Trump’s U.K. Visit Proves Money Can’t Buy You Class

Conservative columnist Kathleen Parker is definitely "off the reservation" with her latest column in the Washington Post which could well bring her death threats from the unwashed fanatics of Donald Trump's cult followers.  That, of course, doesn't mean that Parker isn't 100% on point on her pitch that Trump is a crass boor and that his money - or supposed money - surely has not bought him class or the knowledge of how to behave in polite society, not to mention the social stratosphere of royal function in the United Kingdom. Frighteningly, the Beverly Hillbillies from the 1960's television show were more refined than Trump is in present day and they certainly did not suffer from his toxic narcissism.  For a good laugh while reading the hard truth, here are excerpts from Parker's column:

If there was “great love all around” during President Trump’s state visit to Britain, as he tweeted Monday, the participants royal and decidedly otherwise were deceptively discreet.

But then, what would one expect when New York’s most famous hillbilly drags his entire entourage to sup at the sumptuous table of the queen of England as though word had leaked of an all-you-can-eat buffet and free booze over at Lizzie’s Eatery? Donald Trump may have plenty of dough and houses dripping with gold, but his money has that new smell, and his crass behavior is testament to the adage — and more recently Countess Luann de Lesseps’s song — “Money can’t buy you class.” To which I would only add, “honey.”

Queen Elizabeth II, as in “The Crown,” was born to class, of course, and has spent her royal career marinating in irony. As a descendant of generations of royals, she epitomizes the definition of proper behavior, rarely displaying emotion or affection, always stoic in the face of adversity. A far cry is she from the effluvious Donald and his bloviating histrionics. But there she was playing sober hostess to a reality-show president and his carnivalesque courtiers.

The queen has seen it all: Her son, Charles, gallivanting with his then-lover-now-wife Camilla whilst married to the fair Princess Diana; the “people’s princess” shedding crocodile tears for television cameras while sharing her miseries and family secrets; her grandson wedding an American actress who, in an apparent act of defiance, declined to attend the state banquet.

’Tis a shame, because Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, surely would have brought a smile to the Buckingham Palace proceedings. Instead, we saw mostly waxen, strained faces in the dinner procession of mismatched royals and American hirelings. Most expressions suggested that a hair shirt was concealed beneath their finery. There was the queen with The Don. Prince Edward, the queen’s first cousin, marched dutifully alongside Kellyanne Conway, bedecked in silver sequins and affecting a royal air her weary-eyed escort would be loath to approximate.

Princess Anne, the queen’s daughter, walked with presidential son-in-law Jared Kushner, who, in one frame, seemed to be trying to convince her that she was lucky. I’m a prince, you know, did you know that? , I thought he was saying. Then again, reading lips is second only to my snake-handling skills. Poor Countess Peel, granddaughter of Winston Churchill, got stuck with Trump senior policy adviser Stephen Miller, whom she seemed to be trying to ignore. As do we all, Countess, as do we all.

My favorite visual, however, was U.S. national security adviser John Bolton and his muscular mustache paired with Viscountess Brookeborough, who looked as though something most unpleasant had reached her nostrils.

[T]he whole affair felt tawdry and cheap, joyless and stilted beyond the usual norms of pomp and circumstance. The queen must have wondered, did Trump raffle off tickets? Who are these people? Fair question.

Money can’t buy you class, but it can sure buy loyalty. Trump’s court at the palace was essentially his family and the few remaining White House staffers still willing to tell the president that, indeed, his exposed derriere is absolutely rocking raiment of finest silk and gold. The fake news media, of course, are unable to see.

Ms. Parker indeed out did herself!  Her descriptions, while sarcastic are on point in zeroing in on the fact that Trump is white trash with money.  One has to pity the royals who had to pretend to enjoy an evening with a carnival barker and a bunch of staffers who, in my view, have the social graces of low rent streetwalkers and sleazy bar bouncers. 

King James Version of the Bible

One thing that I always find ironic is that one of the favorite versions of the Bible among Christianist is the King James Version. Despite the shrieks of the Christianists to the contrary, true history - not their rewritten version - pretty much confirms the James I of England was about a gay as they come. In 1604, King James I of England authorized that a new translation of the Bible into English be started. It was finished in 1611. This website (http://www.infopt.demon.co.uk/jamesi.htm) pulls together some good information on James I's loves and sexual orientation. None of it would be pleasing to Daddy Dobson. Here are some highlights:

While riding through the bustling streets of London from 1603 to 1621, one was liable to hear the shout "Long live Queen James!" King James I of England and VI of Scotland was so open about his homosexual love affairs that an epigram had been circulated which roused much mirth and nodding of the heads: Rex fuit Elizabeth: nunc est regina Jacobus—"Elizabeth was King: now James is Queen."

Very few official biographers still tenaciously maintain that there is no "real" evidence that James's friendships were merely intimate. The question of whether or not James actually slept with his favourites is dealt with by Lady Antonia Fraser in her biography of King James in an eminently reasonable manner: "In sexual matters, it is generally better to assume the obvious, unless there is some very good reason to think otherwise." And for Lady Antonia Fraser anti-gay prejudice is no good reason to think otherwise. Her biography is a sympathetic reappraisal of James's personality and statesmanship. She quite simply accepts James's homosexuality and never regards it in itself as a detriment to either himself or his country, though she reasonably regrets that his favourites were not always the wisest of counsellors. Her assessment that most of James's life was a "search to recapture the golden youthful quality of his early passion" for Esmé Stuart, the only bright spot in an otherwise bleak childhood deprived of affection, is probably quite accurate, and she is certainly correct that his dominant quality was "an inability to resist love." In 1617 James addressed the venerable Privy Council with an official affirmation of his right to love men:

I, James, am neither a god nor an angel, but a man like any other. Therefore I act like a man and confess to loving those dear to me more than other men. You may be sure that I love the Earl of Buckingham more than anyone else, and more than you who are here assembled. I wish to speak in my own behalf and not to have it thought to be a defect, for Jesus Christ did the same, and therefore I cannot be blamed. Christ had John, and I have George.

George Villiers, whose rise was spectacular. This son of a penniless Leicestershire squire was introduced to James in 1614. It is now believed that their first sexual union took place in August 1615 while they were spending a few days together at Farnham Castle. Many years later, Buckingham wrote to James asking "whether you loved me now . . . better than at the time which I shall never forget at Farnham, where the bed's head could not be found between the master and his dog." Buckingham jokingly called himself James's dog, as in a letter addressed to "Dere Dad and Gossope" (gossip, from godparent, meaning chum) and closing "Your most humble slave and servant and dog Steenie." He began as a royal cupbearer, and became a Viscount in 1616, and the Earl of Buckingham in 1617. His relationship with James resulted in the 1617 moral debate in the Privy Council. Sir John Oglander testified before the Council that:

The King is wonderous passionate, a lover of his favourites beyond the love of men to women. He is the chastest prince for women that ever was, for he would often swear that he never kissed any other woman than his own queen. I never yet saw any fond husband make so much or so great dalliance over his beautiful spouse as I have seen King James over his favourites, especially Buckingham.

Despite the remonstrations of the Council, in 1618 Villiers became a Marquess, in 1619 Lord High Admiral, and finally in 1623 the Duke of Buckingham. Buckingham was generally regarded as the most beautiful man in Europe, with his dark chestnut curly hair, a pointed beard of golden brown, clear skin, fine chiselled features, dark blue eyes, and the graceful carriage of the ideal courtier. The King, naturally enough, was George's constant companion, and his love was without qualification.

Buckingham died in the prime of life, aged thirty-six; his heart and brain were placed in urns, and buried at the Cathedral of Portsmouth, where there is also a monument to him in the chancel. His body was entombed in the Henry VII Chapel at Westminster Abbey, hitherto reserved for royalty, where it now resides beneath a recumbent bronze effigy near the tomb of his beloved King James. The magnificent Buckingham tomb is on James's left; on his right is the tomb (with bronze figures representing Hope, Truth, Charity and Faith) of his other lover, Ludovic Stuart, Duke of Richmond and Lennox. King James was responsible for the restoration and remodelling of the Henry VII Chapel—presumably to celebrate for eternity his love for two men.