The more I see of the main stream media in America today, the more I am reminded of Pravda, the news agency during the Soviet Union. It’s rather alarming when the 4th Estate, which was always the last stand for truth and what was right, is being taken over by such bias. And I mean that not only from a political standpoint, but also with regard to other stories, and art, and movies. I do want to say that Hillary Clinton’s gloating and over confidence yesterday after the debate was nauseating and completely lacking class. Such hubris. She would do well to remember that Romney blasted Obama in the first debate; Kerry was deemed the winner against Bush in 2004 and both of those results proved to be no harbinger of victory, did they? The CNN scientific polls that showed her the winner of the debate, and again I say, nobody won it, polled a majority number of Democrats over Republicans. And while that may set a scientific mean standard, it in an of itself, is not necessarily scientific. What I saw on that debate stage was a programmed female robot sure of her success to win…and why I wonder? I saw a lot of heart and emotion from Trump.
Thought I would suggest something to you now that the Halloween season is getting underway. When I was a teenager, I found this book in the library in California that was based on a scary TV movie we watched. The movie was called, “The House That Would Not Die,” with a mature, silver-haired Barbara Stanwyck as Ruth. There was a line in it that said, “Ammie, come home.”
Two years later I saw a book in the library entitled, “Ammie, Come Home,” made the connection and checked it out. Read it many times through the years.
The other day I was going through my books and dug it out again and read it. Enjoyed as though for the first time. So, since it’s Halloween, I’d like to suggest you find it and read it. Because it’s a fine ghost story, takes place in Georgetown during the sixties, steeped in the 60’s culture but also grounded by an older coupled. The four main characters are people I love, the dialogue is fine and there’s a nice contrast and harmony between the mature Ruth Benneth and Professor Pat McDougal, her niece Sara and Sara’s boyfriend, Bruce. Good atmosphere, good sense of family, and a good plot. Don’t know why, but something is telling me to ask you to do me a favor and read it. Takes place in an old Georgetown mansion, in November, in the sixties…Please.
I forgot to mention that completely tacky plug Clinton wormed into her debate for her book–even to the point of telling people to go to Amazon.com to get it. It’s been a dud of a seller, guess she couldn’t help herself.
The most difficult thing for me watching last night’s riveting debate was the split screen format that kept a perpetual zoom onto Hillary Clinton’s smug, arrogant, smirking face. She reminded me of a blonde-haired, blue-eyed, complacent chipmunk who had just stolen another chipmunk’s winter store of nuts. Pleased with herself–for what?
So, having gotten that off of my chest I will make the following observations.
Trump did not lose the election in last night’s debate, a debate that was clearly out to lynch him due to the biased questions of Lester Holt, Holt’s inaccurate attempts at fact checking, and the numerous interruptions of Trump, compared to Clinton. Nevertheless, Trump held his own and got in some good wallops. Clinton’s attempt to paint all of us as inherent racists is something I resent, but, there was Trump’s eloquent description of the life African Americans and Hispanics face in the inner cities governed for the last fifty years by Democrats who only show up for election times and then say, see you in four years. I especially admire what he told her when she said he was part of the racist birther movement–a movement started by her own 2008 campaign–Trump told her he watched her debate Obama back in 2008 and that she treated him terribly, so “her holier than thou attitude meant nothing.” Remember the Clinton’s remark about Obama–“this guy should be serving us coffee.” Oh, that’s not racist in the least.
He slammed her on trade, slammed her on the mess she made in the Middle East and how she helped create Isis.
I think the debate was a draw, but only because there were a few doors Trump did not walk through completely–emails; Benghazi; lying before Congress; the Clinton Foundation. Holt offered no questions about those issues.
She viciously attacked him with accusations of being a racists and sexist–especially her last comments that were pretty much low blows. And here’s where I think the best part of evening came: He told her he was about to say in response something that was truly terrible, but decided to take the high road. And he didn’t go there. And everyone knows he could have easily responded about her own husband’s treatment of women, and her attacks on women who only told the truth about her philandering husband. He didn’t. At the end of the debate, when asked why he didn’t say this, his response was that Chelsea Clinton was a fine young lady who was in the audience, and he couldn’t say that about her father in front of her. That was HUUUUUUGE. And wow, that really is something a low down sexist pig would do, isn’t it? He revered the relationship between a father and a daughter; it’s much more than Clinton would have done.
I’m so tired today; this was such a difficult Monday. When I go home, I’m going to drink iced coffee so I don’t fall asleep during the presidential debate tonight. Something I definitely don’t want to miss. Of course, Donald Trump could come up with the complete cure for cancer, the solution to end poverty, give the ultimate answer for anything, but because it is Donald Trump, rags like the Washington Post and NY Times, not to mention mainstream media networks, will call him unenlightened, at best. What a surprise! The NYT endorsed Madama Clintonia. I think I’d have to put that headline on the floor exactly in the in the line of Fido’s aim, if I had a Fido.
Not too surprising, turning down to Bayou Land, Les Miles, coach of LSU football, was fired yesterday. He had a good run at first, a national championship, but his coaching in the 2013 National Championship, i.e., running the same play that ‘Bama could see coming each time a mile away, to be it succinctly, sucked. He has squandered a lot of his fine resources in recent years, but there was a time when he truly was a wonderful coach and he is owed tribute for that.
Are you watching the debate? Will Hillary have to leave the stage again and go to the toilet? Will they body exam her for ear plugs before it starts? Will Gennifer Flowers and/or Monica Lewinsky show up anyway and sit in the front row. Kudoes to Trump for not going through with the Flowers thing, unlike Hildebeast who invited Mark Cuban to sit in the front row to mess with Trump’s mind. Good luck with that one.
I regret giving away my hot air popcorn popper when I moved back to Old Metairie. I could pop some in the Dutch oven the old-fashioned way we always did, but they must be gearing the corn kernals for hot air poppers–it doesn’t taste the same in the big pot.
I’m starving, sleepy and not looking forward to driving home because I’m tired. The Saints are playing Monday night football against the dirty birds of Atlanta…almost wish Bono and Green Day would perform…as they did ten years ago after Katrina. However, I don’t think I’ll be watching the game.
This popped up on a completely unrelated search this morning, so I guess I needed to be reminded of it.
Anyhow, it’s Sunday, and this weekend has felt like a traditional fall weekend of old such as I love…believe it or not, once I get started, I enjoy housework and used to love spending Saturdays getting it done; as was yesterday. More to do, but as I said, stages…The sun is getting that golden autumnal slant I love so much although it is still hot as blazes. The Halloween decorations are up, Earl the Ghost is spinning in the wind of the ceiling fan, the windsocks are up on the back porch and last night during a commercial break for the heart breaker of the LSU and Auburn game, I got the orange Halloween lights entwined on the back porch railing and enjoyed them all evening. LSU game was a heart breaker. But it doesn’t seem like fall if they aren’t there on a Saturday night, and the sight of their purple and gold uniforms just cheers me.
Desperately wanted Italian food this weekend, so at 6AM chopped onions, garlic, browned a beautiful lean roast, and tomato paste and a pot of daube is slowly bubbling on the stove making really cool witches’ cauldrons sounds. Smells heavenly, a batch of herb loaf is awaiting the oven and I am enjoying my home completely. It’s Autumn, and that always makes me think, “God’s in is heaven, all’s right with the world.”
As one who generally eschews network series, I did tape two on FOX last night and Wednesday: “The Exorcist,” and “Lethal Weapon,” respectively. In a spate of idolness and industry, working in stages and resting, I watched both of them this morning and liked them both very much. So, I will program to tape regularly both. The actor playing Riggs looks more like Johnny Depp than Mel Gibson, but he does a good job, as does Damon Wayins as Murtagh. “The Exorcist ” is creepy and well-acted, with good characters. There’s also a hunky Hispanic priest, Father Tomas, who, in character, qualifies as a Father-What-A-Waste.
Cleaning in stages, decorating in stages, wondering what you’re doing this morning. Heard the call of, “Bloody Hell,” last night, looked at my watch and saw it was precisely 6:30PM–time for Wheel of Fortune. So, I watched, but couldn’t handle the segue way into “Hell’s Kitchen.”
Glad it’s Friday. Brought a friend to work and will take him home tonight. Refrigerator is a quelle nightmare, this weekend, clean or bust. Stopped at Joe W’s deli last night because, gasp, I haven’t felt like cooking…and had leftovers for lunch. A divinely creamy creamed spinach, cheesy and smooth mac and cheese, and half of a huge hamburger steak. Comfort food; felt so good on the tums and the palate. Last night, watched, Wheel of Fortunem, haven’t watched it in so many years when it was something we watched every evening. Pat Sajak and Vanna White look wonderful, and it left me with a warm, old familiar family feeling to see. Remember?
Wooo! I bet she went home and broke vases over Bill’s head after this one. She was seething, and no way on earth would I have let anyone see how angry I was because they used a Trump commercial—to see how much they could get her goat. And they got it.