How do I know?
Well, I had their #4 combo (a chile relleno and chicken enchilada) and two Tecates. But most importantly, I could taste the food and the booze, something I have not been able to do for the last 15 days.
And it tasted real good.
Now, I don't hold out SuperMex -- a mid-level SoCal chain of Mexican food eateries -- as the acme of haute cuisine. In fact, I wouldn't know (or care) if haute cuisine came up and bit me in the ass. (cf. "Man bites Dog".) But it's good industrial-strength nourishment and blends well with Tecate -- as do most South of the Border grunts.
Anyway, the point is that I must have gotten my sea legs back and for this I am grateful. Afterward, I wandered up to Cerritos (Ed Morrissey's old stomping grounds before he opted for the arctic tundra on Minnesota) to see the kids and grandkids. My middle son's wife and their new daughter are headed back to Japan (she is a native) to spend a couple of months with Oto-san and Oka-san and let her husband concentrate on the bell lap of his linguistics masters degree. Thus, suffused with the glow from a good meal (and the suds) and surrounded by the sonorous bustle of busy rug rats, I felt humanity creeping back into my being; as I said, I am going to make it after all.
Which leads me to announce that I re-read my previous post and, in retrospect, I was having the equivalent of a bad hair day and, perhaps I should have taken a Midol or two.
O.K., so I admit that I probably dumped on Hewitt a little too hard. I was referencing the "Old Hugh", the pre-2008, middle-of-the-road right-of-center, we're-going-to-be-o.k. Hugh. The smug guy who cozied up to John Campbell when both really did not get too excited about illegal immigration. The guy seemingly did not see a threat looming on the horizon as our Supreme Pantload began his inexorable march to the White House. Hugh always seemed to err on the side of caution and did not believe it would be necessary to go to Defcon One, where conservatives are today.
Mr Excitement he was not. It was a snooze-fest glued together with commercials.
Well, that was, as I said, the "Old Hugh". In all fairness, the "New Hugh" is a fire-breather and gets really, really, really agitated at the shenanigans that this government is perpetrating on our asses. The guy who almost pegs out on his show when he points out how silly, stupid, pretentious, or just plain egotistical this POSOTUS and his band of clowns really are. When he unloads on Pelosi, Reid and the crowd it is with animus and enthusiasm and great hunks of juicy red beef are hurled out to those who are up to here with the Bravo Sierra that passes as governance.
So, before I get too far down the page, I want to categorically recant anything unkind I may have said about Hugh. So long as the guy comes on the air and foams at the mouth about the world of fecal matter we're in, as long as he continues to host guests like Steyn, Benson, Ham, et al., he's all right with me. Now we're talking Sean Hannity and Mark Levin foaming, not Michael Savage slavering, you understand.
But as I said, lately the man's been on fire.
There's another observation I should make about his show that I did not before: his sidekick, Duane Patterson, is a guy who really works his ass off. And he knows his stuff. You doubt me? Take a listen to Ed Morrissey's webcast show on Hot Air every Friday when Duane is a regular guest. Morrissey's one of the best wonks around (blogger of the year this year) and Duane stays with him neck and neck. I have grown fond of Patterson's contributions and gotta believe he is a major reason for Hugh's show being as enjoyable as it is.
So, I recant now that I have been given a new lease on life. Hell, I'd probably sit down with Hugh and have a couple of Tecates.
If Duane were along, I would even buy.
