Successful civilizations come … and go. More often than not, it’s their very success that causes their departure. Sometimes they fall rapidly, mostly by military conquest, but other times it’s more gradual, and you get the first hint this way:
A bad smell.
Western Civilization now needs industrial-strength deodorant.
Academia has fallen — watch the video above by the perceptive Bill Whittle — and it’s impossible to overstate the significance of that. And recently, in the United States, democracy collapsed too. If you think Biden won 18 million more votes than Obama won in 2012, I have a London Bridge replica in Mexico’s northern desert you can buy for next to nothing.
The aroma grows worse by the day. If you don’t notice, it’s because you vote Democrat above the border, but the stench will overwhelm even you in time. Revolutions eat their own. Ask the French. And the Russians. And the Mexicans.
One aspect of the stink is the apologetic society.
Whittle addresses that beautifully in the video below.
Have a nice day. While you still can.
At times I feel like Winston Churchill talking to Neville Chamberlain.
I READ A LOT because I’m smart, or maybe it’s the other way around.
Aside from my frequent mentions here that I often read a spell during the late afternoons down on the plaza, accompanied by a café Americano negro, I don’t do book reviews nor do I plug them, usually. But I’m gonna make an exception.
It’s written, along with a Welsh ghost writer named David John, by Hyeonseo Lee. I believe all Koreans are named either Lee or Park. That’s not the name she was given at birth but one of the seven she picked up along the escape route.
She fled North Korea. It’s not the first book I’ve read by North Korean defectors. It’s the second or third. But it’s by far the best, the most gripping, the most incredible.
This book was on the New York Times Best Seller List in 2015, so you may know of it. I pay no mind to best-seller lists anywhere, so it was new to me.
Kindle recommended it.
Something I did not know was that although North Korea’s southern border, the one with South Korea, is heavily guarded and difficult to pass through, the northern border with China is a walk in the park to cross. The problem with escaping that way is that the Chinese will send you right back if you’re caught.
Lee was just 19 years old when she crossed into China. The years-long, often harrowing tale of her trek to South Korea and then the added, equally gripping, story of how she managed to get her mother and brother to South Korea too is something you don’t want to miss. It’s a story of terror, love, deceit, cunning and sheer luck.
It takes you through China, Laotian prisons, Vietnam and tense bus journeys.
North Korea is usually referred to as communist, but it’s about as communist as I am. It’s an old-school Oriental despotism that’s totally misplaced in today’s world. A bit more communist, but not all that much, was Stalin’s Soviet Union and Mao’s Red China.
These facts support the common leftist claim the communism has never really been implemented, and that is quite correct. When the pie-in-the-sky notion of communism is tried, human nature swiftly comes into play, and despotism follows.
This is a wonderful book. It ends happily, and Lee is beautiful. How has this not been made into a movie? She’s in her late 30s now and lives in South Korea.
THIS TALE OF terror is true. It was posted by me almost a decade ago on another edge of Mexican cyberspace.
But due to the passage of time, plus the fact that the audience has changed — new people have come in, and others have stormed out — I feel justified in repeating this Christmas grotesquerie.
We were newly arrived here at the Hacienda. If memory serves, it was our first holiday in the new home. We put up a huge Yuletide tree and invited a horde of Mexican relatives, which is the only kind of relative I have now, which saddens me deeply, but that’s another story.
A brother-in-law whom I dubbed the Eggman in those distant days (yet another unrelated yarn) was in charge of the festive meal. Mexicans do their Yuletide dining late on Christmas Eve, not on Christmas Day.
Due to the many people on the guest list, the Eggman purchased an entire sheep and ordered it catered and cooked.
This main dish arrived on the afternoon of the 24th. It looked like a brown meaty stew in a massive tub, and it required two people to tote it into the kitchen, placing it on the floor.
Flash forward a few hours, to 10 p.m. or so, music was playing, people were eating here, there, everywhere, because there were more folks than suitable seating.
I had ladled one serving of the stew into a bowl, and found it tasty. It went down nicely with Coca-Cola.
Returning to the kitchen, bowl in hand, I bent down to the tub and submerged the ladle. At that moment, he rose to the surface from the murky depths. The sheep’s entire head, its dead eyes staring me squarely in the face.
I froze in place, dropped the ladle, turned quickly and decided I had eaten enough for one Holy Night.