Being the continuation of InstaPunk and InstaPunk Rules
Waldron and Croce. Huh?
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I got into a fight with my first publisher, Peter Workman. He objected to ‘R. F. Laird’, thought it sounded too F. Scott Fitzgerald for his taste. So I laid down the law. Not the first time. I told him I was the third R. F. Laird in my family, and I was honoring all of them, Senior, Junior, and the Third. Should I have signed my work Robert Fisher Laird, III? He conceded.
Croce died ar 30. Good God. If I’d have died at 30, there would be no Boomer Bible. All that would be left is The Reckless Twenties, finally released last week.
What’s the other name here? Arthur Waldron. The real luminary I knew at Harvard. He was a graduating senior when I was a freshman. He has his own wiki page.
Horse Puckey. (Took me three tries to get past Autocorrect on that one) Why life is like what life has become. I don’t know who the wiki picture is a picture of. It’s not Arthur Waldron. Who looked then, without a total head rebuild, like Lincoln without the beard. Arresting for sure but not John Cusack-ish. Oh well. Wiki sucks. We all know that.
He’s become a China scholar. In those days he was a Russia scholar. He used to amble across the street to Adams House, where he planted himself in their common room with a pint of milk and made them irate. See, he was a born-again Constitutionalist, having been a Soviet Communist after Taft, with a year abroad in Russia, and he was feeling his oats. He knew everything and they knew nothing. He was the Harvard valedictorian. Yeah. That smart. Adams House. Potheads and political science A-holes with mimeograph machines. No match for a Waldron. He thought I was wasting my talent, my life. I wasn’t, of course. But he was. IMHO.
But back to Jim Croce. South Philly guy. Or that other midwestern fella my wife loves more than me. Her theme song. And I haven’t even mentioned Tom Waits.
He says ‘quicker.’ I say ‘faster.’ It all comes out in the wash. Would I lose an argument with Arthur Waldron these days? Guess it would depend on who was keeping score. Do I admire Arthur Waldron? You bet I do. But I would never trade with him. He can’t say this.
How this post came to be. Saw this promo from the wrecked icon called the New Yorker and was reminded of a post put up here some months ago: Why didn’t I crop out the squatting woman? Truth in advertising. That’s not true, actually. In fact, it’s a lie. I wouldn’t have stumbled on this lovely screenshot if it weren’t for an image I’d used in a Facebook post some days before: You won’t believe this, but while Iwas posting the pic just above, my wife showed me her ROFL pic from the The Babylon Bee… …Which is obviously directly relevant to the rantings of the Glasser person who thinks everything Trump has ever done or will do is a mortal sin against the Manhattan scripture called The New Yorker. Don’t get me wrong. I used to love The New Yorker. Then they surrendered it to the Smart Women, under the subscription-shrinking stewardship of Tina Brown, whose legacy has led gradually to the dollar-a-copy pitch shown in the first graphic above. Today’s mag looks a like the old one, but tha...
We, of course, were as offended as anyone by the President’s evident pleasure in being depicted as Creator of the Universe. His later insistence that it was just a plate of food that happened to have blond hair was disingenuous to say the least. There. That’s out of the way. Putting aside all the bluster about blasphemy by secular observers whose relation to religion is probably a checkbox item, I believe there is a real story lurking in all the feigned outrage. a neon flash of double standards. It’s a media story, probably meaningless to those who aren’t ancient enough to have witnessed Obama’s first year in office. He was kind of everywhere, on every news interview program, every newspaper headline, and every magazine cover. (For the youngsters in the audience, there used to be things called magazines with words and pictures in them. It was a big deal to be featured on their covers.) If you weren’t a big Obama fan — and maybe even if you were — this got to be kind of sickening a...
Lewis Hamilton wins Seventh World Championship at Formula 1 Grand Prix in Turkey: A stunning drive from Mercedes’ Lewis Hamilton in the Turkish Grand Prix gave him his 10th victory of the season – and, more crucially, saw him claim the seventh drivers’ title of his career, to equal the record of Michael Schumacher, as Racing Point’s Sergio Perez and Ferrari’s Sebastian Vettel completed the podium after a thrilling race in Istanbul. Hamilton had started the race in sixth, risen to third midway through the first lap and then dropped back to sixth by the end of Lap 1 after an error at Turn 9. But a decision to change his intermediate tyres just once saw Hamilton drive a masterful race to claim victory by over 25 seconds from Perez. The win alone was enough to claim championship #7, but it was even more assured after a disastrous race for Valtteri Bottas - the only man who could have stopped Hamilton winning the title today - who spun six times en route to a P14 finish.
Haven’t been here for a while. Cooling my heels on maybe half a dozen posts for which I have content materials assembled and the writing just awaiting the typing I don’t feel like doing against the relentless pass rush of AutoCorrect/AI. Stranded, I guess. My principal emotion is akin to what I felt back in 2019, when I took a year off from this site because who can write about dread every day? Like then, my mind is telling me the Dark Age is upon us because we don’t deserve to be saved from the fate our enemies intend for us. They’re brain-damaged sociopaths; a near majority of us are just brain-damaged. Good guys and bad guys both done in by appalling lack of education and undeveloped consciousness skills at foreseeing consequences from a Universe-of-One perspective. I don’t like gas prices at the pump, I don’t like the way Trump talks so mean, and the Iran thing I just don’t get, so I won’t vote this time. Fine. We get what we deserve as a nation. That’s the real American Way. No ot...
HINT: It’s more than flashy hair. President John F. Kennedy now resides in a curious limbo. He was briefly the face of the Democrat Party as it wanted to see itself in the post-WWII era. In hindsight he was an anomaly in the party’s history. Before JFK, the most prominent Democrat Presidential contenders teetered between the crude (Andrew Jackson, William Jennings Bryan, Harry Truman, Al Smith) and the unashamedly elite (Stephen Douglas, Jefferson Davis, Rutherford B. Hayes, Woodrow Wilson, FDR, Adlai Stevenson). JFK was an interesting hybrid of both. Like Al Smith, he was a Roman Catholic, like FDR a graduate of Harvard College. His lineage also had its disreputable side, with a family fortune reputedly acquired by bootlegging during the Great Depression. Backed by that fortune, he became famous and successful at an early age but was criticized as callow and rumored to be a philanderer in his first years in the Senate. When he became a presidential candidate, he was a clear brea...
I’ve been at sixes and sevens about this post since I knew I had to do it. Even had a hard time picking the leadoff graphic. This one does convey the idea of questioning the decision by a great man of senior years. But this one introduces the notion that Philip Glass’s principled stand is one that has been sponsored by indolent dilettantes who didn’t give a fig about the Kennedy Center during the decades in which it has been literally falling down. Falling down. Along with all the forms of high art the Kennedy’s were trying to inspire with a facility for culturally significant performances by the nation’s most gifted artists. Interesting and ironic that they choose the 87 years Philip Glass to deliver their most stinging blow against the unspeakable privately financed renovation of the crumbling building and its wayward preoccupation with niche artistes. Am I getting ahead of myself here? Did you miss the story when it broke? Lawrence O’Donnell, the left’s fantasy Dean of Jeffersonian ...
Is that a bullet hole? Or a black hole? It’s complicated. We don’t like complicated. If you can’t say it in a tweet or a 30 second sound bite on teevee, don’t waste our time. I remember some decades ago when it was a great joke one year that USA Today had just won a Pulitzer Prize for “Best Investigative Paragraph.’ These days any argument that requires research, in-depth analysis, and careful piecing together of the people and partisan positions involved is easily dismissible as conspiracy theory, most likely by right wing fascist liars. Why don’t we like complicated? That’s simple enough. We don’t like complicated because we can’t do it anymore. By the time we get to school we’re already too dumb to acquire the kind of critical thinking skills needed to navigate ‘complicated,’ and the philosophy of education now in place has adapted by ceasing any attempt to teach critical thinking skills or provide the base of historical information and learning that used to make investigative repo...
Judge Tiffany Baker-Carper Why would I lead off a story about a controversial judge with a picture of her all dolled up for a social occasion? To get it out of the way. Yes, she’s a good-looking, shapely young woman. That’s not the issue, which is not personal but systemic on the face of it. If she made a grave misjudgment because the situation was over her head, the first appropriate question is not what kind of terrible person is she, but rather why was she on the bench in the first place? Here’s the story as reported yesterday by the Gateway Pundit: FTA: <<The pedophile, Daniel Spencer, was convicted in April 2025 of traveling to meet a minor for sex following an undercover sting operation. Despite the State Attorney’s Office recommending he be held without bond pending sentencing, Judge Baker-Carper allowed Spencer to remain free, citing his lack of violent criminal history and prior compliance while on bond. Weeks later, on May 19, 2025, Spencer and his wife, Chloe Spen...
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