Before curving a shovel into the fertile soil of religion this morning, a passing word to my worthy colleague, the estimable Mr. Sisa, regarding his smartly crafted defense yesterday of the leaky concept of global warming at all costs. With knees of warm marmalade, I embrace the cautious philosophy defined yesterday in the Washington Post by the Danish environmentalist Bjorn Lomborg: “We must accept that climate change is real, and that we have helped cause it. There is no hoax. But neither is there a looming apocalypse.” Do I have to define “apocalypse” for the hysterical, left-wing, mostly anti-religious environmentalists? Consider this, friends: Arms flailing, the disciples of Inevitable Global Warming run through our streets. They cry out that an unborn polar bear may die in 2078 in Little Rock because of global warming. Yet, tomorrow’s weather remains impossible to predict. The weatherman was wrong last Thursday, Friday and Saturday about the weather in my neighborhood. Somebody call the polar bear’s next-of-kin.
Fortunately, you do not have to be an aficionado to appreciate certain forms of art.
Last evening, I was gazing out the country-wide northerly show window of S B London’s second-story Sunset Boulevard gallery in Silverlake. Gradually elevating your view from the clatter and clutter at street level, your eyes are lushly rewarded with a million-dollar vista of the very best that maximalist Hollywood and minimalist God, not in that order, can design.
I was as mesmerized by the breathtakingly beauteous shape of Father Nature’s artistry as I was the first time I stood there, in the window of Ms. London’s gallery, one fast year ago this week.
Justice Clarence Thomas rates an A-plus for prescience. As he suspected, the first four days of this week, surrounding the publication of his new book, have been violently illuminated by shooting flames spat out from the crude torches wielded once more by a familiar-faced lynch mob.
Liberals are crawling along the ceilings, down the walls and from out of their rabbit-holes to punish a black man for what these creative thinkers call his anti-black convictions. Blacks are supposed to be victims. Doesn’t the hoary heretic know that?
Ever since Hillary and Barack announced during the summer that, if elected, they will unilaterally adopt a mandatory national program of racial egalitarianism, Diane and I have adopted a new and furtive
routine in the evenings after dinner.
You see, we take candidates’ threats seriously.
The distressing scene last night was enough to make the hypercritical Mr. Blackwell — is he still breathing? — blanch.
On the regal occasion of Opening Night of the Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra season — marking the return of the gloriously talented Conductor Jeffrey Kahane to smart Royce Hall on the UCLA campus — hundreds of low-brow women arrived attired in the most unappetizing outfits they could cobble together.
Call ‘em dames, not ladies because they have forfeited the respectful title.
You can always tell a black man’s politics by the way the 99 percent of the black community that is liberal — and white liberals — treat him.
Pull up a chair. This gets grisly.
I see where Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas has written an autobiography, “My Grandfather’s Son,” which becomes available on Monday
An uncommonly sad day for America dawned several hours ago.
Academia once again appears to be out of control.
At the naïve invitation of Erwin Chemerinsky-like professors, the Dictator of Iran not only is scheduled to speak at the prestigious Columbia University this afternoon, roses will be strewn in his path.
With the onset of the longest Jewish holiday this evening, Succos, here are thoughts I hope will stimulate you until we return on Sunday:
I was ruminating about the curious sheen that will overtake City Council meetings next May after three veterans are term-limited out. Scott Malsin — the probable next Mayor — and Gary Silbiger will be the holdovers, flanked by newcomers.
Who will provide the ballast?