Ammo Grrrll has a few FOLLOW-UP QUESTIONS: She writes:
My dear friend Angela is one of the best and most sensitive conversationalists I have ever known. She is a top-notch saleswoman who has mastered the art of talking to customers. Most of us aren’t very good at even faking interest in what the other person is saying. As witty, cynical essayist, Fran Liebowitz, once said: There’s no such thing as conversation. There’s only talking and waiting to talk. Angela does not need to fake interest in others because she is GENUINELY interested. One of the elements of being a good conversationalist, she assures me, is the “Follow-up Question.”
Let’s say someone at a cocktail party ventured an opening conversational gambit with “I recently played golf at Pebble Beach.” If your response is “That reminds me of the television program The Flintstones because their little baby was named Pebbles. Remember that? Did you know that …blah blah blah,” you are probably a self-centered person and will soon find your potential conversation partner drifting off to find the Onion Dip and Pringles.
A better response would be The Follow-Up Question: “Oh! How interesting! What did you shoot?” or, “Tell me about the easiest and most challenging holes.” Or, even, “How big are the pebbles? That doesn’t sound like a very nice beach.”
One time at a social event at our geezer community’s Village Center, I sat next to a sweet lady who, I quickly learned, was Canadian. And not just because she pronounced the word “about” as “a-boot”. At least she didn’t have a detachable eyebrow that I noticed.
No, I learned where she was from because I asked. I waited for her to ask ME something about myself. It didn’t happen. I asked about her children, their spouses, education and professions, her grandchildren, looked at pictures on her phone and commented approvingly, and asked where they liked to travel. I am not exaggerating for comedic effect: forty minutes went by with me basically interviewing her. Not one question came back to me! Now, I am lucky enough to have good friends, PLUS a weekly forum in which to yak about myself all I want, so it didn’t so much bother me as amaze me. Why do I reference this?
In the broken world of journalism, stories come and stories go. The ones that endure – on and on and on and on, and also on – are the ones that advance whatever narrative currently fits the leftist agenda. The others go somewhere to die, perhaps that same nice farm where a couple of my childhood pets were sent (one dog and one duck). There are no follow-up questions because the answers would not promote the narrative.
How many “hate crimes” – poop swastikas, pulling off hijabs, rapes committed by comatose boys, banana peels in trees – turn out to have been committed by the alleged “victim” for attention, money, or both? When the non-crimes that don’t even rise to the nothing-burger of a “micro-aggression” are exposed, we never again hear about the perpetrators or any consequences. No follow-up questions necessary.
Every human who’s ever been in a relationship knows there is lying by commission and lying by omission. Jack and Pete go to a strip club for many expensive hours. They stop at Perkins for coffee on the way home. “Where have you been?” asks Pete’s sweet wife, gently cradling the rolling pin. “Jack and I were just talking at Perkins,” says Pete with a straight face. It’s true. Pretty much. And so it is with “journalism.” Many stories just die a-bornin, and people who don’t surf the Net or watch Fox don’t even know the story exists.
Remember that election we had in November of 2016? Sure, you do. If you don’t, may I suggest watching many enjoyable highlights on YouTube. John had a great compilation a few days ago. But the long-faced, “objective” analysts on all those panels on all those channels made many grave predictions and pronouncements. One of the Obscenely-Paid Official Angry Black Guys – Van Jones I think – called the result a “whitelash.” It was endlessly repeated. He could not explain how voting for a white GUY instead of an awful white WOMAN was racist, but he didn’t have to. Nobody was going to argue with such a felicitous turn of phrase. Never mind that the original word was “back”- not “black”- lash, so the “pun” made no actual sense. It’s racist to ask black people follow-up questions, which is why Obama never got any.
How’s that racist economy chugging along, Van, old Commie, old 9/11 “Truther,” old buddy? Any follow-up thoughts on black unemployment being the lowest EVAH? No way can the Black Caucus stand and cheer for THAT during the State of the Union Address. Is the wretched Bill Maher’s fervent hope for a recession a “racist” statement? Oh, heck no. No amount of human suffering is more important than “getting” Donald J. Trump.
Remember the Case of the Terrified Jewish Nebbish who had to hire a plumber? (See my column of January 27, 2017 column “GET A GRIP.”) Anybody followed up on whether or not gangs of Trump Plumbers in MAGA hats have attacked Ned Resnikoff yet? Carpenters or Painters with Southern accents stalking him? Why not? Where’s the follow up on that preposterous, mortifying story? We Deplorables are responsible for his never feeling quite safe again. He said so. If all the commentary in all the world were ranked in order of stupidity, THAT would still win hands down. And, remember, The View and Joy Reid are included in that competition. So how’s about we revisit Ned and see if he still needs Xanax to leave his home or to let a workman in the door?
And always, of course, with the “racist, racist, racist” themes. Has any kneeling moron millionaire been asked to articulate exactly what has changed in the black community with the election of Trump? Five hundred days on, are there even fewer unwed “fathers” (read: sperm donors) stepping up to the plate to care for their children? Even more gangstas killing each other and innocent bystanders?
Au contraire. More jobs. More brave black thinkers daring to challenge all the received knowledge from the likes of doddering race hustlers, Maxine Waters and Al Sharpton. It doesn’t take much to create a seismic shift. A Kanye here; a Candace Owens there; Diamond and Silk. How many young African-Americans sporting the number “42” know that the late, great Jackie Robinson was a Republican? When the black electorate finally internalizes how badly it has been used by the Democrats, well, as Bob Dylan said, “A Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall.” And, speaking for both Minnesota and Arizona, we sure could use some rain.