Can I give you a definition of a fun evening? Dinner at the home of Bob and Becky Kevoian, in Indianapolis, with dozens of their friends, in support of National Review. If you ever have a chance . . .
Bob is a national radio star — one half of Bob & Tom. He has a signature hat, an L.A. Dodgers cap. That got me to thinking that I should wear a Detroit Tigers cap more. Becky is a singer. Their home is like Thoreau on Walden Pond, but with amenities.
Their co-hosts for the evening were Whit and Deb Grayson. There were yet more Graysons there, all interesting and charming.
Most of the guests were business owners, who are sick of being demonized. By whom? Well, by the president, the Democratic party, and the culture at large. These business owners employ people — often hundreds or thousands of people. They create new jobs, new wealth, new security, all the time. They pay millions upon millions of dollars in taxes. They give millions upon millions to charity.
How are they the problem, again?
I talked to many interesting people, one of whom said this: “My aunt has been a nun for 60 years. She started when she was 18. She has mainly worked with Hispanic immigration. She says that these people want to work hard, pay taxes, and raise families. They want to be appealed to, by political candidates. Republican politicians should go all-out in appealing to them.”
I agree. I also think that almost everything said about Hispanic immigration is true — positive or negative. Everyone has a different emphasis.
I talked to a man who was telling me about a particularly nervy politician — I can’t remember who. Anyway, this fellow has “[family jewels] the size of church bells.”
How did I live this long in America without hearing that expression?
I talked to a man whose dad lost everything in 1929 — everything. Was flat on his back. Had nothing. He rebounded, after a while, but a lot of people were crippled, mentally, spiritually, and financially, for life.
I think how relatively easy our current hard times are.
I also think of something that Eugene Genovese told me — the great historian who died a couple of years ago. I interviewed him about a year before. Let me quote a little of the ensuing piece:
Genovese is unwilling to call himself a free-marketeer, believing that the “logic” of the free market “leaves an awful lot of people in the gutter.” But he would support most free-market measures, because “the alternatives are dreadful.” The policies of such politicians as Mitt Romney and Chris Christie strike him as sensible.
He also said he liked Ronald Reagan’s idea of a “safety net” — a “social safety net.”
Anyway, the party at the Kevoians’ was full of great American spirits (and I’m not talking about the liquor). Afterward, Becky and one of her friends — female friends — were comparing their guns. Not their muscles, but their firearms. To see these two feminine ladies discussing the fine points of Glocks and so on was a hoot.
Becky is part of a trio called the Fun Girls — they are indeed fun, and their music goes down real good. It’s hard not to smile when you listen to it. Hard not to groove to it. Check out the Fun Girls here. And, incidentally, I think the Andrews Sisters would love them.
Here is an American phenomenon: You get into a cab somewhere, and the cabbie’s credit-card machine just happens to be broken. Damn. You’ll have to pay by cash. Funny how those credit-card machines are breaking down all the time, huh?
I wonder: If you had absolutely no cash, would the machines experience a sudden healing?
This particular cabbie was very entertaining, though: a sports sage and a political sage. We talk about the Pacers and the Colts, the Pistons and the Lions.
Then he says, “Mitt Romney should run again. He’s no dumb-a**, and he has plenty of money.” He further says, “Who’s that Spanish guy down in Florida?” Marco Rubio. “Yeah. You better watch him. He’s dangerous. Talks real, real good. He’s going to take some blacks, and he’s going to take some whites, and he’ll take all the Spanish.”
By the way, it’s cheering to see a Ronald Reagan Parkway, here in Indy.
At the airport, a not-very-pleasant experience. I am a rare defender of the TSA, I would say. I think they have an essentially thankless job, and that they mainly perform it well. I see them in action several times a month, I guess. I have about 14 good experiences to every bad one. And much depends on the attitude of the passenger, I think. Some people arrive with a chip on their shoulder. Anyway, I can write about that some other time.
On this morning, I put my hands up (the “surrender position,” Mike Huckabee calls it). The agent doesn’t like the way I’m doing it. I’m not sure how else he wants me to do it. I’m genuinely puzzled (and very polite). He says, with sarcastic meanness, “Come on, it’s really not that hard. I got all day,” etc.
A varsity-level jackass. I would have liked to see him fired on the spot. An agent behind him has seen all this take place — and she is extra-warm to me as I pass through, as though in compensation.