You hide behind the word "threnody." which I had to look up. The one thing about reading your columns is that I usually get to expand my vocabulary. You must have been given dictionaries for Christmas growing up. The OED tells us:
threnody-A song of lamentation, esp. for the dead: a dirge.
And the headline writer, completely thinking that if the column has your name on it, and it's about Trump, then it must me a tearful goodbye. "Oh Brother! Tears for Trump."
Well, Kevin's column is hardly a dirge, and it's hardly a tearful goodbye, but rather a head held high cogent summary of what he feels what went right during his four-year administration.
As readers of your column know, you usually turn the Thanksgiving week column (you only write one a week) over to your brother during the family Thanksgiving gathering. Jason Gay in the WSJ annually writes a Thanksgiving column with instructions on how to play the annual touch football game families indulge in on Thanksgiving, even if their surname isn't Kennedy. He's been advising how to handle grandpa now for 10 years.
Jason has been doing this for a number of years now, but this year he had to adapt his advice because of Covid. It seems you've also altered your plans a bit and decided not to go to your family's Thanksgiving dinner and instead stay home, quarantine yourself in effect, and drink something called a French 75.
Something else I had to look up. What the hell is a French 75? Since I haven't been drinking for 35 years now, I know nothing of the boutique cocktails that apparently abound at the trendy places in town. I had to resort to Google. And when I did drink, it was always a Budweiser at a Blarney Stone, if it wasn't a Budweiser at home. (It was never just "a" Budweiser either.)
Turns out a French 75 is a combination of champagne, lemon, sugar and gin, and is a drink from WW I and is named after a 75mm howitzer. Maybe it was the drink and Rick and Ilsa were drinking in a French bar in the movie 'Casablanca' when they heard the booming of German artillery getting closer to the city.
Maureen, you're such a romantic. Why a French 75? Paris (Washington) is going to be liberated come January 20th, no?
Of course President-elect Joe has to arrive at the podium in one piece. And the recent story about breaking his foot playing with his dog is not a good sign. The obfuscation has already begun. But that's another story.
Your brother Kevin proves he could be the other Dowd writing a column. "...but for the nearly 74 million people who voted for him, he already has fulfilled their hopes and justified their trust." This hardly sounds like a dirge.
Kevin quite nimbly points out the hypocrisy of the Dems saying they want everyone to get along now, (like Rodney King's plea years ago) when even before Trump took office the tomahawks were out being sharpened and flung.
Kevin rounds out his summary of praise with advice to Fox News and to the man himself about even thinking about 2024. (The book here is he's not thinking about 2024).
Maureen, I think it's a shame you chose not to be with your family, just after the object of your bile has been defeated. Family is family, and I'm sure they wouldn't have needled you to death too much that you got what you wanted and they didn't.
As for the French 75, if you called ahead to home and told them the ingredients, I'm sure you could have easily whipped up one or two for yourself.
After all, any president will always give you—and your brother— something to write about.
http://www.onofframp.blogspot.com
No comments:
Post a Comment