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Wednesday, July 19, 2017

Blog Stew - with Real Avocados 🥑 🥑 July 18, 2017

Evidently, the desperation in Senator Mitch McConnell’s anxiety-ridden mind these days is contagious. Getting something, anything down is something Ol’ Mitch is unlikely to ever get. But I'm no Mitch McConnell. Since I don't need a House majority to do anything, I've made a unilateral Executive Decision to write something, anything down here. Still, a little explanation for my recent absence from this page is in order. After all, eleven days is a long time for a creative mind like mine to be lurking in God-knows-where.

It’s not for lack of interest or because I don’t feel like writing anymore or because I’m out playing golf, any of which are typical reasons Donald Trump uses when he plays hooky.

Rather, I’m in the midst of two other projects now and this blog, to which I love contributing, has temporarily taken a backseat.

For now, I’m best described sometimes as "sharp as a bowling ball," or pretty much as articulate and diplomatic as the president himself. "Look. I’m here, you’re here and neither of us have any idea what I am about to say.  All you know is that you are in for something great, I can tell you that. Believe me."

Which does, in fact, sound just like something the president would say. But he’s an easy target and, as something of a news junkie lately I’d hate to riddle any of my writing with satirical and morbid-but-often-true cathartic cheap shots directed at our poor excuse of a president, I can tell you that. Believe me.

But I will anyway. It’s a great way to blow off some steam from the harsh reality of American politics, aka “outright vitriol” and warm up my writing for the writing I’ll do later.

And, speaking of warming up, it was 105 degrees in my thirty foot mobile command center, which I’ve dubbed The Leisure Seeker, after a fun novel about aging by the same name.

So stick around, won’t you? This could be a fun way for you to kill a little time when you quite likely should be doing something else, like your laundry or vacuuming or even doing some writing of your own.

This last one is how I came to enjoy The Leisure Seeker in the first placeAfter all, I reasoned, just reading work I like is a sufficient warmup for my own writing if I focus enough on each and every word.

But I’ve never been a very good liar, not nearly good enough to one day become president (ouch!), so I’ll be honest and say that I enjoy reading for its own sake. Hopefully, that’s the very reason you are here right now. If so, I want you to know I appreciate your time and invite you to stay ‘til the end.

Speaking of lousy liars, the president’s son revealed one major genetic difference with his elder namesake, Donald, Sr. when displaying a weak succession of stories, each one worse than the previous story about an illicit meeting he and his father’s campaign advisers had in June, 2016.

It seems the meeting was with Russkies who came bearing gifts for his dad. Actually, they claimed to be bearing dirt, the kind that, if a little water were added, would turn into mud they could readily sling at the Clinton campaign.

But Don Jr’s not the Teflon Don his father is, and his guilty expression conjured up images of a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Except this “kid” is a 39 year old father of two who met with officials from a government hostile to the US in an attempt to collude with them to ensure the outcome of his father's presidential campaign.

There probably wasn’t a cookie jar anywhere in sight, and I highly doubt cookies or milk were served at this meeting, either. But it brings me to an esoteric point I'll try to explain. Don't worry, I'm not going to get all serious on you.

For some reason, I feel as if I’ve been bestowed with the gift of seeing how people may have acted as kids just by looking into their eyes as they talk.

It’s a big part of what makes me a news junkie, I think, for watching people recount their version of things-anything-offers a glimpse into their human side.

Perhaps it’s because I am seeking to become more aware of my own humanity and watching others offers me a baseline of comparison. Okay, so I did get all serious on you, but like Don Jr. said of his controversial meeting, it was only for a minute and it didn't make any sense. But I'm back now.

My observations are nothing if not fun, and given the heaviness of the news headlines lately a little fun is worth it’s weight. Like my mental image of Don Jr.’s face as he fibbed toon camera he ultra-sympathetic Sean Hannity of Fox News.

The Trumps make no secret of their heavy dependence upon Fox TV News which, I believe, they liken to a sort of invisible shield, picking up where their legal counsel leaves off, defending their wanton wrongdoing and placating their notoriously fragile egos.

But I’ve noticed that if I put aside the gravity, the true and utter seriousness of the infractions with which Don Jr's clearly complicit, I can see something else.

Don Jr’s nodding head symbolized not his certainty that he wasn’t lying, but his uncertainty as to what his lying might mean this time.

For once, his father wasn’t there to protect him from himself, and he had no weight of his own to throw around to get him out of his predicament. He was only compounding his guilt, as he found himself standing on completely unknown ground.

In the absence of anything else, Don Jr fell back on the default setting he’d learned while growing up. It was time for the Break Only In Event Of Emergency solution which simply meant to keep denying everything.

I don’t mean this to sound quite so serious any more than I’d imply this is a circumstance worthy of levity. In fact, it’s the sheer seriousness of it all that chiseled away Don Jr’s confident façade, complete with $2000 suit, silk tie, etc. until I could see nothing left but a scared little boy.

His hand was caught in the cookie jar, all right, and though little boys might fear a spanking, this scared little boy had no idea what he was in for this time.

In the sudden absence of a man nearing middle age I saw a nervous schoolboy, standing as if at the head of the class, palms sweaty and paper in hand.

Flash back thirty years and there the boy stands, nervously reading: “What I would do if I were elected president, by Donald J Trump, Jr.”

Quite an image, to be sure and, if I recall correctly it was Don Jr who, on the eve his father clinched the nomination exhorted about how much of a rush politics brought.

I also recall thinking that his take on things then was a lot like what I’d expect from someone who’d just tried skydiving or a zip line through the jungle and survived to tell the tale. The novelty this poor little rich boy felt would wear off and it’d be on to the next exciting adventure for him.

Not so far his more predictable father, and I say this with tongue in cheek, of course; there is nothing predictable about the senior Trump.

As we all are painfully aware, Mr. Trump should’ve stuck to doing what he does best, pretending to be a truck driver.

An adroit and skillful statesman never has been and never will be Trump hallmarks; such traits are not compatible with anyone who relies as heavily on bullying as Trump does.

The current Republican inability to pass sweeping healthcare reform, which is a nightmare in the making for me and over 20+ million other Americans is a laughable yet telling statement on Trump’s inability to lead the country.

Though the bill is dead in the water now, many of us still might have reason to fear for the future of our healthcare.

But with Trump somehow conspicuously out of the White House, no American would have to also face the indignity of being represented by the emotional and intellectual equivalent of a pouty third grader who has to go to bed early because it’s a school night.

But trump’s wannabe oligarch ambitions have required some creative subterfuge on the part of disobedient subjects who insist on contradicting his highness’ whims.

Like so many unruly schoolchildren, contrary leaders all across the country are dusting off their grade school “Oops-I-forgot-my-homework” CYA  game. A few cases in point:

Pull out of the Paris Climate Accord? “Go ahead, smart guy,” an army of state governors and major city mayors think, we’ll circumvent the White House by contacting the other sovereign nations still in the accord and pledge to uphold it anyway.

This may reflect poorly on these lower level political leaders but not nearly as much as it does on Trump which, of course, means everything to him. Something tells me that, if he’s able to pull his head out of the sand trap on one of his golf courses Trump will have us back in the Paris Accord in no time.

How about Trump’s esteemed Ban on Muslims? Or his tiresome yet persistent attempts to roll back Obama-era ecological protections, financial caveats and social legislation? Or pursue any self-interest he sees fit no matter what much it flies in the face of common sense?

Then, as if by way of explanation Trump, who proclaimed himself the anti-establishment candidate now, as president merely tweets “that’s politics!”

But Trump sure has provided plenty of grist for the late night humor mills. His  chronic insecurity has led to a strange propensity for creating demeaning nicknames for everyone who earns his disfavor. That’s a lot of nicknames.

As fate would have it, there are a lot of comedy writers who are willing to match him stride for stride in that department. Because he’s made it clear that nothing’s sacred to him, he’s become fair game himself.

So has his family (the Russian ones, too), his non-family advisers (both of them), his few cabinet members (quality not quantity) and, my favorite, his legal team. Well, those who are willing to risk being disbarred and engage in anonymous, late-night email battles laced with profanity and ending, finally, with the word? “Bro.” On a school night, no less.

Perhaps all those wily comedy writers are every bit as insecure as Trump is. However, as he’s so fond of saying “I’m president and you’re not.”
That makes him, not the comedy writers the visible one.

The comics themselves sometimes find they’re on the front line, trapped somewhere between giving the people what we want-like his head on a platter-and his eggshell-fragile ego.

Not all comics, like Kathy Griffin who was recently seen holding a likeness of Trump’s bloodied, severed head are as easily intimidated and destroyed with the stroke of your executive pen, the same one he is still holding as he sits at his desk, waiting for a healthcare bill that will never come.

Thanks to Donald Trump St, however, I’m finding some women quite attractive I’d never have guessed I would before. For example, I’ve become a card-carrying, lifelong member of the Kathy Griffin Fan Club.

Now, she’s no “Low IQ Mika” as you might say but, after some thought I’ve decided I would donate every penny of my meager income to help her resume her career if she’d only agree to love me forever. All because I can’t stand Donald Trump.

Or Rachel Maddow, who is absolutely spellbinding with her witty articulation of Trump’s latest foibles. Even though it’s said that the camera makes a person look taller, something tells me I’ve still got at least a foot on her.

But, unlike me, she’s still got both her arms, so I figure that evens things out. Do you think she’d agree? Well, to quote former FBI Director Jim Comey “Lordy, I sure hope so…”

Anyway, the reason I said I wouldn’t likely ever be attracted to these women ever before is because, had it not been for our current, illustrious chief executive I’d never had occasion to watch their shows or hear of their work. Goodie for me, and maybe lucky for them, I guess.

In closing, I’d simply like to say that, though I’m not desperate to create content for this or any blog, I’ve felt a little remiss for not posting sooner.

However, it’s been so dang hot- 105 degrees today- and it promises to continue as such that indoor cooking, save for this blog stew is not permitted.

This blog, then, will not have regularly scheduled postings, but impromptu entries as weather permits.

Thank you for joining me-have a wonderful night!

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