My end-of-the-year Christmas party was the best yet. The festivities began at 10PM and ended somewhat hazily around 6 the next morning. My son JT provided the youth and I provided the gravitas. Actually it was the other way around. I provided the brawn—judo and karate experts—and he provided the artsy-fartsy types from Brooklyn with lotsa pretty girls. Cauliflower brains mixed freely with cauliflower ears. My buddy Michael Mailer, son of Norman and a very good boxer who now produces movies, had to fly to South Africa, but like a good friend he left three beautiful blondes behind who all came to the party. At midnight I announced that the three beauties sitting together in the Mailer corner were now my property because Michael had been eaten by a rogue lion somewhere near the Cape. The ladies thought it unfair, but I reminded them that life’s unfair and if one’s eaten, one stays eaten. Never have so many beautiful young women been in my house before—an embarrassment of riches, with clusters of them talking to each other while the men talked politics, martial arts, and other such silly subjects. Some even talked art.
“How strange it is to be writing about parties and good times when the world is in this condition.”
How strange it is to be writing about parties and good times when the world is in this condition. Two days following the New York blast I flew to Switzerland and was driven up to Gstaad. Chalet Taki seemed awfully tame after the Bagel shenanigans, but at my age I can get used to anything. The mother of my children looked at me as if I were a leper who had dropped in uninvited. She flashed me an “I’m surprised you made it” sort of glance. But I’ve made it for so many years now, I can get across the ocean and up the mountain with my eyes closed—which they were most of the journey, as for once I overdid things. Now I’m looking forward to my New Year’s Eve mini-blast—mini because the Gestapo is around and the Gestapo does not like to see people having a good time. (Just kidding.)
I suppose entertaining oneself is antithetical to seriousness and literature, but I accept it. (Big of me, n’est-ce pas?) Yet I cannot really amuse myself (unless totally sloshed) while Europe and the United States are going down Sewanee. Just think how Belle Époque Vienna was infatuated with modernity, style, and glamour, then how by the end of World War I the place was full of starving veterans huddling outside restaurants looking for bits of food. The clowns in Brussels have come up with an aspirin and they expect us to believe it’s a cure. The fools have not learned post-war Vienna’s lessons. The euro crisis is threatening their dream of technocratic dictatorship, yet all they can come up with are more demands for harsher austerity. I cheered when David Cameron said no and will cheer even louder when Britain gets out altogether.
If Switzerland is by far Europe’s most successful country and is not a member of the Brussels gang, why can’t Britain leave? The clowns allowed the PIGS to go wild, and now the same clowns will make matters worse even for those who are not responsible for the mess. Hitler must be smiling—in fact, cackling. As is Stalin. And Benito. (Mao is too gaga even to begin to understand). The great economist Joseph Alois Schumpeter argued that capitalism meant “incessant innovation,” something these Brussels hemorrhoids do not comprehend. He called for creative destruction at times, as when one exploits an invention rather than sticking to the old game plan until the patent is long dead. The Brussels hemorrhoids do not possess the nous or the courage to change. Thus, 2012 promises to be an even worse year than 2011. It’s starting off badly when a Bagel newspaper that Murdoch owns declares Salman Rushdie the sexiest man alive. Poor Giacomo Casanova; imagine what he’s thinking somewhere up in heaven. Better to have preferred little boys than be put in the same league with Rushdie.
Speaking of little boys, leave it to The New York Times to find a front-page story unfit to print because it wasn’t anti-Catholic: The Brooklyn DA recently arrested an astounding 85 Jewish Orthodox men on charges of child sex abuse. Back in 1985 a Hasidic “therapist” was indicted for abusing five boys, but police suspected he abused more than a hundred. Avrohom Mondrowitz fled to Israel, where he remains to this day a free man. Those nice guys who shoot rock-throwing Palestinian children refuse to extradite him. Brooklyn DA Charles Hynes now has to tread carefully. Fifty rabbis have signed a public announcement in Yiddish denouncing the Hasidic family who went to the cops. They asked—now get this—for any believer to kill the family that informed “on fellow Jews.” So what will happen to the 85 perverts? All I know is the Times has not published a word, whereas when the Catholic Church sex scandal broke, it led the news in the front page for months. There is something very evil when rabbis who hate the non-Jewish world can dictate to an abused child’s parents whether or not to talk to the mostly non-Jewish fuzz. If some parent were to go and firebomb the Times, we might see it appear on the back pages.
For all of you happy Taki’s Mag readers, I wish you a very Happy New Year.
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