Tuz Feekum

UPDATE: Trip to Portugal is on hold due to this as well as the country’s massive geezah tourist Birkenstock problem.

 

sword in the desert
From Bosley Crowther’s 1949 NYT review of this early example of pro-Zionist Hollywood propaganda, featuring renowned thespian Jeff Chandler: “Significantly the Arab peoples are almost completely overlooked… .”

As much as I’m tempted to add to the handwringing over  “the grotesque sportswashing” of the Saudi bone-saw golf league, I won’t.

Nor will I comment on the 60 Minutes episode last night featuring Alden Capital and the warm-hearted Heath Freeman.

I have even resisted opining on the loss on Saturday by the NY Rangers to the Tampa Bay Lightning, currently owned by the beloved hedge fund mogul Jeffrey Vinik.

What do these three seemingly unrelated news stories have in common?

Easy.

They all involve desert people.

I love desert people.

In fact, I can proudly say that some of my best friends are desert people.

Desert people are truly the salt of the earth.

However, at this time, I must turn to another topic.

No, this new subject is not the aged handbag-skin heifers I just saw at the communal pool — in the HOA where I reside part time — doing slomo water aerobics to early 60s bubble gum music.

No, what I want to talk about, what I must talk about, what I need to talk about is mental health insurance.

Allow me to explain.

After July 4th, my wife and I plan to return to Westchester NY and hang out at our house there.

Most likely I will be spending much of August in sylvan splendor, too, and probably even the early part of September.

But come mid September, my wife and I are flying out to Lisbon, as I want to visit Caldas da Rainha, in order to set the ball rolling as to us moving there permanently by next year, which we largely be financed by the sale of the abode in NY.

As you can probably tell by my previous posts, I have a dim view of what is about to happen in this country.

The way I see it, I did not choose to come to America.  My parents did, without telling me about it first, and simply brought me along like a piece of luggage.

I have been in the Lost and Found Baggage Service Office ever since.

Time to stop whining about it.

At this stage of my life, I want something better than what America has to offer.

I want to leave in a place where socialized medicine is not a dirty word.

I want to live in a place where, say, the wonders of Istanbul, the Alhambra, Sardinia, Paris, and Marrakesh are a short and affordable hop, skip and a jump away.

I want to live in a part of the world where personal privacy means something.

I want to live in a country that is inherently cosmopolitan by dint of being in Schengen territory as well as a magnet for diverse nationalities.

I will be staying clear of Porto, though.

In my experience — and this is speaking for myself only — the awesomeness of desert people is best enjoyed indirectly, and, most importantly, at a safe distance.

After all, who can forget the immortal words of Secretary Blinken, and I quote: “the Palestinians do not qualify as a sovereign state and therefore are not qualified to obtain membership as a state in, participate as a state in, or delegate jurisdiction to the ICC.”

Has there ever been a more inspiring example of that justly famous desert people aptitude for juridical perspicuity?

 

Nota bene:  “Tuz Feekum” is Egyptian slang for y’all can go jump in a lake.

 

leaving america

 

 

 

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