A Monster is Unleashed

It stands almost 20 feet high, weighs near 800 pounds, has 6 hands and an equal number of feet. It is a monster who can do damage almost beyond imagination. And it is coming to a city near you. 

Welcome to the 3 headed beast known as JSS.

It was on display for the first time  yesterday. And it was frightening. Lightning bolts exploded from its wooden tentacles. Just over 60 feet away, a man who made the grave error of attempting to harness the beast's fearsome power, quaked. Thousands who gathered to witness this terrifying sight, gasped. Children clung to their parents.The very earth seemed shaken to its core.

And this was only the beginning. Opening day 2018 in the land of Judge, Stanton and Sanchez. Promising to make Murderer's Row a mere asterisk. Striking fear in the hearts of everyone they meet along the way.

You have been warned.

Stormy Daniels Night

TO THE TUNE OF STARRY STARRY NIGHT


Stormy Daniels night

Paints a picture sad and gray

Looks upon a life's decay

With eyes that see the 

Devil in your soul

Hitman at your call

Scare the daylights out of her

Take the dough and go away

In words we all understand

And yes, we comprehend what you tried to do to her

She won't suffer your insanity

How you would not let her be

She would not listen

Now you're in a row

Perhaps you're sorry now

Stormy Daniels night

Was a dud that's here to stay

Swirling mess your ugly ways reveal

The darkness in your heart

Nothing changes you

Daylight or the darkest night

All the same within your sight

All damaged by your clumsy, groping hands 

And yes we comprehend what you tried to to do to her

She won't suffer your insanity

How you would not let her be

She would not listen

Now you're in a row

Perhaps you're sorry now

Passing Shower or Tsunami

("Stormy Daniels Spanks Trump Again")

Count me among the few who did not watch the Stormy Daniels interview on 60 Minutes. It is not under the covers that Mr. Trump is revealed but in the cover up.

Like everything else in his seedy existence it is in the payoffs, the kickbacks, the threats that the depths of his ugliness, the full extent of his moral depravity is evident.

So it turns out he essentially had a one night mediocre tryst with a porn star in a lifetime of inappropriate dalliances. That is not a tale even worthy of page six.

But it is his hubris, his pathological inability to mouth a mea culpa, his storm trooper tactics that he has used to his advantage to steamroll through business and marriage that may one day be his Achilles heel.

Somehow, Mr. Trump has weathered many other stormy days, both before and during this presidency, one death knell after another now laid to rest while he moves inexorably on. 

Was this but one more passing shower or tsunami? Stay tuned.

March 24, 2018

AN EDITED VERSION OF THIS PIECE APPEARS IN THE OPINION SECTION OF THE RECORD, A BERGEN COUNTY NEWSPAPER


It is an age of disillusion, of confusion, of dismay with our institutions, of distress over our Constitution. A time when freedoms are being hollowed out, when death is being meted out, when good intention has seemingly evaporated and love for our fellow man teeters on the brink of extinction. It has been, in so many ways on so many days the worst of times.

But then there was yesterday, when we announced we would no longer be frightened, when our steps lightened, our eyes brightened. Our resolve manifest, our destiny in our hands, our future no longer a dark shadow on the horizon. 

As the youth of this country introduced themselves to us, we were amazed by their poise, by their purity of purpose and commitment to cause. In their voices we found the hope that had disappeared, the strength that had been sapped from our weary bodies, the focus that seemed out of our reach.

We owe those who have brought us so low a debt of gratitude. We thank them for allowing us to see what a better tomorrow looks like, what it sounds like, what it feels like. We thank them for awakening the passion and promise of the next generation. We thank them for making us understand that today is not forever.

It was, in so many ways, on this one day, the best of times.

Captain Queeg's Doppelganger

Please don't hide the strawberries.  

Mr. Trump's doppelganger, Captain Queeg, relieved of his post by the invocation of the equivalent of a 25th Amendment proceeding, his incapacity causing those in his command to mutiny.

The last several frenetic weeks have seen the removal or resignation of H.R.McMaster, John Dowd, Rex Tillerson, Gary Cohn and lesser lights Hope Hicks and Josh Raffel.  Those eyewitness to a rudderless ship in the storm, either jumping or pushed overboard.

But unlike the fictional Bounty, this White House will not be the scene of a coup. There will be no impeachment proceedings, just a changing of the guard to those more willing to tolerate, accept and even foster the insanity of their leader.

Mr. Trump, like his doppelganger, constitutionally unable to admit his mistakes, maybe not rolling metal balls between his fingers, but unleashing his delusions and paranoia with every angry, accusatory tweet.

Captaining a ship sinking before our unbelieving eyes.

Snow

God forgot to check his calendar this year. Yes, I know all about global warming and understand that I will likely be sunbathing on the Hudson next January, but really what the hell is going on here?

I did the clock springing forward thing last week, but I am now staring out at what is, if memory serves me, the twelfth nor'easter in the last fifteen days. 

For all of you snowbirds thinking of heading north to watch the first bloom of the season, cancel your flight (it has probably already been cancelled anyway), put on another slab of 50 and head out to the pool. 

I think Punxsutawney Phil just saw his shadow (or is it that he didn't) and winter is scheduled to end here on June 11th. In fact, we have officially removed the phrase "April showers bring May flowers" from the English language.

For those who suffer from seasonal affective disorder (sad) they remain unhappy no matter how many hours of daylight we now allegedly enjoy. 

And the millions who go into hibernation with the first reading of the thermometer below 40 are now desperately gnawing at the front door.

There have now been at least one million flights that have not taken off from the New York airports during the storms that never end, twenty million phone calls trying to reschedule for the next day, or the one after that. And no one who can really help.

We have all become meteorologists, checking paths, calculating possibilities, certain that this next weather pattern will suddenly veer off the coast. For weatherman are never right. Except when they are.

I went to Whole Foods yesterday to prepare for staring out the window today and they were out of bananas. Really? Is everybody stocking up on potassium?

I have a confession. I like snow storms and always have. Except the one time I tried to kick Robert Epstein off my property on the newly fallen snow and he punched me in the stomach. But apart from that, snow and I have always had a warm relationship (strike that, a "cold relationship"). But enough is too much.

So what is it that God is thinking? Is he punishing liberals on both coasts? Is God a conservative? I can't wrap my brain around that one.

Did you know that the snow hasn't stuck on my balcony in any of these storms? No, how would you know that? Anyway, I just thought it was important to pass along that information to you. Never know when it might come in handy. It could even be a question on Jeopardy some day.

I brought work home from the office to do today. Who am I kidding? I would rather daydream about the actual start of spring, when I can consider another year of beating myself up on the golf course.

I should really knock on my neighbor's door. Except I have never done that in the past twelve years. He might wonder why I took the sudden interest in what he likes to eat for lunch.

Well, I have checked the long range forecast (for the thirty second time in the last two hours) and there seem to be no more snowstorms forecast on the horizon. It may be that the baseball season can actually start here sometime before Mother's day.

And for those of you who suggest global warming was invented by the Chinese, just know that this long winter of our discontent, is certain to be followed by an endless summer.

But for today, if you can't stand the cold, get back in the kitchen. It is snowing harder than ever now.

We Hold These Truths to Be Self Evident

("The Wrong People Are Criticizing Donald Trump")

Here are some bipartisan resolutions recently introduced:

1) Declaring March 8 as International Women's Day

2) Establishing Developmental Disabilities Awareness Day

3) Condemning acts of violence against Burma's Rohingya population

4) Condemning migrant slave auctions in Libya

5) Establishing National Veterans History Progress Week

    6) Condemning white supremacist groups

This is not to minimize the importance of any of the above, but would it not be of equal concern that there be added to that list a joint resolution of condemnation for the tenor of our political discourse, and by implication, the actions of this President?

If the Republicans as a body wish to show even a scintilla of courage, let there be sponsors from both sides of the aisle who introduce a statement declaring every day National Civility Day in politics, mandating without equivocation that all in Congress agree that those invested with the public trust must perform their duties with honor, integrity, without the stain of pettiness or vindictiveness, with a responsibility to treat those with whom they deal with respect and courtesy befitting their station, and pledging to honor their office and this country by providing honest service and truthful reporting.

This does not have to be a specific rebuke of the practices of Mr. Trump, but rather a general statement of purpose and intent. Let the Republicans show they have the backbone and the moral fortitude to speak out against the omnipresent abuses.

I would hope that all those in office, Republican or Democrat, would hold to these self evident truths and could take a minute from the sniping and finger pointing to join hands to make it known (to borrow a phrase from the children of Parkland) that enough is enough.

Subjective Reality

("Trump, the Un-American President")

Mr. Blow's error is in drawing a conclusion from verifiable information. In 2018, we commence with conclusions and then work backward to create underlying facts. 

It is the obvious distinction between objective and subjective reality. And objective reality is so yesterday.

It is why Mr. Trump is right about the trade deficit with Canada, about the Mueller probe, about crooked Hillary, about anything and everything. You see, what Mr. Trump says it is, it is.

Mr Blow, just vigorously nod your assent when Mr. Trump testifies that day is night, up is down, trade wars are good, global warming is a hoax, there is a 400 pound man eating bonbons in bed while screwing up our elections, and Stormy Daniels is but an interesting name for a weatherperson.

The world is a serene place if you stop trying to insert objective reality into the conversation. And Mr. Trump's hair naturally falls into place.

In this universe,  it is Donald Trump who cannot tell a lie. And he says Hillary cut down that damned cherry tree.

What I Will Miss - and What I Will Not

What I will miss when he is gone is the noise. The constant turmoil that churns the mind and the soul, that compels one to consider and contemplate, that makes rest an option that does not exist. The anger and disappointment that forces a visceral reply, that makes one feel red hot with passion, responding with every ounce of strength to that deep well of  trouble which lurks in his every sentence, every wave of the hand, every impossibly wrong action. He does not allow for quiet.

What I will not miss when he is gone is the noise. The constant turmoil that churns the mind and the soul, that compels one to consider and contemplate, that makes rest an option that does not exist. The anger and disappointment that forces a visceral reply, that makes one feel red hot with passion, responding with every ounce of  strength to that deep well of trouble which lurks in his every sentence, every wave of the hand, every impossibly wrong action. He does not allow for quiet.

17 Dead in Parkland - How Many More?

"Four dead in Ohio. How many more?"

It is as if, a half century later, this land has again been awakened by its youth. In this generation, Parkland is home to the question, "seventeen dead, how many more" and the thunderous response is "enough is enough".

Fifty years ago we were the voice of protest, our hearts unsullied, our anger unwavering, our cries unrelenting. We would not take silent rebuke as an answer. We would not die anymore because our elders were either unwilling or unable to stop the bleeding.

And now, almost twenty years after Columbine, after we have perished in far too many numbers in far too many places, after we have grown old and weary and failed ourselves and our children, after defeat has become an all but acknowledged inevitability, after our voice has been diminished to a pathetic whisper, after all of this we have borne witness to the incredible sight coming today from our nation's classrooms.

From sea to shining sea they rose up as one. They stood united in their commitment to cause, imbued with a spirit we have not seen since the days of Vietnam.

How many more? None. 

Fire and Fury Redux

This is the real fire and fury.  Rex Tillerson but the latest to incur the wrath of Donald Trump. The "moron" doing his worst once again.

Mr. Trump now promises to form an administration to his liking. But what was his intention in the earlier days of his presidency? Were those he"trump"eted during the transition not aligned with his views? And if not, was that a failure to properly vet, a failure of Mr. Trump to have any policy positions, a failure to understand the role of those working under him or a failure to surround himself with those who primary mission was merely to protect the President (goodbye to Mr. Comey)? The inescapable conclusion is yes, yes, yes and yes.

We worry more each day as the President tries to put together a new group whose primary responsibility is to allow the whims and wishes of Mr.Trump to move forward unfettered and unchallenged. 

Which is exactly when the other fire and fury is likely to be unleashed.

Today I Am a Child

 It is not quite 6 AM. The first flecks of daylight are struggling to break through the darkness. I open the shade, my eyes trying to will the brightness forth. I peer out at the streetlight, looking for signs of what is imminent. 

Nothing yet, and I am as disappointed as I would have been six decades in my rear view mirror. A snowstorm is on its way.

It strikes me as strange that a person of Medicare age would still have a visceral response to the sight of white flakes tumbling randomly to earth. If I had asked my young self whether my enthusiasm for this occurrence would remain intact even now, I surely would have scoffed at the notion. You are far too jaded, old man, far too withered of spirit.

 I know it is near but not quite upon us. In detail, almost to the minute, I am informed by my twenty first century devices of  intensity, duration, the percentage possibility of what will and won't be. But yet, I still stand at the window, as if I can somehow compel the result I seek.

When I was in high school, I was assigned a writing task. The prompt I do not recall, but the tale I told was of capturing a snowflake in my hand, studying its size and shape for but a brief moment until it died and disappeared. I remember writing this piece while in the library, looking out upon a world of swirling, tumbling, frenetics. A half century later, it remains one of the few vivid memories of that period of my life. 

I even recall my teacher's reaction. How he spoke of the beauty in my soul. How pleased I was.

I have outraced the storm to this destination, driving in the dead of night. I peer intently at the street now, the light of day ever more intense. Still, the pavement is mockingly black, taunting me for my expectations. Time an enemy, moving far too slowly as it decides to make me wait until it is ready. I grow more impatient with each moment.

Today, children awaken to a snow day, with everything that these two words mean. Today I am a child.

Chief of Staph

("How Long Can John Kelly Hang On?")

John Kelly brings no honor to himself in the task of defending this border, in fighting to preserve a paper thin illusion of presidential competence, in doing battle on behalf of one so wholly unworthy of his station.

For a general who believes fiercely in America, he cannot possibly remotely believe in this American.

And for Mr. Kelly, if he perceives the opportunity to bend Mr. Trump to his will, there are a mountain of bodies strewn along this road who have tried and failed from Steve Bannon to Reince Priebus Jeff Sessions to the President's own son in law. Mr. Trump is far too volatile, far too neurotic, far too easily swayed against as well as for. 

Working for Mr. Trump is a suicide mission. Maybe not today, or even tomorrow, but one day soon. And for those whose necks do not suffer the guillotine, there is ultimately the determination to fall on one's own sword.

It is why so many choose not to go to war for Mr. Trump, thoughts of preservation of career, integrity and sanity outweighing the mesmerizing allure of power.

When will John Kelly go? He is already gone, he just doesn't know it. Defeat in this arena is an inevitable as death and taxes. 

All Star Nose Holders

("A Trump Fawner's Almanac")

While Jeff Sessions is certainly an All Star fawner he is far from the MVP of that league. Here are just four of the many worthy candidates for consideration:

1. Chris Christie - what list could not begin with the loud mouthed former king of insults who looked like he needed the bathroom break Hillary took as he stood behind Donald, practically genuflecting for the job the unfortunate Mr. Sessions now holds in his slimy fingers. If only Chris hadn't jailed Jared's dad.

2.  Mitt Romney - after reminding us that Mr. Trump should run a weak second in a race for dog catcher, he was just about first in line to apply for work as his Secretary (of State) as soon as Donald was taking applications. Now seeking to become a Senator in Utah, can he, as a devout Mormon, forgive and forget Mr. Trump's trespasses as a man and as  President?  Endorsement accepted.

3. Rick Perry - after calling Trump a cancer, it appears that this disease was miraculously cured as the man who couldn't remember that third thing that should be gone, now heads that thing, and protects the nuclear arsenal that the President threatens to use against his North Korean doppelganger.

4. Jared Kushner - yes, the President's favorite (and least favorite) son in law, who comes from a family whose political views are allegedly far removed from those of Ivanka's daddy. Maybe he thought he could kiss not only his wife but the Donald's ring and turn his father in law from monster into human being. Now, Jared contemplates banishment and possibly a six by nine foot bedroom as just compensation for selling his soul to the devil.

Mr. Sessions may hold his nose and bite his tongue every day that he has to deflect Donald's slings and arrows, but he should gain a measure of comfort in knowing there are many other qualified nose holders just a sniff away.

The Stench

("Ties That Bind")

When the presidency is but the latest iteration of The Apprentice you are begging for disaster.

When your boardroom is mere showcase for family and friends, when experience and understanding of the complexities are not part of the job description, when loyalty is your only demand, when blood is thicker than readiness, you are begging for disaster.

When you have no gravitas, no acumen, no integrity, no interest in the intricacies of your craft, when discipline is anathema to your every instinct, when such is the message permeating and infecting your workplace, you are begging for disaster.

And thus the world according to Trump unravels, as Jared and Ivanka's incompetence and self dealing place them and this nation in harm's way. 

An apprentice is one tasked with learning a craft at the feet of a skilled mentor. When those feet stink to high hell, the ones who are supposed to absorb the lessons of their master only end up smelling horrendous.

No Hope for the Fool on the Hill

The old gang is falling apart. Hope has decided there is none and, like Elvis, has left the building. Jared has been downgraded to chew toy and may soon be even further down the food chain. And the puppeteer Bannon has been banished to, well, we are not sure in what (shit)hole he has landed. 

What does Donald have left apart from that relationship with Ivanka which leaves us feeling somewhat squeamish? Surrounded now by generals, where are his pals and confidants? Don't you get the sense that the next tweet coming from the Emperor may be "et tu Brute"?

If he weren't such a totally despicable human being one could almost feel sorry for the dictator. Picture him in solitary confinement with his double cheeseburger, Melania as far away from the king as humanly possible, Donald staring at the screen and wondering why his only friends are those staring back at him from Fox News.

"Day after day alone on the hill ...  and nobody wants to know him, they can see that he's just a fool."

And then there were none.