Welcome to Guy's Page.

Feel free to act your age.

 The Speakeasy is a Labor of Both Love and Necessity. 

The magic box of radio feeds our imagination in ways its descendants - television and the movies - cannot, due to their insistent sensory overload. Its inhabitants, and those who tune in to visit with them, have to reach a little deeper into their vocabularies, intonations and craftiness to hold mutual attention and good will. One can’t simply, (and quite fortuitously in my case), be just another pretty face on the radio. The listener cannot be sated with eye candy while enduring abysmal torture of the language, logic, and our willingness to suspend disbelief. Radio truly is a slowing down, a savoring of sorts, an activity as opposed to a pastime. I think that is something for which our times are clamoring. We are much better off lending our attention to what amounts to a book with sound effects, free to paint the living room, prepare dinner, or cruise down the endless black ribbon with the top down while doing so, than being fastened to the sofa, unable to even glance away for an instant lest we miss the latest wardrobe malfunction. Besides, once you actually SEE a talking gecko, walking erect and peddling car insurance, there isn’t really much sense in maintaining an imagination, now is there? I love radio for what it is, and for what it isn’t.

The necessity surfaces when I contemplate the dissipation of our culture and our Republic. Under withering attack from several generations of incremental surrender to relativism, political correctness and the intellectual cancer of Progressivism, and numbed by our own success in conquering so many of the hardships endured by our noble ancestors, we seem pretty well adrift; shamelessly dismissive of the myriad burdens we are heaping upon our grandchildren. Our institutions are rotting with corruption, cronyism and nincompoopery. Our media is a disgrace. Academe is a Tower of Babel. They see no evil in our enemies and make the perfect the enemy of the good when assessing our friends. These once vibrant and ideologically diverse institutions have degenerated into a clique of foppish elitists, all trained in the acceptable academies, beholden to the proper politicians and swilling at the same cocktail parties; always spouting the same silly sophistry.  

The Speakeasy hopes to break the monopoly on news and opinion in our little corner of the world, and reach out as best we can to any nook that will tune us in. Tony and I are two Grandpas who are entirely unwilling to pass to our grandkids an America our grandfathers wouldn’t recognize. We’ve gathered a bevy of extraordinary guests in our short existence, from Bill Whittle to Roger Kimball. From Professor Penelope Blake to Michael Ledeen. Professor Daren Jonescu has joined us from South Korea, and we’ve been blessed to hear from America’s finest in Kandahar, Afghanistan. We cover the whole enchilada: local, state and international. The bottom line is: the politics won’t come around until the culture is reawakened and revitalized. We need a gathering place to remind ourselves of America’s unique greatness and proud heritage. We’re serving straight talk, tough love and a little fun along the way.  Join us in The Speakeasy. The password is: “Tune-in.” 

 Here's all the inspiration I need. I'm sure you are just as motivated. Let's Roll!       

                                                                                       

 After we had Michelle Bachmann as a guest, someone asked me if I was really ready for a woman President. "Of course," I replied. "Why on Earth wouldn't I be?" One of these would do quite nicely! 

There comes a tide in the affairs of men when we must take the bull by the tail and face the situation

And, just for snicks, one more dose of Fred Astaire. This one slow simmers to a sizzling finish. What a phenomenal talent.

One of my pet peeves is how some folks pooh-pooh golf as a rich man's game, or a game that isn't populated by truly unique characters. In reality, no game has produced more picaresque or remarkable legends. One of my all time favorites was as odd a duck as ever came down the pike. Canada's own Moe Norman. I'm so glad ESPN put together a tribute to Moe. Here's a little clip from it. There was never a weirder swing. Never a more genuine personality. Never a greater striker of the ball. Yet not many people mention Moe Norman when asked to name their top ten greatest players of all time. I wonder why. Moe was a player's player. I hope you enjoy meeting him. Hit 'em hard, folks. They'll land somewhere!