. Shrug was interesting enough to hold my attention but just barely. A couple of times I decided to abandon the effort, but I soldiered on … and on … and on …

Until this week. I made it 67 percent of the way through. Kindle tells you that. I can go no further, pooped out.

Rand’s take on things is not complicated. She calls it Objectivism. You owe nobody anything, and nobody owes you anything. There is nothing metaphysical, no afterlife, no way to know anything except by reason. Your main interest should be yourself.

* * * *

My philosophy, in essence, is the concept of man as a heroic being, with his own happiness as the moral purpose of his life, with productive achievement as his noblest activity, and reason as his only absolute.

* * * *

It was surprising to see her curse notions (in 1957) that today are known as political correctness. For instance, the requirement to embrace the “correct” opinions and even, to a degree, the proper personal pronouns.

Rand and I do, however, share quite a few values of the libertarian stripe —  an aversion to taxes, a love of capitalism, minimal government and a dislike of obligatory altruism, something that should be a personal choice.

But I also believe in an afterlife. Rand did not.

Rand and I are polar opposites of Pocahontas Warren, Red Bernie, Crooked Hillary, Screaming Dean, Weepy Barry and all the other heroes of today’s Democrat Party, the party of income redistribution and pink “pussy hats.”

But if you’re ever tempted to read Atlas Shrugged or The Fountainhead, I suggest you go instead to CliffsNotes.