Mr. Trump's Oval Office Address on the Coronavirus

He is still trying to build his Wall.

Note to the president: the Coronavirus is here, it is exponentially expanding and it requires our immediate and complete attention.

Don't tell us you are suspending traffic from Europe, with some seemingly hard to explain exceptions including an on its face bizarre exclusion for the United Kingdom.

Rather tell us what we are doing here and how to protect those among us. Tell us of medical readiness, of our own travel concerns, of the extent of aggressive tactics we must take in our business lives, in our schools, in our places of entertainment.  For how long and in what ways MUST we change the essential manner in how we comport ourselves? 

Why are we not yet testing vast portions of our population? When we will be ready to do so?

Mr. Trump, you are our leader. LEAD. You have the facts at your disposal. TELL US THE HARD TRUTHS. 

This is not a foreign invasion. Not your Mexican fantasy, not your ban on travel by Islamic people into this country. This is not, as so much in your presidency has been, merely a manufactured crisis of your imagination. It is as real as it gets.

Every person with Coronavirus is likely to pass it on to two or three others. 

Look around Mr. Trump. Italy is speaking to us. Their country is now shut down. Where do they differ from us? Their numbers were much as ours but a few days ago.

It is time for you to stop treating your office with utter disdain. Time to stop treating this nation with such disdain. Time to do your job Mr. Trump.

This is a matter of our very survival.

DO YOUR JOB.

Joe Biden and Fireside Chats

("The Democrats Are Moderately Excited")

I believe we have established three essential criteria for the Democratic nominee:

1. Is he (excuse me Tulsi Gabbard) likeable?

2. Do his policies worry me?

3. Can he defeat Donald Trump?

Yes, I understand #3 is the only issue that matters, but we have learned the others are necessary predicates.

The Democratic party has settled on a choice between two old shoes. After considering various colors, shapes and sizes, all were discarded save for two men who have been in the public eye for a very long time. Given our grave sense of unease from the madness emanating from the White House, familiarity with the Democratic candidates did not, at least in this instance, breed contempt.

Joe Biden makes us comfortable in ways Bernie Sanders never could. Having an attachment to "no drama Obama" certainly provides Mr. Biden a solid underpinning, whether or not his policies actually match those of #44.

As it turns out, Democrats don't favor confrontation in this moment, not with Republicans and not with our established manner of being.

And with the Coronavirus now wreaking havoc with our collective psyche, our energy for all out war has been further dissipated.

While we hope that our math is correct and that one plus two equals three, our party has now decided to throw their hat in with a man whose heart seems most often in the right place and whose words (at least a vast portion) give us thoughts of peace, of calm.

Who better than Joe to bring us our milk and cookies? Fireside chats anyone?

In the Land of What If

I know it is nothing more than what has afflicted me a thousand times before, nothing but a small head cold, only an occasional sneeze, merely a bit of a stuffy nose.

But I wait and wonder if there is a cough to come, if my temperature will spike, if, if, if, if. It is the world in which we now reside, populated by concerns whether hands are sufficiently washed, your own face now an enemy to be avoided. An unpardonable sin to bring your own fingers in contact with your own mouth, nose or eyes.

Did I actually hear someone cough across the room? Is that person sweating, does he look unwell?

These are the thoughts I try to suppress all day as I hope to live my life without  fear overtaking my eyesight, my hearing, my sense of touch, without overreaction becoming the new normal, without cataclysm hiding around each corner, without the virus waiting impatiently for my arrival on every bus, train or plane, every door knob, every elevator button. Even though this most damn sickness is not everywhere, it is. Even though you are still well, you may not be. Even though still I am well, well am I still?

Today we live in certainty the worst is yet to come, sure that there are harder times ahead. My goal is to not to surrender to that impulse, to find a center of calm within myself, to find something other than the neon lit danger sign omnipresent in the universe.

With one foot in front of the other I greet today. Maybe with eyes behind my head, but trying my best to look at what is in front of me, circumspect but not consumed with worry of what is coming to grab me from behind.

Coronavirus

I have been reluctant to post this week, feeling the magnitude of events dwarfed the significance of anything I might attempt to add to the conversation

The Coronavirus has much of the world in its grip. From democracy to autocracy to brutal dictatorship, none are safe from its forces. And wherever one may be in the globe, every cough elicits concern, every word that there is illness in the area brings a shiver to the heart.

And in our common sentiments there should be a common purpose. For we are no longer separate bodies at war with each other in spirit if not in fact. We are no longer foreigners, immigrants. No longer with borders or walls. No longer rich or poor. No longer black or white. No longer Democrat or Republican. No longer American, Russian, Chinese or North Korean.

In this moment we all share a single enemy. In this moment we all require a single purpose. In this moment we all are but as one. For if you are ill, I stand a greater risk of falling. And if I am ill those I love are closer to harm than they should ever be.

So I hope, in all that results from a virus that causes such unrest, we discover a shared humanity. And if and when the Coronavirus is but a line in the history books, that we are changed for the better for having survived its terrible grip and learned its frightening lesson.

A Day in the Life

It was one of those days for me.

It began innocuously enough. I had recently gotten a pair of sweat pants to wear around the house. The kind where it is hard to tell the front from the back. At least for me.

"Are your pants on backwards" my wife asked in that incredulous, yet resigned to spending the rest of her life with this idiot, tone that connotes both wonder and despair.

"Well, there is no way to know the difference" I informed her in an almost pleading voice that spoke of my desperate incompetency.

"You have drawstrings" my son announced. No I don't I thought, although I knew I was clearly overmatched by the complexity of this attire.

"I have to text my sister", but then he took pity on me and let it go. And so this would merely be recorded in my book of life as episode 10,321, or something like that, in the chronicles of why I am a danger to myself and others.

And then it got worse. By a lot.

My wife and I planned a short hike with our son in law, our 17 month old granddaughter, along with a couple who was visiting them with their 7 month old son.

Anyway, it was a morning marked by an unexpected, beautiful snowstorm. And thus our hike along a somewhat turbulent stream leading to a churning waterfall was picture perfect (actually a few pictures perfect). I had begged off the task of photographer, leaving it to my wife, knowing if the job had fallen to me there would be many images of my finger and little else. 

As the walk concluded, I choreographed our journey back home: a stop at Crossroads, a great lunch place a few miles away, then dropping my wife and me off at our apartment before the rest wandered back to the house my daughter and son-in-law had rented. As I was the one most familiar with this area, I would direct from the passenger seat in the lead car, my wife, son-in-law and granddaughter trailing in the second vehicle.

"Did you miss the turn for Crossroads?" It was my wife calling, that how did that happen question ringing in my ear. The truth is I had forgotten. In the minutes that it took from my mapping out our future to it actually transpiring, the thoughts had left my brain and were lying somewhere by the side of the road, shivering from the cold, bewildered and totally exposed to the elements.

"Don't worry." It was now my son in law's voice. "We will just head home, put the kids down for a nap and figure out lunch then." You see, my family is actually quite protective of me and their words most often treat me with tender care, my inadequacies hidden behind their affection.

My sole remaining task was to direct my driver, the weekend guest of my daughter and son in law, to my residence.

"Did you forget to tell him to turn on our street?" It was my wife calling again. And yes, I most definitely had. We were now a block or two past the left we were intended to make, but there was an easy alternate route available.

"It is not a big deal. It is just as fast this way." Even my driver, who was not otherwise aware of just how utterly damaged a being I was, had caught on. He too was excusing my glaring deficiencies in an obvious act of charity.

Shortly thereafter, I arrived home, safe though clearly not very sound. Despite my worst intentions, no one got hurt in the making of this movie, and the small caravan exited for their destination.

As I entered the apartment and took off my coat, I reached into my pocket and felt two little objects that were not where they should have been at that moment. I pulled out my phone and, in a deflated, quick burst spoke with my son in law one more time. 

"I have your daughter's gloves."

The Coronavirus and Donald Trump

Mr Trump's Great Wall.

As the President has made it the central promise of his administration to keep us safe from invasion by forces threatening to destroy our way of life, the Muslim ban and the border wall served to protect us from wholly imagined enemies.

Now the Coronavirus is bearing down upon us. Gaining speed and intensity, like a tsunami headed for our shores. An actual disaster a looming possibility in a form we cannot see, touch, hear or smell. And for this battle, true leadership, a steady hand and a firm intellect are a mandate.

But Mr. Trump has addressed this as he has with all the self inflicted near calamities of his tenure in office. Simple answers, bold and glaring misstatements. As the boy who has cried wolf a thousand times reveals his thoughts, it will be almost impossible for us to distinguish fact from fiction and truth from lies.

He has decimated the ranks of those who would serve this nation best in our hour of need, as the CDC and the office of National Security have been robbed of both their brightest and their monies by an administration dedicated to the proposition that science is science fiction and only certain lives are worthy of preservation.

And he has turned over control of our nation's response to his Vice President, a man whose history fully belies the concept that he is prepared for the task at hand.

As we hold our collective breath and watch in horror as events seem to spiral out of control, as markets across the globe shut down and stock markets crumble, we are left with the nightmarish understanding as to the glaring inadequacies of those in charge of our future.

This is the first true test of the presidency of Donald Trump. The horror of that realization is impossible to escape. 

National Primary Day

. 

("Why a Shortened Primary Season May Prove Disastrous").

We don't need a longer primary season. We need a national primary day. One day. 50 states. Everyone with a say in who becomes the nominee.

We don't need Iowa, New Hampshire, Nevada, South Carolina and the Super Tuesday states to inform us who we, in a state that has never seen the candidate plant one foot, has chosen to represent our party. 

We don't need a LONGER period to choose our candidate. We need a more effective period, where each candidate must try to curry favor with enough of the populace to secure the nomination. If this requires more time in larger states, with more votes, so be it (just as in the general election). If it requires moderating positions so that one must talk not merely to a rabid base, but to the population across the nation, let it happen (just as in the general election).

This is the 21st century. Candidates declare NEARLY TWO YEARS before election day. They have access to us over the internet every second of every day. If they fail to engage us there, then let us schedule debates every seven days for two months. Top 10 in the national polls before the first debate stay in for the entire series. If we can't make a decision at that point, it is only because we are not paying attention.

We twist and turn this primary season into a form that makes little sense, fails to recognize that the horse and buggy have been sitting in the shed for over a hundred years and make the opinion of every person in Iowa a thousand times more important than that of someone in my home state of New Jersey.

Want to do the right thing? Just say it. 

National primary day.

The TENTH Debate and the Coronavirus

I fell asleep half way through last night's festivities. Thank goodness.

If they do a sequel to "Anger Management" this could well be the opening scene. Seven men and women in a simultaneous shrill, fingers pointing, accusations flying debacle, each one straining to be heard, literally and figuratively, above the fray.

What did I learn before nodding off? Loud noises do not keep me awake. Tom Steyer is still running for President. Amy Klobuchar, so she reminds us, is the only one who can get it done. Joe Biden, as he constantly informs us, is the only person who has ever gotten anything done. Pete Buttigieg noticed there was a group of white folks trying to tell people of color how that candidate alone could improve black and brown lives. Bernie Sanders loves good education no matter its country of origin. Elizabeth Warren still really dislikes Mike Bloomberg. And Mike Bloomberg told possibly the least humorous joke ever attempted. Keep your day job Mike.

I passed out just as they were about to announce the solution to the Coronavirus. A deadly plague threatening to destroy a large portion of humanity. And no, for the record, I am not referring to the seven who paraded before the nation last evening. It only felt that way.

I Am Currently Dead (I Believe This Is A Work Of Fiction)

I am currently dead.

As you are now reading this, it can only mean I have met my demise.

I have passed far too soon for those who found my presence comforting and not nearly soon enough for the few (I can only hope) who felt my presence was a burden on them.

I have lived an existence marked by an extraordinary moment or two surrounded often by much ado about little. I have, in rare bursts, exhibited great strength but far more often been unable to carry my own weight.

I have loved. I have hated (but in moderation). I have been uncompromising and compromising (no, that doesn't sound right at all).

I have left a small footprint on this planet, but maybe that was not environmentally sound.

I have been loud (that was just my natural speaking voice) and quiet, maybe at times when that was not such a good thing.

I have been smart but, oh boy, have I been dumb. I have been right on occasion, but something less than that as a general rule.

I have grown from child to adult to old person without ever really growing up. But maybe that was ok.

I have had a family and a job. One brought immense unbridled joy, the other mainly filled space.

I have seen beginnings and endings, starts and stops, highs and lows and everything that managed to fall between the cracks.

I have felt the warm sun upon my face and the cold wind rattle my bones.

I have often judged others unfairly while too rarely having been critical of my own deficiencies.

I am grateful for the time allotted me upon the stage and it would make me happy if I left behind more smiles than tears.

I am, I mean I was, imperfect.

I am me. And maybe, in some respects, you as well.

Bernie

He stands apart, watching the cannibalization of the rest, bemused and probably a touch bewildered by the roar of the crowd. For most of his political life he has been but an asterisk, a political irritant, tilting at windmills, a fringe player at best.  Now, at 78, he stands on the precipice of being the chosen one, the standard bearer for a party seeking to unseat a President who is Exhibit A for the proposition that yesterday's unbelievable can morph into today's reality How did we, and Bernie, get here? At first it appeared that Elizabeth Warren would prove worthy challenger for that portion of the Democratic Party who considered themselves the progressive wing. But, despite impressive credentials and a fierce determination, Ms. Warren has failed to capture the hearts and imaginations of nearly enough, the fervency of admirers of Mr. Sanders as unshakable as those who attached themselves to Mr. Trump. And, much as in 2016 when, try as hard as they might, Mr.Cruz, Mr.Rubio, Mr. Kasich and the rest of the band of not so merrymen could not do much more than bounce off one another, in this year's iteration, the bumble bees (Biden,  Buttigieg and now Bloomberg),plus Klobuchar have done little other than repeatedly sting each other. And so as Nevada is left in the rear view mirror and South Carolina and Super Tuesday loom on the horizon, we are left to contemplate the very likely scenario of two septuagenarians, neither of whom a few years back would have been on anyone's radar screen, facing off for that most prized seat in the Oval Office. In this age of grave unrest, with a Congress that has come to a virtual standstill and an internet that fuels nothing so much as dislike for the political insider it should not come as great surprise that a man who has spent a lifetime on the outside looking in is now poised to take his seat at the head of his party's table. ReplyForward