United we stand, divided we vote

US polling at No. 1 in the world

APOLOGIES for whoever dislikes me after this column.

Praise The Big Man Upstairs for this blessed country where we’re permitted to think for ourselves. Love, hate or shrug — we’re not jailed or tortured. We can think, love or even demean the United States of America.

Try that in Russia, China or Cuba. So I beg forgiveness, right now, for what I want to say.

Don’t all love Donald? OK. But specialize in beauts who were not Donald?

Biden? Whose son specialized in math? Previous Hizzoner whose wife possibly specialized in arithmetic? A back-aways married governor who had bedroom affairs with his knee socks still on? Also Barack, who finally opened his mouth to babble BS.

So elect who?

Donald has quirks. So’s everyone. He loves this country. He makes decisions. We may disagree, but at least he makes them. Not scared. You prefer North Korea’s beauty? Or other presidential dudes now in the can?

We all disagree with something or somebody somewhere. Every wife crazily enthusiastic with every husband’s quirk? I insanely love my 6-pound Yorkshire terrier. However, he pees on my kitchen floor. So what should I do? Trade him in for a Chihuahua?

Difficult to digest

OK, USA now has a food problem and an affordability issue. So — life’s better elsewhere? A while back, Kazakh officials honored me. My partner was international travel specialist Geoffrey Weill. Our main dish? Horse. Real horse. Big horse. Surrounded by broad noodles. Shove schmearing a little mayo on a hoof and ordering seconds. Me? Not!

When Golda Meir was brand-new Israel’s brand-new prime minister, and food and water were rationed, I was its guest. An Arab sheikh in the Negev celebrated me. His special VIP treat? The real eye of a REAL goat. Forget it. Not even with ketchup. I shoved it under my sleeve.

World of difference

Listen, we have different dreams. Different penmanship. Different beliefs. Different backgrounds. Our shapes, sizes, voices, talents differ. For some it’s Bloomie’s, some Macy’s. Some ice skate. Some knit. Politicians sometimes — pardon the expression — borrow. So what should we do? Float up and argue with our creator?

Don’t adore Donald? Give him room. Time. Nobody’s smarter. 

A few notes on the moon

America. All for one. And one for all. Yeah. But, who owns our flag? Nobody. Or, rather, everybody.

John Monsky’s father, a former Air Force officer, taught him nobody owns the flag.

In 1969, Vietnam, civil rights battles divided our nation. Yet 400,000 worked together to stick a guy on the moon.

Monsky’s “We Chose To Go to the Moon” is a “living documentary” recorded live and with music at Carnegie Hall and airing Nov. 10 on PBS. He created, filmed, narrates it. And says: “Nobody asked then how you vote. Nobody gave a fig except for the flag.”

Tomorrow, winners and losers, we’ll all wake up in the same country.

So, vote. Argue. Fight. That flag belongs to us all.

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