Just about everyone knows her. She’s a sometimes comedian and actress. She’s white, loud, and Left. Reaction to her appearance should be off limits in a PC world, but her physical looks are integral to her persona. Meaning she’s repulsive. In truth, her size and shape aren’t the issue. Were she suddenly and miraculously Playboy pretty, her repulsiveness would remain. But that statement is entirely prejudicial because you can’t separate her bulldog appearance from her boorish, profane behavior. You don’t know her preferred gender. You don’t want to know her preferred  gender. You do want to know why the U.S. Media Cartel gives her access to airtime. Despite their Left-leaning prejudice, television news producers usually prefer to retain reasonably tolerable women who have  reasonably engaging styles backed by reasonably qualified resumes. Rosie O’Donnell has none of those. Worse, she has all of the opposite. However, as you criticize their choice of talent, you must cut television producers a little slack. Their job — attempting to find Left Wing female apostles who are not physically repellent — is extraordinarily difficult — like finding Colin Kaepernick at a Trump rally.  For some time now, you have searched for either a scientific or psychological link between political ideology and physical appearance, especially in the feminist realm. Doubtless, the entertainment industry — Hollywood in particular — does produce lovelies who lean Left — but they are an exception. The likes of Rosie, Joy and Whoopie are more the rule. Picking on them may not be fair. They just happen to be parked on the Tube or appear as guests on quasi credible news programs, as if their opinions were at all plausible. You admit your opinions may not be more plausible, but at least yours are not broadcast on ABC. For the most part, opinions of the Left are not confined to blogs and books. “Lefties” prefer taking to the airwaves and streets. They especially gravitate to raucous demonstrations, with their shrieks and signs, ready to smash the opinions (or mouths) of anyone who doesn’t fit their Socialist dogma. Take a look at them. The majority of these youngish rioters fit the physical characteristics of typical leftist ideologues — reminiscent of then coed Hillary Clinton, sporting oversized Iris Apfel glasses alongside her bushy-haired squeeze Willie. Evidently, in addition to physical repulsiveness, another prerequisite of the Left activist is uncleanness. However, this unshapely and dirty appearance is not accidental, but premeditated. A double down strategy. You see, physical ugliness is the venerated brand identity of  the Left — as if to say, “we are the underprivileged, the downtrodden,  the persecuted, the poor working class who have been deceived, exploited and raped by rich white men.” Young women of the Left, strident in public, are the vocal leaders of this manufactured discontent. And they have Rosie as one of their idols. As usual, of course,  these “ladies” of the Left are liars. They are neither poor nor persecuted. The majority, especially those at universities, are privileged daughters (and sons) of well-to-do parentage. The Media loves them. They fit Media’s political purpose. To its credit, Media doesn’t pretend to dispel its Left image. The Media outlets make no attempt to pose as objective, professional journalists. That’s a good thing. You give them credit for wearing their bias on their sleeves. To further their political objectives, they brazenly distribute fake news, lie, slander and basically abuse their once principled profession. They survive– even thrive — for two reasons: Major advertisers have a profound self interest in selling their products and services; thus are willing to funnel millions to Media treasuries. Two, at least half the American voting public is too uninformed or woefully ignorant to see  Media for what it is — even though Media, in broad daylight, is saying by action: “Look at us, we’re prejudiced to the Left and we’re going to destroy Trump and anyone else we despise. And if we have to bear false witness, so be it.” There you have it. Rosie, her Socialist loving army and Media — a force to be reckoned with — looks aside.

With television leading the way, say goodbye to the English language. Nothing can save it. A majority of people — including teachers and other alleged guardians of learning — rape it every day. And no one’s there to speak for the victim. To be fair, there does exist a tiny, anonymous minority that still loves your Mother Tongue. These sticklers have respect for something called Grammar. You remember the word, right? Ugh. Grammar sets down, rather rigidly, the rules of any language. Many people hate rules because rules require toeing the line, memorization, practice and knowledge — things that annoyingly infringe on more important things like watching Bachelorette or posting on Facebook. And everyone knows you’re not cool unless you break the rules. Bill and Hillary Clinton broke a boat full of rules, got rich in the process and their popularity soared. What does that tell you? Well, when it comes to rules, you need to rule out politicians. Their behavior falls under the Ten Commandments and you don’t know a living soul who follows those rules. But you also don’t know architects, engineers, mechanics, carpenters, plumbers, physicians, chemists, biologists or musicians who dare flaunt the rules of their professions. They can’t. Mathematics, chemistry and biology are not subjective. Laws of the universe are immutable. One instrument or one voice that sings off-key on one single note shatters any performance. Sadly, the English language has been shattered — at the altar of Ignorance. The destruction takes place everywhere — in homes, statehouses, classrooms, board rooms — on the street. But the rapid mass murder of language doesn’t happen automatically; it requires cultivation — 24-7. Enter Television (and Radio). No one, especially the young, can escape the brainwashing. Children who hear the English language spoken badly by their heroes and heroines, every day on TV, reinforced by parents, teachers and peers every day — have no chance. It’s a done deal. So what is the big deal? Who cares? Over time, languages evolve in every culture to reflect changing demographics, new ideas and new inventions. Vulgarity is part of every society and rightly has its place. Don’t be snobbish and pompous about language. Don’t be a prig, like those stuffed shirts and snooty dames you see in old movies, putting on airs, acting is if they’re better than anyone else. Be real, for God’s sake. America wouldn’t have been a country if a bunch of uneducated farm boys hadn’t licked the Redcoats who spoke the King’s English. Nobody wants a bunch of scholars running around who can’t fix a toilet. Imagine if everyone spoke correctly. Boooring! You can’t answer the second question, but you can the first. The big deal is that a great country respects excellence. You hear coaches preach excellence on and off the field. Business leaders aspire to manufacture the highest quality products. School graduation speakers challenge students to aspire to be the best at whatever career they choose. You’ve never heard anyone — any educator, any celebrity, any sport’s superstar, any politician, and for that matter, any President of the United States, say, “My fellow Americans, I want you to love your country; and because I do, I ask you to respect, to honor our language — the English language.” Someone made the case  with this statement spoken long ago:

“Just think what you’re dealing with — the majesty and grandeur of the English language. It’s the greatest possession we have. The noblest thoughts that ever flowed through the hearts of men are contained in its extraordinary, imaginative and musical mixtures of sounds.”

Unfortunately, this statement is fictitious and falls on deaf ears. What we have in its place are real words spoken by real people, and heard by millions of other real people. You won’t bother itemizing the broken rules of your language. Somebody far more qualified did it in 1974. Journalist Edwin Newman (1919-2010) of NBC and Today fame wrote Strictly Speaking: Will America Be the Death of English? As a Television broadcaster, Newman wouldn’t be at all surprised that his profession, like Jack Kervorkian, is assisting in the execution of the language he loved. Donald Trump can’t save English, but he could delay the decay. He should name Melania to lead a new department — Save English Forever Foundation. He should urge Congress to make English the official language of the United States (gasp!). He should tweet grammatically. He should make English Renaissance a keynote of his next State of the Union. One day, with a little luck, you may hear a Heisman  winner speak like Henry Higgens. And perhaps Sean Hannity will discover he’s not in middle school.

The main room of the Country Club was empty. You’re alone — you and Goose on the rocks with three olives. You sit,  discard the loafers and rest bare feet on the long ottoman. Other seating — sofa, wing chairs and occasional upholstered chairs — are desolate, uninhabited. You have sat in this exact seat hundreds of times. In those times, she was most often situated at the left side of the sofa, across and somewhat diagonally to your right, You imagine her now, seated there — wearing black silk slacks, wedgewod blue cashmere sweater and black leather calf-high boots, glistening in the dim light. You study a wrinkle in the sofa pillow, as if concentrating on that impression might conceive her apparition as a movie scene might, designed to create sentimental tension. Deadened somewhat by vodka, you stare at that spot, as if willing the supernatural. “How about it, sir, you ready for another?” The question was a slap in the face — thankfully. The bartender was back in three minutes, with a fresh dose of liquid intemperance. Drinking alone isn’t the healthiest use of time, but the hard stuff does seem to unleash creative thought, at least according to psychologists who point to legendary literary alcoholics. Names like Dickens, Faulkner, Hemingway, Millay, Poe, O’Neill, O. Henry, Parker (Dorothy), Cheever, Capote, Joyce, Fitzgerald, Coleridge, Chandler, London, Melville, O’Hara, Waugh, Yeats and hundreds of others. Reportedly, history’s first recorded alcoholic writer was tragedian playwright Aeschylus, circa 525 B.C. Perhaps in his cups, he wrote this rather somber, yet encouraging reflection: “Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God.” For the most part, serious novelists and playwrights are a miserable lot. And why not? Generally obsessed by what’s wrong in Man’s Nature, they yearn to right those wrongs. They search to find purity amid a sea of depravity. They despise suffering and the inequality of existence. Irrationally, they seek to know the unknowable — perhaps to be God-like? Even so — you never fault them for irrigating their brains. Especially those who toiled as recently as the 19th century, when monarchies and aristocracies still trampled on freedom. When disease, slavery, hunger and suffocating hardship ruled the landscape as they did for the entirety of human history. Now you’re inclined to imagine how Charles Dickens or Jack London might regard and comment on the rampaging suffering of the 21st century. Either one would be appalled that 5% of Americans do not own a cell phone. That typical poor households subsist on only one car, air conditioning, two TV’s and DVD player. That mean spirited citizens dare to oppose government paid abortions and illegal immigration. That university students must bravely tolerate the abuse of offensive speech. Of course, the world doesn’t need a Dickens to tell this sorrowful story. Modern media companies delight in the suffering. They delight in promoting class envy, race baiting and fake news. And, unlike serious writers, they do it without benefit of the hard stuff. Sober as judges, they stir, stir, stir the pot. Meanwhile, with the realization that suffering is eternally omnipresent, you stir your third Goose and manage to sit at a solitary table in what by now has become a nearly deserted dining room. You don’t recall the meal in any detail, but do remember Aeschylus. Although he lived over 2500 years ago, this Greek dramatist left behind a valuable lesson for all mankind. Given a trusting attitude, pain and suffering offer the opportunity for wisdom and grace. Anyone can drink to that. You for one.