Please read this all. It’s written by a conservative who gets immigration. The point about immigrants from struggling countries is that they come here to escape the conditions at home, not to import them. They have done this since the 1600s. They built this country. They continue to do so.
1968, 50 years ago, was a year of fear and despair for many in America. Dr. King and Bobby Kennedy were killed. There were riots in the streets and bloody protests outside the Dem National Convention. Anti-war and civil rights movements surged. Campuses seethed with unrest. Here are great photos.
I’ve come up with what I believe is an amazing and innovative way to handle phone calls; let me know what you think:
This doesn’t require making an appointment, texting first, sending a message on Instagram, Facebook, WhatsApp, LinkedIn, etc. Here it is:
Call me, and if I don’t answer, leave a message, and I’ll call you back.
Incredible, isn’t it?
(I’m not sure who wrote this but a lot of it is true)
A Nocoiner is a person who has no Bitcoin. Nocoiners (usually Socialists, Lawyers or MBA Economists ) are people who missed their opportunity to buy Bitcoin at a low price because they thought it was a scam, and who is now bitter at having missed out. The nocoiner takes out his or her bitterness on Bitcoin Hodlers, by constantly claiming that Bitcoin will crash, is a scam, is a bubble, or other types of easily refuted FUD.
Nocoiners have little to no computer skills or imagination; even when they see the price of Bitcoin go up and its adoption spread they consider all Bitcoin users to be in a collective delusion, with only themselves as the ones who can see what is happening. This attitude comes from being steeped in the elitist priest cultures found at Harvard, Yale and Columbia, where anyone who is not part of their clique is treated with suspicion by default. The worst nocoiners are tenured academics and goldbugs. Nocoiners believe that the world owes them everything they want because they are part of an elite; they are hysterical liars, brats, prostitutes and losers.
I’m pretty sure Emin is a Nocoiner. Yesterday he made a Tweet about how Bitcoin going up was just a fad, and that a crash was inevitable. He’s always talking Bitcoin down; if he had Bitcoin, he would never trash his own stash.
Sheryl Crow Fans? Lenny Kravitz? It’s that time again for the super exclusive invite only Harman Kardon concert for 1000 people only. Best show at CES. (Wide open bar and food too)
Thanks Harman Kardon and JBL. You guys ROCK.
#CES #CES2018 #CES18
The Chris Voss Show Sponsors: @Vanderhallusa @ThinkTankPhoto @Dynamicsinc
Attractions in Hoi An
- The Cantonese Restaurant is located on Tran Phu Street.
- Chinese Hall of worship Thien Hau.
- Fujian Congregation built in 1857 also worship Thien Hau.
- Hainan Assembly Hall is the place to worship 108 Chinese oanh died under the King Tu Duc.
- The Trieu Chau convention house is also known as the Bon Bon Pagoda on Nguyen Duy Hieu Street
- Hoi An Cultural History Museum is located at Ong Pagoda (Quan Cong Pagoda) at 7 Nguyen. The museum houses over 212 ceramic, porcelain, bronze, iron, paper, wood … related to The stages of development of Hoi An – the commercial port of Hoi An from the time of Sa Huynh culture (from the beginning of the second century AD), followed by Champa culture (Century II – TK XV) and culture Dai Viet, Dai Nam (TK XV – XIX).
- Sa Huynh Cultural Museum (149 Tran Phu) presents a complete and unique collection of over one thousand relics related to the ancient inhabitants of Sa Huynh culture (2000 years ago) – residents considered as the owner of the port – Hoi An early market, have relations and exchanges with both Southeast Asia, South India and China.
Trump started the day by tweeting against his administration’s policy on surveillance. By the afternoon, he went further than he has ever gone when it comes to accusing federal law enforcement of a conspiracy against him. And then it was reported that he had tossed a blanket over one-sixth of the world’s population and labeled it full of “shithole countries.” — WaPo, this morning
He’s denying it, of course.
One analysis found that the abortion chain placed 79% of its abortion facilities within walking distance of minority neighborhoods. Blacks make up 13% of the U.S. population, 35% of the babies killed in abortions are Black, according to the Centers for Disease Control. “Planned Parenthood has taken it far beyond what the Klu Klux Klan thought they could possibly take it,” Childress said on the program. “How do you calm down over genocide?
“We need more African-Americans informed on the best kept secret in America; that is Black Genocide via the targeting of African Americans by the abortion industry,” he continued. A Planned Parenthood spokeswoman dismissed Black Pro-Life advocates’ concerns completely, saying they are “fixated on shaming Black Women and controlling the bodies of Black Women.”
Letter from Senator Barry Goldwater to my father, thanking him for his support after open-heart surgery.
My father had worked on his ’64 presidential campaign, whose convention speech has since passed into history (and sold more than one refugee from Communism) with its resounding close:
“I would remind you that extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice! And let me remind you also that moderation in the pursuit of justice is no virtue!”
Antonio Garcia Romeu, my grandfather, and his ever-present firearm, a classic Smith and Wesson Model 10 .38 Special police revolver.
Family legend has it that when the family lived in one of those old Spanish-style houses with an iron door and a courtyard, a thief was was caught intruding in the middle of the night. Screams! Shouts! My grandfather ran out in his pajamas with his trusty revolver and let fly. The thief gave him the slip, but the iron door forever maintained the dents from the rounds, a mute monument at his valiant defense of the household.
When the revolution came, he buried the revolver in the backyard, wrapped in oil cloths, to be eventually recovered when the revolution collapsed. It’s presumably still there.
Once in the US as a settled political refugee, he went ahead and bought the exact same model Smith and Wesson. In Miami, before concealed-carry was even legal in Florida, he’d tuck his .38 into waistband before going out for a stroll. Better yet, when he’d go deposit cash at the bank (often the month’s take in rent from the small real estate empire he maintained with my father), he’d pack the cash under his arm in a thick satchel, and the pistol in his belt under his shirt. Nobody even blinked in 1980s Miami. I’d often go with him, our only quality time being either running errands or doing the electrical and mechanical work on the house (as an electrical engineer who’d restored power through Cuban hurricanes and designed power grids though the US Southwest, nobody else was going to do his wiring).
The Communists had stolen everything, and he’d go down in a .38 Special blaze of glory before getting robbed by some street thug. Good thing nobody ever tried.
He was of the generation that both made (and in the form of the Castros, unmade) Cuba. The son of Spanish immigrants, he was raised in a rural backwater where former black slaves, newly-arrived Chinese immigrants, and old Spanish stock all mingled. His mother, a tough Galician peasant who took over the family property when the patriarch died, would just as easily strangle a chicken as maintain household discipline via whacks of her hard shoe. He used to beat me with his belt the same way. That, and holding a flashlight and passing him tools while working on some broken thing or another is most of what I remember of him. For reasons I never quite understood (though probably related to my absenting myself from family for two decades) I never inherited anything from him, either money or property (and he wasn’t poor). All I’ve got now of his is that revolver.