If you have no honor, then you don’t deserve any. If you have no respect, then don’t request it. If you’re a liar, then don’t ask for honesty.
If you can’t pay attention to people, then you don’t deserve attention.
These are the basic rules of life—the beautiful paradox. And the sword of justice is cruel. She strikes down the weak when he searches for a friend. She cuts the enemy when he calls out for mercy.
Life…the ultimate karma, ruthless in her payback. She severs the lying man in half. She drops the demonic woman to her feet. She’s a Queen of the Supreme Court. And her law arrives in the dead of night, sealed with an exclamation point. The walls of the profane are shaken. Everyone screams in horror…the lightning bolt of justice has arrived!
Do you fear God? Do you tremble in the wake of her judgement? You should, my friend. She plays a puppet master, looking on us with amusement.
Richard Wagner is one the greatest classical composers of all time. In terms of music, he was a giant; his compositions have captivated audiences for two hundred years. Of all the great musicians to come out of Europe, perhaps nobody stands taller than Wagner. To listen to Tristan and Isolde is to hear to the greatest height of human emotion.
But Wagner is controversial. First, Hitler was a fan of his. And secondly, Wagner hated Judaism. So I decided to give his most famous essay a read: “Judaism in Music.” How valid were his claims? What point was he trying to make?
These are the major points of the article:
Jews are Ugly People; Therefore, their Art is Ugly
Wagner believes that Jews are unable to make great music because they’re an ugly people.
The Jew — we wish to have nothing in common with a man who looks like that…a man whose appearance we must hold unfitted for artistic treatment — not merely in this or that personality, but according to his kind in general — neither can we hold him capable of any sort of artistic utterance of his [inner] essence.
Are Jewish musicians ugly? Well, two Jewish musicians came to mind immediately:
I’m 50/50 on this one. Some Jews do have unpleasant physical characteristics (like big noses, for example). But I’m not sure it’s universal enough to give 100%. Bob Dylan looks like a coyote, but Adam Levine could be a model. So I’m not sold on this point by Wagner.
Jewish Language is Garbled; Therefore, their Music is Garbled
Wagner argues that the Jewish language is aesthetically distasteful; therefore, it can never produce a high form of music.
In particular does the purely physical aspect of the Jewish mode of speech repel us… The first thing that strikes our ear as quite outlandish and unpleasant, in the Jew’s production of the voice-sounds, is a creaking, squeaking, buzzing snuffle (4)
He goes on to say that the Jewish foundation of music is in the synagogue, and that this music is unappealing on a visceral level:
Who has not been seized with a feeling of the greatest revulsion, of horror mingled with the absurd, at hearing that sense-and-sound-confounding gurgle, yodel and cackle, which no intentional caricature can make more repugnant than as offered here in full, in naive seriousness? (p. 7).
I agree with Wagner’s statement here. I grew up around Jewish people, and Yiddish is an aesthetically distasteful language. Many times, it sounds like somebody is clearing phlegm from their throat: “eck,” “dreck,” and bleck,” etc.
Most Americans have never heard Jews speaking in their native tongue. So they are unaware of how unpleasant Yiddish, in particular, actually sounds. For a listen, click the following link and be the judge: Sounds of Yiddish
Jewish Musicians Must Rearrange the Work of Non-Jews in Order to Receive Fame
Wagner believed that the Jewish composer/musician was not capable of creating original works of high greatness. So instead, they rearrange the work of great Christian composers. He points to Mendelssohn as an example:
Mendelssohn…was obliged quite openly to snatch at every formal detail that had served as characteristic token of the individuality of this or that forerunner whom he chose out for his model…he gave the preference to our old master BACH, as special pattern for his inexpressive modern tongue to copy (p. 8)
I am no expert on classical music. However, I tend to believe in what Wagner was saying here. Jews were always the minority in a European majority. So it only makes sense that they would copy the popular culture in order to gain success.
For a modern example, I thought of Bob Dylan again (Jewish, born Robert Zimmerman). Now I like Dylan’s music, but let’s be real – Dylan is widely known to have stolen his style from Woody Guthrie. So Wagner’s point is true in this regard. The Jewish artist will often reappropriate the style of the native Christians.
“Judaism in Music” is a solid read. Overall, I found most of his points to be true; in particular, that the Jewish languages are not euphonious. And secondly, that Jews tend to copy the works of Christian artists. Wagner deals with these topics in a way that’s heated, direct, and honest. In short, I have a feeling that his words will remain relevant for many years to come.
When I was a child, I was terribly shy. I would glance at the ground when speaking to people, afraid to look them in the eyes. I was even worse with girls. I could barely speak to them, stuttering and mumbling incoherently. For all I knew, they thought I was a deaf mute. The shyness continued well into my teens. In short, I was an awkward boy that was plagued with feelings of inadequacy.
As I became older, I became more confident. I traveled the world and learned about new cultures, customs, and places. During this time, I realized that I was simply another soul in search of meaning. Each time I returned to the United States, I grew more confident. Eventually, this confidence bled into my job. I began leading groups, speaking in public, and engaging people I barely knew. In short, I was no longer a child that lacked confidence.
The man that you become is more important than the boy that you were.
Are you holding onto old friends instead of making new ones? Are you basking in the glory of your teenage potential, instead of working on new skills and talents? Are you looking into a rear view mirror instead of the front window?
It’s time to challenge yourself to dream bigger. To think more of yourself….
The man that you become is more important than the boy that you were.
The Nine: Inside the Secret World of the Supreme Court was by Jeffrey Toobin; it was a New York Times bestseller, written in 2007. The book does a good job of adhering to its title, providing an interesting behind-the-scenes look into the world of America’s highest court. Its focus is on the last fifty years, in particular, which makes it even more pertinent.
Toobinis is also a legal analyst for the New Yorker and CNN has become something of a modern historian. His other books are historical accounts of recent events, such as the OJ Simpson case and the Obama presidency. This book is his most popular.
Overall, it’s a good read that I would recommend.
One of Toobin’s main points is that political bias is an integral part of the court – appointees are selected because they openly profess this bias. He points to examples from the Bush and Clinton presidencies, showing how these leaders would chose judges that promoted the respective party ideology. We’re left with the realization that when it comes to the Supreme Court, partisan politics come first and ethics come second.
Toobin also shows abortion has been the major issue on the Supreme Court for the last fifty years. Judges have been nominated based on how they intended to vote on this topic. Toobin conveniently neglects to mention the Jewish influence on abortion in America (he himself is Jewish) focusing on how the judges reacted to it instead. It’s a bit of tribalist self-protection on his part, obfuscating the culprit in order to further confuse the goyim.
The Background of the Individual Judges is Fascinating
The part that I found the most interesting involved the personal tidbits regarding the various candidates:
Anthony Scalia used to carry a pistol while riding the New York Subway; he was also an accomplished piano player.
Clarence Thomas used to hang out at NASCAR events, because he loved the sport and nobody recognized him.
Sandra Day O’ Conner used to try and play matchmaker for David Souter, who lived alone and expressed little interest in women.
These anecdotal accounts tell us a lot about the individual judges. It becomes clear that these tidbits are more than just superfluous stories – they shine a light on the character of the individuals involved. I felt that I knew the justices in a way that I never did before.
The Style is Clear
Toobin’s style is clear and direct. It was obvious that he was a skilled storyteller, knowing when to mix fact with fluff. He loads the paragraphs/chapters with examples that keep the book moving at a nice pace. The word choice is aimed at the common man. You can learn a lot from Toobin’s writing style, which focuses on keeping the writer engaged.
Overall, The Nine: The Secret World of the Supreme Court is a good book that should be read. It highlights the interesting background of the various individuals and is written in a clear and engaging style. My only critique, as I touched on above, is that Toobin presents his religion as perfect and blameless (every mention of Judaism is favorable). It would be comparable to a black writer completing a book, and conveniently making every black character out to be a saint.
To be content is to accept the conditions of life, good or bad. You don’t have money, so you accustom yourself to eating tuna fish from a can. You don’t have a car, so you accustom yourself to taking the bus. You don’t have a job, so you accustom yourself to receiving food stamps.
To be content is to supplicate. You change the insult to a complement, the loss to a gain. You play the Pollyanna.
Conversely, to be happy is to struggle. You don”t have money, so you knock down every door until you get some. You don’t have a car, so you work your ass off to buy one. You don’t have a job, so you pound the pavement until you do.
To be happy is to battle. You refuse to accept mediocrity, to conform to defeat. You punch back against the punches. You break free of the chokehold.
In short, it’s better to be happy than content. Happiness is the pursuit of a passionate life: contentment the acceptance of a denigrated one.
Recently, I watched The Karate Kid on television. I hadn’t seen the movie for thirty years, so it was fresh. I remember liking it as a teenager, even feeling a lump in my throat as Ralph Macchio won the karate contest at the end of the movie.
But things change as you grow up – especially when you swallow the red pill. You see through the pretty little lies, the clever conceits. You grow to realize that there is no Wizard of Oz: just some broken-down charlatan behind a curtain.
The Karate Kid is a perfect example of a movie that, upon reflection, fails to deliver. It’s actually a piece of anti-American propaganda. The director, Jerry Weintraub is, quite sadly, another in a long line of Hollywood Jews that uses the film industry to undermine America: i.e. Amy Shumer, Al Goldstein, etc.
Weintraub planted a questionable subplot into the movie, one that was irrelevant to the movie-at-large. What am I talking about? Well, here is the scene in question:
A Japanese Man Blaims the US for War Crimes During World War 2
An important scene in the movie is when Mr. Miyagi – a Japanese man – gets drunk. At the point in the movie, he is the father figure to Ralph Macchio. So the audience has built up a certain amount of affection for Miyagi by this point: his simplistic wisdom, for example. The audience is “on his side,” so to speak.
In walks Ralph Macchio. He finds Mr. Miyagi doubled over, crying. We learn that the old man is mourning the anniversary death of his wife, a woman that died in a Japanese internment camp in California during World War 2 (a place called Manzanar).
In short, Ralph Macchio learns that America was bad and that Japan was good. The complexity of World War 2 is simplified for the audience. It has all the depth of a WWE championship bout with the “good guy” in one corner and the “bad guy” in another.
Why did his wife have to die in an internment camp? Why did Jerry Weintrub chose that? He could have easily have explained her death as a car accident, cancer, etc. But he made the cause of death political, stirring up anti-American animus in the viewer.
The Reality: Japan Committed Atrocities During World War 2 That Far Exceeded the California Internment Camps
The Japanese committed horrific atrocities during World War 2. For example, let’s remember the Rape of Nanking:
Old women over the age of 70 as well as little girls under the age of 8 were dragged off to be sexually abused. More than 20,000 females (with some estimates as high as 80,000) were gang-raped by Japanese soldiers, then stabbed to death with bayonets or shot so they could never bear witness…Pregnant women were not spared. In several instances, they were raped, then had their bellies slit open and the fetuses torn out.
This was gore on a historic scale. If you for pictures online, you’ll want to vomit. Absolutely savage: beheadings, torture, etc.
I’ll save you the details, but the picture below is a small sample:
Comparatively, the Japanese internment camps were a cake walk. They could more properly be referred to as detention centers. Just read Farewell to Manzanar, which provides a detailed account of these camps. The narrator is unable to remember any atrocities. The main complaint is the inconvenience of being relocated.
Were the Japanese internment camps unfair? Probably. Were they comparable to the Rape of Nanking? Hardly.
The Karate Kid is a movie (in a long line of Hollywood movies) that promote an anti–American sentiment. It inserts a plot into the movie that is completely unnecessary, simply to sitr up hatred against the United States.
The culprit here is the producer, Jerry Weintraub (recently deceased). You would think that a Jewish man like Weintraub would have a little more respect for America. The United States opened its doors to the Jewish people, allowing them to seek refuge from Nazi Germany. For him to slam America’s involvement in World War 2 shows a complete lack of gratitude.
Weintraub should have been thankful for what the United States has done for the Jewish people; instead, he used his power to undermine the nation that gave them refuge.
*Disclaimer: Some people might question how responsible Weintraub was for the scene. To them, I pose this question: Do you think he would have bankrolled a film that had a pro-Nazi scene in it? You already know the answer, so I’ll leave it at that.
Johnny Sokko and his Flying Robot only lasted two seasons: 1967-1968. But during this time, it elevated the television arts. It was coined “Giant Robot” for short. For those that don’t know the program, you can watch a few episodes on YouTube. It was similar to other Japanese monster flicks, like Godzilla or Mothra.
Like many great things, it was unappreciated during its time. It was only during syndication that it gained popularity. Children in the 1970s, such as myself, became avid fans.
So what made it so great?
The Father Figure
A young boy calls on a giant protector to defeat evil – it’s a beautiful story, simplistic but universal. Giant Robot is a father figure. He’s a force that helps the child get out of trouble, that protects him from the bad guys. Giant Robot is the patriarch that every boy needs.
The father figure has been removed from television programs. It’s offensive to feminist leaders, who want a world of single mothers on Cymbalta. They’ve protested against shows with positive patriarchs, like “Father Knows Best.” Unfortunately, America has acquiesced to their demands. Now the father is now a buffoonish dolt like Homer Simpson, Al Bundy, or Ray Romano.
Johnny Sakko and his Flying Robot, created in 1967, occurred just before the second-wave feminism of the 1970s. In that way, it was like a Syrian refugee that escaped an airstrike. It got out…just in time! Thankfully, we can still find Giant Robot on the internet. We can be reminded of a time when young boys were allowed to respect a father figure. We can see what the world was like before the nation was degraded by degeneracy.
I’ve been reintroduced to the world of cartoons by my two-year-old daughter. During this time, I’ve noticed something very striking – all the cartoons are aimed at young girls: you have Dora the Explorer, Doc McStuffins, the PowerPuff Girls, etc. Many of these episodes are designed to build a girl’s self-esteem or challenge gender roles. For example, you frequently see the PowerPuff girls fighting the bad guys.
I’ve realized that Johnny Sakko and His Flying Robot would never be produced today. The very concept of a young boy as a central character would be seen as sexism. The writers would change the title to The Adventures of Janice and Johnny Sakko, or something like that. Essentially, we’d be forced to bow to the altar of equalism. Janice calls Giant Robot 50% of the time, while Johnny calls him the other 50%, etc. Or, Janice beats up the bad guys while Johnny watches from the corner (preparing young men for a future in cuckold porn, perhaps).
But I digress…back to the actual show. The best thing about Johnny Sakko and His Giant Robot were the monsters. They were corny, but entertaining. They’d be laughed at by today’s audiences, people who’ve grown used to elaborate special effects. But it was the creativity and kitsch of the monsters that made them lovable – they were like bad Halloween costumes, essentially.
These are my favorites:
These monsters gave the show a beautiful charm. They allowed children to imagine a world of fantasy, where the amazing is a reality. They built our imagination. They took us us away from the mundane, letting us roam in the world of make believe. The monsters were lovable, entertaining, and charismatic. They spoke to the heart of a male child.
Johnny Sakko and His Flying Robot was short lived…but it was a classic. It transported the television arts to a higher level. And for American children in the 1970s, it provided a welcome respite from the ordinary. We were able to put ourselves in the shoes of Johnny Sakko, calling on a Giant Robot to protect us from the bad guys.
It was Friday night, and my friends and I were gathered together like we did every weekend: atop a hill that bordered a row of suburban homes. We called it “the knoll.” We drank beer, smoked weed, and listened to The Grateful Dead on a Sony cassette player.
But this Friday night was different – a new girl had arrived.
Her name was Kim, and she was the friend of my buddy Louis. She was beautiful. Kim had auburn hair, a slender frame, and deep green eyes. I was smitten immediately. She was everything that an 18-year-old male could ask for.
At one point in the evening, I walked to the top of the knoll. The stars were shining like speckled paint, splattered on a black canvas. The planets were shimmering like diamonds. I stood there, amazed.
Just then, Kim appeared next to me. She had also walked up the hill. We stood there at the same moment, looking at the same stars. She too was speechless.
We started a conversation, talking about the sky. Then we talked about our lives. The light of a million stars was raining down on us. We were bonded by a transitory moment of beauty.
I drove her home that night. When I parked in front of her house, she held the door handle and gazed at me. The moment hung in the air. I answered her silent question by pulling her to my chest, kissing her on the lips. Two bodies collided together, becoming one. I felt her disappear into my arms.
And that’s how the relationship started.
So I ask you, my dear reader: Does your romantic life coincide with nature? Do they have anything in common?
When I was a young man, I said yes! And the night I met Kim was living proof. It was literally “written in the stars.”
So what happened? What became of us?
Well, she turned out to be evil. First off, Kim was a pathological liar. One day she told me that she was pregnant – but later, I found out it was a lie. She thought it was fun, a kind of sick “joke.” She just wanted me to suffer. I was so distraught that at one point, I broke out into hives.
To make matters worse, she was an alcoholic. And her drinking was filled with erratic behavior. She would lose her temper, start screaming, and make outlandish demands. One time, I took her to a work function. She drank too much and started yelling at my coworkers. I was mortified, and I apologized to my supervisor the next day.
Eventually, the relationship ended. She went her way and I went mine. But I carried the painful memory for years, unable to trust the women in my life. I was like a dog that had been beaten, backtracking and barking at the people that approached.
I learned a hard lesson. But it was an important one…
Romantic love has no connection to the natural world. The idea is a fairy tale, a pipe dream. How could I believe such nonsense? Looking back, I realized that I was brainwashed by the ballads of Peter Cetera: *”I am a man that will fight for your honor…” * Bleh! Phooey on you, Peter!!
Nowadays, when I meet a woman, I don’t care what’s going on around me. Haley’s Comet can fly by as we meet – I don’t care. A rainbow can magically appear as we kiss – again, I don’t care. The two things are random: a coincidence. To think otherwise is delusional.
Mother Nature is concerned with herself; she doesn’t read Harlequin romance novels.
Thomas Sowell’s book, Basic Economics: A Citizen’s Guide to the Economy is just what the name implies—a beginner’s guide to economic theory. I found the book to be excellent. I should’ve read it years ago, since it would have peaked my interest in money matters a bit more.
Several quotes stood out:
Speculation is Superior to Gambling
Speculation is often misunderstood as being the same as gambling, when in fact it is the opposite of gambling. What gambling involves, whether in games of chance or in actions like playing Russian roulette, is creating risk that would otherwise not exist, in order either to profit or to exhibit one’s skill or lack of fear. What economic speculation involves is coping with an inherent risk in such a way as to minimize it and to leave it to be borne by whoever is best equipped to bear it.
Gambling is like marrying a woman that you’ve known for three months (something the Major has done). Essentially, you’re creating a risk. You’re making a commitment to somebody that’s a virtual stranger. You don’t have the all the information yet; in my case, I found out that my wife was an alcoholic.
We gamble out of stupidity; but also, it’s a “lack of fear” as Sowell points out. We test the natural laws of the universe, believing that our intuition is superior. Occasionally, we get lucky and win. But most of the time we lose.
Conversely, speculation is like marrying a woman that you’ve known for three years. You minimize a risk (AKA, speculate). Her negative traits have already come to light, but you feel that you can manage them. You’ve seen the worst in her and feel that you can overcome the risk.
Smart people are speculators. They understand that risk is inherent in life, but they learn to manage it. Their good luck appears accidental to those around them: the product of a lucky break or even nepotism. But in reality, they calculated their decisions better. They like to skydive, but they also like parachutes.
The Federal Reserve Has Created More Problems than it Solved
The Federal Reserve system was established in 1914 as a result of fears of such economic consequences as deflation and bank failures. Yet, the worst bank failures in the country’s history occurred after the Federal Reserve was established (p. 24)
Sowell brings up something that few Americans even question anymore—whether or not the Federal Reserve is a good thing. He believes that it was a bad thing. It’s interesting to note the creation of the Federal Reserve: 1914. This was, of course, at the start of World War 1. Obviously, there were concerns about political stability at the time.
Fifteen years later (1929), the stock market crashed and we had the Great Depression. The Federal Reserve was unable to stop the problem they said they would solve. We’ve had several economic downturns ever since: take 2008, for example, when the housing market collapsed.
It’s a powerful lesson—a time of crisis can lead to bad decision-making. And this bad decision can then become a way of life.
When You Help Someone Economically, You Often Hurt Another Person
Nothing is easier for the media or for politicians than to present “human interest” stories about someone whose family has been farming for generations and who has now been forced out of the kind of life they knew and loved by the impersonal economic forces of the marketplace. What is forgotten is that these impersonal forces represent benefits to consumers who are just as much persons as the producers who have been arbitrarily selected as the focus of the discussion. The temptation is always there to try to solve the problem of those whose plight has been singled out for attention, without regard for the effects elsewhere. (p. 27)
That’s the crux of charity: the natural Christian tendency to “help thy neighbor.” Sowell points out how the media will manipulate this altruistic desire, promoting a hard-luck story that’s designed to shift the government coffers in a different direction.
The appeal to pathos is ubiquitous. We saw it before the Affordable Care Act was passed (countless stories about a poor person who could not afford medical care). Of course, moving money into someone’s pocket is often done by removing it from somebody else’s. This proved to be true with the ACA. The money that was used for people without health insurance was taken from another source – those who actually had insurance. This resulted in higher rates for those who were already covered.
Somebody always has to pay: the question is who.
Basic Economics is an excellent read. I think should be taught on the high school level; moreover, it would make a good read for Economics 101 courses at the college level. It explains the essential concepts with plain language, simple analogies, and logical organization.
A building has integrity just like a man – Ayn Rand in The Fountainhead
I’ll never forget the first time I visited Wrigley Field. I exited the train on Addison Street and there it was…like a Mecca before me. I’d been to the Roman Coliseum, Teotihuacan – but this was different. This was part of my history. I reflected back on the countless games I saw on TV as a child. I was overcome with nostalgia.
I was at Wrigley Field.
That emotional was valid. Something is magical (dare I say divine) about a baseball stadium. Something elevates the spirit to a higher plane and speaks to the human story. But what is it? What is that feeling?
Architecture is a Great Art Form
Baseball stadiums are, ultimately, great pieces of architecture. Today’s fields are designed by million-dollar firms, and their goal is to amplify the visual experience of the fan. They do this by weaving a landmark into the center field landscape: like the St. Louis Arch in Missouri, or the Three Rivers Bridge in Pittsburgh, etc. Today’s ballparks are not just sporting events – they’re visual ads, promoting a city to the TV viewer.
Let’s not forget…architecture is a great art form. More permanent that a poem, more tangible that a song. Frank Lloyd Wright said it best:
The mother art is architecture. Without an architecture of our own we have no soul of our own civilization.
Architecture is more than concrete and stone. It symbolizes the Weltanschauung of a people. It shows their spiritual greatness (or lack thereof). Just look inside the Sistine Chapel and be amazed at the brilliance of the Renaissance Italians: how they aspired to the lofty goals. Or look at the Parthenon, sitting atop of Athens: the mathematical majesty of its columns. Or Angkor Wat in the Cambodian jungle, with a history of the Indian people etched elegantly in stone. Look at all the examples and note the obvious:
Some people throw their their feces against the walls of a cave; others carve out brilliant stories of heaven and earth.
Architecture can explain a philosophy. Take the brilliance of the Christian Church, for example. The Notre Dame does more to convert people to its cause than a preacher does. Every day the tourist passes by and wonders…what’s behind this homage? What philosophy created this marvel? They enter and seek conversion. So architecture has a permanence. It stands in front of you in the physical realm, superseding the ephemeral nature of theories and suppositions.
Baseball Stadiums are the Modern Pyramids
Americans don’t have a Giza; our nation is too young for that. But we have something different: a living, breathing architecture. We have a Wrigley, a Fenway. A place that’s in the here and now. A place that breathes a history from its storied confines.
The stadium bonds a father to his son, a stranger to a stranger. It’s an escape from the riotous world on the outside. And while it’s been infiltrated by technology in recent years (Instagram uploads, Facebook status updates, etc.) it remains protected. We still have three hours to a game; you’re forced to pay attention at some point, whether you like it or not. You’re forced to connect with those around you.
Baseball stadiums are the American Giza. They perch above the skyline, inviting the visitor inward. They speak of countless celebrations. Thousands of games, bringing generations of people together.
Baseball Plays as a Background to the Human Experience
Baseball occurs behind the human experience. We go with our families, talk, etc. We point out things we see on the field. We laugh and eat hot dogs. Periodically, we cheer or boo. So there is something ironic—even through the game is occurring before us, it is actually behind us. Our lives come first, the game comes second.
This stands in contrast to something like football. We are drawn into the action, clenching our fists and cheering along with our favorite team. I’ll never forget the time I visited a Denver Broncos football game. At one point, an older woman was screaming with rage at the field: “Kill ’em!” “Get ’em!” I was frightened for humanity and the hair stood up on my neck.
The faster that society becomes, the more that baseball remain popular. It will become the niche pleasure. The place you can go to relax a bit, to escape from the hustle and bustle of the modern world. The neon lights, the traffic jams…they all dissipate within the walls of the ballpark. It will be a place to live first, to cheer second.
The modern world is not bereft of beauty. Look hard and you will find it; often, in the strangest of places. Baseball stadiums are proof of this. They are the pyramids of the modern world, the marriage of pleasure and pillar. The combination of column and carefree diversion.
Your humble narrator has visited 26 out of the 30 MLB stadiums. It’s a bucket list item, one close to completion. I’m continually pleased with what I find – one of the remaining spots in American culture that has not been excessively degraded. It remains a constant, a refuge for the average American.