Thierry Sagnier's Blog, page 12
December 5, 2019
Greed
America has never been elegant, but then again, it has never been called upon to show any degree of grace or style. Nor is it intellectual, or particularly artistic or rational. What the US has always been about is power and money, which for all good purposes are American synonyms. Calvin Coolidge may have been misquoted but the aphorism attributed to him, “The business of America is business,” is absolutely true. In light of this, the Trump apologists who tell us that the economy has never been better, unemployment has never been lower, and the stock market has never been higher, are pandering to the basest of American instinct, inelegant greed. In America, money excuses all things and all behaviors and is at the root of nearly all government affairs. Politicians use it to buy power, and powerful lobbies use it to buy politicians.
Greed drives the opioid crisis, the health care tragedy, the depredation of American soil, the pollution of seas and oceans, the student debt catastrophe, the failure of our infrastructure, and the extinction of the middle class. It fuels the gun lobby and the murders of thousands annually, and has created a surveillance state spearheaded by Google and Facebook. Greed keeps the banks in business, quite obviously, and is the reason that the minimal wage—$7.25 an hour in most states—has not increased even as every basic cost-rent, food, utilities, insurance, medications, education, gasoline, etc.—have tripled or quadrupled. Greed causes us to buy for a season and dispose a season later.
This is sad, but it serves to explain the Trump presidency.
We have elected a man who purports to be very rich, though without seeing his tax returns, and judging from his many failures at various businesses, his wealth is probably nowhere near as great as he claims. We know he benefits financially from his elected office as no other American president ever has, much like the leader of a third tier republic. He is a nepotic and despotic troll surrounded by equally warped advocates and counsels. Basically, Trump defines the American shortcomings mentioned earlier. He is completely and totally feckless, as well as amoral. One could easily believe that the word sin, in his estimation, never applies to any of his actions, and that the associated concepts of guilt or shame, are simply non-existent in his limited vocabulary. He is neither intellectual nor rational. He is in the White House to enrich himself and his family, a would-be Croesus with visions of grandeur and a limited grasp of events. We have grown so used to his excesses—financial and otherwise—that we quickly dismiss the past behaviors that would have doomed any other democratic leader.
What is truly amazing is that a man who constantly denigrates others more courageous than he could dream of being, remains in office and, many predict, may well stay in office in spite of the impeachment efforts.
The future looks bleak for the once ever-so-powerful American empire. Trump will not bring it down—he is neither that smart nor that strong—but he has damaged its foundations, setting the US on a course that is both hazardous and weakening.
The United States once was the world’s avenging angel. It combated evil, helped underdog nations, and was a prime mover in the developing world. It did none of these things for free—greed has always been a moving force—but the pay-offs benefitted the nation. Today, largely thanks to Trump and his cabal, greed ensures the wealthiest will remian wealthy while the rest of America drowns in a sea of lies.
Greed drives the opioid crisis, the health care tragedy, the depredation of American soil, the pollution of seas and oceans, the student debt catastrophe, the failure of our infrastructure, and the extinction of the middle class. It fuels the gun lobby and the murders of thousands annually, and has created a surveillance state spearheaded by Google and Facebook. Greed keeps the banks in business, quite obviously, and is the reason that the minimal wage—$7.25 an hour in most states—has not increased even as every basic cost-rent, food, utilities, insurance, medications, education, gasoline, etc.—have tripled or quadrupled. Greed causes us to buy for a season and dispose a season later.
This is sad, but it serves to explain the Trump presidency.
We have elected a man who purports to be very rich, though without seeing his tax returns, and judging from his many failures at various businesses, his wealth is probably nowhere near as great as he claims. We know he benefits financially from his elected office as no other American president ever has, much like the leader of a third tier republic. He is a nepotic and despotic troll surrounded by equally warped advocates and counsels. Basically, Trump defines the American shortcomings mentioned earlier. He is completely and totally feckless, as well as amoral. One could easily believe that the word sin, in his estimation, never applies to any of his actions, and that the associated concepts of guilt or shame, are simply non-existent in his limited vocabulary. He is neither intellectual nor rational. He is in the White House to enrich himself and his family, a would-be Croesus with visions of grandeur and a limited grasp of events. We have grown so used to his excesses—financial and otherwise—that we quickly dismiss the past behaviors that would have doomed any other democratic leader.
What is truly amazing is that a man who constantly denigrates others more courageous than he could dream of being, remains in office and, many predict, may well stay in office in spite of the impeachment efforts.
The future looks bleak for the once ever-so-powerful American empire. Trump will not bring it down—he is neither that smart nor that strong—but he has damaged its foundations, setting the US on a course that is both hazardous and weakening.
The United States once was the world’s avenging angel. It combated evil, helped underdog nations, and was a prime mover in the developing world. It did none of these things for free—greed has always been a moving force—but the pay-offs benefitted the nation. Today, largely thanks to Trump and his cabal, greed ensures the wealthiest will remian wealthy while the rest of America drowns in a sea of lies.
October 20, 2019
A G-7 Solution
This morning, I sent the following letter to President Trump.
Dear Mister President:
I understand you have decided not to host the G-7 meetings at the Miami conference center you own and that is losing money at a staggering rate. You are now considering having the sessions at Camp David, but according to your own White House advisors, everyone hates Camp David.
I have a solution. I am willing to sublet my place of dwelling to you for a modest daily fee so the G-7 meetings can be held here.
My apartment is located in Virginia, minutes from the Metro and on major bus lines. Uber and Lyft are a phone call away, and racks housing rental bicycles and electric scooters are mere yards from my front door. The area has a number of restaurants ranging from the inexpensive to the stupidly costly, which would allow G-7 participants to eat cheaply but bill their respective countries for very posh meals. There is a Target store nearby, and parking is available for the limos.
My building has two elevators, except on weekends when one is always in use by people moving in. Though at first glance, this may seem to be an inconvenience, it will actually allow you and other leaders to carefully consider your thoughts while waiting for the elevator, and possibly save you, Mister President, from saying outrageously stupid things that you will need to deny later, even though your words were recorded by members of the fake media. This is turn might lead some people to agree that the fake media is indeed conducting the greatest witch hunt in American history. Plus, you might be able to blame former President Obama and Hillary Clinton for a Teleprompter malfunction.
Did I mention I am mere miles from Dulles International Airport? That’s a big plus as well.
My building has a concierge who is there from time to time. It has two party rooms, a bowling alley, a ping pong table as well as a foosball table, so the G-7 people can entertain themselves between meetings. There is also a gym with treadmills, Exercycles, and a rowing machine that work relatively often. Management of my building recently—and very thoughtfully—installed a punching bag in the gym. This can be reserved for half-an-hour at a time, though G-7 visitors will have to wait their turns as the punching bag is in high demand among my building’s tenants.
The only drawback may be sleeping accommodations. My apartment is a one-bedroom, with one queen-size bed. There is also a couch that can accommodate one or two short people. In addition, I can provide yoga mats.
As mentioned before, there are party rooms and these could easily be re-configured as sleeping quarters, if the guests sleep in shifts.
The G-7 members, we all know, meet in the spirit of world unity and international betterment. Their attendance at the meetings held in my building can be seen as an Outward Bound adventure, except that it will be indoors.
By coming here, the G-7 will save American taxpayers millions of dollars, which we know is of paramount importance to you. With minimal efforts, these savings may be used to fund your golf outings. So as you can see, it’s win-win.
And let’s not forget that within walking distance we have a McDonalds, Arbie’s, Taco Bell, KFC, and Burger King? Also a Home Depot.
Please let me know your thoughts.
Dear Mister President:
I understand you have decided not to host the G-7 meetings at the Miami conference center you own and that is losing money at a staggering rate. You are now considering having the sessions at Camp David, but according to your own White House advisors, everyone hates Camp David.
I have a solution. I am willing to sublet my place of dwelling to you for a modest daily fee so the G-7 meetings can be held here.
My apartment is located in Virginia, minutes from the Metro and on major bus lines. Uber and Lyft are a phone call away, and racks housing rental bicycles and electric scooters are mere yards from my front door. The area has a number of restaurants ranging from the inexpensive to the stupidly costly, which would allow G-7 participants to eat cheaply but bill their respective countries for very posh meals. There is a Target store nearby, and parking is available for the limos.
My building has two elevators, except on weekends when one is always in use by people moving in. Though at first glance, this may seem to be an inconvenience, it will actually allow you and other leaders to carefully consider your thoughts while waiting for the elevator, and possibly save you, Mister President, from saying outrageously stupid things that you will need to deny later, even though your words were recorded by members of the fake media. This is turn might lead some people to agree that the fake media is indeed conducting the greatest witch hunt in American history. Plus, you might be able to blame former President Obama and Hillary Clinton for a Teleprompter malfunction.
Did I mention I am mere miles from Dulles International Airport? That’s a big plus as well.
My building has a concierge who is there from time to time. It has two party rooms, a bowling alley, a ping pong table as well as a foosball table, so the G-7 people can entertain themselves between meetings. There is also a gym with treadmills, Exercycles, and a rowing machine that work relatively often. Management of my building recently—and very thoughtfully—installed a punching bag in the gym. This can be reserved for half-an-hour at a time, though G-7 visitors will have to wait their turns as the punching bag is in high demand among my building’s tenants.
The only drawback may be sleeping accommodations. My apartment is a one-bedroom, with one queen-size bed. There is also a couch that can accommodate one or two short people. In addition, I can provide yoga mats.
As mentioned before, there are party rooms and these could easily be re-configured as sleeping quarters, if the guests sleep in shifts.
The G-7 members, we all know, meet in the spirit of world unity and international betterment. Their attendance at the meetings held in my building can be seen as an Outward Bound adventure, except that it will be indoors.
By coming here, the G-7 will save American taxpayers millions of dollars, which we know is of paramount importance to you. With minimal efforts, these savings may be used to fund your golf outings. So as you can see, it’s win-win.
And let’s not forget that within walking distance we have a McDonalds, Arbie’s, Taco Bell, KFC, and Burger King? Also a Home Depot.
Please let me know your thoughts.
September 6, 2019
Le Grand Guignol
Sometimes it’s hard to write. The subject matter might be beyond my comprehension, or dull, or occasionally inappropriate. Lately, as I try to write about the state of the union, I find myself at a loss for words, a rare event.
Almost everything, it seems, hinges on Trump. He is the village idiot and the bête noire, and as such, it’s gotten difficult to write about him and his GOP cohorts in a coherent fashion. I’m reduced to thinking of him as the grand guignol in an increasingly perilous theater of the absurd.
Part of the problem is that in the US today, fact belittles fiction. Can a 21st century President really, honestly, want to buy Greenland, another country? Yes indeed. And there are precedents, we are told by the Trump proponents. Truman wanted to buy the place shortly after World War II, but times were different then. Now there are issues of conservation and native rights that back then hardly existed. Truman’s offer was turned down by the Danish government. So was Trump’s, which caused a fit of pique and the cancellation of a state visit to Denmark.
And then there’s the Sharpy incident. Trump, or one of his aides, added incorrect details to a weather map to show that Alabama was threatened by Hurricane Dorian. They used a Sharpy to redraw the possible sphere of threat. Such childishness would merit a bare few inches of print on the back page of the local paper, were it not for Trump’s obstinacy. While all sources and experts said Alabama was safe, Trump insisted the state was not and, to the best of my knowledge, still does. Add to this the love affairs with dictators, the migrant children in camps, the paper towel roll toss in Puerto Rico, the belief that he’s the Second Coming (yes, I do think he believes this) and a host of other farcicalities, and you quickly reach the indefensible.
And then, of course, there is the ever-growing number of mass killings by men wielding firearms. While the NRA still mouths the bizarre Guns Don’t Kill People, People Kill People, more and more are killed by people wielding guns and nothing is done about it. This is unbelievable. What it comes down to is that the right to own and wield firearms trumps (sorry) the right to lead a safe life. Trump, after a recent mass killing, posed smilingly in a hospital holding a surviving baby. He promised to do something about the violence but, when the NRA stirred, he quickly backed off.
Recently, I had an online discussion with a woman acquaintance, a gun owner and NRA member. I was trying to get her to explain the disparity found in the number of gun-related death in countries where gun ownership is strictly regulated and countries where it is not. She avoided answering, and then said that registering guns would lead to guns being taken away. I wasn’t smart or quick enough to mention that, to the best of my knowledge, registering cars has not resulted in cars being confiscated. I did, however, suggest that guns should indeed be treated with the same respect afforded to automobiles. They should be titled, taxed, registered and insured, subject to yearly inspections, and not employed by anyone who has not demonstrated the skills necessary to use them. The woman told me to fuck off, which pretty much ended that discussion.
I don’t own a gun. I used to have an 18th century flintlock but I sold it to a collector. I have things I could hit people over the head with, and things that could stab or slash, which I am told would be quite useless if faced with gun, but that’s okay. My understanding is that guns are to be kept in gun safes, which means that should an intruder break into my home and threaten me, I’d have to ask permission to unlock the safe so I could defend myself.
That’s probably not going to work.
Almost everything, it seems, hinges on Trump. He is the village idiot and the bête noire, and as such, it’s gotten difficult to write about him and his GOP cohorts in a coherent fashion. I’m reduced to thinking of him as the grand guignol in an increasingly perilous theater of the absurd.
Part of the problem is that in the US today, fact belittles fiction. Can a 21st century President really, honestly, want to buy Greenland, another country? Yes indeed. And there are precedents, we are told by the Trump proponents. Truman wanted to buy the place shortly after World War II, but times were different then. Now there are issues of conservation and native rights that back then hardly existed. Truman’s offer was turned down by the Danish government. So was Trump’s, which caused a fit of pique and the cancellation of a state visit to Denmark.
And then there’s the Sharpy incident. Trump, or one of his aides, added incorrect details to a weather map to show that Alabama was threatened by Hurricane Dorian. They used a Sharpy to redraw the possible sphere of threat. Such childishness would merit a bare few inches of print on the back page of the local paper, were it not for Trump’s obstinacy. While all sources and experts said Alabama was safe, Trump insisted the state was not and, to the best of my knowledge, still does. Add to this the love affairs with dictators, the migrant children in camps, the paper towel roll toss in Puerto Rico, the belief that he’s the Second Coming (yes, I do think he believes this) and a host of other farcicalities, and you quickly reach the indefensible.
And then, of course, there is the ever-growing number of mass killings by men wielding firearms. While the NRA still mouths the bizarre Guns Don’t Kill People, People Kill People, more and more are killed by people wielding guns and nothing is done about it. This is unbelievable. What it comes down to is that the right to own and wield firearms trumps (sorry) the right to lead a safe life. Trump, after a recent mass killing, posed smilingly in a hospital holding a surviving baby. He promised to do something about the violence but, when the NRA stirred, he quickly backed off.
Recently, I had an online discussion with a woman acquaintance, a gun owner and NRA member. I was trying to get her to explain the disparity found in the number of gun-related death in countries where gun ownership is strictly regulated and countries where it is not. She avoided answering, and then said that registering guns would lead to guns being taken away. I wasn’t smart or quick enough to mention that, to the best of my knowledge, registering cars has not resulted in cars being confiscated. I did, however, suggest that guns should indeed be treated with the same respect afforded to automobiles. They should be titled, taxed, registered and insured, subject to yearly inspections, and not employed by anyone who has not demonstrated the skills necessary to use them. The woman told me to fuck off, which pretty much ended that discussion.
I don’t own a gun. I used to have an 18th century flintlock but I sold it to a collector. I have things I could hit people over the head with, and things that could stab or slash, which I am told would be quite useless if faced with gun, but that’s okay. My understanding is that guns are to be kept in gun safes, which means that should an intruder break into my home and threaten me, I’d have to ask permission to unlock the safe so I could defend myself.
That’s probably not going to work.
August 14, 2019
King Donald and Emperor Norton
Having been raised on Rousseau, Racine and Camus, and being in my heart of hearts a devout royalist, I believe I have come up with a workable solution to the problem presented by our benighted president.
Are you ready?
Make him king.
Yes. Get him a throne, a small mansion in the country, and one of those paper crowns from Burger King (he can buy a real one with his own money.) Televise the coronation. Tell him, after the fact, that the ceremony was watched by more people than were the moon landing and the last Superbowl. Give him a scepter, a rabbit fur-trimmed robe and an orb. If you really want to gild the lily, have someone from Fox tell him he rules by divine right. Voila.
After all, this is what he really wants, to be king of the US of A, and to have citizens worship him. If we accede to his wishes, he’ll be encouraged to spout off inane Tweets all day. He can be a racist, a demagogue, a male chauvinist, a liar, a thief, a con man. He could even dye his hair and bathe in Man Tan, and it wouldn’t matter!!!!
By being king, Trump will join a select society of rulers that include King Philippe of Belgium, King Norodom Sihamoni of Cambodia, King Willem-Alexander of the Netherlands, King Tupou VI of Tonga, and my personal all-time favorite, Almu’tasimu Billahi Muhibbuddin Tuanku Alhaj Abdul Halim Mu’adzam Shah Ibni Almarhum Sultan Badlishah of Malaysia.
King Donald would be a benign ruler, since he would have not a shred of power. He could, however, surround himself with all those people he nominated for government posts and who resigned for one scandalous reason or other. These could be his court, and wear funny costumes. Since many of them are wealthy, they could support King Donald and his family in the proper style. I am not sure how to resolve the Prince Baron conundrum, but I’m working on it.
King Donald would have ceremonial duties. He might ring in Daylight Savings Time, for example, or lend his presence to the opening of new Chik-fil-A franchises. He could throw out the first pitch in Little League games. In a crunch, he might direct traffic or be a greeter at Wal Mart.
There is a precedent to royalty in the States.
Joshua Abraham Norton, a citizen of San Francisco, proclaimed himself “Norton I, Emperor of the United States” in 1859. He later assumed the secondary title of “Protector of Mexico.” He was massively popular and routinely signed edicts for citizens, and currency issued in his name was honored in the places he frequented.
Emperor Norton ordered that the United States Congress be dissolved by force and penned numerous decrees calling for the construction of a bridge and tunnel crossing San Francisco Bay to link San Francisco with Oakland.
Mark Twain and Robert Louis Stevenson immortalized him and, more recently, so did Neil Gaiman.
On January 8, 1880, according to Wikipedia, “Norton collapsed at the corner of California and Dupont (now Grant) streets and died before he could be given medical treatment. Upwards of 10,000 people lined the streets of San Francisco to pay him homage at his funeral.”
I can’t guarantee any famous writer will immortalize our regent. I mean, I wouldn’t, and I’m not even famous. Nor can I guarantee that 10,000 people will come to King Donald’s funeral, but then again, facts and numbers could be altered, as he so often does, to make the king posthumously happy.
Are you ready?
Make him king.
Yes. Get him a throne, a small mansion in the country, and one of those paper crowns from Burger King (he can buy a real one with his own money.) Televise the coronation. Tell him, after the fact, that the ceremony was watched by more people than were the moon landing and the last Superbowl. Give him a scepter, a rabbit fur-trimmed robe and an orb. If you really want to gild the lily, have someone from Fox tell him he rules by divine right. Voila.
After all, this is what he really wants, to be king of the US of A, and to have citizens worship him. If we accede to his wishes, he’ll be encouraged to spout off inane Tweets all day. He can be a racist, a demagogue, a male chauvinist, a liar, a thief, a con man. He could even dye his hair and bathe in Man Tan, and it wouldn’t matter!!!!
By being king, Trump will join a select society of rulers that include King Philippe of Belgium, King Norodom Sihamoni of Cambodia, King Willem-Alexander of the Netherlands, King Tupou VI of Tonga, and my personal all-time favorite, Almu’tasimu Billahi Muhibbuddin Tuanku Alhaj Abdul Halim Mu’adzam Shah Ibni Almarhum Sultan Badlishah of Malaysia.
King Donald would be a benign ruler, since he would have not a shred of power. He could, however, surround himself with all those people he nominated for government posts and who resigned for one scandalous reason or other. These could be his court, and wear funny costumes. Since many of them are wealthy, they could support King Donald and his family in the proper style. I am not sure how to resolve the Prince Baron conundrum, but I’m working on it.
King Donald would have ceremonial duties. He might ring in Daylight Savings Time, for example, or lend his presence to the opening of new Chik-fil-A franchises. He could throw out the first pitch in Little League games. In a crunch, he might direct traffic or be a greeter at Wal Mart.
There is a precedent to royalty in the States.
Joshua Abraham Norton, a citizen of San Francisco, proclaimed himself “Norton I, Emperor of the United States” in 1859. He later assumed the secondary title of “Protector of Mexico.” He was massively popular and routinely signed edicts for citizens, and currency issued in his name was honored in the places he frequented.
Emperor Norton ordered that the United States Congress be dissolved by force and penned numerous decrees calling for the construction of a bridge and tunnel crossing San Francisco Bay to link San Francisco with Oakland.
Mark Twain and Robert Louis Stevenson immortalized him and, more recently, so did Neil Gaiman.
On January 8, 1880, according to Wikipedia, “Norton collapsed at the corner of California and Dupont (now Grant) streets and died before he could be given medical treatment. Upwards of 10,000 people lined the streets of San Francisco to pay him homage at his funeral.”
I can’t guarantee any famous writer will immortalize our regent. I mean, I wouldn’t, and I’m not even famous. Nor can I guarantee that 10,000 people will come to King Donald’s funeral, but then again, facts and numbers could be altered, as he so often does, to make the king posthumously happy.
August 13, 2019
Epstein; Dreyfus
I’m not much into conspiracies. I think they require too much effort by too many people and, let’s face it, most people can’t keep a secret. I do believe there’s a lot more to learn about both the Lincoln and Kennedy assassinations, but I’m pretty sure ticks are not a runaway biological warfare experiment, and I do think Napoleon is buried in Napoleon’s tomb.
This being said, I’m certain there’s more to the Epstein hanging than we’re being told, and I really hope the Washington Post or New York Times will sic a bunch of young and hungry reporters on the story.
The Metropolitan Correction Center in Manhattan has been host to a bunch of villains over the years, all of whom managed to survive incarceration there. El Chappo, aka Joaquim Guzmàn, Bernard Madoff, John Gotti, and members of al-Qaeda, spent time at MCC and walked out alive. Epstein, certainly one of the most infamous inmates in recent times, did not.
According to reports, Epstein was in good spirits just prior to his death. He spent hours discussing legal maneuvers with his attorneys. He seemed neither depressed nor frantic. The official story is that the facility’s staff members are overworked, tired, sleepy, and quite obviously incapable. They left Epstein alone for more than a half-hour. He was supposed to have a cellmate but that man had been moved to another venue. Epstein was an at-risk inmate who had attempted suicide some months ago, but had been taken off suicide watch recently. He was not supposed to have anything that could be used to end his own life, i.e. shoe laces or a belt. When guards came to check on him (after they took a nap, I suppose, since they were so tired and spent) Epstein was dead. Security cameras, amazingly enough, were not trained on his cell.
Epstein had enemies. He was, among other things, a procurer of underage women to the rich and famous, including Prince Williams, Trump, perhaps Bill Clinton, the attorney Alan Dershowitz, and a myriad others who gloried in his company.
So I am tempted to yell J’Accuse, à la Émile Zola, the French writer who protested the incarceration of Alfred Dreyfus in what came to be known as the Dreyfus Affair and rocked France in the early 1900s. In modern day English, J’Accuse might be translated as ‘oh bullshit,’ which was my first reaction when I learned of Epstein’s death.
Simply stated, far too many important people—including no. 45—stand to benefit from his demise. Epstein would undoubtedly have contrived during his trial to inculpate others. His lawyers would have sought to make deals with anyone who might lighten their client’s inevitable sentence. He was too dangerous to live.
The head of the MCC will be fired, as will some prison guards. Blame will be apportioned, and the affair soon forgotten. Some important miscreants will breathe sighs of relief. Victims will be left without closure. A few books will be written. That’s America.
This being said, I’m certain there’s more to the Epstein hanging than we’re being told, and I really hope the Washington Post or New York Times will sic a bunch of young and hungry reporters on the story.
The Metropolitan Correction Center in Manhattan has been host to a bunch of villains over the years, all of whom managed to survive incarceration there. El Chappo, aka Joaquim Guzmàn, Bernard Madoff, John Gotti, and members of al-Qaeda, spent time at MCC and walked out alive. Epstein, certainly one of the most infamous inmates in recent times, did not.
According to reports, Epstein was in good spirits just prior to his death. He spent hours discussing legal maneuvers with his attorneys. He seemed neither depressed nor frantic. The official story is that the facility’s staff members are overworked, tired, sleepy, and quite obviously incapable. They left Epstein alone for more than a half-hour. He was supposed to have a cellmate but that man had been moved to another venue. Epstein was an at-risk inmate who had attempted suicide some months ago, but had been taken off suicide watch recently. He was not supposed to have anything that could be used to end his own life, i.e. shoe laces or a belt. When guards came to check on him (after they took a nap, I suppose, since they were so tired and spent) Epstein was dead. Security cameras, amazingly enough, were not trained on his cell.
Epstein had enemies. He was, among other things, a procurer of underage women to the rich and famous, including Prince Williams, Trump, perhaps Bill Clinton, the attorney Alan Dershowitz, and a myriad others who gloried in his company.
So I am tempted to yell J’Accuse, à la Émile Zola, the French writer who protested the incarceration of Alfred Dreyfus in what came to be known as the Dreyfus Affair and rocked France in the early 1900s. In modern day English, J’Accuse might be translated as ‘oh bullshit,’ which was my first reaction when I learned of Epstein’s death.
Simply stated, far too many important people—including no. 45—stand to benefit from his demise. Epstein would undoubtedly have contrived during his trial to inculpate others. His lawyers would have sought to make deals with anyone who might lighten their client’s inevitable sentence. He was too dangerous to live.
The head of the MCC will be fired, as will some prison guards. Blame will be apportioned, and the affair soon forgotten. Some important miscreants will breathe sighs of relief. Victims will be left without closure. A few books will be written. That’s America.
August 6, 2019
The Voices in My Head
I hear voices in my head. I admit it. The voices say things like, “Shouldn’t you pee before leaving the house on a road trip?” Also, “No, not the brown shoe. Look for the other blue shoe.” And, “I wonder if I should eat more bananas?”
I’ve been told that hearing voices is a sure sign of mental disease. Strangely, I have not tried to assault or kill anyone. I mention this because Trump’s recent speech said it wasn’t guns that killed all these people, it was mental illness.
Sometime the voices in my head can get downright violent. “Look at the way that idiot is driving!” Or, “If one more person writes genuine imitation leather, or free gift or growing smaller, I swear I’ll…”
According to the Washington Post, there’s very little relationship between mental illness and violent crime. Certainly, some seriously deranged individual have been responsible for murders but by-and-large, the killings are fueled by hate, racism, or a desire for recognition, not by delusions.
Mind you, it’s my opinion that anyone who picks up a gun with the obvious intent of killing people is dealing with some serious issues, but most of these are not listed in the American Psychiatric Association DSM V.
Sometimes the voices in my head say, “Right. Yes. Guns don’t kill people; people kill people.” Then I segue into, “I wonder if maybe shoes kill people? I’ve never heard of a barefooted mass murderer. They all wear shoes, so it must be the shoes. Or maybe the Fruit of the Loom?”
In my more rational moments, the voices in my head say, “By golly! The NRA is right! Guns don’t kill people; bullets kill people!” Bullets issued at the rate of 400 per minute from the barrel of a perfectly legal and available to all semi-automatic rifle or pistol can—and do—kill a lot people. After all, that’s what the guns and the ammo are designed to do.
And if I think a little more, I can come to the conclusion that people who foster hate and racism, cowards who hide behind constitutional amendments, and leaders afraid to protect their constituents and perhaps lose their lucrative jobs, well, they all kill people too, right?
I don’t have to hear voices in my head or be mentally deficient to figure that out.
I’ve been told that hearing voices is a sure sign of mental disease. Strangely, I have not tried to assault or kill anyone. I mention this because Trump’s recent speech said it wasn’t guns that killed all these people, it was mental illness.
Sometime the voices in my head can get downright violent. “Look at the way that idiot is driving!” Or, “If one more person writes genuine imitation leather, or free gift or growing smaller, I swear I’ll…”
According to the Washington Post, there’s very little relationship between mental illness and violent crime. Certainly, some seriously deranged individual have been responsible for murders but by-and-large, the killings are fueled by hate, racism, or a desire for recognition, not by delusions.
Mind you, it’s my opinion that anyone who picks up a gun with the obvious intent of killing people is dealing with some serious issues, but most of these are not listed in the American Psychiatric Association DSM V.
Sometimes the voices in my head say, “Right. Yes. Guns don’t kill people; people kill people.” Then I segue into, “I wonder if maybe shoes kill people? I’ve never heard of a barefooted mass murderer. They all wear shoes, so it must be the shoes. Or maybe the Fruit of the Loom?”
In my more rational moments, the voices in my head say, “By golly! The NRA is right! Guns don’t kill people; bullets kill people!” Bullets issued at the rate of 400 per minute from the barrel of a perfectly legal and available to all semi-automatic rifle or pistol can—and do—kill a lot people. After all, that’s what the guns and the ammo are designed to do.
And if I think a little more, I can come to the conclusion that people who foster hate and racism, cowards who hide behind constitutional amendments, and leaders afraid to protect their constituents and perhaps lose their lucrative jobs, well, they all kill people too, right?
I don’t have to hear voices in my head or be mentally deficient to figure that out.
July 11, 2019
And Furthermore
This will be brief.
I find it fascinating that the pro-Trump response to yesterday’s Epiphanettes did not once address the issues brought up. I was informed that some people favored him, but not why. A woman wrote that it takes a strong man to withstand what the Democrats have thrown at him, but she failed to acknowledge that Trump has at every turn defied the law of the land. Am I to understand that pro-Trump women approve of pussy-grabbing, sexual predation and infidelity?
This makes me believe that perhaps we have reached a new Age of Forgiveness, which would be wonderful if it were all-inclusive, but it isn’t. We forgive the rich and the powerful their sins, but not the poor, the migrants, the refugees, the people of any color other than white and any faith other than Christianity. We forgive the killers of children by not allowing laws governing the licensing of guns. We forgive leaders who are murderers and embrace them. All these are issues Trump could address but chooses not to, and none have a thing to do with Democrats, Independents, Greens, Yippees (I’m showing my age here), environmentalists, women soccer stars, or vocal minorities of any stripe.
I remain unimpressed.
I find it fascinating that the pro-Trump response to yesterday’s Epiphanettes did not once address the issues brought up. I was informed that some people favored him, but not why. A woman wrote that it takes a strong man to withstand what the Democrats have thrown at him, but she failed to acknowledge that Trump has at every turn defied the law of the land. Am I to understand that pro-Trump women approve of pussy-grabbing, sexual predation and infidelity?
This makes me believe that perhaps we have reached a new Age of Forgiveness, which would be wonderful if it were all-inclusive, but it isn’t. We forgive the rich and the powerful their sins, but not the poor, the migrants, the refugees, the people of any color other than white and any faith other than Christianity. We forgive the killers of children by not allowing laws governing the licensing of guns. We forgive leaders who are murderers and embrace them. All these are issues Trump could address but chooses not to, and none have a thing to do with Democrats, Independents, Greens, Yippees (I’m showing my age here), environmentalists, women soccer stars, or vocal minorities of any stripe.
I remain unimpressed.
July 10, 2019
The MAGA Male
I can’t fathom why any woman in the 50 states and US Territories would support Trump. It’s beyond my understanding, but then again, I’m a male and my gender has never claimed to comprehend the other gender(s). I have, however, the beginning of an inkling as to why so many men might proudly sport their MAGA caps. It has nothing to do with Making America Great Again because truly, America has been great for a while now and its recent headlong descent can be attributed almost entirely to Trump and his ilk. No, Making America Great Again is not on these men’s radar. If asked how this greatness might be achieved, I believe most of them would spout inanities about immigration, jobs and LGBTQ without knowing what the acronym represents. Forget logic, forget thinking, forget smarts, forget reality. What many male Trump supporters want is to be like Trump.
They want to be able to grab a woman by the pussy and tell others about it. They yearn to boast about their powers in and out of the bedroom. They admire a man with a trophy wife, and dream of sex with under-aged teens. They want to be allowed to grope and rape and insult women’s appearances and weight. They want to lie with impunity, repeating the same falsehood until it’s believed. They want the pretense of being smart when they’re unread, lazy and incompetent. They gladly accept being spoon-fed anything that corroborates their shallow beliefs, regardless of the source of information. They want to get rid of their debts without paying them off, choosing instead to use loopholes and lawyers, and not caring that their delinquencies might bankrupt smaller businesses. They’d love to hang out with famous sports figures, and invite winning teams to their homes. They think the cheeseburger-and-fries diet is all-American. They’d like to be falsely tanned, and able to dye their hair and create elaborate comb-overs without being ridiculed. They regret not having developed bone spurs when such growths might have been useful. They firmly believe people much smarter than they are--scientists, economists, statesmen and such--are actually stupid.
Ideally, male Trump supporters would enjoy being successful businessmen, but faking success is almost as good. Most of them have not inherited the funds necessary to start serious investment career, and many would believe owing great sums makes them great men who have hijacked the system.
But here’s the biggie—male Trump supporters want to be successful conmen, like their idol. They want to bullshit their way to greatness, and have TV shows where they can denigrate others. They want to be the subject of gossip, followed by the social reporters and idolized. They yearn for respect but are clueless when it comes to earning it.
They admire that Trump has perpetrated perhaps the biggest scam in American history. He became president without a majority vote, without experience, without intelligence, without manners or a shred of elegance, and without common sense. He has surrounded himself with sycophants who, though they may have higher intellects, are perfectly happy being yes-men.
Trump is not smarter than the average bear. Neither is the ordinary American male who, in Trump, has found a reason to believe that he, too, can thrive on basest behavior and give the finger to his neighbors.
Wealth often comes accompanied by social responsibility. The foundations of this country were built on the Carnegies and Melons and Rockefellers. Its future will depend on the Jobs, the Gates, the Musks, and tomorrow’s entrepreneurs who will make money and use much of it to better the nation.
Trump will not be among them. Neither will Trump’s male supporters.
They want to be able to grab a woman by the pussy and tell others about it. They yearn to boast about their powers in and out of the bedroom. They admire a man with a trophy wife, and dream of sex with under-aged teens. They want to be allowed to grope and rape and insult women’s appearances and weight. They want to lie with impunity, repeating the same falsehood until it’s believed. They want the pretense of being smart when they’re unread, lazy and incompetent. They gladly accept being spoon-fed anything that corroborates their shallow beliefs, regardless of the source of information. They want to get rid of their debts without paying them off, choosing instead to use loopholes and lawyers, and not caring that their delinquencies might bankrupt smaller businesses. They’d love to hang out with famous sports figures, and invite winning teams to their homes. They think the cheeseburger-and-fries diet is all-American. They’d like to be falsely tanned, and able to dye their hair and create elaborate comb-overs without being ridiculed. They regret not having developed bone spurs when such growths might have been useful. They firmly believe people much smarter than they are--scientists, economists, statesmen and such--are actually stupid.
Ideally, male Trump supporters would enjoy being successful businessmen, but faking success is almost as good. Most of them have not inherited the funds necessary to start serious investment career, and many would believe owing great sums makes them great men who have hijacked the system.
But here’s the biggie—male Trump supporters want to be successful conmen, like their idol. They want to bullshit their way to greatness, and have TV shows where they can denigrate others. They want to be the subject of gossip, followed by the social reporters and idolized. They yearn for respect but are clueless when it comes to earning it.
They admire that Trump has perpetrated perhaps the biggest scam in American history. He became president without a majority vote, without experience, without intelligence, without manners or a shred of elegance, and without common sense. He has surrounded himself with sycophants who, though they may have higher intellects, are perfectly happy being yes-men.
Trump is not smarter than the average bear. Neither is the ordinary American male who, in Trump, has found a reason to believe that he, too, can thrive on basest behavior and give the finger to his neighbors.
Wealth often comes accompanied by social responsibility. The foundations of this country were built on the Carnegies and Melons and Rockefellers. Its future will depend on the Jobs, the Gates, the Musks, and tomorrow’s entrepreneurs who will make money and use much of it to better the nation.
Trump will not be among them. Neither will Trump’s male supporters.
July 5, 2019
Fatigue
Every writer I’ve known has gone through this.
You get the ultimate ah ha! moment, where the plot of a new book comes to you and there is no doubt—no doubt whatsoever—that this one’s the winner you’ve been awaiting. It may happen in the middle of the night or in the middle of a conversation. The book might get you—no, will get you—the Pulitzer, the movie deal, the three-book contract with a major. You’ll join the pantheon of the greats. You'll be pals with Updike, Camus, Twain, and whatshisname whom everybody agree is unreadable but nevertheless a genius. All those agents who turned you down will curl up and die painfully, foaming at the mouth and moaning your name.
It’s said there are only eight fiction plots, but this one, this is the ninth. The idea is so good you start writing without even doing a synopsis and in no time at all the pages begin to accumulate. Twenty? Ha! A walk in the park… Fifty, still going strong! Ninety-two, and there’s new plot twist that makes the book even better! One-hundred thirty-seven; the Post and Times critics will be doing somersaults and looking up your backlist. There’ll an excerpt—maybe two-in New Yorker. Marvel will call to do a graphic novel adaptation.
Page 183 and everything stops.
Why did you think this was such a great idea? It’s a crappy, stupid and unimaginative plot. The characters stink and the back-story is ludicrous. Your female lead is just a guy wearing skirts. It’s a concept that’s been done to death and you’ve just wasted two months of your writing life on it, you idiot.
I, personally, have had this happen to me many, many times. Here is the best of the worst:
• A book about an inventor somehow transported back to ancient times. Sort of like A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, but better.
• A novel about a bigamist who gets involved in the Lindbergh baby kidnaping.
• A book about a man who falls desperately in love with a webcam girl (you know, the ladies who do live porn for call-in money on the Net) and decides to find her and woo her.
• A novel about a conquistador who accidentally falls into the fountain of youth and lives forever.
• A play about an Amish man who inherits a massage parlor (ok, this one was after a trip to Lancaster in Pennsylvania.)
• A fantasy about a musician with a magic Fender Telecaster that makes him a superstar (that was after a visit to Matt Baker’s Action Music store.)
.In the end, none of these works had legs, at least for me. It’s entirely possible that another author might find his or her fortune there, but I hit a wall, and there was a choice to be made. Persevere and finish what may ultimately not be a publishable work, or accept that this was an experiment that failed and go on to the next idea. I’ve always chosen the latter.
More recently, having finished and sent off three books to publishers, I’m finding myself plagued by creative fatigue. I’m currently involved in writing four sequels to existing works, and I’m terminally tired.
This is not good because writing is what I do. It is my skill and my occupation and there are no real fallbacks, so being tired of writing is actually very scary. There are only so many games of Solitaire and Mahjong I can play. I have cooked pounds of brown rice with meat, vegetables, mussels and mushrooms. My living space is acceptably clean and all the laundry is folded and put away. I have changed the sheets on the bed and scrubbed the tub, run the dishwasher, and answered emails ignored for too long.
True, I know this will pass, as it’s happened before and I’m still banging away at the keyboard. But in the meantime, I will entertain any and all ideas that may get me past this quandary, as long as the idea has legs.
Thank you.
You get the ultimate ah ha! moment, where the plot of a new book comes to you and there is no doubt—no doubt whatsoever—that this one’s the winner you’ve been awaiting. It may happen in the middle of the night or in the middle of a conversation. The book might get you—no, will get you—the Pulitzer, the movie deal, the three-book contract with a major. You’ll join the pantheon of the greats. You'll be pals with Updike, Camus, Twain, and whatshisname whom everybody agree is unreadable but nevertheless a genius. All those agents who turned you down will curl up and die painfully, foaming at the mouth and moaning your name.
It’s said there are only eight fiction plots, but this one, this is the ninth. The idea is so good you start writing without even doing a synopsis and in no time at all the pages begin to accumulate. Twenty? Ha! A walk in the park… Fifty, still going strong! Ninety-two, and there’s new plot twist that makes the book even better! One-hundred thirty-seven; the Post and Times critics will be doing somersaults and looking up your backlist. There’ll an excerpt—maybe two-in New Yorker. Marvel will call to do a graphic novel adaptation.
Page 183 and everything stops.
Why did you think this was such a great idea? It’s a crappy, stupid and unimaginative plot. The characters stink and the back-story is ludicrous. Your female lead is just a guy wearing skirts. It’s a concept that’s been done to death and you’ve just wasted two months of your writing life on it, you idiot.
I, personally, have had this happen to me many, many times. Here is the best of the worst:
• A book about an inventor somehow transported back to ancient times. Sort of like A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, but better.
• A novel about a bigamist who gets involved in the Lindbergh baby kidnaping.
• A book about a man who falls desperately in love with a webcam girl (you know, the ladies who do live porn for call-in money on the Net) and decides to find her and woo her.
• A novel about a conquistador who accidentally falls into the fountain of youth and lives forever.
• A play about an Amish man who inherits a massage parlor (ok, this one was after a trip to Lancaster in Pennsylvania.)
• A fantasy about a musician with a magic Fender Telecaster that makes him a superstar (that was after a visit to Matt Baker’s Action Music store.)
.In the end, none of these works had legs, at least for me. It’s entirely possible that another author might find his or her fortune there, but I hit a wall, and there was a choice to be made. Persevere and finish what may ultimately not be a publishable work, or accept that this was an experiment that failed and go on to the next idea. I’ve always chosen the latter.
More recently, having finished and sent off three books to publishers, I’m finding myself plagued by creative fatigue. I’m currently involved in writing four sequels to existing works, and I’m terminally tired.
This is not good because writing is what I do. It is my skill and my occupation and there are no real fallbacks, so being tired of writing is actually very scary. There are only so many games of Solitaire and Mahjong I can play. I have cooked pounds of brown rice with meat, vegetables, mussels and mushrooms. My living space is acceptably clean and all the laundry is folded and put away. I have changed the sheets on the bed and scrubbed the tub, run the dishwasher, and answered emails ignored for too long.
True, I know this will pass, as it’s happened before and I’m still banging away at the keyboard. But in the meantime, I will entertain any and all ideas that may get me past this quandary, as long as the idea has legs.
Thank you.
June 24, 2019
Fat
Two-thirds of the people living in the United States are overweight, which means that Trump and I share a common trait—according to the prevailing medical opinion, we are both obese. This is vastly embarrassing and should be enough for me to go on a serious fast, but food, like many things, is an addiction, and losing weight is grim work.
Americans spend $60 billion annually on weight loss programs and the rate of recidivism among those who do lose weight is about the same as that of people who quit drinking, and then relapse, which is to say between 90 and 95 percent. To our bodies, fat is wealth, and we are as unlikely to give it up as Midas was to stop hoarding gold.
Being fat costs money. Studies show fat people earn less and are not as likely to be promoted as their skinny colleagues. Fat people, regardless of color, gender, faith or sexual affiliation, are discriminated against and thought to be:
• Lazy
• Dumb
• Dirty
• Unattractive
• Lacking willpower
• Weak
and generally lesser-than.
I’ve often wondered if part of the national weight gain is not partially due to technology. Consider these changes that have occurred in the past fifty years:
• Automatically opening doors
• Escalators and elevators
• Push-button windows in cars
• Moving walkways in airports
• Rental Scooters and bicycles
and of course, that American standard, the all-you-can-eat buffet, which, thanks to modern food-preparation technology, encourages you to consume far more than your body can possibly burn safely.
There’s food—usually crappy food at that—everywhere, in movies and sports arenas and gas stations and mall kiosks and pharmacies and, to my total amazement, gyms.
What we require the most—restraint when eating, exercise and physical activity—are sacrificed. We diminish even the smallest effort, such as manually rolling down a car window or pushing doors open because, well, we don’t like effort. And even should we be prone to exert ourselves a little by, say, climbing stairs, we’re prevented from doing so. In my building, and those of many friends, safety doors open to climb down, but are sealed to climb up. I am told this is a firegulation…
Our added weight tires our heart and other organs, causes poor sleeping habits or insomnia, and, if we’re truly bothered by the excess poundage, makes us reclusive and depressed. We are submerged by an inundation of images of people who are thinner, in shape, better looking, and obviously enjoying the attention of others like themselves. They're n skimpy bathing suits, playing beach volleyball, and, when we're not looking, quite obviously having great sex.
Fat, sadly, is the new norm. Can we turn the tables and make the thin ones feel bad about themselves? Probably not. Can we join them? Yes, possibly, with a Herculean effort that implies a complete rethinking of one’s daily life.
Be patient, steadfast, and don’t buy into the weight loss programs that promote pills, magic juices, or prepared meals.
The Mayo Clinic has an interesting and factual website on the subject. https://www.mayoclinic.org/healthy-li... Check it out!
Americans spend $60 billion annually on weight loss programs and the rate of recidivism among those who do lose weight is about the same as that of people who quit drinking, and then relapse, which is to say between 90 and 95 percent. To our bodies, fat is wealth, and we are as unlikely to give it up as Midas was to stop hoarding gold.
Being fat costs money. Studies show fat people earn less and are not as likely to be promoted as their skinny colleagues. Fat people, regardless of color, gender, faith or sexual affiliation, are discriminated against and thought to be:
• Lazy
• Dumb
• Dirty
• Unattractive
• Lacking willpower
• Weak
and generally lesser-than.
I’ve often wondered if part of the national weight gain is not partially due to technology. Consider these changes that have occurred in the past fifty years:
• Automatically opening doors
• Escalators and elevators
• Push-button windows in cars
• Moving walkways in airports
• Rental Scooters and bicycles
and of course, that American standard, the all-you-can-eat buffet, which, thanks to modern food-preparation technology, encourages you to consume far more than your body can possibly burn safely.
There’s food—usually crappy food at that—everywhere, in movies and sports arenas and gas stations and mall kiosks and pharmacies and, to my total amazement, gyms.
What we require the most—restraint when eating, exercise and physical activity—are sacrificed. We diminish even the smallest effort, such as manually rolling down a car window or pushing doors open because, well, we don’t like effort. And even should we be prone to exert ourselves a little by, say, climbing stairs, we’re prevented from doing so. In my building, and those of many friends, safety doors open to climb down, but are sealed to climb up. I am told this is a firegulation…
Our added weight tires our heart and other organs, causes poor sleeping habits or insomnia, and, if we’re truly bothered by the excess poundage, makes us reclusive and depressed. We are submerged by an inundation of images of people who are thinner, in shape, better looking, and obviously enjoying the attention of others like themselves. They're n skimpy bathing suits, playing beach volleyball, and, when we're not looking, quite obviously having great sex.
Fat, sadly, is the new norm. Can we turn the tables and make the thin ones feel bad about themselves? Probably not. Can we join them? Yes, possibly, with a Herculean effort that implies a complete rethinking of one’s daily life.
Be patient, steadfast, and don’t buy into the weight loss programs that promote pills, magic juices, or prepared meals.
The Mayo Clinic has an interesting and factual website on the subject. https://www.mayoclinic.org/healthy-li... Check it out!
